Page 42 of Mad Mabel

“Good girl,” I say.

“What about you, Elsie? Did you ever marry?”

I open my mouth, just as Adeem comes in the back door.

“Sorry, that was the wife.” Adeem puffs out his chest, appearing pleased with the way that sounds.

“How is it,” I ask him, “that you are married, when you’ve barely escaped the womb?”

He deflates. “I’m twenty-three.”

I raise my eyebrows. He doesn’t respond, so I expect I made my point.

“Anyway,” Libby says, “now that you’ve excavated yourself from under Meera’s thumb, shall we continue the interview?”

“It’s called devotion, Libby,” he says, sinking back into his chair. “Though, I’ll admit, I never knew you could be so terrified of the person you love.”

“Lucky man,” I tell him. “In my experience, love has always been synonymous with terror.”

24

Later in the day, Libby, Adeem, and I are interrupted by an agitated thumping at the door.

I glance at the clock. Just after 4:45PM.

“Want me to answer it?” Libby asks. “I can send them away if they are here to bother you.”

It’s lovely of her to offer, especially as Adeem is too busy thumbing away at his phone to even notice the door. But given the time, I know who it is.

“It’ll just be my tormentor, don’t worry,” I say, heaving myself out of my chair. “Just don’t be fooled. She’s like a grenade—cute and harmless to look at, but a weapon of mass destruction nonetheless.”

Libby looks amused enough to tell me she doesn’t believe a word I say. I have half a mind to invite Persephone in. That would teach Libby to believe the best in people.

Though I’m loath to admit it, I’m happy to hear from her. I feel bad about shouting at her and would rather not have to keep thinking ofher little tear-filled eyes. A couple of milk arrowroot biscuits and a game of Uno should do the trick.

Persephone has the audacity to pound on the door yet again before I reach it. I plan to remind her that she, of all people, should remember that I’m old and that it takes me a while to get to the door.

“For heaven’s sake,” I say, throwing open the door.

“Elsa! Quick. Come and see.”

“Come and see what?”

“It’s a surprise. Just come! Into the lane.”

“But I have guests.”

Persephone blinks. “You do?Who?”

Impertinent child.

I glance into the laneway. No reporters that I can see. For pity’s sake. “You’ve got two minutes,” I say, and she squeals in delight.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I call into the house, and Adeem and Libby shout back for me to take my time.

“Right,” I say, when we’re in the middle of the laneway. “What’s this surprise then?”

Wordlessly, she reaches for her Hula-Hoop, which was propped against the fence, and places it over her head.