Free The Forrests by Emily Perkins Page A

song. When it finished she clapped, solitarily. More crispy spring rolls arrived, the wrappers like stiff brown paper spiralled at the ends, and there was the judder of the tinted glass door to the street opening and a wave of cold night air and Daniel was making his way to the table, hands thrust into the pockets of his denim jacket, hair hacked short in a home-made job, scruffy and uneven.
    Evelyn flushed. Dorothy saw it. ‘Hi,’ she said, through a smile that couldn’t be controlled.
    Lee rose from her seat and embraced Daniel warmly, ruffling his new hair. He sat down next to the stepmother, thrust a hand towards her and said, ‘You must be the cop.’
    She scowled. ‘And you are?’
    ‘I instruct Andrew in the ancient art of karate.’ He gave a little bow.
    ‘Shut up, Daniel,’ Dorothy said, and made the proper introductions.
    ‘
Oh
,’ he said, staring at her waist as though it was finally dawning on him. ‘You’re
pregnant
.’ He nodded at Andrew and half stood from his chair, roughly aiming a congratulatory hand-slap that missed.
    Dorothy wondered if he was high. She said to Evelyn, fixed on her sister’s pinkness, the way she ran her fingers along her collarbone while she looked at Daniel as though nobody could see, ‘We had the scan today. Andrew wanted it to be just us.’ And then Evelyn’s sweet smile melted and Dot said, ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’m sorry.’
    ‘What are you eating?’ Daniel asked. Without thinking Dorothy leaned across the table towards him and held her chopsticksforward, the piece of gingery chicken wedged between them. Her arm outstretched. It was just for a second but she knew the table froze. Family members poised motionless, watching. Daniel held Dorothy’s gaze, his eyes dark and steady as he ate the mouthful from her chopsticks.
    ‘Did anyone go to the Queen concert?’ Andrew’s mother asked.
    Quickly Dot sank back into her chair, stared down at her bowl.
    ‘I did,’ said Michael.
    Daniel went to the bathroom and after half a minute Dorothy followed, but the hand-stained white sliding door to the men’s toilet was locked. She thought about knocking. Out of control, she felt
out of control
and wanted to shout those three words through the door. She ducked her head round the corner to see if they were visible, and realised Andrew had a clear sightline to where she stood.
    When Dot came out of the women’s bathroom Daniel was back in his seat, eating rice with a ceramic spoon. She shifted her mother along and sat next to Andrew, who looked intently at her, then away, with a sharp turn of his head.
    ‘What?’ she said.
    A chair fell on its side. Andrew’s stepmother stood and retched into the potted palm behind the table. She rounded on them, eyes wide, her lips hugely swollen. Hives bloomed from her neck up her cheeks. A terrible noise came from the back of her throat, a hiss like a feral cat, and she pushed the table with the heels of her palms, retching again. ‘Fhihh.’
    ‘Oh my god,’ said Andrew’s father, scrabbling through his wife’s handbag. ‘Where’s your EpiPen?’ He tipped the bag upside down and spilled the contents over the table – a lipstick rolled off theedge and onto the floor, a receipt floated onto a plate and absorbed the dark liquid of a beef sauce – then he snatched the pen about the size of a vivid marker and popped the lid and yanked up his wife’s skirt and jammed it through the black tights into her leg. A long look at the control-top pants. All of them held still while he counted to ten in one-thousands. The stepmother’s breathing came fast and shallow, but the internal war was calming as the epinephrine moved through her blood. Andrew’s mother offered her a glass of water and she held it with both trembling hands and drank.
    The stepmother and Andrew’s father left for the ER and the remaining parents fake-argued about the bill and drove off, stale mints from the duck-egg blue bowl at the till