Page 7 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘Hey, you!’ I ruffle Bertie’s blond hair and he squirmsaway. ‘Why the long face?’
‘My bike needs a new wheel.’ He drops it by the door andwalks in.
‘Maybe the tyre just needs blowing up?’
He shakes his head with a sigh. ‘Luke’s dad tried but itdidn’t work. He said it needs a brand-new wheel.’ He looks at me hopefully.‘Can I get a new one, Clara?’
I nod. ‘You’ll have to ask your mum. But she’s...’
Before I can reply, he’s gone, haring into the living room,shouting for her. A moment later, he’s back. ‘Is she out again?’
‘She is.’
‘When will she be back?’
‘I don’t know. She might be late. Come and sit down.’ I pullout a chair. ‘I’ve got some of your favourite ice-cream?’
He sits down, folding his arms glumly, even the mention ofhis favourite dessert failing to raise a smile this time. ‘She’s always home late.’
‘Not always, Bertie.’ A nagging pulse has started up in mytemples. ‘I’m sure she’ll get you that new wheel if you ask her nicely.’
He looks up. ‘Will you ask her, Clara? She’ll be stillasleep in the morning.’
I smile at him. ‘Of course I will.’ Irene hates having herbeauty sleep interrupted and rarely surfaces after a night out until after noon.Bertie knows from past experience never to go into her room if the door’s shut.‘What did you have for your tea at Luke’s house?’ I ask, wanting to distracthim.
‘Pasta and strawberries.’
‘Right. So I doubt you could manage some ice-cream, then.’
‘Well, Icould.’
I feel a pang of love at his earnest little face. ‘Funny, Ithought you might say that. Okay. Well, go and get Lois. She wants ice-cream aswell.’
‘Okay!’ He pushes his chair back and races up the stairs,shouting for her.
When they come back down, he’s laughing because Lois ischasing him, thundering down the stairs after him. She catches him and wrestleshim to the floor and starts tickling him, and I watch them happily as Bertieshouts at me, in between giggles, to make Lois stop. Afterwards, we sit at thetable with our raspberry ripple, and Lois subsides into her habitual gloom.Bertie is concentrating on his ice-cream.
‘Have you done any painting lately?’ I ask Lois, to fill thesilence.
She flicks her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Not that again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Stop nagging at me to do something. I’m fine.’
‘Lois, you’re not happy. And painting makes you happy. Atleast, it used to.’
‘Yeah, well. That was before Ronnie cut out my heart and fedit to his racehorse.’
Bertie looks up in surprise, then he gets the joke andsnorts with laughter. ‘Fed it to his racehorse.’
‘It’s not funny, Bertie,’ snaps Lois.
‘Yes, it is.’ He grins, licking ice-cream from around hismouth and making the smears worse.
‘No, it’s bloody well not.’
‘Lois! For goodness’ sake.’ I shoot her a warning look. Shecould at least make an effort to curb her language when Bertie’s around.
