Page 58 of Something Borrowed

“I didn’t sleep well forweeksafter that.” I groan.

“That was a charming little story,” Edward says indignantly. “If only I could remember the details, I could publish it.”

“Only if Stephen King’s editor is free,” Stan mutters.

Edward’s face is suddenly dreamy. “I could make a score to go with the story.”

“Would it have theJawstheme?” I ask sweetly.

He’s gone, having vanished into the world of his music. “Something with a harpsichord, I think.” He looks around. “Now, where did I put my pencil?”

“It’s behind your ear, Grandad,” Wolfie says.

“Ah, good boy. Paper?”

“Shall I get you some?”

“No, you shan’t,” Rowena says briskly as she enters the room. “Dinner is ready. Vinnie, come and help me dish up.”

“Why me?” he asks from where he’s prostrated himself at the dining table like a Victorian hero on the opium. “Why can’t they all help?”

“You sound like you’re five,” Lottie observes.

I laugh. “Vinnie always sounded like he was having an existential life crisis even at five. ‘Why isn’t CBeebies on now? Why is life socruel?’”

Stan snorts. “Why, why,why?” He finishes on a wail.

Vinnie rolls his eyes. “Twats.”

“Language,” Rowena scolds. “There’s a child in this room.”

“I do know that word anyway,” Wolfie says, climbing onto his chair. He pauses as we all stare at him. “What?”

“Where do you know that word from?” Alex asks, looking as though he’s worried it was from him.

“Sam McCluskey said it at school when Santosh took the box of crayons off him. Mrs Phillips made him sit on the naughty chair, but the leg was wonky, and he fell off.”

“This sounds a bit like Raff’s life,” Stan offers.

“I’m slightly concerned that the school’s furniture appears to be falling apart,” Alex says. “What is the world coming to when even the naughty chair has wonky legs?”

“At least his vocabulary is expanding,” I say cheerfully, helping myself to roast beef. “You’ll thank the education system one day.”

The rest of lunch passes in a haze of good food and even better conversation. After we’ve finished the thankfully not charred apple crumble and custard, we all sit around talking idly, occasionally rubbing our bellies and wishing for elastic waistbands.

“Can I get down, please?” Wolfie asks after a time.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Alex says.

Lottie nudges him, laughing. “You can, Wolfie. What are you going to do?”

“Play some more football.” He makes a tragic sort of face. “The only trouble is that Archie and Michel have gone in for their dinners, so I’ll be all alone.” He gives a sigh loaded with pathos and looks around the table hopefully. “If only there was someone to play with me.”

“I already played today, so I vote for Raff,” Stan says.

I glare at him. “Whose side are you on, Stan?”

“I think yours, but I’d have to check.”

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