‘Twice, that’s not... You could give him another chance.’
‘I am. We’re going to see a football match next week.’
‘Football, you!’ said Dad, looking up in surprise.
I shrugged. ‘Got to try new things. Thought I’d give it a whirl. We’re going to the Emirates Stadium to see—’
‘You’re going to see Arsenal.’ Dad’s face had the same meaty bone expression as Gram and Midge’s.
‘So you do you like him then?’ chipped in Mum.
‘I don’t know. The timing’s not been great, what with my arm and—’
‘Sweetheart,’ she cried. ‘How is it? Let me have a look.’
Mum was an alternative health and wholefood freak, so we’d grown up on a diet of lentils and pearl barley. Peeling off the dressing, I resigned myself to Mum’s experimental prodding.
‘Vitamin E oil. That’s what you need.’ She stood up and crossed the kitchen to the medicine cupboard, which Dad referred to as ‘Mrs Quack’s Cure-All Medicine Trunk’. I could hear bottles clinking as she rummaged.
‘I’m sure I’ve got some from the time your father stood on the bread knife.’ When she disapproved, he always became my father.
Poor Dad rolled his eyes.
‘I didn’t stand on the bread knife.’
‘Really, dear. So how did you get stabbed in the heel?’
‘My foot slipped on the knife block when I was painting the ceiling.’
Mum tutted. ‘Serves you right. You should have used the decorating stool instead of clambering all over my kitchen units.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Dad sighed winking at me.
There was a triumphant squawk. ‘I knew I had some. Come here, Olivia. We’ll do it over the sink. It’s messy stuff.’
Arguing with her would have been totally pointless. If it came from the health food shop, it was a magic elixir. The minute she took the lid off the small glass bottle, the smell almost overpowered me — a combination of rotting mushrooms and seaweed.
‘That smells awful, Mum,’ I complained, screwing my face up as she massaged the oil around the wound.
‘Do you want a nasty scar? This will help it heal. Trust me, I’m not a doctor.’
‘I know that,’ I said teasing her, but Mum’s attention was elsewhere.
She has bat ears, probably due to years of listening out to make sure Kate, Ben and I all got home safely in our teenage years. ‘John, there’s someone at the door.’
* * *
Bloody hell. It was Bill. Could my life get any more complicated?
‘Hello, Mrs M. Hope you don’t mind me popping in?’ Bill said with a grin, as he ambled in to give Mum a kiss on each cheek. He is the sort of person you can take anywhere and from Mum’s point of view, perfect potential son-in-law material.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s always lovely to see you, but I’m afraid you’ve missed Kate. She’s gone back.’
I shot a sharp glance at Bill but his gaze over the top of Mum’s head was completely innocent. Too innocent.
‘No, no. I... em... thought she’d probably gone back. No. I was passing. Yes, just passing. Thought I could, you know, save a phone call.’ He turned to Dad. ‘What, er... yes... er, what time does the game start tomorrow?’
I turned back to the sink to hide my face. Poor Bill. He was so sweet. Although sweet probably isn’t the word most people would use for someone verging on six foot five, with the breadth to match.
