When Curtis knocked on the gîte’s kitchen door it was Leah who answered, wearing denim shorts and a thin strappy top. Her eyes were red.
He thought of the MILF remark he’d made to try to impress Jordan and felt a bit cringy. Leah was, like, nearly as old as his dad. ‘Hello,’ he began politely. ‘Got hay fever?’
She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘Just sore eyes.’
‘Oh. Only I’ve got some stuff for hay fever.’
Her smile warmed. ‘That’s sweet of you but I have everything I need, thanks. Have you come to see Jordan and Natasha?’
At the thought of Natasha he felt his blood hit his face in an embarrassed rush, which was an improvement on where it might otherwise have rushed to. Feeling stupid and about four years old – although he suspected that four-year-olds didn’t worry about what was happening in the boxers department when they thought about girls – he managed to mumble, ‘Only they said they were coming to ours to hang out. Dad said they could, if they didn’t mind the decorating mess. Then they didn’t turn up.’
Leah glanced behind her. ‘Um … come in and I’ll see what their dad says.’
She slipped from the kitchen to the hall, closing the door behind her, leaving Curtis hovering and uncertain whether to sit or stand or stay or go. This afternoon, when they’d been balancing on bridges and rope ladders, Alister had seemed fine with the idea of Jordan and Natasha hanging with Curtis but now he began to wonder what was up. The skin around Leah’s eyes had been all blotchy, which never happened with him with hay fever.
Before he could decide whether to wait, Leah reappeared. ‘Alister says would you mind if it was here, rather than at your place? The kids are in the games room.’ She was smiling but her eyes still looked funny.
‘Where the pool table is? Cool beans.’
‘Had you better text your dad and check it’s OK?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ He passed her in the doorway and set his long legs to the sweeping staircase. He liked these big stairs; it was cool the way you could look over the banisters and through the middle of the house.
At the very top, the second landing opened out into the games room. Jordan was there, chalking a pool cue and not looking at Curtis. ‘Stripes or spots?’
Curtis said, ‘Spots, fanks,’ confidently, although he’d only been introduced to the game of pool the day before and knew nothing would prevent the more practised Jordan from beating the crap out of him. Yesterday, even Natasha had whupped him.
Keeping his gaze averted, Jordan racked the balls noisily while Curtis chose a cue to chalk and stole a surreptitious glance at the older boy. Maybe hay fever ran in the family because Jordan had red eyes, too. ‘All right?’ he enquired gruffly.
‘Yep. Break.’ Jordan gazed fixedly at the balls he’d racked.
Curtis couldn’t think of a better plan than to lean over the table and hope the triangle of balls was as easy to hit as it looked.
He’d just slammed his cue into the white ball to send it hard into the pack, balls spinning angrily in all directions except the pockets, when Natasha blundered up the stairs, cheeks tear-streaked. ‘Did Jordan tell you?’ Her voice wavered thinly.
Jordan heaved an exaggerated sigh, lining up the white on the blue-stripe ball, one eyebrow curling angrily.
Curtis looked from sister to brother. ‘What?’
Natasha’s face puckered. ‘Our mum’s got some horrible boyfriend and she’s gone off with him to talk about the future. They’re going to have a baby!’ She began to cry in chest-heaving sobs, lips creasing back from her teeth.
The hay-fever eyes and Jordan’s scowl slammed into focus. Curtis felt a turning over in his stomach, an echo of the shock of when it had been his family that had been blowing itself apart. ‘That’s crappy.’
‘Curtis doesn’t need to hear this, Natasha.’ Jordan stabbed his cue at the white ball and it spat the blue-stripe into the pocket before ricocheting away.
Curtis leaned his cue against the table and moved a few uncertain steps closer to Natasha. She tugged at his heart, a drooping little figure standing alone and weeping. ‘My parents split up three years ago. It’s bad to start with.’
Jordan hurled his cue down onto the baize, balls crashing and clattering into each other. ‘Like it doesn’t stay being bad?’ he demanded aggressively, as if Curtis was somehow head of the parental split-ups department.
Curtis shrugged, though he went all hot at the anger ringing in Jordan’s voice. At least it had been the table Jordan had slammed the cue onto, not Curtis’s head. ‘Well, they stay split up but otherwise it’s OK. I hated it at first but it happens to everyone, doesn’t it?’ He went over to the kitchen alcove and pulled sheets off a roll of blue kitchen paper to hand to Natasha.
‘Thanks,’ she said, sniffing and scrubbing at her face. ‘But I don’t want them to split up.’
‘Too late,’ Jordan bit scornfully. ‘They did that weeks ago.’
Natasha’s tears began to fall faster. ‘Po-or Dad!’
Jordan turned his furiously flashing gaze on her. ‘Shut up, Gnasher! You give me shit ache.’
And all at once Curtis found himself fighting for control of his facial muscles. It totally wasn’t funny. Natasha was bawling and Jordan was obviously the kind of unhappy that made you want to smash things. The back of Curtis’s nose began to hurt as he tried to swallow the words that burned in his throat. But out they came on a gurgle of laughter. ‘How can your shit ache?’
Jordan switched his glare to Curtis. Then an unwilling smile tugged at its corner. ‘Things have to be really really crap.’
Natasha gave a huge revolting sniff and a giggle-sob. ‘You give me shit ache, too, Jordan. And so does Mum.’
‘She’s shit-ache central,’ allowed Jordan. His twitchy smile developed into a grin.
‘But, mostly, the horrible boyfriend.’
‘And the baby.’ Jordan picked up his cue just to slam it down again with a roar. ‘A freaking baby!’
Natasha wiped her face. ‘But it’s going to be our brother or sister.’
Natasha’s voice being hoarse with tears, Curtis decided no one would mind if he investigated the contents of the drinks fridge. Discovering a fat lemonade bottle, he reached for glasses from the draining board. ‘Surely all babies give you shit ache? They just scream all the time and go red and smell. Are you going to have to live with it?’
Jordan glazed over with horror. ‘Live with the baby? That’s proper shit ache. I bet we will. Did your mum have any more kids?’
Curtis
