Free In the Bag by Jim Carrington

decisions. Then you can be a vegetarian or a vegan or a fruitarian or a Rastafarian or whatever you like.’
    Kate sighs. She pushes the meat towards the edge of her plate, so that it looks like it might fall off on to the table. ‘I’m not eating it,’ she says. ‘You can’t make me.’
    Mum shakes her head and picks up her knife and fork again. ‘Fine,’ she says.
    There’s silence for a while. Everyone sits and eats. Everyone except Kate, who just kind of pokes her food around her plate.
    After a while Granny stops eating and looks over at Kate. ‘Come on, love,’ she says. ‘Eat up, won’t you?’
    Kate doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look up.
    ‘You need meat. Your body needs the protein,’ Granny says.
    Kate still doesn’t look up.
    Dad stops eating. He looks at Kate. ‘Your grandmother is speaking to you, Kate,’ he says. ‘Stop being rude, please.’
    Kate sighs. She slowly lifts her head and looks at Granny. ‘I’m a vegetarian, Granny,’ she says. ‘Or at least I would be if they let me.’ Kate nods her head towards Mum and Dad.
    Granny looks her in the eyes. ‘Look, Katie,’ she says. ‘I understand why you’d want to be a vegetarian. I’ve seen all the TV programmes with the chickens and the pigs and what have you. It’s appalling when they keep them in cramped conditions. But not all animals are kept like that. And your dad bought this from the butcher. It’s free-range.’
    Kate tuts. She says something under her breath, something like, ‘You don’t understand.’
    Granny pretends not to notice. ‘Besides, love,’ she says, ‘you’re a growing girl. You need a balanced diet. You need protein and iron and –’
    ‘I’m not stupid,’ Kate snaps at Granny. ‘Meat isn’t the only kind of food that has protein and iron, you know.’
    ‘Right,’ Dad says in a raised voice, like he’s gonna shout at Kate. But he doesn’t shout. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. And when he finally does open his mouth, he just says, ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’
    And we don’t talk about it any more.
    In fact, we don’t talk about anything. The only noise in the dining room is the clunk of knives and forks on plates and the disgusting crunching noise as Granny eats a bit of crackling. The sound makes me cringe. I hate other people’s food noises.
    A minute or so later, Granny puts her knife and fork down, has a gulp of wine. She puts her wine glass down carefully. ‘There was a big fuss by those new flats when we drove into Fayrewood,’ she says.
    Mum picks up her wine glass and takes a sip and nods. ‘We drove past yesterday. Awful, isn’t it?’
    Granny nods. ‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘Police cars and all sorts, weren’t there, Robert?’
    Dad nods. He doesn’t say anything till he finishes his mouthful. ‘Yes,’ he says eventually. He turns to Mum before he carries on talking. ‘There are more camera crews down there now, Bev. A real scrum of them.’
    ‘Really?’ Mum says. ‘I wonder why that is.’
    Granny and Dad both shake their heads.
    ‘It’ll be what I said,’ Dad says. ‘They’ll have found out it’s an insurance job. You wait.’
     
    I spend the afternoon in my room, trying to start some revision by drawing up a revision timetable. Downstairs, Granny’s watching a documentary about elephants or something while she does the ironing. She does it every week, to lend a hand, she says. Dad’s in the garage, trying to tidy it up. And Mum’s in the living room with Granny, yakking. Kate’s in her room doing her homework.
    At about half four, there’s a knock on my door.
    ‘Come in,’ I say. I’m lying on the floor highlighting the different subjects in fluorescent pens.
    Granny pokes her head round the door. ‘I’m off now, Joe, love,’ she says.
    I look round and smile at her. ‘OK,’ I say.
    She walks into my room. ‘Why don’t you work at your desk?’ she says. ‘You can’t do your homework on the floor.’
    I