Whiteout by Ken Follett Page A

out: “Ned, do you know where tissue paper is kept?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I don’t.”
    â€œStupid question,” Miranda muttered, and she began opening drawers.
    She eventually found some at the back of a cupboard of sewingmaterials. She had to kneel on the tiled floor to pull the packet from under a box of ribbons. It was an effort to reach into the cupboard, and she felt herself flush. This is ridiculous, she thought. I’m only thirty-five, I should be able to bend without effort. I must lose ten pounds. No roast potatoes with the Christmas turkey.
    As she took the packet of tissue paper from the cupboard, she heard the back door of the house open, then a woman’s footsteps. She looked up to see Jennifer.
    â€œWhat the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jennifer said. She was a small woman, but managed to look formidable, with her high forehead and arched nose. She was smartly dressed in a tailored coat and high-heeled boots.
    Miranda got to her feet, panting slightly. To her mortification, she felt perspiration break out on her throat. “I was looking for tissue paper.”
    â€œI can see that. I want to know why you’re in my house at all.”
    Ned appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Jenny, I didn’t hear you come in.”
    â€œObviously I didn’t give you time to sound the alarm,” she said sarcastically.
    â€œSorry,” he said, “but I asked Miranda to come in and—”
    â€œWell, don’t!” Jennifer interrupted. “I don’t want your women here.”
    She made it sound as if Ned had a harem. In fact he had dated only two women since Jennifer. The first he had seen only once, and the second was Miranda. But it seemed childishly quarrelsome to point that out. Instead, Miranda said, “I was just trying to help Sophie.”
    â€œI’ll take care of Sophie. Please leave my house.”
    Ned said, “I’m sorry if we startled you, Jenny, but—”
    â€œDon’t bother to apologize, just get her out of here.”
    Miranda blushed hotly. No one had ever been so rude to her. “I’d better leave,” she said.
    â€œThat’s right,” Jennifer said.
    Ned said, “I’ll bring Sophie out as soon as I can.”
    Miranda was as angry with Ned as with Jennifer, though for the moment she was not sure why. She turned toward the hall.
    â€œYou can use the back door,” Jennifer said.
    To her shame, Miranda hesitated. She looked at Jennifer and saw on her face the hint of a smirk. That gave Miranda an ounce of courage. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. She went to the front door.
    â€œTom, come with me,” she called.
    â€œJust a minute,” he shouted back.
    She stepped into the living room. Tom was watching TV. She grabbed his wrist, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him out of the house.
    â€œThat hurts!” he protested.
    She slammed the front door. “Next time, come when I call.”
    She felt like crying as she got into the car. Now she had to sit waiting, like a servant, while Ned was in the house with his ex-wife. Had Jennifer actually planned this whole drama as a way of humiliating Miranda? It was possible. Ned had been hopeless. She knew now why she was so cross with him. He had let Jennifer insult her without a word of protest. He just kept apologizing. And for what? If Jennifer had packed a case for her daughter, or even got the girl to do it herself, Miranda would not have had to enter the house. And then, worst of all, Miranda had taken out her anger on her son. She should have shouted at Jennifer, not Tom.
    She looked at him in the driving mirror. “Tommy, I’m sorry I hurt your wrist,” she said.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said without looking up from his Game Boy. “I’m sorry I didn’t come when you called.”
    â€œAll forgiven, then,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she