Read Online The Editor's Wife by Clare Chambers - Free Book Online

had too much pride to allow myself to be beaten by a girl, particularly a Christian, rug-making friend of Gerald. She, in any case, was in no hurry, taking her time over every move, and so the game proceeded its laborious way towards stalemate, while Gerald made the tea and looked on with no great enthusiasm.
    By the time it was over the sandwiches and cake had been disposed of, so I stood up and made some excuse about having to finish my homework, at which point Katharine looked at her watch and said, ‘I ought to be getting home. I haven’t got lights on my bike.’
    Gerald gave me a baleful look, before leaning down to tuck his trousers back into his socks.
    There were no more weekend bicycle trips to Crystal Palace, and for a while no mention of Katharine, from which I deduced that one experience of Gerald on his home territory had been enough for her.
    â€˜What happened to that girl from the church?’ Mum ventured to ask him one day, when he was mooching about the kitchen, getting in her way.
    â€˜I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I haven’t decided.’
    â€˜Did the bike ride not work out?’ A thought struck her. ‘The tea was all right, wasn’t it?’ She was making scones for her bridge ladies, and there was flour on her glasses and in her hair.
    â€˜Yes. There was nothing wrong with the tea. It went fine apart from Christopher interfering.’
    â€˜You didn’t!’ Mum turned on me, wagging the rolling pin, which shed flakes of raw scone mix on the lino. ‘I told you to keep out of the way.’
    â€˜They played chess for practically the whole afternoon,’ said Gerald bitterly.
    â€˜Only because you were totally ignoring her,’ I protested. ‘I was just being polite. I don’t even like her!’
    â€˜I was teaching her how to mend a puncture.’
    â€˜Chess and bicycle maintenance,’ said Mum, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m amazed she’s not been back!’
    â€˜She seemed quite happy to learn,’ said Gerald stiffly.
    â€˜In the rain,’ I added.
    Mum ground the pastry cutter into the dough until it screeched against the kitchen table. ‘If you’d only had a sister, you wouldn’t be so clueless,’ she sighed. It was the first time it had ever occurred to me that Mum might harbour private disappointments, or indeed thoughts of any kind.
    A month or so after the infamous first date I was upstairs in my bedroom trying to smoke a cigar. My best friend David Creerson had swiped a bunch of them from his dad’s humidor and dished them out at school, and I had been saving mine for a quiet moment. It gave off a fusty smell of old men’s clothes, which intensified almost unbearably when I finally got it to light, and I was puffing queasily out of the open window when I saw Katharine wheeling along the path on her bike. She was riding it like a scooter, standing up, both feet on the same pedal, as though to distance herself from the illegal activity of cycling on the pavement. She was wearing an embroidered blouse, a gingham headscarf and blue cotton trousers that were not quite denim. Jeans for people who aren’t allowed to wear jeans.
    Gerald was out at his new Saturday job in Sainsbury’s at Stockwell. He was in charge of broken eggs, checking all the boxes for cracked shells and breaking the rejects into waxed cartons to be sold by the scoop. At the end of the day any unsold slop was his to keep. It was always omelette in our house on Saturday night.
    I withdrew slightly, so Katharine wouldn’t see me,keeping the snout of the cigar just poking over the window ledge. From behind the curtain I watched her chain her bicycle to the lamp post and a moment later heard a rap on the letter box and the sound of voices.
    â€˜Hello, I’m Katharine Clement from the Faithful Few. I came to tea a few weeks ago.’
    â€˜Hello dear.’ This was Mum. ‘I’m afraid