mug cakes like cupcakes, only bigger?’ Jordan’s expression lightened.
‘No, a mug cake’s made in a mug, in the microwave.’
Natasha who’d managed to bag the front passenger seat coming home, looked more cheerful, her nose red from the sun. ‘Chocolate mug cake?’
‘Of course. Nice and gooey. We can put some cola in the mixture to make it moist.’
‘Any chance of coffee in mine? Good and dark?’ Alister smiled at Leah via the rear-view mirror. Smiling wasn’t something he’d done a lot of today and Leah grinned in return. Alister was a nice man. He’d been her brother-in-law since she was seventeen and it was painful to see him so sad, yet trying to cover it up. ‘Coffee, cola, nuts, orange, strawberries – everyone can choose.’
The atmosphere lightened as Jordan suggested ‘Marshmallow and Haribo’ and Natasha countered with ‘Banana and lime. And chocolate, obvs.’ Amazing what cake could do to lift the spirits.
When they pulled up in front of the gîte, Leah spotted that the workman from earlier had moved his area of endeavour to the front balcony of the house next door, while his studs-and-chains young companion leaned on the rail, playing with his phone. Both turned at the sound of the car. The workman flashed his grin, giving an airy wave of his paintbrush before turning back to his work. The teenager just looked.
‘Who’s that boy?’ hissed Natasha.
Jordan tugged her hair. ‘Someone too cool for you.’
‘He’s not!’ Natasha responded in indignation. ‘He’s just Goth. We’ve got loads of Goths at school. They’re not allowed to wear their piercings in school but they put up with it because Goths are big on tolerance.’
‘Being excluded if they don’t comply has a lot to do with that kind of tolerance,’ Alister observed.
He and Leah began to clear The Pig of the cans and bottles accumulated during the day. Jordan and Natasha dawdled off down the path at the side of the house as if the mess was nothing to do with them.
Overtaking the kids, Leah followed Alister through the back door and into the kitchen. The room was cool and quiet. She paused, listening, becoming aware of Alister listening in the same way.
She glanced at her watch. Six thirty. The kitchen looked exactly as it had when they’d left it this morning. No salad washed, nothing cooking. She glanced out of the window. No barbecue alight.
‘What’s for dinner?’ Natasha bumped through the door behind them. ‘Or can we start the cakes straight away? I’m staaaaaaaaaaarving.’
‘Can I have crisps?’ demanded Jordan.
One glance at the apprehensive expression that had settled over Alister’s face and Leah smoothly picked up the slack. ‘Dinner before the cakes,’ she suggested brightly. ‘I’ll whip up a risotto and we’ll have it with salad. There’s some of that fab bread left, too, I think.’
‘I’ll find Mum.’ Natasha trotted off through the hall.
Alister cleared his throat. ‘I thought Michele said she’d cook?’
‘She’s probably having a nap.’ Leah hoped. But, somehow, she didn’t think so – the house had had an empty air. She slopped a little olive oil into a heavy pan, popped it onto the hob to heat, took out two onions and topped, tailed and peeled them. With swift, machine-gun movements, she passed them under her flashing blade, ch-ch-ch-ch-CHAH, using the back of the knife to scrape the pieces from the chopping board into the pan, stirring briskly, then turning to the fridge for bacon, mushrooms, parmesan and cream.
Natasha bounded back into the room, eyes wide. ‘I can’t find Mum!’
Somehow Leah wasn’t shocked to hear it. She just tried to smile reassuringly as the delicious smell of sizzling bacon filtered into the air. ‘She’s probably gone for a walk.’ But she’d had all day. Why would Michele leave it until now, when she’d promised to have dinner waiting?
She glanced at the others to try and read their expressions but Jordan was frowning ferociously at his phone while Alister moved wordlessly to the fridge, took out a tall green bottle of Crémant d’Alsace and lifted down two glasses from the rack. He filled both and passed one to Leah. Unnerved by his silence, and in no way treating the sparkling liquid with the respect it deserved, Leah took a couple of big gulps. ‘How about one of you kids text your mum and see where’s she’s got to? Tell her dinner will be ready in forty minutes.’
Jordan and Natasha began to squabble about who should do the texting. Under cover of their noise, Alister hovered close to Leah. ‘Do you know where she is?’ His wineglass trembled slightly.
Her heart squeezed at his evident misery. All Alister had ever done was be Alister, steady and kind. Even if it wasn’t massively exciting, that had once been what Michele wanted. Leah took another slurp of wine, beginning to wonder if she might need a lot of it before this holiday was over. ‘No idea,’ she whispered.
‘Shit.’ Alister gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I don’t even know why I’m surprised. What’s a forgotten meal when you can shuck off a marriage like an unfashionable coat?’
‘Mum’s on her way!’ cried Natasha, saving Leah from having to think of a response. ‘She says she’ll be ten minutes. I’ll go outside and wait.’
As she banged through the door Jordan observed loftily, ‘Natasha’s such a baby.’
Leah weighed out the rice and made up a jug of stock, remembering thirteen being a pretty confusing age even without the shock of a parental separation. ‘Good job she’s got a brother who’s a whole two years older to be kind to her, then. Eh, Jordan?’
‘Big brothers are meant to be kind?’ But he grinned sheepishly, as if taking Leah’s message on board.
It was nearly twenty minutes later that Michele finally strolled in, Natasha clinging to her arm. Leah looked up from grating parmesan. ‘Are you better? I thought you promised to make dinner.’
Michele looked better – except, perhaps, for a little guilt around the eyes. ‘Sorry! I forgot the time.’ She ruffled Jordan’s hair, as much as his hair would ruffle now he’d taken to lacing it with gel or gum or whatever was that week’s favoured product.
Under cover of topping up his glass Alister muttered to Leah, ‘Promises, eh? Like “Till death us do part”? Turned out to be crap.’
Leah stifled an inappropriate urge to giggle, though nothing about the situation was actually funny.
‘And I see it’s wine o’clock.’ Michele reached for an empty glass.
Alister halted his drink halfway to his mouth. ‘Really?’ He shifted his gaze meaningfully to her mid-section.
For a second Michele looked thrown, as if the existence of Baby Three had slipped her memory. Silently, she turned to the fridge and filled her wineglass with orange juice.
