“I still think you should give that spa idea another chance,” said Ma.
“Oh, God,” said Tex, sinking his head in his hands.
“No spa, Ma,” said Marge. “We don’t need it.”
“I need it!”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got a perfectly fine job at the office.”
“Perfectly boring job, you mean,” the old lady grumbled. “Having to listen to people whining about their kidney stones or blather on about their bladder.”
“You’re doing something good for mankind. It’s a noble profession.”
“Says you.”
Marge sighed and decided not to get worked up. Bad vibes for Grace.“By the way, can you check next door when you have a moment, honey? I have a feeling Odelia is in over her head with those guests of hers.”
“Guests? What guests?” said Tex, watching on in fascination as Grace wrapped her tiny little digits around his index finger.
“Oh, Tex. The guests! The Boggles!”
“What Boggles? What are you talking about?”
“John and Janine Boggle are staying next door. He’s the Prime Minister of England and she’s his wife. Apparently Tessa Torrance called and asked if they could stay over for a couple of days.”
“The Prime Minister of England is staying next door?”
Marge bit back a groan of exasperation. She loved her husband dearly, but sometimes he seemed to live on a different planet than the rest of them.“Yes, he arrived this morning and is planning to stay for a while.”
“But he shouldn’t—he can’t—Odelia has to rest.”
“I know, which is why you better go and check on her. I already said I’d help with the cooking and the cleaning, and maybe you can also chip in.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know, Tex—anything!”
“Uh-huh,” he said, looking unconvinced. “Does he have health issues? Is that why he’s staying with our daughter?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He just got canned from his job as PM,” said Ma, who was gently tickling Grace’s belly and receiving a lot of exuberant giggles as a reward.
“He got fired from his job?” asked Marge. This was news.
“Sure. Defrauded someone or something or whatever. I don’t know. I just scanned the headlines. Politicians behaving badly doesn’t make for interesting reading.”
Tex, who’d been scrolling on his phone, said, “Looks like he accepted a trip to some tropical private island as a gift from a billionaire friend of his.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” said Ma. “If I had a billionaire friend and he offered me a trip to his private island I’d be on a plane quick as a flash.”
“The Prime Minister of a nation can’t accept free trips, Ma,” said Marge. “It opens him up to all kinds of accusations of favoritism.”
“I don’t get it,” said Ma with a frown. “Who doesn’t like to be the favorite?”
“Okay, so what if this billionaire owns a chain of supermarkets, and wants to build a superstore in the heart of London, only he’s been having trouble getting permission, and now all of a sudden his plans are being fast-tracked. People will say that he bought the approval by bribing his good friend the PM.”
“Okay. Still don’t get it.”
“It’s called corruption, all right? Which is why politicians cannot accept gifts from anyone. And even if Boggle did nothing wrong, it still looks bad that he would be hobnobbing with billionaires on their private island.”
“I say live and let live, but that’s just me,” said Ma.
“If this guy is out of a job,” said Tex. “Does that mean he’s flying home soon? Or that he’ll stick around indefinitely?”
They all shared a look of concern.“Go over there now, Tex,” Marge insisted. “Your daughter needs you.”
“Yes, Tex,” said Ma with a slight grin. “For once in your life be a man and do something.” Once Tex was off, huffing a little and muttering something to himself, Marge gave her mother a look of disapproval, she added, “What? What did I say?”
Marge sighed and gently tapped her granddaughter’s nose. “This is the family you’ve chosen, honey. Are you sure you want to stick around?”
“We’re a good family,” muttered Ma. “The best.” Then she brightened. “So have you considered how much money a spa can—“
“No, Ma. No spa.”
“But—“
“No spa!”
“Oh, fine. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, will you?”
Just then, Grace gurgled something and pulled Ma’s nose.
“Who needs a spa when we’ve got you, mh?” said Marge.
“You’re right,” said Ma. “Who needs a spa anyway?”
Marge looked up sharply.“Did you just tell me I’m right?”
“I know,” said Ma. “I must be softening with old age.”
Or because she’d just become a great-grandmother.
“Not that I’m old, mind you. Older, yes, but still young.”
“Of course, Ma. Of course.”
CHAPTER 20
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Some kind of big to-do or hubbub was in progress when Dooley and I arrived at the house. On the way home we’d discussed the matter further and decided that if Charlene turned out to be a sausage-eating cat hater, we needed a plan B, and had landed on Gran’s friend Scarlett as the next best option. Scarlett doesn’t own pets, I know for a fact that she doesn’t hate us, and she’s very nice. And it’s always better to pick a person you know than some unknown on Facebook.
So all in all we were feeling in an uplifted state of mind when we turned a corner and entered Harrington Street. We’d tell Odelia we were leaving tonight, and then first seek out Charlene, stay the night as a trial run, and then if things didn’t work out, move in with Scarlett tomorrow. In other words, a foolproof plan.
Only when we had almost reached the house, we met with an unusual sight: Odelia was walking two dogs: Little John and Little Janine. Our human—or soon-to-be ex-human—looked dead on her feet, and I immediately felt sorry for her. And when we approached, she barely managed to give us a smile in greeting.
“Take us further afield, will you, Odelia?” said Little John. “I don’t like these trees.”
“Yes, take us to the dog park,” Little Janine chimed in. “I’ve heard good things about the dog park. Not that I expect it to be up to our usual standards, but at least it’s something.”
“And better than these utterly useless trees and these tired old lampposts,” her friend added.
“You don’t like our trees?” I asked. “Or our lampposts?”
“No, we don’t,” said Little Janine with a tilt of the head.
“They smell funny,” said Little John, making a face.
“I can tell that the dogs that use this street have absolutely no breeding.”
“No breeding at all. Street mutts, one and all.”
“In other words, common folk. Probably inbred, too.”
The two dogs shared a smirk, then tugged at their respective leashes.
“To the dog park, please!” said Little John. “And be quick about it!”
“Yes, we haven’t got all day!” Little Janine added.
“What do they want?” asked Odelia, not bothering to stifle a yawn.
“They want to go to the dog park,” I said.
“They don’t like our street,” said Dooley.
“Too dirty and too common and populated with inbred mutts.”
“Oh,” said Odelia, then sighed. “Fine. I guess we’re going to the dog park.”
And since we needed to have a chat with her anyway, we decided to tag along.
“Is it true that your human was fired from his job?” asked Dooley, addressing Little Janine. “Only, a friend of ours told us about it, and now we were wondering if he’s going to stay here or go back to England and look for another job?”
“Fired? Puh-lease,” said Little Janine. “People like Big John don’t get fired—they’re the ones doing the firing.”
“So you better watch out, little one,” said Little John. “Or he’ll fire you!”
They had a good laugh about that, even though I didn’t think it was all that funny.