Free Eggshell Days by Rebecca Gregson

identity of her father. He could almost see her think bubble: I’ve got Niall, so what’s the big deal?
    His own think bubble, when Kat pushed him into considering their own child, sometimes read more or less the same. Maybe not the best thought to share with her, but possibly a better one than the other that often possessed him.
    He had known Emmy for nearly fourteen years. To break it down, that would be two years of young love and endless sex, two months of blinding panic, one year of grief, another two of emptiness, ten quick minutes of reunion and a remaining eight years of pretty perfect platonic friendship. They were doing quite well, considering. Just as he was wondering what the next three months might bring, a blond wig came flying through the air.
    â€œHey, that’s enough, you lot.”
    The children screamed with laughter and clattered on.
    â€œYou’re not related to Barbara Cartland by any chance, are you, Em?” Niall caught the missile and spun it round his fist but the tight curls stayed perfectly in place.
    â€œIt’s quite possible,” Emmy said. “Is she or isn’t she?”
    He held the synthetic hair up to the light. “Oh, definitely, without a doubt.”
    â€œIs she or isn’t she what?” came an accusing voice from the large oak door. It was Kat, and when Kat heard the word “she,” she always assumed it referred to her.
    â€œWearing hairspray,” Emmy said, turning round and feeling guilty for no reason.
    â€œWhat? Who?” Humorless was one adjective you could use to describe her. Beautiful, rude, talented and demanding were four others.
    â€œNo, you’ve come in too late. The joke’s gone.” Niall dismissed her inquiry with a wave of his hand. “How are your legs? Ripped raw?”
    â€œSmooth as a baby’s butt, thanks.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you wait until you got back to London?” Emmy asked, a little too accusingly. Asha’s crying wasn’t the only reason she’d taken the children outside. Sita and Kat had started making girly attempts at bonding.
    â€œSita’s very good at waxing, actually. You should let her do you. Apparently, it makes even more difference if you’re dark.”
    â€œOr you could just say Em’s got legs like a caveman.”
    â€œUg.”
    â€œI didn’t mean that. It’s just that I’m so fair that you can’t really tell when I need a wax, can you, Niall? So I don’t know why I waste my money.”
    â€œSita charged you? Jaysus!”
    Both women laughed, although Emmy’s was the more generous sound, full in the knowledge that the dig was at Kat, not her.
    â€œCan you give us a hand with this bike?” Maya shouted.
    â€œNot me. These suede trousers cost a fortune to clean,” Kat said, taking a step back.
    â€œAll dry cleaning an individual expense, rule number twenty-three,” Niall replied. He didn’t bother to suggest she go back and change them. He knew why she was wearing them: they made her bottom look like a peach. Why was it, then, that he felt more like sinking his teeth into the plumper pear that was Emmy’s? She had on a pair of checked surfy things that looked as if they might once have been a curtain, and he could see her flesh gently rippling underneath. The last time he had made love to her, she’d been like a rake. He wouldn’t mind seeing what she was like a couple of stone heavier.
    â€œNiall, I want you to come back to the house with me,” Kat carried on. “I need you for something.”
    â€œCan’t it wait?”
    â€œHave you forgotten that I’m going back to London tomorrow?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOr that you’re going to Ireland next weekend?”
    â€œSo? I’m coming back, y’know. It’s only another passin’-from-purgatory moment.”
    â€œYou’re going to Ireland?” Emmy asked. She didn’t want