Free The Missing World by Margot Livesey

businesslike. “We know the two of you have had some upsets, this nonsense about her subletting a flat, but there’s no way Hazel can go back there. Besides, she’s clearly come to her senses. Look at how she asks for you.” She gestured at the bed as if this sight were presently visible. “So we were wondering if we could stay with you while she convalesces? Hogarth was very firm that she mustn’t be left alone.”
    Save for Hazel’s amnesia, he thought, Nora had laid out his argument as well as he could ever have hoped to, and now she was looking at him, head cocked in a manner reminiscent of her daughter, though really it was the other way round. “Absolutely,” he said. “Of course. Whatever’s best.…”
    He was still pouring out agreement when Nora’s hand alighted on his arm. Before he could stop himself, he flinched. He saw her eyes widen, another of Hazel’s mannerisms; then, just as clearly, he saw her push the doubts away. “Thank you.” She patted his arm. “We’re just so glad the two of you are back together.”
    “Did you know,” said George, lowering his book, “that Wellington owned five busts of Napoleon and a life-size statue?”
    On the pretext of a phone call, Jonathan excused himself. Do not panic, do not run, walk briskly to your nearest exit.
• • •
    The phrase came to Freddie while brushing his teeth and seemed so apt that he went into the kitchen to tell Agnes. “Agnes,” he said, squatting beside the table, “I am beset by bitches. What do you think of that?”
    Agnes, however, as so often these days, chose not to reveal her cognitive processes. She simply lay there, looking remarkably like an astrakhan pillow. Soon after he brought her home, Freddie had joked to Trevor she was becoming his I Ching: two wags of the tail, go ahead; a flick of an ear, forget it. Full of surprises, Trevor said he knew the feeling, though he himself was more a Book of the Dead kind of bloke.
    “Okay.” Freddie prodded her lightly. “Be that way.”
    Back in the bathroom, he finished his teeth and stepped back to examine his reflection in the mirror. Swivelling his head from side to side, he tried to imagine his hair shaved. No way he’d look as good as Mr. Early, and he might turn out to have one of those little slabs of fat at the back of his head. Still, he was getting a tad wooly. Time to visit the barber but, like almost everything else, that meant leaving the house. He was wondering whether he could ask Kevin to take him, when the phone rang.
    “Oh, I caught you,” said his mother. As if, at two in the afternoon, he was about to rush out. “Guess what loony tune your father’s gone off on now? He’s convinced I’ve got something going with the man at the service station.”
    “Have you?”
    His mother giggled. “Freddie, you know me better than that. No, I was thanking him, and your dad saw me pat his arm.”
    “Sounds like a good move, Mom. Maybe he’ll take the car in for a change.”
    “Maybe. Meanwhile, every time I put on a nice blouse hegives me grief. Says I’m getting all dressed up for my boyfriend. But how are you? How’s the weather?”
    “Rain. I’ve got customers queueing round the block.”
    “ ‘Queueing’! Aren’t you English? It’s too early to say what kind of day we’re having here. Yesterday was very nice. Sunny with a little breeze.” His mother, who’d owned a washer and dryer for as long as Freddie could remember, still judged weather in terms of wash days. Then she asked about Agnes, in whose condition she was keenly interested, and Felicity, about whom Freddie sensed she had some reservations, though none she would divulge.
    After their love-yous and goodbyes he stood staring at the bookcase, momentarily amazed to find himself in the hallway of a run-down London flat rather than his mother’s cosy kitchen in North Avondale. One of these months … For now, wanting to do something that would please her, he headed for his kitchen and