Free The Year Nick McGowan Came to Stay by Rebecca Sparrow Page A

particular, seems to be enjoying this new world order. Her response to my protests is to pour herself a sherry and say, ‘It’ll take you no time at all, Rach. Nick’s helping you.’
    So I reluctantly get up from the table, start clearing the plates and contemplate the effectiveness of stabbing myself to death with a butter knife.
    â€˜I cannot belieeeve you’ve done this again.’ I start to scrub burnt apricot chicken from the casserole dish.
    He nods. It is the nod of someone who couldn’t care less.
    â€˜Aren’t you going to say anything?’
    â€˜You missed a bit.’
    I turn and glare at Nick McGowan who is pointing with a deadpan expression to some cheese still on a fork.
    â€˜Fine.’ I snatch the fork back from him and scrub it so hard I half expect the prongs to snap.
    â€˜There.’ I thrust it back at him. ‘You’re pathetic, by the way.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Well, I’d rather be pathetic than what you are.’
    â€˜Which is?’
    â€˜Spoilt. I’ve watched you for a week and your mum does everything for you. You don’t even appreciate it.’
    I turn and stare at him. ‘No she doesn’t.’
    He rolls his eyes and says, ‘Yeah, right. She makes your lunch every day. Does all your washing and ironing. Cooks your dinner. She’s like that butler on TV – Benson.’
    â€˜Yeah? And you’re like the poster boy for Benson & Hedges. At least I’m doing something with my spare time. Like studying . All you seem to do is suck up to my parents, eat our food, smoke cigarettes and play crap music way too loud. Last night I could barely concentrate on my English oral because you were playing some absolute crap music so loud it was coming through the floorboards.’
    He looks up at me with a combined look of horror and disdain. ‘I was playing the Ramones.’
    â€˜Whatever. We have exams in a few weeks. Exams that count towards our leaving scores. I mean, your parents—’
    â€˜Par ent . Single. My mum died. So it’s just me and my dad.’
    I stare back at Nick, unsure how to continue.
    â€˜When I was two. She died when I was two. So your point is?’
    â€˜Well,’ I struggle to remember the point I was trying to make. ‘Well, your dad would be paying a fortune for you to be at this school, and your biggest concern is whether or not I do the washing-up.’
    â€˜Trust me, I have bigger concerns in my life than—’
    â€˜Oh that’s right. Like forging my parents’ signatures. Just in case I didn’t make myself one hundred per cent clear on the bus this afternoon, I’m not helping you. I’m not helping you drop down into my maths class.’
    The phone starts to ring. Elbow deep in suds, I holler, ‘ Can somebody get that, please ?’
    â€˜Coming, coming.’ Dad appears round the corner and grabs the phone. ‘It’s probably your sister.’
    â€˜Asking for more money for the third time in a week.’
    â€˜Just one moment,’ says my father to the caller. Then he turns around and says, ‘Nick, it’s Sam Wilks for you.’
    I look at Nick. But unlike last time, his face doesn’t go pale. Instead he just turns to my dad and says in a guarded tone, ‘Would you mind if I took it downstairs?’
    Mum walks in, picks up the tea towel and takes over the drying up. As I pass her the plates we talk about my upcoming English assignment. About what we’re doing in French. About Zoë’s latest run-in with Mrs Finemore. And through it all she laughs and says, ‘You girls,’ the way she does when she catches Caitlin and I plotting some ridiculous scheme. When the last plate has been dried and put away, she says, ‘Darling, will you bring Gipper in from the verandah for me?’
    â€˜Sure.’ I head out to the verandah to fetch our ten-year-old