Never Close Your Eyes by Emma Burstall Page A

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    Nic hummed as she spread out the oven chips on a baking tray and took the peas and fishfingers out of the freezer. It was hardly cordon bleu but at least the boys would eat it. She wondered what to do for Alan and opened the fridge. There were prawns and lots of vegetables. She could do a curry. She liked cooking curries. There again, he’d probably have had a big lunch at work and there was no point cooking curry just for her. She pulled a ready-made moussaka out of the freezer. It’d do. She’d just have a bit of salad.
    She checked the kitchen clock: 5.50 p.m. Ten minutes to go. She tipped some peanuts into a bowl and opened a packet of port and stilton crisps. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. She picked three of her favourite glasses from the cupboard – the green and silver party ones that she’d found in a catalogue – and then she laid the table.
    The boys were very quiet upstairs, probably on the PlayStation. The clock hands slid to the 6 and 12. Nic breathed in and out slowly, padded to the fridge and removed the bottle of Chardonnay. Her fingers trembled slightly as she uncorked it and poured herself exactly half a glass.
    The wine was pale gold, thick, almost oily-looking. She took a sip and sighed. Her body seemed to melt into the liquid. She took another sip and closed her eyes.
    The oven pinged. Her eyelids fluttered open. ‘Boys!’ she called. ‘Supper.’
    They trooped into the kitchen and sat, silently gobbling down the food that she’d put in front of them. She watched with amusement while Dominic, his dark head bent over the plate in concentration, separated his food into three parts: peas, fishfingers and chips. Then he ate the peas and fishfingers, leaving the chips, his favourite, till last. He’d always done that, ever since he was old enough to hold a spoon and fork.
    Evie’s Michael was the opposite, though. He ate the chips first, dipping them again and again into the tomato ketchup, his mouth soon smeared red, making smacking noises with his lips. Then he ate the fishfingers and finally the vegetables – his least favourite. He was rather quiet and reserved when he didn’t know people but Nic was glad that he felt at home here.
    â€˜Eat up your peas then you can have pudding,’ she said firmly.
    Gradually the volume in the kitchen started to increase. Soon, it was almost deafening. The two boys were laughing and shoving each other. Dominic almost fell off his chair.
    â€˜Watch it,’ Nic warned. She recognised the signs. They’d had their fuel boost, now they were hopping with energy. She unlocked the glass door and slid it open.
    â€˜Go,’ she laughed. ‘Go outside and run a few laps round the garden.’
    They burst out like whippets from the traps.
    â€˜Race you to the tree at the end,’ Dominic screamed.
    â€˜My shoelace has come undone,’ Michael wailed. But Dominic had already set off. Michael tore off the shoe in frustration, threw it across the grass and raced, with one shoe on, one shoe off, after his friend.
    Nic turned back inside and slid the door closed again. Her wine glass was sitting on the worktop near the sink. It was nearly empty now. She drained the last drop. She was annoyed. Where was Evie? She started to clear the table. She could hear the boys shouting outside. She took a handful of peanuts, opened and closed the dishwasher several times finding more things to put in.
    At last the doorbell rang and she raced down the hall. ‘Did you get the shoes?’ she asked, smiling.
    Freya, standing behind Evie, held up a plastic bag. ‘Ta da.’
    Evie grimaced. ‘We must have gone to about ten shoe shops and tried on practically every single pair.’ She looked meaningfully at Nic. ‘In the end we reached a compromise.’
    Freya shrugged her shoulders and grinned. She would be such a pretty girl, Nic thought, if only she didn’t dress so oddly.
    Nic