Free The Chinese Egg by Catherine Storr Page A

asked.
    He said. “Who’s Paul?”
    â€œOh! You did. He’s. . .” the door bell rang. She went out and Stephen heard her open the door and other voices in the hall. The next moment Chris appeared in the doorway. She wore the white skirt and pink top. She was speaking to Vicky over her shoulder and over the shoulder of the boy immediately behind her. She said, “Paul’s got a place at York! Isn’t it astronomic? Hullo, Stephen! This is Paul.”
    Paul was dark. He had a clever face, with lines of humour round his eyes and mouth. The expression, Stephen saw now, was one he’d often noticed on the faces of people whose childhoodhad been affected by illness; people with deformed hips, people partly paralysed, people who have been kept much in bed; a look of being older than their contemporaries, of having learned to live with pain. Paul’s shoulders were not quite straight, and he walked into the kitchen with a slight but definite limp.
    Vicky and Stephen did not look at each other. Chris, finding chairs for herself and Paul, and talking, made it unnecessary for them to do anything but sit.
    â€œIsn’t it super? I knew he would. I always said they’d take him once they’d seen him. It’s his first choice too, that’s what’s so fabulous. None of the other boys got their first choice straight off like that.”
    â€œIt isn’t all that certain. Depends on my ‘A’ levels,” Paul said. He had an attractive, quiet voice and very bright dark eyes.
    â€œWe all know you’re going to get nothing but A’s.”
    â€œFor goodness’ sake, touch wood when you say things like that,” Paul urged.
    Chris touched the kitchen table. “But I don’t need to. I just know. You’re not the only ones to know what’s going to happen,” she said teasing, to Vicky. It was an unfortunate remark. She saw Vicky’s face change, and Stephen was looking cross, which meant embarrassed. She said quickly, “Any tea in the pot, Vicky? I’ll get the cups if there is.”
    Vicky said, gratefully, “I’ll fill it up,” and went back to the kettle.
    â€œOnly it ought to be champagne,” Chris said, clattering the china and the spoons more than usual to mask the awkwardness. She put plates in front of Paul and herself and said, “Mum’s Christmas cake! You are showing off!”
    â€œShe won’t mind. We often have it when people come in,” Vicky said.
    â€œIf you hadn’t got it out for Steve, I’d have for Paul,” Chris said comfortably, cutting generously.
    â€œIf that’s for me I’ll only have half,” Paul said.
    â€œMm. It’s come out bigger than I meant. Never mind. Let’s share it,” Chris said, giving him rather more than half.
    â€œIt’s the best cake I’ve ever had,” Stephen said.
    â€œPaul knows. He’s had it before,” Chris said.
    Stephen, feeling suddenly out of place, a stranger among people who knew each other better than he knew any of them, coming from a different background, without the signals which they could pick up from each other to tell them what was going on, said to Paul, in what he heard miserably was what Chris would call his “posh” voice, “Sorry, I haven’t congratulated you yet.”
    Paul looked at him without answering for a moment and then said, “Thanks. But I’m not there yet. I’ll wait for the champagne till I’ve finished with my ‘A’s’.” He didn’t sound unfriendly, but Stephen thought he remained on his guard.
    â€œIsn’t it a good sign they’ve offered you a place even if it’s provisional?”
    â€œBetter than if they’d said they wouldn’t have me at any price,” Paul agreed.
    â€œWhat subjects are you taking?” Stephen asked. He didn’t want Vicky to start talking about what had just