Page 19 of Playing for Keeps

“I thought Napoleon was the foundation of education,” I said sweetly.

Mum laughed; Dad sighed. “I’ve just finished the most marvellous book,” he said, pointing towards the stack of books beside his chair. “On Napoleon. Did you know he wrote a romance novel?”

“Napoleon?”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. Romance. Utterly dreadful, of course, but the fact that he attempted it…” He spread his hands, awestruck.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s absurd. Can you imagine Napoleon dictating love letters between fictional characters?”

“I can,” Dad said firmly. “And I applaud it. Shows depth.”

Mum rolled her eyes. “Shows that men should sometimes stick to battles and leave romance to people with hearts.”

“Rubbish. If more men wrote romance, the world would be better off.”

“Then maybe you should try one yourself,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Dad grumbled again. “I read romance. That’s enough.”

I’d seen it all my life: Mum poking, Dad puffing, both of them secretly loving it. It always made me feel warm inside.

“And what about you, Mum?” I asked, grinning. “Any new projects?”

Her expression shifted to one of mischievous pride. “Kintsugi,” she announced.

Dad groaned. “She’s started breaking pots,” he said flatly.

“Not on purpose,” Mum protested. Then, after a pause, she amended, “Not always on purpose.”

“You’ve smashed three this week.”

“I’m learning! It’s all about accepting flaws, instead of hiding them. Golden seams, beauty in the brokenness.” She leaned closer to the camera again, conspiratorially. “I may have helped a couple of mugs break, just so I could practise. But that’s in the spirit of things.”

Dad shook his head. “Spirit of lunacy. They look like they’ve been sneezed on by a dragon with a sinus infection.”

“They’re beautiful,” Mum said loftily. “Emma, you’ll see when you’re home next time. They’ll be worth fortunes one day.”

I laughed so hard my tea sloshed in its cup. “I believe you, Mum. Whole museums will come calling.”

“You were always my favourite,” she said smugly.

Dad muttered, “She’s your only one,” but he was smiling when he said it.

For a moment it was just the three of us, and I felt both far away and completely at home.

“Anyway,” I said, putting my cup down. “I need to get ready soon. I’m going to a play tonight.”

Mum’s face lit. “A play! Tell me everything. With whom?”

“A colleague from university. Simon.”

Mum’s grin turned sly. “Is this a date?”

I groaned. “Mum.”

“Well?”

“No,” I said firmly. “Simon is gay. And even if he weren’t, we’re just friends. He’s been very welcoming. We have a lot in common. But it isn’t – no.”