‘Excellent.’
‘Peppa Pig World is meant to be good.’
I freeze and look up.
‘Gotcha!’
‘That’s very funny, Brendan.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get my coat, shall I?’
Chapter 53
I decide to make dinner for the kids before I have a conversation with Leo. That’s THE conversation. This doesn’t feel like a discussion any of us want to have on an empty stomach. So, as Jacob does his homework at the kitchen table, I throw together a spaghetti bolognese, not having the energy for anything fancier today.
‘Mum, shall we make Tanghulu tonight?’
‘What’s that, Jacob?’
‘Chinese candied fruit. All you need is some bamboo skewers, some pieces of kiwi, strawberries and grapes, and some sugar water, which you need to keep at 300 degrees Fahrenheit for ten minutes.’
‘Let me guess. Did you see this on YouTube?’
‘Yes! Do you want the recipe?’
‘Not really, sweetheart,’ I confess. ‘But we’ll do it another time, all right? Now crack on with that homework,’ I say, placing a lid on the bolognese as Leo appears at the door and says, to my surprise: ‘Can I talk to you, Mum?’
This is a new one – I’d put the chances of him actively seeking out a heart-to-heart with me as somewhere around the nil to one per cent mark.
‘Of course you can. Just give me a minute.’ I tip out the cooked pasta, turn the sauce off and decide to strike while the iron’s hot.
We go into the front room, away from Jacob, both preferring to keep the youngest member of the family blissfully unawareof recent events. As Leo sinks into the sofa opposite, the grave look on his face makes a feeling of deep unease run through me. A series of possibilities swipes through my head from left field. Like, he wants to leave home to join the Army. Or live in Bangkok to train in Muy Thai like he told me he planned to do at thirteen. Or, God forbid, go and live with Brendan.
‘Are you ready to talk about Saturday night?’ I ask.
But he doesn’t reply.
‘Leo?’
When he finally raises his eyes, they are already pink.
‘Oh, Leo.’
I go and sit on the sofa next to him and before he can argue, I wrap my arms around him. He doesn’t resist and from the movement of his shoulders, I think he begins to sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles. An actual apology.
‘I know.’
Eventually, he pulls away and clears his throat. But it seems that he still can’t talk, or doesn’t know what to say.
‘I imagine waking up in that hospital scared the life out of you, didn’t it?’
His mouth turns downwards and he puts his knuckles in his eye sockets to give them a hard rub.
‘Ineverwant to feel that sick again in my life.’
‘I bet you don’t.’
