Master of the House

And I wanted to see him. Quite urgently.

‘Oh, do what you want,’ I said. ‘You always do.’

‘No, I don’t,’ he said with quiet reproof. ‘OK. I’ll let you know where I am on Friday night. And you will join me there.’

‘Unless I’m working,’ I said sulkily.

‘Yes. Unless you’re working. I should have all my test results by then, too, so …’

He left it hanging in the air but I knew what he had in mind.

‘So you’ll know the worst,’ I said, but I hated myself for being so unkind as soon as the words were out.

‘You can’t hurt me, remember,’ he said, and then he put the phone down.

* * *

I took mum out for lunch on Friday while she left her stall in Animal’s charge. We sat in the little vegetarian café on the high street and talked about love.

‘Do you think it’s the real deal with you and Animal?’ I asked her.

‘I don’t know about real deals, Lucy-In-The-Sky,’ she said, digging into her aubergine bake. ‘He’s kind to me and we have a laugh. I don’t ask for much more than that.’

‘He seems nice. Way nicer than …’

‘Hey. What’s past is past. I admit I always think the best of people and perhaps I should be warier. I try to see beyond a person’s bad behaviour, see the pain that’s caused it, understand what’s making them lash out.’

‘Yeah, but when they’re lashing out at you, Mum.’

‘I promised you I wouldn’t let it happen again, and I’m going to keep my promise. Don’t you worry. I know I can’t heal the world.’

‘You used to think you could.’

‘I know. And it got me into too much trouble. You can kill with kindness, after all.’

‘That’s true. I just want you to take care of yourself, Mum. It killed me, when I was in Budapest, to think that some bastard was taking advantage of your gentleness.’

‘I’m a survivor, love. I’ve gone through a lot, and I’m still here. And I’ll always be here for you. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I know that.’

‘Except next month, I’ll be away for a few weekends. Festivals. Come with us if you like.’

‘Oh, I should think I’ll be busy,’ I said vaguely.

‘Bring His Lordship if you want,’ she said with a sly smile. ‘He might like a chilled-out weekend under canvas.’

‘There’s nothing going on between me and Joss,’ I lied. Even as I said the words, I hoped one of her festival weekends might coincide with one of His Nibs’s visits to Willingham. Joss could come and stay with me.

I had to repeat this line on Friday night, when Joss rang and said he was in van number 216 and could I bring him some bed linen, as he hadn’t realised he had to provide his own.

I laughed at the thought of him looking with dismay at the bare mattress and pillows and asked if His Lordship had any further requests.

‘Just bring yourself,’ he growled.

‘Have a nice night,’ said Mum archly as I sailed out of the door with a pile of her hand-knitted blankets and throws.

‘It’s work,’ I insisted, and she laughed as if she’d smoked sixteen joints, which she hadn’t – at least, not yet.