Free No Place For a Man by Judy Astley Page B

awfully well there,’ Angie stammered as she poured herself a cup of tea from a tiny silver pot. ‘It’s just, that, we felt Emily might need a bit of extra help to achieve her potential, you know, and well, we could afford it. And you must have noticed,’ she lowered her voice as if the kitchen had filled up with people who’d disagree. ‘Some of the behaviour, and the things some of the girls wear, and so young …’
    Zoe smiled, no longer worried that she’d blurt out anything about Emily’s pregnancy. Angie lived in a total fantasy land. Zoe would rather slit her wrists than tell her what really went on. But it did mean she and Emily would have to deal with things by themselves.

Five
    ‘… and sometimes the friends they bring home resemble strayed pets: slightly lost-looking, underfed and a bit grubby round the edges. Always they’re in need of a good meal. If you offer one the answer will be a decided ‘no’ as if they’d prefer starvation to the terrifying prospect of sitting at your table and being cross-examined about their GCSE options, but later when you’re looking in the fridge and there’s no sign of the last bit of Cheddar and all the yoghourts …’
    But there were always exceptions.
    ‘Mum! I’m back and …’ Natasha crashed into the house, pulling with her the boy who’d been in the house a few days before ‘… what’s for supper and is there enough for Tom?’ Feeling almost guilty, for it had been this strange boy Tom she’d had in mind as she wrote, Jess quickly closed down the computer. Even so, she could feel her face going pink, as if his unfathomable blue eyes could read behind the darkened screen.
    ‘Hello Tom,’ she said. ‘You’re very welcome to stay. It’s only a sort of posh sausage thing but there’s plenty of it.’ Tom grinned at her. He had, she thought, one of those smiles that looks as if it’s been worked on. At some stage in his young life he must have spent time gazing in the mirror and perfecting the ‘guaranteed to charm’ version. She hoped it wasn’t so calculated when he used it on Natasha.
    ‘Great, oh and Tom that’s my dad,’ Natasha said, hauling Tom out of the room before Matthew, whose steps she could hear approaching from the kitchen, got the chance to say or do anything dad-like and embarrassing.
    ‘Where are you off to?’ Jess heard them clattering up the stairs and called after them.
    ‘Only my room!’ Natasha yelled back. ‘Got CDs to play!’
    ‘“Only my room!”’ Matthew looked at Jess. ‘Is that OK do you think?’
    She shrugged. ‘Well, we let her go up there with her female friends.’
    ‘Isn’t that different?’
    ‘It depends on whether you trust her or not.’
    ‘It’s not her …’
    ‘No, I know, I know. Well, they won’t do anything with us around the house. Though we could suddenly find there are things we need from upstairs, that should unsettle them.’
    ‘I do need to phone Micky about tomorrow, I’ll do it from the bedroom.’
    ‘Tomorrow?’ Jess queried, but Matt was already halfway up the stairs.
    In the kitchen Jess hunted through her shelf of cookery books, took the sausages out of the fridge andpoured olive oil into a pan. Even with Tom there would be more than enough: she was still catering, mentally, for Oliver. She missed having him around. He enjoyed cooking and ever since he was old enough to be trusted with a knife he’d been a comfortable kitchen-companion, never getting in the way and being happy to do the boring, mundane necessities like peeling potatoes and grating cheese. She smiled to herself as she remembered his confusion over the term ‘ sous-chef ’ as Matthew had nicknamed him when he was about eight. He’d interpreted it as ‘Sioux-chef’ and asked her if she’d get him a full Indian brave headdress (or native American , she reprimanded herself, in these PC days).
    Matt came back into the kitchen, grinning as if Micky had told him a joke too filthy to share.