Playing Grace by Hazel Osmond Page A

Dad,’ but he was rushing on as if, like a skater on thin ice, moving forward quickly would prevent everything around him from cracking.
    ‘Have to set it right, love. Couldn’t look them in the face if it’s not. Don’t want to have to skulk about when they get back, trying to avoid them. That’s not—’
    ‘When they get back, Dad? They’re in Copenhagen for seven days. There’s no possibility that you’ll still be here then, is there?’
    ‘We-ell …’ Her father was sliding his West Ham mug towards himself as if he needed a talisman. ‘We-ell, I wouldn’t bank on it, Grace. I might be here for a while.’ He held his hand up. ‘And don’t ask me again what’s going on between your Mum and me. It’s her that needs to do the explaining. She’s the one at fault.’ He lifted his chin. The bluster was back. ‘I’m telling you, Grace, things have been done. Terrible things.’
    The phone on the worktop suddenly sprang into life and her father sat down again.
    ‘It’ll be her,’ he whispered, his dark eyes going back and forth from the phone to Grace. ‘Heard us talking about her.’
    ‘Dad, if she was that telepathic she wouldn’t have to use the phone. She’ll be checking to see you’re safe.’
    ‘Taken her time about it.’ He shut his mouth with the kind of precision that suggested he wasn’t going to open it again for a while, so Grace stood and picked up the phone. Telepathy was one of the many off-world skills her mother laid claim to, but presumably the connection between north and south of the river was weak tonight.
    ‘He’s there, isn’t he?’ Her mother sounded, this time ofthe morning, more like a female member of the Kray family than the boho, vaguely ethereal persona she normally adopted.
    ‘Good morning, Mum. Yes, he is.’
    ‘Knew he would be. What’s he told you?’
    ‘Nothing.’ She saw that her father was pretending he wasn’t straining to hear what was being said at the other end of the line. ‘So perhaps you’d like to enlighten me, Felicity? I mean, I know you two like to fall out now and again, your Yin versus his Yang. Something to keep your relationship spiced up.’ Grace had to work hard to keep the wince off her face. ‘It doesn’t normally involve him decanting his possessions into a neighbour’s van, though. So come along, someone owes me an explanation. I’m the one with my flat full of half your house.’
    ‘I’m not explaining anything to anyone.’ Her mother’s voice was wearing its righteous indignation. ‘Your father is in the wrong. Sooooo in the wrong. The things he’s accused me of; the tone he’s used. He should be down on his knees begging me to forgive him. I’ve barely been able to get up off the sofa to ring you.’
    As always, that tone of voice managed to reach down into Grace and pull up handfuls of irritation.
    ‘I’m sorry you’ve been laid low by this,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d better go and find if there’s an all-night shamanwho can get your chakras realigned? Or massage your inner being?’
    ‘Don’t you take that snitty tone with me, Grace Surtees. And don’t you take his side.’
    ‘I’m not taking anyone’s side, except my own. Come on, Mum, you normally can’t wait to spill every single detail of your life.’
    There was a pause and Grace imagined Felicity trying to think of a suitable come-back. On his chair, her father moved uneasily from one buttock to the other.
    ‘I am going to ignore that, Grace,’ her mother said finally. ‘I am going to ignore it because I know you can’t help being jealous of the way I’m in touch with my emotions. The way I feel deeply instead of hiding things away in boxes …’
    ‘Talking of boxes …’
    There was a whump as her mother slammed the phone down.
    ‘What she say?’ her dad asked.
    ‘Nothing that made any sense. So no change there.’
    Grace returned the phone to its base. She had intended to quiz her father some more, but it seemed as if he