Free Too Close For Comfort by Eleanor Moran Page B

strained upwards towards the buffet table, making a stack of three of the miniature sausage rolls. He mashed down on them and tried to stuff the triple-decker treat into
his mouth.
    ‘Max, no!’ said Joshua sharply. ‘That’s greedy.’
    Max’s face, a mess of crumbs and snot, started to crumble. I fell to my knees without thinking about it.
    ‘Hello, Max, I’m Mia. Who’s your friend?’ I added, pointing at his Woody doll.
    Max’s face brightened. He gulped down a lump of sausage, and stuck out Woody’s hand, making a formal introduction. ‘Woody,’ he said, as I fumbled to grip his tiny plastic
digits.
    ‘He’s a good friend to have,’ I said.
    ‘He’s my best friend,’ agreed Max earnestly. ‘My mummy says I can tell him anything in the world.’
    ‘Anything?’
    ‘Yes. He doesn’t have any other friends so if I tell him things, he never tells anyone else. Do you have a best friend?’
    ‘I think so,’ I said, looking over at Lysette. Her glass was already empty, her eyes blazing. Joshua’s face was still full of reproach. I scrambled to my feet, hoping he
didn’t think my behaviour was presumptuous.
    ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, gliding away, Max following in his wake.
    ‘You’re going to be a natural,’ said Jim, softly, and the twinge inside twisted into something tighter and harder.
    We both looked back to Lysette. I could hear her, her voice cutting through the gentle hubbub of the room.
    ‘She’d want you to know that,’ she was saying, eyes trained on Sarah’s father. ‘She’d forgiven you for all of it.’ She shrugged, grinned too widely.
‘Any problems you’d had, it was all in the past.’
    I watched her words land, his face like stone. This was a disaster: I looked at Jim, and he looked back at me, a half-smile playing on his face. He hadn’t lost it even now – that
total refusal to take anything seriously unless it was a direct threat, a herd of buffalo charging straight for him.
    ‘Jim, we’ve got to persuade her it’s time to go home.’
    People were starting to stare. I could see Kimberley perched elegantly on the oatmeal sofa casting darting looks in Lysette’s direction. Nigel sat next to her, his expression deliberately
neutral. Joshua had headed out into the garden, so he wasn’t there to smooth things over either. I couldn’t watch any longer: I slipped my way across the room to Lysette’s side,
jerking my head at Jim to follow.
    ‘She was special. I know people always say that, but . . .’
    I put my arm around Lysette, which stopped her mid-flow.
    ‘Hi,’ I said, smiling awkwardly at Sarah’s parents. ‘I’m Mia. I’m an old friend of Lysette’s. I’m so sorry to meet you in such sad
circumstances.’
    Jim was uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot, a bottle of beer in his hand. I felt like a prefect. Sarah’s parents smiled at me, their fixed grins telling me that they needed
rescuing.
    ‘She’s an old friend of my brother’s too,’ said Lysette, with a little roll of her eyes. This was painful.
    ‘I need to get to the station soon. Shall we go back to yours and I’ll get packed?’
    ‘Don’t go!’ wailed Lysette. ‘I can’t have you disappearing on me too.’ She turned to Jim. ‘No one’s going to be left.’
    I looked at Sarah’s parents, willing them to quietly back away. They didn’t.
    ‘I’m here, sis,’ said Jim.
    ‘You’re no use to anyone though, are you?’ she said, her voice a snarl.
    ‘Bit harsh,’ said Jim, comforting himself with a gulp of his beer like it was a baby’s bottle.
    ‘Let’s just call a cab, or maybe Jim can drive us. Saffron’ll be home from school soon.’
    ‘Mummy time,’ trilled Lysette, a poor parody of ‘Hammer time’, fingers snapping above her head. God, I hated drunk people. ‘She was such a good mum. You know that
though, don’t you?’
    I caught a look in Sarah’s mum’s eye, and realised in a flash why they weren’t making a speedy exit. It was