Free The Eyes of a King by Catherine Banner Page B

Stirling.”
    “You are too hard on yourself, perhaps. His praises seem to be justified.” She caught my eye. “I’m sorry,” she went on. “I see I have embarrassed you; I did not mean to.” I put my hand to my face, and she laughed out loud at me then. “Come on, Leo! It is not as if I asked you to marry me or something!”
    “Anyway, about your mother …” I said.
    “Yes,” she said. “What would you do if you were me?”
    “If I was you. Probably …” I considered it. “I’d shout and swear. And throw things.”
    She raised her eyebrows, starting to smile at that. “Not at people,” I said hastily, and she laughed out loud. “Seriously,” I said, trying to think of what she wanted to hear. “I suppose youcould … well … thank her when she offers you advice, and … keep on mentioning how helpful she is to you …”
    “So that she doesn’t find me threatening? Do you think that would work?”
    “I don’t know. You are asking the wrong person, to be honest.”
    “No—you are a good listener.” I felt guilty then, because I had been watching her, yes, but some of the time I had not been listening. “It might work.” She smiled at me. “Thanks, Leo.”
    But her smile faded, and I noticed how tired she looked. “I wish I could just leave home,” she said desperately.
    “Maybe you can, one day.”
    “Where would I get the money?” She looked, and spoke, as if she could get it right out of her pocket. But she was living on Citadel Street.
    Watching her, I wished she would smile again. I spoke before I had even thought about it. “If you get tired of being with your mother,” I said, “you can always come over to our apartment. I am there all day at the moment, and I would like to have someone to talk to. I’m not used to being at home all the time.”
    “Thank you,” she said. “I might hold you to that. I get so lonely, and none of my girlfriends live near this part of town.”
    “I’d be glad if you came round. Anytime. Bring Anselm and all.”
    “Thanks,” she said again. “Though I’d sooner leave him.” And she laughed.
    She pushed herself up off the gate, where she had been leaning. “I suppose I had better get back.” I nodded. When she reached the door, she turned. “Thank you, Leo. I really need a friend.” All I could manage was another nod. She slid round thedoor. The way that she did it, for a stupid moment I thought she was going to blow me a kiss. Maybe that was what was so enthralling about her mouth: it looked always as if she was about to blow someone a kiss. Anyway, she did not, and the door swung shut behind her. Lucky, really. I could not have coped with that.

    T
he next morning there was a knock on the door at about eleven o’clock. I glanced in the mirror, straightened out my shirt collar, ran my fingers through my hair, and went to answer it. It was Maria, of course, carrying the baby. “Hello,” I said. “Come in; my grandmother is out.” She was wearing a dressing gown.
    “Hello, Leo,” she said. “You are looking dashing this morning.” Dashing? She did it on purpose, for sure.
    “Sorry about what I’m wearing,” she said. She said this as if she had on a dress that was too old or too casual for a party, not a dressing gown in front of a boy. “Anselm threw up on my clothes—little angel—and the rest are drying.”
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “Er … sit down.” She did.
    “This is a change from sitting about by myself,” she said.
    “What—sitting about with me?”
    She laughed. “Your mother’s always out?” I asked.
    “Yes, she works at the market full-time now. At the fruit and vegetable stall.”
    “Mr. Pearson’s?”
    “How did you know?”
    “My grandmother talks to him sometimes. I don’t know him well.”
    I was trying to think of something to say before the silence drew out any longer, when the downstairs doorbell jangled loudly. “Probably my grandmother,” I said.
    “Should we answer