THURSDAY MORNING, AFTER Poppy had me searching the house for a black cardigan that’d spent so long in the laundry bin mould had set in, we arrived at the supermarket.
“Hey, Jem, what do you think of this?”
I lowered the jeans I held, as Poppy pressed up against a skirt that wouldn’t have covered the cheeks of any backside. “For goodness sake, Pop, you’re thirty-five, not twenty-five.”
She laughed, probably at her own regular comment twisted around and thrown back at her. “You’re right, it would look hideous.”
“You could always buy it for the bedroom.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “I’m sure Jase would love it.” As she giggled and put it into her trolley, I went back to studying the jeans in my hands. “Do you like these?”
“They’re okay, but ...” She picked up a pair of denim shorts. “... you’
