Free Summer Secrets by Sarah Webb Page B

accusations, over and over.
    Tears prick my eyes. Poor Denis. No kid should have to listen to their parents arguing.
    “All parents fight sometimes,” I say gently. “It doesn’t mean they’re going to get a divorce – they seem pretty solid to me. And they talk about you because they love you and are trying to help you.”
    Denis burbs.
    I watch him for a moment, hoping he won’t get sick again. “You OK?” I ask.
    He nods. “Just feel a bit funny.”
    “That’s normal after getting sick. And, Denis, if you keep on binge eating like that, you’ll get even bigger.”
    He presses his lips together, just like Prue.
    “I’m sorry, Denis, but it’s the truth.”
    He’s silent for a bit, then says, “Don’t tell Mum about me getting sick. Promise?”
    I think about this. He must be pretty miserable to shove all that food into himself. Dry white bread isn’t even that tasty. I know Prue would have a fit if I told her what he’s been up to, and Denis would probably never speak to me again. Strange though it may sound, I want him to feel he can talk to someone .
    “OK, I promise,” I say. “But you have to stop eating so much. Eat more at dinner if you’re hungry.” Great, now I sound like my mother.
    I obviously sound like Prue, too, because he clamps one hand over his eyes and rocks from side to side. “Go ’way. Go ’way. Go ’way.”
    “I’m only trying to help.”
    He lashes out at me with his other arm and I jump backwards, frightened. “OK, OK, I’m going.”
    Jeez, he’s one mixed-up kid.



Chapter 17
    Clover drives Gramps to his date with Esther on Thursday evening. Brains and I are tagging along for the ride and to spy on Gramps, of course. It’s not often you get to check out a sixty-five-year-old on a date.
    “You guys OK back there?” Clover asks us. Gramps is in the front, and Brains and I are squashed into the back of her Mini Cooper, like hippos in aeroplane seats. I’m surviving, but Brains’s long legs are rammed against the back of Clover’s seat.
    “Comfy is as comfy does,” Brains says.
    I grin. I have no idea what he’s talking about half the time, but he makes me laugh so much it doesn’t really matter.
    “Do you think she’ll like the chocolates?” Gramps asks. He’s gripping a scarlet box with a gold bow in his shaking hands. He keeps flipping the sun visor down and looking at his teeth in the small rectangular mirror.
    “She’ll love them,” Clover assures him.
    Gramps goes silent and stares out of the window, probably lost in thought about his first love, Esther. But hang on, he’s not staring out of the window at all, he’s blowing on it and sniffing the air.
    “Gramps, your breath is fine,” Clover says. “Quit worrying. It’s not as if you’re going to be … wait a sec, you’re not going to snog Esther in front of us, are you? You’ll damage Amy for ever! And what if your false teeth get locked together?”
    “I don’t have false teeth!” Gramps snorts indignantly. “And we’re not going to snog , Clover. Please! And watch your language around Esther. She’s a lady.”
    “Snog isn’t a bad word, Gramps,” I say. “It just means kiss. With tongues.”
    “Amy Green!” Gramps sounds shocked. “What do you know about kissing with tongues?”
    Clover giggles and I just stare down at my hands. Oops.
    “Don’t answer that,” Gramps says. “In my day, thirteen-year-olds—”
    “Walked to school in bare feet through the snow and ate coal,” Clover says, her voice warbling as though she’s ancient. “Them were the bad ol’ days all right. No electricity, donkeys instead of cars and no telly.”
    “No telly?” Brains pipes up. “Were you very poor, Mr Wildgust?”
    Gramps laughs. “Len, please. No one had a telly when I was growing up, Brains. They only started selling them in the nineteen-fifties and they cost the same amount as a small car. Mona and I got our first black and white set in the early seventies, when Sylvie was