Page 30 of Goodnight
Goodie squared her shoulders. There was little chance of removing the Katie Tornado from this situation anyway, and there was no way Goodie could remain hidden away in the library; not if she wanted to keep an eye on her.
* * *
‘Unlikely mate of yours,’Ed said to Goodie. They were both sitting at the kitchen table, slightly removed from the chaos around the large island. Katie was attempting to teach Tilly and Bertie how to pronounce various Welshisms, and then demanding they teach her to ‘speak like a posh bird’. Results were mixed but, even Goodie had to admit, pretty funny. Occasionally she was called upon to throw in a bit of Russian and Ed was made to add various Essexisms such as ‘sharr-arrp’ and ‘minging’, but they had not as yet been dragged away from the kitchen table.
Anya had found the most direct route to the biscuits and was being cuddled by Nick’s mum who was intermittently sneaking her some from the jar next to her. Nick’s charm and dimple were thoroughly winning over Katie, Benji and even Sam (who was naturally cynical and distrustful – not quite as bad as Goodie, but close) and the kitchen was full of laughter.
‘She’s tricky to shake,’ Goodie muttered into her coffee, and Ed smiled, his eyes drifting back to Tilly, who had her head thrown back in laughter.
‘Why don’t you do something about that?’ she asked, and Ed jerked in his seat, his eyes snapping from Tilly to Goodie.
‘What you on about then?’ he said sharply.
‘You know what I mean.’
Ed sighed. ‘She’s got a bloke, Goodie.’
Goodie watched as Clive skirted Benji and Arabella as if they were contaminated with a flesh-eating virus, making his way to the kettle.
Anya wriggled her way down Nick’s mum and then waddled her way over to where Clive was standing.
‘Live, live, live,’ she shouted, grabbing onto his legs with her chocolatey fingers, proud of her ability to remember the stranger’s name. Ed was focused back on Tilly again, and nobody other than Goodie could see Clive’s legs or Anya, as they were on the opposite side of the kitchen island. So nobody saw Clive give his leg a rough shake so that Anya landed on her bottom next to him. Goodie’s hands tightened on her cup of coffee, but she controlled her fury for now; he would keep.
‘Oh, baby!’ cried Katie, as Sam moved round the island to pick up his daughter.
‘Live,’ Anya sniffled miserably into her father’s neck, and Goodie felt a fresh wave of anger that the little girl should have had her first lesson that the world was not always the rosy place her mother painted it; that some adults could not be trusted.
‘For somebody who’s made the most significant breakthrough in the 21st century, you’re still a couple of kopeks short of a ruble,’ Goodie muttered under her breath to Ed.
‘Come on, Goodie,’ Benji said suddenly, cutting off anything Ed might have said in reply, ‘do your thing. You know Annie loves it.’
‘Benji,’ Katie said in a warning tone, which Goodie was sure she meant to sound dangerous but came out as more like another bad impression of Morgan Freeman, ‘Goodie knows not to do that ever again in front of children. It is not appropri –’
Goodie saw an opportunity to annoy Katie, and she was just about angry enough to take it. ‘Sure thing, squirt,’ Goodie said, standing from the table as all eyes swung to her.
‘Goodie, I don’t think –’
‘Mrs B., can I help with that?’ Goodie asked, cutting Katie off. Mrs Beckett handed Goodie the knife she was using to peel and cut the vegetables for the casserole she was making. Goodie started chopping the vegetables slowly and felt Katie relax as Bertie started talking about the back orchard and what they were going to do about the tree rot. Goodie let her mind drift; she didn’t register the room gradually falling more and more silent, or the fact that Anya had stopped crying. It was just her and the knife.
Chapter16
She’s worth it
Nick slowly loweredhis cup of tea to the kitchen counter whilst his eyes dropped to Goodie’s hands.
‘HolyLong Kiss Goodnight,’ he heard Tilly mutter next to him as the knife started moving so fast it was almost a blur. The stack of onions, carrots, potatoes in front of her were nearly decimated. Despite the speed of her hands, the look on her face was that of complete calm and he had the eerie feeling that she was somewhere else.
Just as she finished the last carrot, Benji shot forward to a pile of tomatoes on his side of the kitchen island and threw one of them at Goodie. Nick opened his mouth to shout at the little shit but closed it when he saw Goodie automatically lift the knife, slice the tomato in midair into perfect halves, throw the knife up to spin in the air before catching its handle and cutting the halves into quarters, all within less than a second. This was repeated for the remaining three tomatoes, then she paused, flicked up the knife and balanced the sharp end perfectly on one of her fingers before tossing it to spin high in the air, almost to the ceiling, catching it by its handle and then throwing it with deadly accuracy the length of the room so that it ended up stuck in a large chopping board, inches from Clive’s arm.
There were mixed reactions to this display. Benji, Arabella, Anya, Tilly, Bertie and Nick’s aunt and uncle started applauding, shouting out, ‘Jolly good show!’ and, ‘Bravo!’ Nick himself kept his eyes on Goodie and watched as she slowly came back to herself and handed the knife to a dumbfounded Mrs B. Nick’s mum had gone a little pale, as had Ed. Nick’s dad was looking at Goodie with renewed curiousity. And Clive …
‘Jesus Christ,’ Clive shouted, his face flushed with fear and anger. ‘You psychotic bitch – you could have killed me!’
‘Yes,’ Goodie said slowly, ‘I could have but I chose not to … this time.’
‘Pahaha!’ Bertie laughed, breaking the now tense silence that had fallen over the kitchen. ‘She’s messing with you, old man. It’s like a circus trick; no need to get shirty – you know, like the time Giles-Bullhammer-Fentywick stuffed that artichoke up his –’
‘Bertie. Shut. Up,’ Clive clipped, his patience completely gone. He scowled at Goodie one last time before storming out of the room.
