Page 34 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘That wasn’t mushrooms?’ Mum persists.

‘Yes. There was something in it. They’d put something in it.’

Theyis starting sound like a synonym for ‘The Illuminati’.

‘What sort of thing?’

Nana Hogg shakes her head.

‘Something. To make it taste stronger.’

‘And how did the job last night go, George?’ I could kiss Mark for trying to rescue me here. ‘I put George in touch with a friend who needed a capable pair of hands at short notice.’

‘Good, thanks so much for the recommendation,’ I say. I could still very likely be blocked by Lucas so I don’t want to sound too confident of Devlin’s job. ‘It’d be great if they’re recruiting for permanent positions but if not I was just glad to help out with the wake.’

‘It was a wake,’ Geoffrey says, stabbing at a miniature carrot with his fork. ‘I hope you were appropriately sombre.’

He winks at me.What a …

‘I pitched up in a glittery leotard, tooting a vuvuzela, was that not the right thing to do?’

‘Oh the chill wind of such withering sarcasm!’ says Geoffrey, whose funeral I could happily go to.

Esther returns with more gravy and there’s no way she didn’t hover in the kitchen counting backwards from fifty until she could be sure she wouldn’t throw it in anyone’s face.

‘The food is lovely,’ I say to her and she gives me a tight smile and says Mark did most of it.

‘Ahem, and the Yorkie pudding maestro here,’ Geoff says and everyone’s nice to him and choruses praise. I can’t bring myself to join in. There’s about nineteen things on this table, Geoff basically management consulted the oven temperature for one element and thinks he’s equally worthy of thanks. Argh.

‘How’s Robin?’ my mum asks, a note of disapproval high in the mix.

‘We’ve split up,’ I say, hoofing half of another spectacular roastie into my mouth.

‘Oh!’

Just when I think my singlehood is about to be dissected with the same sensitivity as my unemployment, Nana Hogg interrupts: ‘I’ll have some of that meat, please. I’ll suffer for it but I don’t want to go home hungry,’ and Esther pushes her chair out with a loud scrape and announcesI’llgetmorewine.

As I help clear the table after dinner, Esther leads Milo back in by the shoulder, the pout on his face visible from twenty paces.

‘Auntie Georgina, Milo has something for you, don’t you, Milo,’ Esther says.

‘Do you, Milo?’ I bend down.

He puts a finger in his mouth and hands over a folded piece of paper he had behind his back. I open it – a drawing of a female stick figure in a triangle dress, with thatch of yellow crayoned hair. She’s in front of a house with a smoking chimney in the background, and there’s a male stick figure in brown, in an outsize hat.

‘This is brilliant! So that’s me … that’s … my house?’

Milo nods.

‘Minus the marauding maggots,’ says Geoffrey, back in Geoffrey mode.

‘And who’s this? In the hat? Mr Hat?’

‘Dat’s your husband.’

‘But I don’t have a husband.’

‘When you grow up and get married.’

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