The Binding by Jenny Alexander

‘Like you always say, it’s the one good thing about teaching.’
    What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? That’s what I was thinking. Frostbite! Why did the traffic light turn red? You would too if you had to change in the middle of the street!
    â€˜Well, I think we should be at home for at least some of the holiday because. . .’
    No, Mum—don’t!
    â€˜. . .because the children are missing their days out with their father.’
    Matt looked stunned, as if she’d slapped him in the face.
    What do you call a doctor with eight arms? A doctopus! Imagine that. An octopus in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope. He could listen to your heart at the same time as taking your pulse, feeling the glands in your neck, answering the phone, scratching his chin and writing a prescription.
    â€˜Are you sure that’s what this is about?’ Matt asked. ‘If you think the children want to go home, let’s ask them. Jack?’
    I glanced up from the computer, trying to look as if I had no idea what they’d been talking about.
    â€˜I’m looking for. . .’ An ad for cupcakes popped up on the screen. ‘I’m looking for a recipe.’
    â€˜A recipe?’
    â€˜Yes, I want to make a cake. Can you show me how?’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Mum. ‘We can do it later, when Matt and I have finished talking.’
    I didn’t like them talking. I didn’t want them to go back to talking.
    â€˜But I have to do it right now.’
    â€˜Why? What’s the rush?’
    I felt like I was running into trouble, same as when you’re dribbling up the field, eyes on the ball, not noticing you’re heading straight for a defender.
    â€˜I need it for later on.’
    â€˜You need it?’
    â€˜Yes. . .’ I glimpsed Tressa in the doorway out of the corner of my eye.
    â€˜Why?’ said Mum.
    I had to have a reason and, come to think of it, I did have a reason. I needed to get some food and I didn’t want to steal it, especially when Mum and Matt were arguing.
    â€˜We’re having a feast.’
    As soon as the words were out, it was like the huge birds came swooping down again. My heart raced and my stomach lurched, but it was too late to run away.
    Mum got up with a sigh. She wanted to keep on talking to Matt nearly as much as I wanted her not to. I Googled ‘cakes’ and clicked on a recipe site, so I had a coffee sponge up on the screen when she came over. I tilted the laptop towards her.
    â€˜No need for that!’ she said. ‘It’s very simple. Eggs, flour, sugar and marge—we’ve got everything we need in the cupboard.’
    There were little spills of flour on the shelf around the bag. Really, Milo—flour? Mum absent-mindedly wiped them up and then went on to wipe up the sprinkles around the sugar.
    These days, she said, you would use the food-mixer to make a cake, but as there wasn’t one in Jean’s house, it was a good thing she remembered how to do it by hand, the way her own mother had taught her.
    We weighed out some sugar and marge and took turns beating them together with a wooden spoon. Mum could do it really fast, but the spoon didn’t seem to work for me. I felt slow and clumsy.
    We measured the flour and beat the eggs in a jug, and added them bit by bit, alternately, until the mixture was thick and creamy. Then Mum divided it between two tins and let me lick the bowl. She askedme if it was someone’s birthday and that was why we were having a feast, but I said no and changed the subject.
    â€˜What can we decorate it with?’
    â€˜We’ll need some icing sugar and perhaps some sweets from the shop. You could ask Matt to pop down there with you while I stay and watch the oven. He loves going out in all this drizzle and rain.’
    Milo was having a snooze on the bedroom floor among his cars, probably worn out from the