Free The Nature of Cruelty by L. H. Cosway Page B

unimpressed I am. Then I grab Sasha by the hood of her sweatshirt and drag her back to the house.
    “I’ll call over to see you later,” Sasha says, and the girl nods and smiles. When she glances at me her expression falls, like she’s upset about how rude I was to her. Well, she’ll just have to get over it.
    Once we’re out of view, Sasha gives me a punch in the gut for my behaviour with Lana. “You didn’t have to be like that. She was nice,” she says irritably.
    I try to catch my breath, because for a girl Sasha punches hard.
    “Ugh! You like it here, don’t you! Have you forgotten our plan to convince Mum to move back to London? We’ve only arrived and already you’re making friends.”
    “Look, Rob, you need to get it out of your head that Mum’s ever going to forgive Dad for what he did. It might not be the same as back home, but this is where we live now. I don’t know about you, but I plan on making the most of it.”
    She flips her hair over her shoulder and saunters into the living room to Mum. I glance back out the open front door to see Lana making her way across the grass to her own house. Her presence is making Sasha think she could come to like it here.
    And I hate her for it.

 
    Part Two
    Cruelty Is Hard to Forgive

Five
     
    I manage to spend the rest of the evening re-reading a few chapters of the Iliad in my room, in effect avoiding any further encounters with Robert. Sasha goes out to see one of her “celebrity gossip informants” or whatever you’d call them, and doesn’t get back until late.
    The next morning I get ready for my first day at work. My shift starts at ten, so again I manage to bypass seeing Robert, who leaves for work at seven-thirty. I make sure I have my tube map and the Oyster card I ordered online safely in my bag before I leave, as well as my packed lunch and my insulin.
    I memorise my route as I walk toward the Tube station. I have to get the northern line to Kings Cross and then the Piccadilly line to Knightsbridge. The station is so stressful when I get there, full of people hurriedly dashing this way and that. It’s definitely a new experience for me, since I’m used to the easy-going country life. The last time I was here Sasha drove me everywhere, so there was no need for me to take the Tube. At one point I slow down a bit, trying to figure out if I’m heading towards the correct platform, and a woman knocks harshly by me, muttering her annoyance under her breath.
    After one more little panic when I think I might really be lost, I finally make it safely to Baccino’s by five to ten. Sasha told me that I’d have to wear a black pencil skirt, black ballet flats, and a white blouse as my uniform, so I bought several sets of the same outfit last week before I left. I smooth down my skirt and open the door, which is stylishly made entirely out of glass. In fact, the whole front of the restaurant is just one big glass window. There are also tables for dining outside.
    Alistair is the first person I see. I’m coming to realise that he’s a bit of an unusual character, especially when he introduces me to a girl with short, black hair and a nose ring called Danni, but instead of speaking the introduction, he sings it. Danni tells me he sings everything when he’s in a good mood. I tell her it must make for an interesting work environment. She’s got this great East London accent and a talkative personality, and man, does she know her cheeses and her wines.
    After an hour or two I’ve absorbed as many varieties of cheese as I can possibly fit inside my brain: fiore sardo (light cheese with a dark skin), caprino (all white), mountain gorgonzola (pale with blue bits), parmigiano reggiano (pale and crumbly), bosina rabiola (light with a white exterior), and on and on it goes.
    I try to remember which ones are which, but some of them are so similar-looking that I don’t know if I’ll ever get the hang of it. It’s a good thing I worked as a waitress for a