Where Credit Is Due

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By the time Imogen was to arrive at the Mayor's House, there were three messages on her phone - surprisingly, none of them was from the Mayor. She'd assume he'd forget about her appointment with the police and the children in her house by the time he'd gotten into his Rover in front of her cottage the night before, and ring her up to ask where she was - but apparently, some of the information had gotten retained.

One of the messages was from Rosie, and Imogen got off the bus a stop too early to give her sister a ring back, without all the usual passengers eavesdropping on it.

The decision proved itself quite wise, as soon as Rosie picked up. It was around ten to midday, and Imogen could hear just how far from sober her sister was.

"Mops! What's cooking?" 

The fact that Rosie sounded as if chuffed to hear Imogen's voice was only confirming the latter's suspicions.

"Rosie, I'm ringing to find out what's going on with Kathy and Brian." 

There was some loud music in the background. Imogen wondered whether it was telly, or an actual do going on.

"Nowt's going on with them," Rosie dismissed, and someone called her name. So, not the telly then. "They were buggering me yesterday, and I sent them your way. It's not like they would intrude on some goings on with you." Rosie voice grew someone lispy - Imogen could just imagine the cigarette pressed between Rosie's lips now.

"It was the middle of the night, Rosie," Imogen hissed, covering the mobile with the second hand. 

She might have been walking in an empty street, but there were ears everywhere in Fleckney Woulds.

"Well, they had enough money for the bus, and they know the way."

Imogen sighed. "So, will you pick them up after school today?" She was almost certain she knew the answer to this question.

"Listen, Mops, the things is–" Here it was. "Me and Tommy are having such ace time here, and–" Rosie's voice dropped to conspiratorial whisper. "I think we might be getting serious, yeah? The bloke has serious intentions, you know." 

Imogen lifted her eyes to the surprisingly blue and clear sky, and asked all gods and deities where exactly she was supposed to get the patience for yet another of Rosie's 'blokes with serious intentions.' 

"So, it's best if the little buggers are out of the way for a wee bit, yeah?" Rosie said.

"Rosie, I can't," Imogen started, knowing well enough nothing she said would have any effect. "Besides other things, you haven't paid Brian's sitter for five weeks; and I have absolutely no–"

"Mops, I properly have no time for your whining," Rosie interrupted, sounding quite irritated now. "I'm taking a sickie today. Tommy's taking me shopping. So, toodle-oo, OK, Mops?" And she hung up, without waiting for Imogen's answer.

Somehow it was suddenly quite too much for Imogen, who froze in the middle of a street, in front of a small floral shop. The pretty arrangements and pot plants swam in front of Imogen's eyes, blurred by the daft tears that rolled over without Imogen's participation - and she sniffled.

There was a man inside, buying a small bouquet of irises - and Imogen thought mournfully that she'd never in her life been given flowers. And no one had ever bent over the counter, like the bloke inside, signing the card. And the shop assistant had never tied a pretty yellow ribbon around the bouquet, just for her, for Imogen. To think of it, imaginary gifted flowers were hardly the top priority at the moment. Just someone asking whether she had enough money to pay for her tea today - which she did not - would be most welcome. With the bills, the bike repairs, the new phone, the money she, of course, had already paid Brian's sitter, and the groceries she needed to get tonight to feed the children - she would have exactly enough to pay for one iris, judging by the price tag in the window. And she wouldn't be paid for another week. Imogen had a strict rule of never borrowing money - but she most likely would have no choice. It wasn't just her going to bed hungry these days.

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