Free My Husband's Wife by Jane Corry Page B

her head and then back again.
    â€˜Mamma brushes it every night! One hundred times.
Cento!
’
    â€˜Chento?’ said Ed hesitantly, as if he was tasting a strange food for the first time, and she giggled at his accent.
    No one minded when Lily suggested lunch, even though Carla said she did not like chicken because Mamma had had a pet hen in Italy whose neck had been wrung by Mamma’s father on her eighth birthday.
    Instead, Carla taught Lily and Ed how to make proper pasta instead of the hard sticks they had in the cupboard. It took a long time, but how they giggled when she showed them how to stretch it from the clothes rack that hung above the cooker.
    â€˜Stop!’ commanded Ed, his hand raised. ‘I have to sketch the two of you, just like that! Go on, Carla. Put your arm through Lily’s again.’
    â€˜Charlie has to be in the picture too.’
    As soon as she said the words, Carla knew she should have kept quiet.
    Lily’s face grew still as if someone had waved a magic wand over it. ‘How did you
really
get your toy, Carla?’
    â€˜He is not a toy.’ Carla hugged Charlie protectively. ‘He is real.’
    â€˜But how did you get him?’
    â€˜It is a secret.’
    â€˜A bad secret?’
    Carla thought of the other children in the class who had fathers and didn’t have to rely on men in hats and shiny cars. Did that not give her a right to take what they had?
    She shook her head slowly.
    â€˜You stole him, didn’t you?’
    Something told Carla there was no point in disagreeing. Instead, she silently nodded.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Everyone else has one. I didn’t want to be different.’
    â€˜Ah.’ The frown on Lily’s face ironed itself out. ‘I see.’
    Carla gripped her hand. ‘Please don’t tell.’
    There was a silence. Ed didn’t notice, his head glancing from them to the paper and back to them again.
    Lily’s sharp breathing was so loud that it sent little prickles down the skin of Carla’s arm. ‘Very well. But you must not steal again. Promise?’
    A balloon of hope rose out of that heavy grey puddle in her chest. ‘Promise.’ Then she held Charlie up so Ed could get a better view. ‘Charlie says thank you.’
    When Mamma came to knock on the door, Carla didn’t want to go. ‘Can’t I stay a bit longer?’ she pleaded.
    But Ed was smiling and had his hand around Lily’s waist. Perhaps they wanted to dance. ‘Here,’ he said, pushing a piece of paper into her hands. ‘You may have this.’
    Both Carla and Mamma gasped.
    â€˜You have captured my daughter exactly!’ Mamma said. ‘You are so clever.’
    Ed pushed his hands into his pockets and looked like Larry did when Mamma thanked him for the perfume or the flowers or whatever gift he had brought that evening. ‘It’s only a sketch. Charcoal, you know. Don’t touch or it will smudge.’
    Carla would not have dreamed of touching it. She would only look. Was this really her? This was a picture of a child – not the nearly grown-up lady she wanted to be. Even worse, Charlie wasn’t in it.
    â€˜What do you say?’ demanded Mamma.
    â€˜Thank you.’ Then, remembering the book they were reading at school about English kings and queens, she bent her knee in a sweeping curtsey. ‘Thank you for having me.’
    To her surprise, Ed burst out laughing. ‘She’s a natural. Come again any time, Carla. I will do a proper painting next time.’ His eyes narrowed as if he was measuring her. ‘Maybe acrylics.’
    And now, here they were on the bus to school, waiting for Lily.
    Perhaps she will not come
, said Charlie from his place on her lap.
Perhaps she is still cross with us because you stole me
.
    Carla stiffened. ‘Do not ever say that again. I deserved to have you. Just as you deserved to have me. Did you really want to stay