The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,109

walking.’ Besides, even if there had been, sheer vanity would carry her through. She liked the way the shoes flattered her legs, making them appear so much longer and slinkier. For once she didn’t feel like an awkward stork.

‘If you’re sure, dear. You don’t want to sprain your ankle or anything. Now, do you think I ought to take an umbrella?’

‘The forecast is good but if there’s room in your handbag I guess you might as well.’ Fiona knew that if she said no there’d be a protracted debate about the pros and cons of leaving it behind. ‘We need to go in a minute.’ It was a five-minute drive to the station but she didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

‘Yes. I’ll leave some food out for Daisy as we’ll be out until late. She’s had her nose pressed up against the window all day watching the birds nesting in the hedge. I worry about one of those poor babies falling out of the nest and Daisy pouncing on it.’

Fiona didn’t laugh, although a wry smile touched her lips. The babies were safe because the cat was the laziest creature alive. Why pounce when dinner was on tap? She waited in the doorway of the kitchen, trying not to feel impatient as her mother took a fresh bowl out of the cupboard, picked up the dirty one and put it in the sink and began to wash it. Why did she have to start fussing with this sort of thing now? But she counted to ten as slowly as she could. They had time.

‘Do you want me to check the doors and windows?’ Fiona asked, knowing that this might hold them up too.

‘No, dear.’ Fiona blinked in surprise. That was new.

‘Peter says if a burglar really wants to get in, they will. The alarm is a better deterrent.’

‘Right.’ Peter? The man that lived next door and had done so for the last eighteen months.

Her mother finally took the box of cat biscuits out of the cupboard, giving it a good shake, at which point bat-eared Daisy came streaking into the kitchen, early tea propelling her from her usual slothful indolence. Unfortunately, her speedy entrance coincided with Fiona’s mother’s sharp turn to fill up the bowl by the cat flap. There was an aggrieved yowl, a shower of cat biscuits and a crash as her mum went down in a crumpled heap and the cat shot out of the cat flap.

‘Mum! Are you okay?’ Fiona darted to her side.

Blinking back tears, her mother’s mouth wobbled as she quavered. ‘My ankle. Ouch.’

With a sinking heart, Fiona crouched at her side. ‘So much for sensible shoes.’

Her mother managed a small laugh. ‘How silly of me.’

‘Come on, let’s you get up. We need to get that foot elevated.’

Her mother allowed herself to be helped to her feet then hopped to the kitchen table and collapsed with a groan into one of the chairs. Fiona pulled a second chair out and propped her mother’s foot up, wincing. It was starting to swell.

‘What a stupid thing to happen,’ muttered her mother.

‘Do you think you twisted it or was there a crack or anything?’

‘I went over on it. It’s probably just a sprain.’ Fiona, a little nonplussed by this uncharacteristically pragmatic response simply nodded. Where were the histrionics? Her mother normally loved a drama.

‘We need to ice it.’ Elevate, ice and compress, she remembered from First Aid training. She crossed to the freezer to retrieve the cold pack in there. As a fully registered hypochondriac, her mother had kitted the house out with every piece of First Aid equipment she could get her hands on.

The ankle was already swollen and was starting to turn a little blue. It didn’t look good at all.

‘What do you think?’

Fiona had no idea.

‘I think I may have to go to A&E.’

Fiona nodded. She thought so too. Looked as if she was going to miss her own exhibition.

Now she really did want to cry. Although she was nervous, she was still eager to see people’s responses. The pictures represented her best work; tonight was supposed to be her triumph. And what if Gabe did turn up?

‘I’ll make a couple of calls. I need to contact Mr Morimoto at the gallery, let him know I won’t be there, and then we’ll go.’

‘Go? You’re not going anywhere, young lady. Well, apart from to London. You’ve got an exhibition to get to.’

‘I can’t leave you.’

Her mother huffed. ‘Fiona, I’m aware that I’ve been quite