Ben’s always so happy with you, Evie, but he’s not like that all the time. Not with other adults. I don’t think he’d mean to put anyone off exactly, but people can tell when someone isn’t really interested in dating.’
I purse my mouth mutinously.
Paul catches sight of my expression and grins. ‘Here’s what we can do, though. The moment Uncle Ben says the least little thing about women or dating or anything like that, Amy and I will throw a party and invite all the eligible ladies we know. Will that suit, M’mselle?’
I scrunch my face up at him. ‘Maybe someone needs to make Uncle Ben think about dating first.’
Paul is pulling into a parking spot and doesn’t reply. As I stand by the boot, fumbling with my gloves, he comes around the car and puts his arm across my shoulders. ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong, Evie, but . . . Well, how about we get some romantic comedies. Will that do in terms of dropping a hint?’
I shrug and lean into his side as he starts us towards the shops. In the DVD store, we usually have a pretty lively debate about what to rent, but my heart’s not in it. My thoughts have turned to Paul and Amy and the fact that all of Adam’s things are packed away at the top of the upstairs cupboard. Looking about the house, you’d never know that Amy and Paul had had a son.
There aren’t any photos even, except the one in Paul’s wallet that I saw one day when he asked me to fetch his credit card. Amy’s one picture of Adam is in the locket she always wears: Adam is on one side, her parents on the other.
I’ve only seen inside the locket twice. The first time was just after I’d come to live with Amy and Paul, even though I’d known them for more than a year by then and stayed over several times on trial visits. I was sitting at one end of the kitchen table, fluffing some maths homework, while Paul did tax stuff at the other and Amy pottered about cooking and fiddling with the radio. I wanted to slam my book shut then throw it at the wall, and everything else on the table with it. But while I knew that, at the worst, Amy would tell me off – and it was tempting to test the theory just to be sure – my stomach lurched the second I gripped the book in preparation to hurl it. I hadn’t gone about throwing things in Fiona’s parents’ house. I wasn’t going to start with Amy and Paul, who’d only ever been good and kind to me.
So I let go of the book, crossed my arms over it and put my head down on them, heaving a sigh. A moment later, Amy was sitting down next to me, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.
‘Can I?’ she asked, smiling encouragingly as she gestured at the book.
I sat up and pushed it towards her. ‘I just don’t get it.’
‘Must run in the family. Adam always hated fractions, too,’ she said.
I could tell that she hadn’t meant to – that it had just come out – because she went very still and Paul took his feet off the spare chair.
‘What did Adam look like?’ I asked because it was the first time the subject had come up since they had brought me to live with them. They didn’t hide it, of course: I knew right from the start that they’d had a little boy who’d died. And I knew too that they didn’t like to talk about him, so I’d never asked, but I’d been waiting and waiting for one of them to mention him.
Paul and Amy exchanged a look over my head. Emotions bled so quickly across Amy’s face that, for a moment, it twitched and twisted as if she were trying to be funny. Then she took a deep breath, smoothing her hands down her arms, all the way from her shoulders to her elbows.
Because there’s still water on them , I thought, then wondered if maybe it wasn’t more than that: an attempt to push the pain away from her chest. Push it down and away, out of her fingers.
And I opened my mouth to apologise, to tell her I didn’t really need to know, that it wasn’t any of my business . . . But Amy was already getting up.
I
I purse my mouth mutinously.
Paul catches sight of my expression and grins. ‘Here’s what we can do, though. The moment Uncle Ben says the least little thing about women or dating or anything like that, Amy and I will throw a party and invite all the eligible ladies we know. Will that suit, M’mselle?’
I scrunch my face up at him. ‘Maybe someone needs to make Uncle Ben think about dating first.’
Paul is pulling into a parking spot and doesn’t reply. As I stand by the boot, fumbling with my gloves, he comes around the car and puts his arm across my shoulders. ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong, Evie, but . . . Well, how about we get some romantic comedies. Will that do in terms of dropping a hint?’
I shrug and lean into his side as he starts us towards the shops. In the DVD store, we usually have a pretty lively debate about what to rent, but my heart’s not in it. My thoughts have turned to Paul and Amy and the fact that all of Adam’s things are packed away at the top of the upstairs cupboard. Looking about the house, you’d never know that Amy and Paul had had a son.
There aren’t any photos even, except the one in Paul’s wallet that I saw one day when he asked me to fetch his credit card. Amy’s one picture of Adam is in the locket she always wears: Adam is on one side, her parents on the other.
I’ve only seen inside the locket twice. The first time was just after I’d come to live with Amy and Paul, even though I’d known them for more than a year by then and stayed over several times on trial visits. I was sitting at one end of the kitchen table, fluffing some maths homework, while Paul did tax stuff at the other and Amy pottered about cooking and fiddling with the radio. I wanted to slam my book shut then throw it at the wall, and everything else on the table with it. But while I knew that, at the worst, Amy would tell me off – and it was tempting to test the theory just to be sure – my stomach lurched the second I gripped the book in preparation to hurl it. I hadn’t gone about throwing things in Fiona’s parents’ house. I wasn’t going to start with Amy and Paul, who’d only ever been good and kind to me.
So I let go of the book, crossed my arms over it and put my head down on them, heaving a sigh. A moment later, Amy was sitting down next to me, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.
‘Can I?’ she asked, smiling encouragingly as she gestured at the book.
I sat up and pushed it towards her. ‘I just don’t get it.’
‘Must run in the family. Adam always hated fractions, too,’ she said.
I could tell that she hadn’t meant to – that it had just come out – because she went very still and Paul took his feet off the spare chair.
‘What did Adam look like?’ I asked because it was the first time the subject had come up since they had brought me to live with them. They didn’t hide it, of course: I knew right from the start that they’d had a little boy who’d died. And I knew too that they didn’t like to talk about him, so I’d never asked, but I’d been waiting and waiting for one of them to mention him.
Paul and Amy exchanged a look over my head. Emotions bled so quickly across Amy’s face that, for a moment, it twitched and twisted as if she were trying to be funny. Then she took a deep breath, smoothing her hands down her arms, all the way from her shoulders to her elbows.
Because there’s still water on them , I thought, then wondered if maybe it wasn’t more than that: an attempt to push the pain away from her chest. Push it down and away, out of her fingers.
And I opened my mouth to apologise, to tell her I didn’t really need to know, that it wasn’t any of my business . . . But Amy was already getting up.
I
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