In the kitchen, Caspar and Jake were eager to make friends with our unexpected visitor, pawing at her knees so she’d pay them attention. “Oh, they’re so sweet,” she said. “I want a dog, but Mum won’t let me because we’re out all day.”
“That makes sense,” Dad said, dishing hot tomato soup into beakers for us.
“Who looks after them when you’re at work, Mr Hurst?” Eve asked.
“Call me Kriss,” Dad told her.
“Thanks; I will!” Eve replied warmly.
“I don’t go out to work,” Dad told her. “This is my work. I am a housewife or househusband or lazy geezer, depending on which way you look at it.”
“Really? Have you never had a proper job?”
“Ouch!” Dad laughed and pretended to pull a knife from his heart.
“Was I being cheeky?” Eve asked, tugging nervously at her earlobe. “Mum says I am without knowing it half the time.”
“You’re fine, Eve. I can take it,” Dad reassured her.
“Have a sandwich,” I said, sliding the bread mountain Dad had made towards her.
“And behave,” she chided herself, going for the cheese and pickle.
“‘Behave’? Hey, Eve, chill. This isn’t school, you know,” Dad told her.
“I know that! It’s way too posh here to be my school.”
I winced. I wished she would stop going on about how “posh” we were. It’s not like she lived in a hovel.
“Good. Glad that’s sorted. So how was the match?” Dad asked.
I caught my breath. What did he have to ask that for?
“It was OK until the snow ruined everything,” Eve moaned.
“Have another cheese-and-pickle,” I said, chucking a sandwich on top of Eve’s plate. “Hey, do you want to help me revise after lunch?”
She nodded, and I congratulated myself on my quick thinking. Revision! Of course! It wasn’t even an excuse. I really did need to revise. But my relief was short-lived.
“I scored a hat-trick,” Eve told my dad.
“Yeah? Nice one,” Dad replied. “How many’s that so far this season?”
“Fifteen.”
“Already? Impressive.”
“Gemma’s not far behind; she’s on thirteen.”
I gawped at her. What part of “no football” didn’t she understand?
“Thirteen?” Dad repeated.
“Uh-huh.”
He looked across at me, waiting for an explanation he had no chance of getting. “That’s amazing for a sub…” he said, a note of puzzlement creeping into his voice.
I jumped up, hoping Eve would follow my lead – but I couldn’t catch her attention.
“A sub? Gemma?” she said. “No way, dude! She’s our star player. Even the opposition coach asked if she was Marta in disguise today.”
I swear the floor tiles cracked beneath my feet at that moment.
“Marta? The Brazilian player?” Dad asked. Confusion had replaced puzzlement in his voice, and I was beginning to shake as if there was a real earthquake taking place in the kitchen.
“Eve…” I said, but my voice was nothing more than a squeak and she didn’t hear. She just kept blathering on, making things worse and worse.
“Marta. Yep, she’s that good,” Eve told him. “As you’d know if you came to watch her now and again instead of going fishing!”
Oh no. “Eve…” invisible me pleaded again.
“I mean, choosing fishing over watching the Coaches’ Player of the Season play football. What’s that about?”
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Unaware of what she’d started, Eve ran her finger around the pickle juice on the edge of her plate as she waited for an answer – but dad was lost for words. When she saw his dazed expression she glanced across at me and her hand flew to her mouth. “Ooops! I just talked about everything you told me not to, didn’t I? Sorry.”
Sorry? It was way too late for sorry. The mousy voice scampered off into the distance and what came out next must have reverberated along the whole of Castle Heights. “Eve Akboh!” I screamed at her. “You are the biggest blabbermouth I’ve ever met and I hate you.”
Bomb detonated, I turned and fled upstairs.