Too Close For Comfort by Eleanor Moran Read Free Book Online Page B

with her. Or was I just being paranoid? ‘OK then, let’s hit the
road.’
    But as we headed towards the car, she suddenly stopped. She turned to me, her face pinched.
    ‘You’re . . .’ She stopped, checked herself. ‘You’re a really good listener.’ The way she said it didn’t make it sound like a compliment.
‘I shouldn’t – I went on a bit, didn’t I?’
    ‘Not at all,’ I said, stiff again. ‘You asked to talk, and that’s what we did.’
    ‘Yeah I know, about like, candles and incense and deep breathing. All that other stuff I said – I was rambling on. We’re all just freaked out right now, the funeral
tomorrow.’ She flicked her hands outwards, anger in the gesture. ‘Just forget it.’
    ‘OK,’ I said uncertainly, not sure exactly which part I was erasing from the tapes – of course now I was spooling back through them, trying to work out what she was regretting
so much. ‘It’s completely understandable that you’re trying to make sense of it.’
    A darkness crossed her face, a bright grin swiftly plastered over the top. I shivered, not sure if it was the rapidly descending sun or the change in temperature between the two of us.
‘You’re like a wise old owl, aren’t you?’ she said.
    That didn’t sound like a compliment either. Besides, I really wasn’t. If I had been, I’d have flown out of town right there and then.
    *
    I could see into the kitchen when I climbed out of the car. Lysette’s face was caught in half-profile, her lips moving, a sense of bustling purpose immediately apparent. I
felt a tidal wave of relief, scrabbling in my bag for the spare key she’d given me. I pushed away my unease about the odd encounter I’d just had, calling out a hello as I wiped my muddy
feet on the equally muddy doormat.
    ‘How was it?’ she said, turning to smile at me. Saffron was sitting on a kitchen chair, little legs swinging above the ground, the mound of rainbow-coloured vegetables in front of
her telling me that supper was in progress. She had a butter knife, a half of a red pepper she was happily mauling.
    ‘Yeah, no, fine,’ I said, guilt needling me again. Had I elicited too much from Helena, overstepped the mark? ‘I like her. Well – I think I like her.’
    Lysette laughed. She put a wok on the hob, poured in oil. ‘They can seem a bit up themselves when you first meet them – Helena and Kimberley, I mean, not Alex – but she’s
actually a real laugh. Not right now, obviously.’ Lysette paused, leaned on the scuffed pine table. ‘Thanks for doing that. Sorry if I was a bit . . .’
    I shrugged, smiled at her. Was it me who should be apologising to her? ‘I get it, don’t worry. What’s the deal with Alex? She doesn’t seem like the other two at
all.’
    ‘She got friendly with Kimberley via the PTA. She’s an academic at Cambridge, super clever.’ Lysette crossed to the fridge. ‘Do you want a cheeky glass of what I’m
having?’
    I sank into the chair next to Saffron, embraced by the comforting ordinariness. ‘Go on then. It sounds like the PTA’s a really big deal?’
    ‘You betcha,’ said Lysette, pulling out a bottle of white. There was less than a third in there, our glasses only half full once she’d tipped it all in. ‘Alex comes up
with all these schemes to bring in piles of cash so Kimberley loves her. She’s a single mum. She didn’t meet anyone so she decided to go it alone.’ She glanced down at Saffron,
who was cutting the pepper into ever tinier pieces with the blind focus of a serial killer. ‘Cra-zy decision,’ mouthed Lysette, taking a deep pull from her glass.
    ‘Or brave,’ I said, the words sounding more tart than I’d intended.
    ‘Bravery’s overrated,’ replied Lysette, the momentary lightness already draining away. She was staring off into the middle distance, ignoring the sound of oil fizzing and
hissing in the wok.
    ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked gently.
    ‘Oh, you know,’ she said,