The Grigori: Stalking Tender Prey Part 12

Othman obviously didn't want to argue with her, but sat down on the sofa to watch a movie. Aninka wanted to hit him. Part of what she loved about him was the fact that he seemed so different to other Grigori she had met, less obsessed with his heritage. She wanted him to agree with her and scorn the others. They had the potential to bring their race closer to reality. They could have children together and give them ordinary names like Sharon and John, never tell them about their racial history. Aninka liked the thought of that: Grigori growing up without ever realising they were unlike the other children with whom they played and learned. In her euphoria at this idea, she was sure the differences between the Grigori and humanity were now so minute, her children would never suspect there was anything unusual about themselves. Thinking these things, looking down at her lover illumined by the flickering light of the TV screen, she realised she felt more for him than any other man she had met. Children? What was she thinking of? Othman had never even told her he loved her, never mind suggest their relations.h.i.+p might involve commitment.

He looked up at her, as if guessing what was on her mind. Aninka, face it, you cannot be like them. Your longevity alone sets you apart. Even if you had human friends you trusted enough to confide in, and who could accept your difference, you would still have to watch them age and die. As they withered, they would see you remaining young, and whatever affinity you'd managed to create would be destroyed. It comes out, in the end, in all of us. Even our children. They have to be aware of what they are because, otherwise, they'd be regarded as freaks. We have to protect ourselves, and part of that involves never being able to become that close to humans. I can see you find that hard to accept, but you won't do yourself any favours by denying it.'

It's not fair!' Aninka said. She felt swamped by sadness.

Othman sighed. I can't understand what the problem is. If someone could wave a magic wand and make you human, you wouldn't like it. You're far too vain. A wrinkle, to you, would be a major catastrophe. There will come times in the future when you'll have to fake it, for convenience's sake, but you'll find yourself backing out of situations, changing your life and your environment, to avoid it. Believe me, I know.' He held out an arm. Now, stop fretting and come over here. Let's watch the film.'

She hesitated, then went to him. He pulled her close, kissed her hair. Aninka, if you weren't Grigori, I wouldn't be here with you like this. We couldn't talk. Be thankful for what you have.'

Othman's opinion of the Marks' and their friends seemed scathing. He commented on their naivete and laughed about it. Aninka wondered why he wanted to spend time with them. Every Friday, he went to attend their rituals, and now Aninka went with him. He never appeared to want to get involved in their magical work, but seemed eager to spectate. Perhaps, Aninka thought with disappointment, it was a nostalgia for his heritage that lured him to the converted garage on Victoria Heights once a week. Aninka recognised a similar contradiction within herself. Despite her avowed rejection of Grigori culture, she was sometimes tempted to nudge the group along and even enlighten them a little. They were groping around in darkness, guessing how to recreate the past, and sometimes going wide of the mark in authenticity. Ivan wrote most of the rituals himself, using ancient material as a base, but adding a lot of his own ideas. Aninka possessed knowledge that could help them, but refrained from imparting it. She mustn't fall into that trap. Wendy asked her a few times if she'd like to become actively involved, but Aninka refused. I'm happy just to get artistic inspiration from it,' she said.

Wendy Marks had phoned Aninka on the Monday morning after Othman had taken her to Victoria Heights for the first time. After a few minutes' conversation concerning the prints they had talked about, Aninka invited Wendy over to the flat. They had started the afternoon drinking coffee and discussing art, but later Aninka had cracked open a wine box and they'd got drunk together. It marked the beginning of a proper friends.h.i.+p. After a couple of weeks, Aninka was visiting Grey Gables regularly by herself, and often met up with Wendy in the city for lunch. Aninka quickly learned that Wendy's husband, Ivan, was having an affair with Misty Kennedy. At least, Wendy suspected he was. She said there had been confrontations in the past, but all her accusations had been denied. Now she just felt peevish, jealous and paranoid mentioning it. Aninka sympathised with Wendy. She thought her new friend to be a far superior creature to the blowsy Misty, but was also secretly grateful her marriage was in shreds because it meant Wendy had a lot of free time, of which Aninka could take advantage.

Enid Morningstar had been round at Wendy's one afternoon, when Aninka called over with a bottle of wine and a need to get drunk in female company. At first, she'd been annoyed to find Enid sitting in the kitchen. Aninka had begun to confide in Wendy about Peverel Othman: revealing only that she couldn't work out his feelings for her and that she was falling heavily in love with him, but this was more than she wanted to discuss in front of Enid. However, Enid was round to rake through the debris of a particularly messy divorce, and after several bottles of wine, Aninka found that she had warmed to the woman. This was what she loved: women drinking together, talking about men. Her experiences and her feelings were not that different from Wendy's and Enid's. They didn't think she was odd or inhuman, therefore, she couldn't be. She liked the affinity she felt for these women. It made her feel comfortable inside to know that she had proper friends, and that they were human. One day, she dared to think, she might know them and trust them well enough to reveal the truth about herself. She felt sure they would a.s.suage her fears, tell her the past didn't matter and that she was just the same as they were.

When Ivan came home - late, after seeing Misty no doubt - Aninka and Enid got a cab together back to the city. While the dark streets flashed past, Enid offered to make Aninka some clothes. Aninka, who dressed expensively, politely demurred, which surprisingly elicited a hot response. I can create things for you that are just as well made as what you're wearing, but for at least half the price You're so tall, you must have to pay a fortune to get things that fit you.' Enid shut her mouth with a snap. Oh, I'm sorry. That was a bit personal. You're like a model, Aninka. I envy you.'

Money didn't matter to Aninka, but obviously it did to Enid, who was divorced and poor, so Aninka relented. Consequently, design and fitting sessions were arranged, and Enid became a regular figure in Aninka's life. Enid lived quite nearby, though in a distinctly less salubrious area. Aninka was delighted with the clothes Enid designed for her, and was careful to pay the exact asking price so as not to offend her new friend. However, she did buy Enid an expensive bottle of perfume after the woman had admired the scent in Aninka's flat. This was accepted with grace. On the nights when Aninka didn't see Othman, she started going out to pubs and cinemas with Enid.

During this time, Aninka saw hardly anything of her cousins. Looking back, she could see that Othman had influenced her in this matter more than she'd realised. At the beginning of their relations.h.i.+p, she'd wanted to introduce him properly to Noah and the others, but Othman made it clear he wasn't keen on the idea. Perhaps other Grigori would have been suspicious of him, and would have seen things in him to which Aninka's obsessive love blinded her. Noah kept calling for the first couple of weeks, but Aninka only sporadically answered the messages he left on her answering machine, and then told him she was very busy working on new commissions. He must have sensed her disinterest in his gossip, because eventually his calls dropped off. Aninka worried about it sometimes, then Othman would imprint himself across her mind, and she'd forget about it. Tearah and Rachel called round a couple of times, perhaps at Noah's request. Aninka found she didn't want them to know about her affair with Othman. She made up a story about a human lover she'd taken on, and added a few lascivious jokes about him, which she knew her cousins would appreciate.

Call us when you get bored,' Rachel said as she and Tearah left the flat after the second visit.

Aninka a.s.sured them that she would. She hadn't seen either of them since.

Chapter Ten.

Tuesday 20th October, Little Moor On Tuesday morning, Peverel Othman woke up weeping. He lay in bed, with yellow sunlight slicing between the partly drawn curtains of his room, trying to remember what he had dreamed. The sense of loss and grief in his heart was familiar - he woke with that often - but there was something different this time: a sense of urgency, of approach, of revelation. There were things to be done. This time, he must do everything correctly.

After a light breakfast at The White House, Othman went directly to the Post Office, where he found Eva Manden alone in the shop. He selected a paper from the neat pile of journals on the front counter, and then asked Eva where her mother was.

I must apologise for the way she behaved yesterday!' Eva blurted. She's very old and has these funny turns sometimes.'

It doesn't matter,' Othman said. I hope it isn't on account of me that you've banned her from the shop!'

Oh no!' Eva shook her head. She's not banned! She's at the day centre...' The slightest frown creased her brow, which she quickly erased.

Oh? You're lucky to have such facilities in so small a place.'

Yes... That'll be thirty pence. Is there anything else?'

Her reluctance to talk about her mother did not escape Othman. No. Thanks. Bye.'

Outside, he stood still for a moment and opened himself up to any pa.s.sing information in the air. Presently, he began to walk slowly down the road, away from The White House.

Mariam Alderley was having a bad day with the old ones. They seemed spooked, restless. For fifteen years, Mariam had been the official care-person for the elderly at the Murkaster Day Centre in Little Moor. Now, she wondered how long it would be until she joined the others, mumbling in the plastic chairs before the stage. She was sixty-two, widowed, and paid by the Murkaster Trust a small amount that now complemented her pension. Cora Perks had phoned her yesterday, asking a few covert questions. Both women had sensed the anxiety behind the other's words, but they'd confessed nothing. The call from Eva Manden had been equally strained. The Post Mistress had kept her mother away deliberately from the Centre for months, claiming, obliquely, that it affected Emilia badly, made her difficult to cope with. Therefore, Mariam had been surprised to receive the call informing her Emilia Manden would be attending again; surprised and disappointed. Emilia was the ring-leader in any trouble-making behaviour. Things had been running quite smoothly since she'd been confined to the post office during the day. Emilia's arrival at the centre, late yesterday morning, had seemed to kindle a new tide of rebellion in Mariam's charges. Emilia was an old minx, that was certain, and more alert and cunning than the rest of them put together. Something was afoot, and Mariam felt jumpy because of it. For a start, there had been a lot of whispering yesterday, conversations which were silenced whenever Mariam approached. She could feel the keen gaze of the ancient eyes, and a hint of scorn behind the silence, the suppressed atmosphere of excitement. She was intruding into something. Was it a petty war sparked by gossip? That was possible. When they weren't ganging up against her, the old people spent their time sniping at one another, bound by the ancient tie, but hating each other for it. They had also started a spontaneous chant half an hour before Daniel Perks came with the Murkaster Trust minibus to take them all home. It had been a terrible racket, and Mariam had feared complaints from the smart new bungalows down the lane.

At one time, Mariam had been able to handle the old ones without difficulty. Now, it was becoming more taxing; perhaps she herself was getting too old for the job. The Murkaster Trust was administered by a firm of solicitors in Patterham. Mariam wondered whether they'd be prepared to fund another helper at the Centre. She could only suggest it. This thought lightened Mariam's mood a little and she went to prepare the morning tea.

Othman paused where a side road joined the main road through the village, and after closing his eyes and sniffing the air for a few moments, he turned to follow it: Endark Lane. Presently, he came across a large two-storeyed building, which had an imposing facade of dirty stone columns and what appeared to be a heraldic device above the door : a peac.o.c.k gripping an arrow in its claws. Below this device was a stone ribbon bearing the single carved word, Murkaster. Othman tried the door, found it unlocked, and went into the building. After crossing a gloomy hallway, he entered a large dusty room beyond. Arched, stained gla.s.s windows were positioned high in the walls. Dwarfed by the room, a group of elderly people sat in modern, plastic chairs near a stage at the far end. Othman noticed a middle-aged woman handing out tea. He walked towards the group, and the tea-maker became aware of his presence. She stood up straight, her face registering surprise. She seemed frozen.

Good morning!' Othman announced.

Ancient heads all turned to stare. He walked into the middle of the circle of chairs and turned round slowly to inspect each raddled face. The mother of Eva Manden raised a hand and stabbed the air emphatically with a rigid finger. She said nothing, but her eyes were bright.

Mariam's first thought when the tall, long-haired man walked into the middle of her charges was that he was a Murkaster. Her heart almost stopped for a moment. Can I help you?' she enquired.

The man turned to looked at her with deep blue yet snake-like eyes. She realised then he was no Murkaster, even though there was something very familiar about him. He was too fair; all the Murkasters had had rich, auburn hair and golden eyes. And yet, despite his fairness, there was something dark about this one, dark as a wood shadow.

Othman, as he regarded this female, realised she was insignificant. However, she was a relative outsider, and he hoped she wouldn't be a prohibitive presence while he examined the old ones for signs of Grigori attachment. Before he could speak, a loud cackle pealed out from the throat of Emilia Manden.

I told you,' she cawed to her confederates. Didn't I tell you?'

Around her, grumbles of a.s.sent started up. Othman smiled. Dismissing the carer from his attention for the time being, he went to each of the old people in turn, making a fluttering gesture with his hands, which he concealed from the carer. As he did so, a fleeting bloom of light illumined the wrinkles and eager eyes of each face. Yes, it was there, tired and worn out, but still lingering: the taint of Grigori. When he reached Emilia, he actually reached out to touch her cheek. h.e.l.lo again!'

Not that!' snapped the old woman, jerking away. We want the juice. It's been too long for that.'

Othman withdrew his hand. He laughed politely.

Mariam was becoming increasingly discomfited. Excuse me,' she said, in what she hoped sounded like a firm voice, but would you mind telling me what you're doing here?'

Her question provoked a sibilant hiss from Emilia Manden. Get out of here, you silly b.i.t.c.h!' she cried, drawing herself shakily out of her chair and tottering erect. Her grey hair hung unbound down her back; she was an image of ancient, female power. Get out, Mariam Alderley! We have private business!' Her voice echoed through the hall.

Mariam felt strangely dizzy. Emilia...' she began, in a soothing tone, but Othman interrupted her.

I'm sorry to cause a fuss, but I'm staying here in the village for a while, and would like to offer my services for some voluntary work.' He turned a beaming smile on Mariam, who visibly softened under its light.

That's very kind of you, Mr...?'

Othman, Peverel Othman.'

Mariam now felt light-headed, floating rather than dizzy. She had an intense desire to accommodate the requirements of this imposing, handsome man. In her right mind, she would have wondered about him; he did not look like a volunteer. Right. Have you got experience of working with older people?'

Oh yes. It's something I'm always involved in. And I like to fill my time with worthwhile work wherever I am. I'm staying at The White House. Mrs Eager told me about the day centre.'

Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I'm sure we can do with an extra pair of hands.'

So what can I do to help?'

Mariam wanted to sit down. She felt overwhelmingly grateful someone was here to help her. Well, we generally have a game of housey-housey after tea. P'raps you'd like to call the numbers for us.'

The old people all uttered eager murmurs of a.s.sent. Ignored, Emilia Manden sat down again, fixing Othman with a glinting, raptor's eye. Othman made a covert signal to her. He recognised her seniority in status among these people, but it was totally inappropriate to arouse the carer's suspicions. He hoped Emilia Manden would go along with him for now.

Lily felt uneasy. Why hadn't Peverel Othman come back to see her and Owen? Was he disgusted by what had happened on Sunday night? She couldn't bear to talk to Owen about it. In fact, the thought of sharing with Owen now made her feel slightly sick. Last night, he'd gone out with the Cranton boy again. Lily still wasn't convinced Owen didn't have a thing about him. Why had she agreed to go to that wretched meal at Low Mede? At the time it had seemed like a good idea. At the time, she had actually warmed to Daniel Cranton, and had wanted to put aside her jealousies. Now, she had changed her mind again. What was happening? It felt as if her life was cracking apart, and something, which had been contained, was flowing out, changing everything. She wrote in her notebook: I was asleep for a thousand years, and he woke me up. But he did more than kiss me...'

Sighing, she put down her pen, stood up and went into the kitchen. Here, she put the kettle on for her fifth cup of tea of the morning, and picked up one of her cats, t.i.tus. As the kettle groaned and bubbled in the silence of the room, she swayed around to unheard music, cradling the cat against her shoulder. Why hadn't Othman come? Should she go to The White House to look for him? No. No. Don't be stupid! Where was Owen now? Was he with Othman? Surely he wouldn't go without her? Her thoughts were too crowded, she didn't want them. If only she had someone to talk to. Lily surprised herself with that thought. Normally, Owen was the only confidant she needed, and if he was absent, her desire to talk could always wait until he returned home. She had lived here in Little Moor for the greater part of her life, yet didn't have a friend. She knew it hadn't been that way when she and her mother and brother had lived in the town further south. She could remember friends from school there, summer evenings spent playing outside together. But since moving to Little Moor, she'd struck up no new friends.h.i.+ps, and the ones from her childhood had faded away through distance and time. She'd known girls at Patterham High, and had not been unpopular, but had never confided in any of them, or spent time with them in the evenings and at weekends. There was something about the village that repelled outsiders, and the local girls all kept a distance from Lily, in a furtive kind of way. They were polite but unapproachable.

Lily swayed on the spot, considering an idea that came to her. She could go and call on Barbara Eager. Barbara was forever hinting at visiting the cottage, and Lily knew the woman longed to take her in hand. She could go and ask about the writing circle, or tell Barbara about the Crantons' invitation. Two excuses! What more could she need? This, she told herself, had nothing to do with the desire to come across Peverel Othman.

Lily washed her face at the kitchen sink, dried herself on a tea-towel that smelled of cat food, and put on a pair of Owen's boots. Halfway to the back door, she reconsidered, and changed the boots for a pair of sandals. Then, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink, and decided her hair could do with a brush. As she was dragging a greasy comb through the tangles, she noticed there was a large tomato sauce stain on her dress. Uttering a muted cry of annoyance, she picked up a damp, grey rag from the draining board. After scrubbing uselessly at the stain for a few seconds, she stamped her foot and wriggled out of the dress, which she threw on the kitchen floor. Beneath it, she was naked. What to wear? What to wear? Lily darted upstairs. Perhaps she should put some knickers on. She did not possess a bra. Eventually, she found a faded lilac coloured dress, which she thought might once have belonged to her mother, and which wasn't too wrinkled. In fact, it looked quite good. She inspected herself in the cloudy cheval gla.s.s in her bedroom. And groaned. Then, grabbing a long cardigan, with holes recently darned, she hurried out of the house before she could change her mind.

It felt strange, going to The White House during the day, but then Lily knew that all buildings possessed different personae for the dark hours and the light. As usual the small reception desk in the hall was unstaffed, with a printed notice sitting on the counter, advising potential residents to make enquiries in the bar.

Shuni Perks, a girl Lily's age, and sister of Owen's friend, Ray, was slouched behind the bar, chewing her nails. She always made Lily shudder; there was something bas.e.m.e.nt-like about Shuni Perks, which Lily detested, a hint of damp and must and fungus. Is Mrs Eager about?' Lily tried to sound pleasant and friendly.

Shuni didn't look too pleased to see her, but there was caution in her body posture rather than hostility. Yeah, upstairs.'

There was a pause. Well, I'd like to see her. Could you get her for me?'

Shuni smirked in a half c.o.c.ky, half nervous manner and thumbed an intercom b.u.t.ton on the wall beside the optics. Lily heard Barbara's breathless, Ye-ess?'

Lily Winter here to see you,' Shuni said. It was almost as if she expected Barbara to be embarra.s.sed.

Lily? Oh, right. I'll come down.'

Hear that?' Shuni said.

Lily nodded and moved away from the bar, hands deep in her cardigan pockets. She wondered what she was doing here. She wondered why she felt so excited and tense.

Barbara breezed into the bar, just as Lily was drifting back into the hallway, having been made uncomfortable by Shuni's covert scrutiny. Barbara, as ever, was impeccably dressed in a cream trouser suit with a floor-length, wafting waistcoat. Her hair tumbled luxuriously, almost impudently, over her shoulders. Lily realised that Barbara was actually a very attractive woman, and must have been absolutely stunning twenty years ago. Lily! What a surprise! I was just doing the accounts. Horrible job! What a welcome distraction! What can I do for you?'

Confronted, Lily felt completely dumb. Perhaps Barbara's friendliness hadn't meant anything. Perhaps she was like that with all her customers. Was Lily intruding now? She felt her face grow hot. Er - well - my writing and - um - Low Mede - the meal...' She shrugged helplessly.

Aha!' Barbara laughed delightedly, putting the palms of her hands together before her face. I see! You're worried about the do at the Crantons, aren't you!' She put a proprietorial arm around Lily's shoulders and dragged her towards the door marked Private' in the hall. There's no need to worry, Louis's a perfectly lovely man! It won't be formal, or anything.'

Relieved, Lily went along with Barbara's a.s.sumption. Well, I was a bit worried about what to wear and stuff. I've got some dresses of Mum's, but...'

She followed Barbara up the private stairway to the Eagers' first floor flat. The air smelled of fruit. Incense or burning oil, she thought.

Why don't you buy something new?' Barbara suggested, gesturing for Lily to proceed her into an airy lounge. She hoped she wasn't being presumptuous, but it was common knowledge the twins had a private income. Poor things, they just didn't know how to manage their money, or themselves. Barbara itched to have a hand in their affairs, confident she could work miracles.

Lily was afraid to sit down on the blonde sofa, in case she got it dirty. I suppose I could,' she said, but there isn't much time, now.'

Tell you what!' Barbara said, brightly, balancing in a girlish manner on the arm of the sofa. I could drive you to Patterham tomorrow morning. How about that? We could go shopping together!'

Lily hadn't expected that. That's nice of you, Mrs Eager... Thanks.'

It'll be fun. Now, come and sit down. And please - it's Barbara.'

Timidly, Lily edged around a black lacquered occasional table and sat on the edge of the sofa. Please don't leave marks, she told herself.

Barbara went to make tea, and Lily inspected her surroundings. It was so elegant. She wished the cottage could be like this: clean and fragrant and airy. Barbara had collected all kinds of nick-nacks which stood on various display stands and shelves around the walls. There were a couple of dark old portraits of shadowy women, obviously genuine antiques.

Barbara came back, carrying a wooden tray, rag-rolled by hand in dusty-blue paint. There was an enormous teapot in fiery red china and red mugs, decorated with birds of paradise in gold, jade and purple. What lovely things, Lily thought. I wish I had lovely things. She realised she wouldn't know where to start.

Barbara sat down next to Lily and poured tea, Earl Grey. I hope you like this,' she beamed, handing Lily a mug. So, you also mentioned your writing downstairs. How are you getting on?' She was flattered that Lily had obviously come to her for advice or feedback.

It's harder than I thought,' Lily answered, sipping the delicately flavoured tea. Owen and she drank tea like tar: almost black and with several spoons of sugar each. Barbara had not offered sugar. I mean, there's so much I want to say, and I can think it right through, but when I come to write down my thoughts, it sounds stupid or boring.'

Barbara smiled encouragingly. Everybody says that! Your writing's probably not as bad as you think.' She hoped she was right. You must bring something along to one of my meetings.'

Lily couldn't help frowning. Well, maybe...'

Or if you prefer,' added Barbara intuitively, you could bring it round when I'm on my own, and I'll read it through, and we could talk about it.'

That would be better,' said Lily. She wondered how she could introduce the subject of Peverel Othman without being obvious. Perhaps Barbara hadn't paid that much attention to him, or disliked him for having long hair and no tie. Lily would hate it if she mentioned him, and Barbara screwed up her nose in distaste, or murmured things about unsuitability. Lily was always very conscious of being unsuitable in society that considered itself polite.

Barbara touched Lily's arm. I'm so pleased you've come to see me.'

Lily grinned awkwardly. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come. I was at home on my own,' she said lamely, and then took a deep breath. We've got to know one of your guests...'

Oh, that will be Pev!' Barbara said.

Lily winced at the intimate short form of his name. Yes. Peverel Othman.'

Poor girl, thought Barbara. Here she is, struggling to make conversation, and it all comes out so stilted! She wondered how she could put Lily at her ease. Not the usual sort we attract round here, is he?'

Lily smiled. No. Not really.'

He seems to have taken a s.h.i.+ne to you and Owen.'

Lily wondered how much she wanted to talk about Othman with Barbara. There was no way she could, or should, confess even a little of what had happened in the cottage on Sunday night. Yet talking about him seemed the next best thing to seeing him. It makes a change,' she said. I don't get to see many people.'

Barbara's face a.s.sumed an expression of concern. Oh, Lily, are you lonely?' She felt that might be too direct for this retreating creature, and half expected Lily to make some excuse and leave abruptly.

Not lonely,' Lily answered, surprisingly readily. But something.' She smiled tightly at Barbara. I must be boring you.'

Barbara shook her head vigorously. No, no! I am concerned about you, Lily. You're such an attractive, bright girl...' She winced at her patronising tone. I'm sorry. That sounds terrible. I don't mean to be condescending, but I suppose there's no easy way to say it. I think you could do a lot more with your life.' There, it was said. Would Lily leave now, take offence?

Lily however was clearly not a predictable creature.

That could be said of most people in the village,' Lily answered. This is our life. Quite small. I'm not unhappy, though. Owen and I have everything we need. I don't hanker for anything else.' She wondered whether this was true. Things seemed to have changed recently.

Barbara wanted to say that Lily could tidy herself up a bit, do something with the cottage, but felt these suggestions were too forward. She would have to get to know Lily better, nudge her along gently rather than charge in. Well, I'm glad you came to see me.' She risked a more personal remark. I don't get to see my own daughter very often.'

Lily nodded. Yes, I know.'

Do you miss your mother?'

Not now. Well, sometimes, I suppose.' She smiled, more freely this time. I'm always surrounded by boys - Owen and his friends.'