“Pretty sure Autumn won’t forget she’s biracial in a hurry either,” replied Tom, who had abandoned anger in favour of withering sarcasm. “But somehow I still manage to avoid treating her like she’s the second coming of Jesus, Elvis, and Einstein all at once.”
There were some fires that Oliver would always put his hand back into. “I think,” he said, “we’re clearly all feeling things very strongly right now and—”
But before Brian could tell him to shut up again, we were interrupted by an almighty crash from upstairs.
Chapter 36
The guests stayed in the dining room, presumably still tearing each other apart over things that were mostly the fault of fate, society, or nobody. Oliver and I hurried upstairs to see what had happened this time.
The noise had come from the bathroom, and while normally we’d be extremely cautious about bursting in on anybody—especially Jaz—in that context, the door was ajar and the crash had been loud enough that it sounded like a real emergency.
And for a moment, it looked like one. A proper call-an-ambulance emergency, because the bathroom was spattered red like we were in the intro sequence to an episode ofCSI: Havering.
But Jaz didn’t look hurt. Shocked, yes. Quite wet, yes. But not hurt. Also her hair was clipped back and about two-thirds damp and brightly coloured, so even without the skills of a crime scene specialist, I had a pretty clear idea of what had happened.
Which didn’t stop Oliver asking, in his most authoritative tone, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I just thanked the parenting gods he hadn’t ended withyoung lady.
“Roasting a chicken,” replied Jaz. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Honestly, what it looked like Jaz was doing was impromptu redecorating. It wasn’t just that there was red hair dye on the walls, floor, and sink; it was that our marble bathroom organiser hadsomehow fallen into the toilet, where, on account of being marble, it had cracked the bowl, meaning ominous beads of slightly reddish water were now forming on the outside of our recently cleaned loo and there were little chips of white stuff all over the place that could have come from the bowl, the lid, or the bathroom organiser itself.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “it ha—”
Trouble was, Oliver wasn’t in a ‘Don’t worry, it ha—’ mood. “Whatpossessedyou to try dyeing your hair without asking us, without supervision, usingourbathroom supplies, in the middle of a dinner party?”
I’d expected Jaz to shrug, but she didn’t. And honestly, that slightly scared me. “Fancied a change.”
“Look”—Oliver was giving real rubbing-the-puppy’s-nose-in-it energy—“at the damage you’ve caused.”
Jaz looked at it. “Get a plumber.”
“Is that all you can say?”
I’d seen malicious compliance faces before, but Jaz’s was practised to the point of exceptional. “Get a plumber. Please.”
Oliver opened his mouth. Then Oliver closed his mouth. Then Oliver opened his mouth.
“Going to send me to my room again?”
Oliver said nothing.
“Already grounded, so you can’t do that.”
I could see Oliver taking deep, steadying breaths.
“You gonna hit me?” Jaz smiled, although whether that was because she knew it was off the table or because she didn’t, I wasn’t sure.
“Certainly not,” said Oliver very firmly. “But you are going to clean all of this up. By yourself.”
Jaz looked at Oliver like she could not imagine hating anybody more. “Course I fucking am. I know how to fucking clean up after myself.”
“Language, Jasmine.”
“You forgotten that I’ve heard how your friends talk?”
“What’s appropriate for adults isn’t appropriate for children.”
