The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [29]
‘Do be quiet, Cat.’ she says. ‘You're frightening Charlie.’
The child raises her head and Tiggy glimpses a small narrow face with close-set eyes that peer slyly at Charlie. He stares back, seraph-like, wide-eyed and curious at this intrusion but not unduly upset.
‘Coffee?’ Julia says to nobody in particular, assembling mugs.
‘Thanks.’ Angela says. ‘We're on our way to see my mother at Rock and couldn't resist dropping in to see how you are.’
With her free hand, she puts her bag on the table and roots for her cigarettes. She shakes a few loose, offers one to Julia and then to Tiggy, who refuses with a shake of the head. It is interesting to her that the narrow-faced, slant-eyed look should be so sexy on the mother when it is so unattractive on the child. She is aware of an uneasiness but can't decide whether it is emanating from Julia or herself, though she is very glad that she's wearing a baggy shirt over her jeans: she knows at once that Angela wouldn't miss a trick.
Julia is filling the kettle for coffee, talking easily enough, but Tiggy senses that the focus has changed and somehow Angela is now in control. She sits with the child clamped to her lap, the centre of attention, smiling her secretive, slant-eyed smile, as if she and Cat have some kind of right of ownership here, and Tiggy has a strong desire to break this odd spell. Clearly Andy feels the same. He begins to play noisily with the Turk so that she barks and, when Julia tries to hush him, he shouts, ‘Pee po piddle bum,’ whilst Liv shrieks with hysterical laughter. Tiggy sees that, though this might have made Julia laugh if they'd been on their own with the twins, with Angela here she is flustered and upset. Tiggy decides to take control.
‘Oh, shut up, Andy,’ she says calmly. ‘That isn't remotely funny. And where are your pictures for Daddy? Have you written on them yet so he knows which is which?’
Somehow she manages to get them back to the end of the table, creating a small area of activity that catches the attention away from Angela and Cat, who now raises her head to watch the twins busily at work.
‘How is Pete?’ asks Angela, blowing smoke sideways, hefting Cat more comfortably on to her lap. Are you getting letters? He's in the Med, isn't he?’
Her voice carries a faint inflection of affectionate propriety, as if she has some sort of natural right to Pete and that his welfare is her concern, imposing this claim on Julia just as she had earlier imposed her presence, somehow making herself the centre of attention – and Tiggy glances quickly at Julia, already defensive on her behalf. Julia is still standing, her head slightly bent, smoking her cigarette with her right elbow cupped in her left hand.
‘Oh, yes,’ she answers. ‘I've had letters. And he sends the children postcards. They've been on exercise off Île d'Or and then they went to Naples. They're finishing with a run ashore in Athens. They're having a great lime.’
‘I can believe that.’
Angela sounds amused: the implication being that she knows exactly what kind of good time Pete might be capable of, and that she thoroughly approves. There is a little silence. Liv, sensitive to atmosphere, lifts her head and, quick as lightning, Cat thrusts out her tongue at her before cramming three fingers of her hand into her mouth and gripping her mother with renewed energy. Liv looks affronted; she stares indignantly at Julia, hoping that she's noticed, and Tiggy intervenes again.
‘It's time for Play School,’ she says. ‘Come on. I'll switch the television on for you. Coming, Andy?’ Courtesy makes her smile at Cat. ‘Would you like to watch Play School?’ she asks.
The child stares at her: the close-set squint of the eyes and the mouth stretched wide by having most of her hand thrust into it combine to give her a grotesque look that repels Tiggy. Surprised, and shocked at her depth of dislike, she gives a little smiling shrug and turns away with the