should have seen her face when Megan picked a cockroach out of that boy’s backpack! I thought she’d die on the spot.” She affected a kind of giggle that turned into a gulping sob. She jumped up from the table and ran into the bathroom.
I carried the tea things back into the kitchen and then stood in the little hall, unsure what to do next. The front door opened.
“Hey, Rosie, how’s it going?” Robin dropped a canvas bag on the floor. A half-peeled orange fell out along with an assortment of pencils and a dog-eared paperback.
“You got home after all.” I shook his hand. Robin Elgin was a bean-pole of a man, over six feet tall and thin to boot. In his late twenties, he was already going bald and perhaps for that reason, or perhaps to camouflage his full lips and weak chin, he sported a full moustache and beard. Today, as on every working day, he wore a tweed sports jacket over a turtleneck shirt and blue jeans.
The toilet flushed. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and nodded towards the back of the apartment. “She all right?” he whispered.
“A bit upset. She started talking about the kids again.”
He grimaced. “It’s a bad scene.”
Bonnie joined us. “You’re home,” she said. She reached up to peck him on the cheek. “I thought you had to go up north on business?”
“I was going to leave straight from work, they kept me so late. But I wanted to see you first. We should talk.” He glanced at me. “I guess it can wait.” He slipped by me into the kitchen. “Great, dinner’s ready. I’m starving.”
“I won’t stay. I really must go and phone Will.” I opened the door. “You’ll be all right?”
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