‘You won’t need me to go to that though?’ I said, my statement turning into a question as my mother narrowed her eyes.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want to go to a summer fête with Aunt Carole and Uncle Bryan?’
‘Saturday night, all the hoopla kicks off,’ she went on, not even dignifying me with a response. ‘Sunday morning it’ll be bacon butties for the hangers-on then fuckity bye to the lot of them. Your father has invited all of Harford and half the publishing industry so you can both consider yourselves on call all weekend.’
‘As wonderful as that sounds, we’ve still got Sanjit’s parents staying with us while they have their new kitchen fitted,’ William said, snapping his fingers with disappointment. ‘I might not be availableallweekend.’
‘Sanjit’s parents sound like a Sanjit problem,’ replied Mum, spearing her son with a pointed look. ‘I will need you here.’
Whatever he mumbled under his breath, he had the sense to keep completely inaudible. Thirty-eight or not, our mother was still terrifying.
‘Speaking of the invitees—’ I began but, before I could finish my sentence, William shot up out of his seat, car keys in hand.
‘Would you look at the time!’ he exclaimed. ‘Better get back, Sanjit’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘Are you sure he won’t be wondering how much longer he can enjoy the peace and quiet without you stomping around the house?’ I enquired sweetly.
‘If I get a call from the station, I’ll tell them to keep the bag, shall I?’ he replied.
‘Bag?’ Dad asked, blinking at me from behind his glasses. ‘What bag?’
‘Never mind, doesn’t matter,’ I said as William planted a kiss on Mum’s cheek then patted Dad’s shoulder onthe way out. ‘Unlike the fact you’ve invited CJ to your party.’
‘Only Saturday night,’ Mum said with a kindness that bordered on condescension. ‘Don’t overreact, Sophie. I know things didn’t work out between the two of you but we couldn’t exactly invite all your dad’s other authors and not CJ. You can survive for one Saturday night.’
Dad cleared his throat.
‘Well,’ he started, searching for the non-existent right words. ‘As it happens, he called this morning to ask if it might be all right if he possibly popped up early. Since he’s coming all the way from London.’
‘How early?’ I asked.
‘Tomorrow. For the barbecue.’
‘Tomorrow for the barbecue,’ I repeated flatly.
‘And, I didn’t think it would be a problem since the two of you stayed such good friends—’
‘According to who?!’
‘But he asked if he could stay here,’ Dad finished, as meek as the world’s meekest mouse on International Meek Mouse Day. ‘Apparently the pub is full. And I told him he could.’
Mum squinted at me from across the room as I recalibrated my definition of Worst Day Ever. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone very pale. Is it your blood sugar?’
‘I think I might go to bed,’ I replied, each word tight and controlled. If I didn’t watch exactly what I said, there was every chance I would scream so loudly, every window in the house would shatter into a million pieces, and that would probably take the shine off Dad’s big weekend.
‘You’re in the back bedroom,’ Mum called as I sloped down the hallway to retrieve my suitcase. ‘Carole and Bryan wanted the en suite and I thought it better to keep CJ downstairs, out your way.’
‘Appreciate it. See you both in the morning,’ I called back, concentrating all my energy on putting one foot in front of the other. There was no fight left in me. For now.
‘Told you she wouldn’t mind,’ I heard Dad say as I trudged upstairs to my designated bedroom with my suitcase. ‘CJ said it would be fine.’
‘Hugh,’ Mum replied. ‘I love you but you’re an idiot.’
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
