The Rise and Fall of the Queen of Suburbia: A Black-Hearted Soap Opera. Sarah May
my bed.’
‘On your bed?’ Linda yelled, throwing the knife and the tea towel down on the draining board.
‘He needs to see a vet,’ Jessica yelled back. ‘You made him bleed.’
‘I want him off your bed and outside – now!’
‘We can’t put him outside in this – look – there’s a blizzard going on out there.’
Linda’s mind flicked briefly to Joe, who she hoped had the sense to take the new bypass home from Brighton and not the road over the Dyke, then turned back to Jessica, who was crying again and pulling the cuffs of her school jumper over her hands.
‘He’s a bloody dog,’ Linda shouted at her.
‘He’s your bloody dog. Dad bought him for you.’
‘Upstairs. Now. Get upstairs.’
‘I hate you.’
Linda turned away and picked the tea towel up off the draining board. ‘Yeah, well…’
‘And that cheesecake’s disgusting – me and Dad have jokes about that cheesecake.’
She swung round, but Jessica was already out of the room. The clock on the kitchen wall shook as she banged up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.
Linda went to the foot of the stairs. ‘Dad and I,’ she shouted up into the darkness. ‘Dad and I.’
She went back into the kitchen and there was Joe standing in the doorway to the garage.
‘What’s all that about?’
‘I don’t know. You’re late,’ she said, looking at him.
‘I phoned. I was at your mum’s – you know what it’s like: tea, biscuits, amnesia, more tea, more biscuits.’ He paused, but didn’t mention that Belle had been getting her hair cut while he was there. ‘She looked well,’ he said after a while, then walked past Linda into the hallway.
‘Joe? Where’re you going?’
‘Upstairs. See Jess. Change.’
She followed him to the foot of the stairs. ‘When you’ve changed I could do with some help down here. We’ve got people coming tonight.’
Joe stopped, his hand on the banister. ‘I forgot.’
‘You forgot? For Christ’s sake, Joe.’
She went back into the kitchen and opened Jessica’s lunch box, which was lying by the sink, automatically shoving a handful of uneaten crusts and half a packet of crisps into her mouth. The only serving plate she had big enough for the canapés had a crack running across it, but she covered this with some green paper napkins then put cling film over the bowl with the cottage cheese and pineapple in it. From upstairs she heard running water, and a few minutes later Joe came back downstairs in old jeans and a sweatshirt.
‘I thought you might have worn your new polo shirt.’
‘I couldn’t find it.’
‘That’s because it’s still in the bag.’
‘Oh.’
Joe sniffed and disappeared into the garage. He came back with a can of beer.
‘So – who’ve we got coming tonight?’ he asked, watching her open a sachet of Hollandaise sauce.
‘Mick and Dominique – if they show.’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’
‘I went over there a while ago and they weren’t even back from lunch.’
‘Who were they having lunch with?’
‘Each other.’ Linda looked at him then poured the contents of the sachet into a pan of boiling water. ‘They went to Gatwick Manor.’
‘It’s expensive there.’
She looked at him again.
‘So – anyone else coming?’
‘I invited the Niemans – the new people at number twelve.’
‘The Niemans?’
‘Yes, the Niemans, Joe. The double-glazing people two doors up.’
‘The Belgians?’
‘I thought they were Dutch.’
‘It doesn’t matter – they all speak English.’
Linda stopped stirring the sauce. ‘I’m sure they’re Dutch.’
‘Well, why don’t we ask them?’
‘We can’t just ask them. Don’t you dare ask them.’
Joe started drinking the beer.
‘D’you want a glass for that?’
‘Jess seems upset,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘She’s lying on her bed upstairs with Ferd, and Ferd’s bleeding or something. She wouldn’t say what happened.’
‘Has she changed out of her school uniform yet?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You were only just up there.’
‘I didn’t notice.’ He finished the beer. ‘I said Ferd’s bleeding.’
She started to stir the sauce again. ‘Ferdie ate a triple chocolate mousse cake and a Black Forest gateau this afternoon.’
‘He did?’ Joe started to laugh. ‘Is pudding gone then?’
She felt him behind her. ‘Dessert – it’s dessert gone.’
‘So why don’t you make one of your steamed puddings?’ he said softly. ‘What about one of them treacle ones?’
‘I can’t give the Niemans steamed pudding.’
‘I love your treacle puddings. Best thing, they are.’ She felt his hair brushing her ear. ‘I’ll do the custard,’ he said.
‘Custard?’ Gravity gave her a short sharp pull. ‘We’ve got gazpacho for starters, Joe. After the gazpacho, we’ve got salmon en croute with Hollandaise sauce. Do you really think the Niemans are going to want to finish with treacle pudding? And custard? Why don’t we just throw a brick at them while we’re at it.’
‘I like treacle pudding.’
‘We’ve got mandarin cheesecake,’ she said.
‘But I bloody hate mandarin cheesecake.’
‘What’s wrong with everyone tonight?’
Joe disappeared into the garage again.
Linda stopped stirring to watch some lumps the size of Atlantic icebergs forming in the sauce. ‘Joe,’ she called into the garage. ‘Are you coming back in? Joe?’
Silence.
‘I could do with some company in here. It’s been a long day.’
Silence.
‘You know sometimes I wish I was a bloody schizophrenic – at least I’d have my other self to talk to.’
Joe appeared in the garage doorway, a second can of beer in his hand.
‘So what d’you want to talk about?’
She watched him drinking his beer, one hand in his trouser pocket, and one bare foot on the kitchen step. She didn’t know. ‘Aren’t you cold? You should go and put some socks and shoes on.’
‘I’m going into the garden.’
‘You can’t go out like that.’
He picked up some