‘So-called protests about immigrants,’ says Tommy. ‘Just idiots looking for the chance to kick off.’
‘I heard that it was both sides taking part, wasn’t it?’ says Mum.
‘Like, Protestants and Catholics?’ I ask. My face burns as everyone turns to me. I don’t really know what I’m talking about.
Sheila tuts. ‘Aye, it really bonded the racists on both side of the community. Would break your heart. Those poor people, burned out of their houses, and…’ She looks at Fiona, whose eyes are wide. ‘Well, anyway. Don’t want to worry you. Just a load of eejits spoiling for a fight. Takes nothing to be nice, right, love?’
Fiona nods. ‘Yeah, you gotta be nice.’ She narrows her eyes at me and I frown.
What is up with this kid?
Tommy changes the subject to talk about the garden and how me and Cormac can help. I agree immediately and Cormac groans.
‘That was all gorgeous, thank you,’ I say. ‘Can I wash up?’
Sheila beams. ‘Well, now, I could get used to this. Hear that, Cormac?’
Cormac dead-eyes me. ‘Nice one, cuz. That’s me doomed.’ He smiles broadly at his mum and adopts an awful cockney accent.‘M’lady, would you be so kind as to pass your plate so we may take it to the scullery?’ He offers a little bow.
Tommy shakes his head. ‘You’re away in the head.’
Cormac curtsies. ‘So sorry, m’lord. Please don’t lock me in the coal shed again. It’s ever so cold and the rats nip me bits.’
Fiona cackles and both mums laugh. Tommy doesn’t.
‘Right, let’s go, wench.’ Cormac taps my shoulder. ‘Got to show you how to scrub the pots and not catch scurvy!’
I can’t help grinning as we take the stuff to the kitchen. It smells of stew and tea and home. There are jars of pasta and rice on the wooden counters and a tin bread bin where I know the chocolate biscuits are kept.
The scent of lemon infuses the air as Cormac fills the sink and I scrape plates. ‘Feeling better?’ he asks.
I was hoping this wouldn’t come up again. ‘Oh, what, earlier? Yeah, was tired, I think.’
‘I was worried maybe you do actually have scurvy – though I’m not sure what the symptoms are.’
I snort. ‘Me neither.’
He starts washing the bowls and I grab a tea towel from the handle of the oven.
‘So, what’re you doing today?’
I take a bowl from him. ‘Nothing. You?’
‘Going to my mate Paul’s house. His parents are away for a few weeks so we’re having a barbecue and a cheeky wee…’ He mimes a drink. ‘Wanna come? It’s just round the corner, number 87.’
My shoulders tense as they always do when drinking is mentioned. ‘Maybe.’
‘Come on, they’re all sound. Can be, like, your big welcome to the estate.’ He looks over. ‘It’d be good to hang out, and I want you to meet someone. There’s this girl, Meg.’
My stomach takes an ice bath. I’ve been dreading this. Absolutely dreading this. ‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, she’s like you. Into books and art and stuff.’
That’s my thing, is it?
‘She’s kinda hot too.’
I focus on drying the bowl, removing every piece of moisture from its atoms. ‘Oh, right. I’m not really looking for anything right now.’
