Chosen by Lesley Glaister Page A

her glass. ‘Once again, welcome. And tuck in.’
    â€˜Cheers.’ Dodie tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a sip of the wine; a bit sweet but still reviving. Reassured that at least they aren’t teetotal, she forks up slivers of red in a sticky sauce: rich, earthy; tomatoes, paprika.
    â€˜Mmm,’ she says. ‘Where’s everybody else?’
    â€˜We like to welcome guests in here – more of a personal touch.’
    â€˜But I’d like to see where Seth stays.’
    â€˜Tomorrow.’
    â€˜I need some water.’ She starts to stand.
    â€˜No, no.’ Martha is up and filling a glass from a fizzy bottle before Dodie can open her mouth to object. She hasn’t been looked after like this since . . . well, ever. She swigs back half the glass.
    â€˜I don’t even know how Seth came to be here,’ she says.
    Martha dabs her mouth on a napkin. ‘I expect he ran into a Relative.’
    â€˜In Sheffield?’
    Martha laughs. ‘We get everywhere! I’m sure he’ll fill you in tomorrow.’ They eat and chat and Dodie finds her tongue running away with her – it must be the wine or the jet lag or Martha’s kindly face – telling her all about Jake, how clever he is, so advanced for his age, so beautiful and funny. She tells her about Rod wanting to leave, about the shock of finding Stella’s body. Martha leans forward as she listens to this, her eyes bright and curious. Dodie talks about Seth, how brilliant he is but how he used to get bullied at school, just for being outside the crowd, just for being himself. ‘He hates football, drama’s more his thing, he’s really sweet and funny – well, you’ll know that.’ Dodie’s voice cracks and she bites her knuckle.
    â€˜You’ll see him tomorrow,’ Martha says.
    Dodie takes another forkful, chews, forces the food past the sudden blockage in her throat. Shame there’s no TV or radio or music or anything, just the personal sounds of mastication and swallowing.
    â€˜Do
you
have children?’ she asks Martha, to break the silence.
    There’s a minute flaring in Martha’s eyes, then she withdraws a little and shakes her head.
    â€˜But you must have some family? Biological, I mean,’ Dodie adds.
    Martha nods.
    â€˜Do you see them?’
    â€˜Now and then.’
    â€˜But not much? God, I could never ever in a million years contemplate leaving Jake,’ Dodie says. ‘It’s nearly killing me just leaving for a
week
. Seth is the only reason I’d ever leave him. Maybe I
should
have brought him with me. I was feeling kind of torn. Wish I had.’ Has he stopped crying yet? How’s his cold? She never even asked. Has he eaten his lunch? Is he napping? Or will Rod have him in the workshop with all the splintery wood, the dangerous tools?
    â€˜Oh, Seth,’ she says, her voice beginning to slur. ‘I just need to see that’s he’s all right then I’ll go home.’
    â€˜Seth’s fine.’
    â€˜I just need to
see
that. For myself.’
    â€˜Of course you do.’ Martha puts her fork down and stands up. ‘He’s lucky to have a sister like you. Get off to bed now. God bless,’ she says and, as Dodie passes on her way to the bathroom, she prints a kiss against her brow.

7
    S he floats up through a dream, rags and scrags of voices, the chink of cup against saucer – and Martha is standing beside the bed, smiling, holding out a cup of tea.
    â€˜How did you sleep?’
    â€˜Fine.’ Dodie hauls herself up against the pillows, blinking away the cling of dreams. ‘I haven’t slept so deeply since . . . I don’t know.’ But then she frowns, remembering something. ‘Was that other woman in here last night? Hannah?’
    â€˜No,’ Martha says.
    â€˜I thought I woke up in the night and there she was, staring.’
    â€˜A dream,’ Martha says.