Free No Going Back by ALEX GUTTERIDGE Page A

the washing off the line.
    â€œSomeone sounds happy,” she called over.
    I glanced at Dad, put my finger to my lips.
    â€œIt’s just something I was reading,” I replied,thankful that she couldn’t see the book on my lap wasn’t actually open.
    â€œMaybe I can borrow it after you’ve finished,” Mum said, folding the clothes neatly into the wicker basket. “I could do with a bit of light relief.”

T EAMWORK
    G ran was being difficult with Mum. Whatever she did it wasn’t quite right and Mum’s face had taken on the flat expression of someone who is biting back home truths. Aunt Jane wasn’t helping. She kept dropping by and every time it felt as if she was checking up on us or even trying to stir up trouble.
    â€œAre you all right, Mother?” she asked Gran, in a voice overloaded with sympathy.
    â€œYes, why wouldn’t I be?” Gran replied.
    I almost liked Gran for that response. I’d expected her to complain as usual.
    â€œWell, you know,” Aunt Jane said, with a conspiratorial smile, “is Liz looking after you properly?”
    Gran’s eyes narrowed. She fingered the small gold cross that she always wore around her neck.“Of course she is. I’m being looked after very well, thank you, dear.”
    Why did I think that Aunt Jane was hoping she would say something different?
    â€œOh, good,” she replied in an unconvincing way.
    You’d think my aunt would have been happy that we were there at last, taking some of the pressure off her, but she couldn’t resist making out that we weren’t quite doing things as well as she would have done.
    â€œMother likes the marmalade put in the Wedgwood pot instead of left in the jar,” she’d say. Or, “Mother likes a flat sheet on the bed, not a fitted one, and don’t forget to do proper hospital corners. You do know how to do those, don’t you, Liz?”
    On our third night Aunt Jane popped in just as supper was being served.
    â€œMother won’t like you serving the vegetables straight from the pan, Liz,” Aunt Jane whispered in Mum’s ear, “and she likes the table to be set properly.”
    Mum nearly boiled over alongside the peas at that point. I saw her cheeks flush and her pupils dilate. She clattered a saucepan lid down on the work surface and splatted some mashed potato straight onto the plate.
    â€œLike yours, you mean?” she snapped. “I mean your table could be photographed for a magazine, couldn’t it, Jane?”
    I stifled a smile.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Gran asked, putting her crossword book down on the table. “Are you two arguing?”
    â€œNo,” Mum replied. “It’s nothing.”
    Gran looked pale, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to stop the pen rolling onto the floor. “I don’t want any upset. Not because of me.”
    Dad was sitting in the corner and raised his eyebrows. I frowned at him.
    â€œDon’t worry, Gran,” I said, taking the pen and wedging it next to the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. “Everything’s fine.”
    She pulled her cardigan closer, looked up at me as if seeking reassurance. For a brief moment I almost felt sorry for her.
    â€œI do hope so, Laura,” she murmured. “I really do.”
    It wasn’t fine though. There was this atmosphere whenever Aunt Jane was around and Dad wasn’t helping either. On the third night after he’d made his appearance, when everyone was asleep, Dad took his and Mum’s wedding photograph out of the desk drawer and placed it on Gran’s bedside table, right next to her bed.
    It must have been the first thing she saw when she woke up. She shouted so loudly I’m surprised that she didn’t wake the whole village.
    â€œLiz, Liz, come here quickly!”
    I checked my clock: 4.27 a.m. Dad was curled up in his usual place. Why did I get the impression