you got an Italian aunty as well?’
‘No—I learnt this off Mrs Mancini along the road. She’s only got girls, so she sort of adopted me. I was a really skinny kid, and she used to sit me in her kitchen and feed me up until I couldn’t move.’
There was a time when he’d spent more time with the Mancinis than he had at home. He was always made to feel welcome there.
Jonathan chopped, stirred and tasted. He added bacon lardons, beaten eggs and cream. Finally he drained the spaghetti, mixed it with the sauce, divided it between two plates and put one down in front of Scarlett with a flourish.
‘Spaghetti alla carbonara!’
‘Wow—’ Scarlett looked suitably impressed. ‘It smells delicious.’
She picked up her spoon and fork and tried to capture the slippery pasta. Jonathan remembered the first time he had eaten spaghetti, when he was about eight, how Mrs Mancini had stood behind him and guided his hands, her comforting warm body pressing into his back.
‘It’s a so-and-so to eat, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘There’s a knack to it—look—’
He demonstrated. Scarlett copied, with much laughter.
‘I did it! I did it!’ she cried, as she managed to get the perfect amount of spaghetti twiddled round her fork. She carried it to her mouth, and her eyes closed with pleasure. ‘Mmm—gorgeous—’
Jonathan relaxed. She liked it. Everything was well with the world. They ate and they talked, they found they liked the same music, the same films. Jonathan made some proper coffee in the percolator, another new taste for Scarlett, and they began a long argument over whether Rock Hudson was a better actor than Clark Gable. He was just acting out a scene to prove his point when the door opened.
‘Jonathan, I thought I could hear your voice. What on earth are you doing in here?’
It was his mother. Jonathan broke off in mid-sentence.
‘I was just…’ he began.
But she wasn’t listening. His mother was staring at Scarlett as if she were an armed robber.
‘And just who might you be?’ she demanded.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE newcomer was a hard-faced woman of forty or so with grey eyes as cold as pebbles and a helmet of wiry brown hair. She was staring at Scarlett with undisguised hostility. This must be the Missus, whom Irma had said mustn’t be disturbed and didn’t normally allow children. Scarlett disliked her on sight.
‘I’m Scarlett Smith, Victor Smith’s daughter,’ she said, holding that cold gaze unflinchingly.
‘Really?’ The eyes swept over her again. ‘I thought you were younger than… How old are you?’
‘Fourteen.’
As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Scarlett wondered if she should have lied. Supposing her father lost his job because this dreadful woman didn’t like girls her age? Two or three hours ago, before she’d met Jonathan, she would have been glad to get out of this place, but now it was different. She had a reason to stay.
The Missus’s mouth closed into a straight line of disapproval.
‘Hmm. You look older. Well, you’re more than old enough to know where you should and shouldn’t be round here. No going in the bar area during opening time, or at any other time unless you’re specifically told to by me or the Guv’nor, and no going into our flat upstairs, even if Jonathan here invites you. Is that clear?’
‘Very.’
Scarlett’s original dislike was turning into loathing by the second. She couldn’t remember ever having met such an unpleasant woman. She glanced at Jonathan. He was looking acutely embarrassed. She immediately felt overwhelmingly sorry for him. How dreadful to have a mother like that.
‘Good.’
The Missus held her eyes for a few moments more, as if she knew of the resentment boiling within her and was enjoying it. Then she turned to look at her son.
‘You’d better get upstairs straight away.’
‘We haven’t washed up yet,’ Jonathan said.
‘Never mind that. She can do it. I take it that’s our food you’ve been giving her?’
‘I was making her feel at home,’ Jonathan stated.
‘So I can see. Now you’ve done it, you can go upstairs.’
‘Not until I’ve cleared away.’
Jonathan stood up and started piling the plates and cutlery. Taking his cue, Scarlett picked up the cups and saucers. She was about to take them over to the sink when a hand descended on her shoulder and held her in a grip of iron. It was all Scarlett could do not to cry out.
‘You—’ the Missus’s voice was low and menacing in her ear ‘—put those down.’
‘You’re hurting me!’
‘Mum!’ Jonathan yelled.
‘Put. Them. Down.’
Scarlett did so.
‘You’re not at your own place now, young woman. You’re at my place. You can’t do what you like—you do what you’re told. Understood? You and your father can be out on your ear at any time. Now, go up to your room.’
She was released with a push towards the door. Shocked, Scarlett stumbled round the scarred table. Nobody, not even the scariest of teachers, had ever spoken to her like that in her life. In the doorway she paused and looked back at Jonathan. He was flushed with anger. Scarlett’s courage flared. Ignoring his mother, she spoke to Jonathan.
‘Thanks ever so much for that supper. It was the best meal I ever tasted.’
His tense face relaxed into a smile.
‘My pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’
‘OK.’
And she made off before his mother could ruin it.
By the time she had run upstairs to her room, she was shaking with fear, anger and a sort of wild triumph. She and Jonathan had not let that witch have the last word. She slammed the door shut behind her and flung herself on the lumpy bed, her heart thumping.
‘You cow,’ she said out loud. ‘You cow.’
And it swept over her how far away from home she was. The life she had known—the Red Lion, her friends in the village—all of that was gone for ever. Much more than that, her mother had gone. While they had stayed on at the Red Lion, it was as if she had just gone away on a visit for a while. Her spirit was in every nook and cranny of the place. Even though Scarlett had seen her dead on the kitchen floor, had been to the funeral and seen her lowered into the earth of the churchyard, still she had felt her mother there, just beyond touching. But this place was different. It was cold and hard. Her mother would never reach her here. Scarlett lay on her face and wept.
She must have gone to sleep at last, because the next thing she knew was her father bending over her. He kissed her cheek, shut the door gently and went out. Scarlett slid once more into a sleep of emotional and physical exhaustion.
When she woke again it was morning. She realised she was fully clothed and lying on top of the covers. Outside, seagulls were crying. It was the first full day of her new life. The Trafalgar was still horrible, the Missus was still a dragon, her old life was still gone for ever, but in daylight it somehow didn’t seem quite as bad as it had last night. She lay there for a moment thinking about Jonathan. What a nice person he was, and full of surprises. Had he meant it when he had asked her to go sailing with him? Sometimes when people said things like that, they didn’t really expect you to take them up on it, but somehow she thought that when Jonathan said something, he meant it. She desperately hoped so. With Jonathan