Free The Year of the Rat by Clare Furniss

front of everybody?’ That was Ozzy. I smile. Yes I do remember. ‘Got a round of applause, didn’t you?’
    ‘Yeah.’ It had been a good moment. Molly had been so embarrassed and upset when we saw him, and he’d been so obnoxious, smiling and winking at me, doing the whole cheeky
chappie bit and completely blanking Molly. I’d just lost it: told him exactly what I thought of him.
    Afterwards, Molly had been so grateful.
I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.
It brings me up sharp to remember it. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like, that bond.
    ‘But this Ravi,’ Mum muses, ‘he sounds rather sweet. To be honest I really don’t see what the problem is.’
    I sigh. ‘I just think she could do better.’
    Mum smiles. ‘Do you remember when you were going out with that awful what’s-his-name . . . Baz?’
    ‘Taz. And I wasn’t really going out with him.’
    ‘And I could see he was a complete – well, I won’t say what.’ She smiles a saintly smile. ‘But I didn’t say anything – I
wouldn’t
say
anything – because I didn’t want to interfere.’
    I choke on the water I’m drinking. Mum comes over and thumps me on the back. ‘I’m afraid, Pearl, that when we love people we have to be supportive of their choices even when we
don’t agree with them. I knew I had to let you make your own mistakes so I kept my opinions to myself.’
    ‘No you didn’t! When have you ever kept your opinions to yourself?’
    Mum looks surprised. ‘Well, I certainly meant to.’
    ‘You called him a – let me get it right – a “self-obsessed pillock”.’
    ‘Did I?’ Mum says vaguely.
    ‘Yes. While he was
still in the room.
’
    ‘Oh. Well.’ She walks over to the fridge and opens it so that I can’t see her. ‘That was different. I’m your mother. And anyway—’ She sticks her head
round the door. ‘I was right, wasn’t I?’
    She disappears from view again and there’s some clattering from the fridge, followed by tutting and muffled swearing.
    ‘You’re still interfering even now,’ I mutter.
    She sticks her head round the fridge door again. ‘What?’
    ‘What are you
doing
?’
    ‘Why is there no food in the fridge except this . . .’ she holds up a rather flaccid-looking cucumber in one hand, ‘and this?’ With the other hand she bashes a lump of
ancient cheese against the wall and it makes the sound of stone hitting stone. A bit of it splinters off and clatters on to the tiled floor.
    I shrug. ‘Dad hasn’t been able to get to the supermarket. He’s at the hospital pretty much every night.’
    Mum is still suddenly.
    ‘At the hospital.’ She says it quietly, to herself. ‘With Rose.’ For a moment it’s as if she’s forgotten I’m there. Then she looks up at me. ‘Is
that where he is now?’
    ‘Yes.’
    She’s watching me closely. ‘And you’re not?’
    ‘No.’
    Mum’s eyes search my face. ‘Do you ever go and see her?’
    I feel myself tense. I can’t let her know the truth. She’d never forgive me, I know she wouldn’t. She always was infamous for her ability to bear a grudge.
    ‘I’ve been really busy,’ I say, not meeting her gaze. ‘Revision and everything.’
    ‘But she’s OK?’
    ‘Yes.’ I pause. ‘She’ll be out of hospital soon.’
    She puts her hand to her mouth and turns away from me. It’s a while before she can speak. When she turns round to me, her eyes are wet.
    ‘Oh, Pearl,’ she says. ‘That’s wonderful. That’s just wonderful, isn’t it?’
    I hesitate. ‘Yes.’
    ‘You don’t sound very pleased.’
    ‘I’m just tired.’
    ‘And Dad? He’s OK?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You never talk about them.’ There’s an edge to her voice. ‘Why is that, I wonder?’
    She takes out her silver lighter from her pocket and sparks a flame into life. It glows in the gloom and she holds it out towards me so it lights up my face.
    ‘You know I’m actually really tired,’ I say turning away. ‘I might just go and have a