Читать книгу Flight of a Starling - Lisa Heathfield - Страница 8

RITA

We moved on yesterday, so my arm has had a day to recover, but Ma still brought my breakfast to Terini this morning. I don’t go to Mada until lunchtime and now they flit around me, making me sit at the table and not letting me help at all.

‘My arm’s not that bad,’ I say. ‘I’d like to do something at least.’ It doesn’t feel right sat here watching Ma and Lo do all the work.

‘Make the most of it,’ Ma smiles at me, as she puts a plate of Russian cutlets in front of me.

‘It makes a nice change to see you sitting down,’ Grands says. He’s in his armchair as he likes, his tray of scran balanced on his lap. It’s only been a year since Rita and I moved into our own van, to make space for Grands in here, but now I can’t imagine him anywhere else.

‘It’s a strange town, this one,’ I say.

‘Why?’ Ma asks, as she pours gravy from the pan into the jug.

‘It’s just got a funny feel to it,’ I say. Lo puts her plate next to Da and he moves up to make room.

‘We’ve only been here a day,’ Ma says. ‘You’ve hardly seen it.’ She wipes at the edge of her mouth with the napkin. A bit of her lipstick sticks to the material.

‘It’s just strange,’ I say. ‘And there’s not much of a view, either.’ Sometimes we’re next to fields and hills, but now the window by the sink looks on to the wall at the edge of the park.

‘Not like the pitch near Haworth,’ Da says. ‘Do you remember those sunsets across the moors, Liz?’

Ma screws up her face. ‘With those wild horses that stuck their noses through our windows?’ She’s already done her hair, even though it’s early, some dark curls trapped in a knot, the rest falling by her neck.

‘We should’ve kept one,’ I say.

‘They’re meant to be free,’ Lo says. She balances a pea on the side of her plate and flicks it at me. But I’m too quick and catch it in my fingers.

‘Too slow, Bozo,’ I laugh. She picks up two more, but Da clamps his hand over hers.

‘Don’t waste food, Lo.’

‘It’s only two peas, Da.’ But she’s laughing as she throws them into her mouth, smiling widely so that I can see them held squashed between her teeth.

‘Nice,’ I say.

‘Like your mangled arm,’ she says.

‘Lo.’ Ma’s not smiling any more.

‘It’s not mangled,’ I say. ‘Look, it moves and everything.’ I bend it crooked at the elbow, then stretch it out to wiggle my fingers.

‘I think that Rob is pushing you too far,’ Grands says, laying his knife and fork neatly on his plate.

‘He knows what he’s doing,’ I say.

‘Does he?’ Grands asks. Although it was before Rob’s time, memories of Gran Margaret whisper around us, her accident never far from Grands’ eyes.

‘Nothing bad will happen to us,’ I tell him. ‘Rob cares about us too much to put us in real danger.’ Lo told me how he paced up and down last night, his thoughts filled with me.

‘Are you definitely all right to perform?’ Lo asks, serious now. Blame isn’t a word we use in our circus, but deep inside her I can tell that guilt still flickers.

‘Course,’ I say. ‘Besides, it’s only set-up today.’

‘You’re not to do any heavy lifting,’ Da tells me.

‘I’d better look after her then,’ Lo tries, but Da just clips her gently round the head.

‘You, Miss Lolita, will have to work twice as hard.’