out by his father. Well, well. Little Oliver was growing up at last. Bea noticed he hadnât mentioned his friendâs name. Would it do any good to ask, or merely irritate him? She understood that teenagers didnât like to be cross-questioned about their doings, and she could trust Oliver to be sensible, couldnât she? At least she now knew why heâd got home so late.
He helped himself to another bowl of muesli, and looked at the stove. âAny chance of a couple of eggs?â
Bea put some eggs on to boil, adding vinegar to the water to prevent the eggs from bursting in the pan.
Oliverâs appetite seemed to have improved with the exercise. âIâd rather you didnât tell Maggie Iâve joined the gym. Sheâs been ribbing me about being on the small side and sheâll think Iâve done it to impress her, which isnât true. I canât help being on the small side. Itâs genetic.â
Bea hid a smile. Oliver was definitely growing up. âNapoleon was the same, and Nelson.â
âIâm not really the fighting type.â
Bea served him his boiled eggs and toast as the front door burst inwards and Maggie appeared, waving the morning papers.
âAm I good, or am I good!â she said, whacking them down on the table. âMission accomplished, etcetera. And oh, heâs totally, utterly gorgeous, and I seem to have made quite an impression on him, too, because he was all over me till I disentangled myself to get some kip. A bit quick, I thought, but I canât say I disliked it. Oh, my! I turn my back for five minutes and look at the mess youâre in.â
She swept their cereal bowls into the dishwasher, removed the milk bottle, threw off her jacket, and went on talking. âI just love this job. Going into a flat share is the best thing that could have happened to me. Thereâs two other flats in the block rented by young people and theyâre in and out of one anotherâs rooms, with a party in one flat or the other every weekend. Thereâs one tonight upstairs that weâre all going to and Charlotte â sheâs a sort of ugly duckling, but she seems to be responsible for the running of the flat â but if you, Mrs Abbot, were to take her in hand maybe you could stop her wearing those heavy dark glasses and hair all over her face as if trying to hide behind it, and her skirts are the wrong length, you know?â
Oliver said, âCalm down, sit down, and tell us more about your latest conquest.â
She rolled her eyes. âHeâs got a voice like whipped cream mixed with ginger and chocolate, and his skinâs that colour too. He says his parents came from Grenada, but heâs as British as you and me, and clever with it. Heâs going places, is Zander.â
âHang about,â said Oliver. âI thought you were there to get close to someone called Philip?â
Maggie put out her tongue at Oliver, but hooked the teapot towards her, and poured herself a mug. âPhilip? I didnât see him. It took me some time to work out who was who, because like I said, people from the flat upstairs seem to spend time in our flat, and vice versa. I nearly made a booboo with one man, thinking he might be Philip, but he wasnât; he was from upstairs.
âAnyway I did ask Charlotte â thatâs the ugly duckling â who the other men in the flat might be because Iâm sharing a huge bedroom and a shower room with her, but there are three other bedrooms and one of them must be Philipâs. She said one of the men seemed to be out and another went out early, I donât know where, but his nameâs Lee or something like that. Not Philip. Then I met Zander, thatâs the poppet Iâve been telling you about. He said Lee, or whatever his name is, had gone out for the evening and that Philip was a bit erratic, might be working late, they could never tell his movements, and that
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