Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,58

to bring them home this afternoon so that I can spend the day with Patrick. Not that we do. He works all afternoon.

Shortly after five p.m., Mia walks into the kitchen, her skirt rolled at the waist so the hemline is almost indecently short. She dumps her rucksack on the floor and opens the fridge.

‘Where is he, then?’ she asks.

‘I assume you mean Patrick?’

‘Yeah. Lover boy.’ She sticks her tongue out and makes a mock retching movement. Oliver sniggers.

‘He’s in the study. We’ll all have supper together in about an hour.’

‘In Dad’s study?’ Oliver asks. He looks pained.

‘Yes. It’s Patrick’s now.’

‘I bloody told you!’ Mia slams the fridge door closed. She grabs her rucksack and a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice and stomps out of the room.

‘Are you ok, sweetheart?’ I ask Oliver.

‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’

An hour later, I go upstairs to tell the kids that supper is ready. Mia is hunched over her laptop, headphones on.

‘Supper,’ I say. She nods but doesn’t look at me.

Oliver isn’t in his room doing his homework as he normally does straight after returning home from school. As I walk downstairs to look for him, I’m surprised to hear laughter coming from the living room. Then I hear Patrick’s deep, mellow voice followed by further peals of laughter from Oliver.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, pushing the door open.

‘We’re playing a computer game,’ Oliver says. ‘Patrick’s brilliant at it. Hey, watch out!’

‘You won that round,’ Patrick says, leaning back in the armchair.

‘Have you done your homework?’ I ask.

‘No. Look, look, Patrick!’

They both peer at the television screen. I have no idea what game they’re playing.

‘You’re good, man!’ Patrick says. He high-fives Oliver.

‘You need to do your homework straight after supper,’ I say.

‘Yeah. Yeah,’ Oliver says dismissively.

‘It’s more important to have fun when you’re fourteen years old, isn’t it, Ollie my boy!’ He thrusts his knuckle towards my son.

‘I’m only twelve!’ Oliver says.

‘You’re very mature for a twelve-year-old.’ Patrick looks impressed. ‘And bloody good at gaming.’

‘Um, no swearing, please, Patrick.’

‘Well, your mum is a right spoilsport, isn’t she, Ollie? I think we’ll need to work out how to loosen her up.’

Oliver’s smile is the widest I have seen it in months. Whilst I’m happy that Patrick and Oliver are bonding, this love-in is too much. I’m going to have to have a word with Patrick about discipline. It’s quite obvious that he hasn’t got children of his own and doesn’t understand the need for routine.

‘Supper will be getting cold.’

Patrick stands up and stretches. Oliver groans but switches off the game. They follow me to the kitchen.

Mia is already seated at the table, but she has her headphones on.

‘Can you take your headphones off, please.’

She pretends not to hear me and carries on picking her nails.

‘Mia!’ I say a bit more loudly. I still get no response.

A flash of anger darkens Patrick’s face.

‘Is she always this rude to you?’ he asks quietly.

‘No. She’s struggling at the moment.’

Mia pushes her headphones off. ‘I’m not struggling, I just don’t want…’

She scrapes her chair away from the table and stands up, tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she mutters as she dashes out of the room.

‘I thought I had sorted things with her,’ Patrick says. He clenches his teeth together.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s hard for Mia to adjust to everything. Plus she’s got all the normal teenage hormone stuff going on.’

‘Well, she mustn’t spoil our evening. I found a bottle of champagne in your cellar and have popped it in the fridge. I think we should celebrate.’ Patrick walks over towards the fridge and removes the bottle. ‘Where are the champagne glasses?’

My smile is forced. It is so strange that Patrick is helping himself to my things. As I stride to the cupboard where we keep our glasses, I tell myself to snap out of this. What is mine is his. I place two empty champagne glasses in front of Patrick. He uncorks the bottle with a pop and pours me a glass.

‘And how about you, young man? Fancy a sip to celebrate your mum and me living together?’

‘Um, I’m not allowed any. I’m too young.’

Patrick rolls his eyes. ‘One day, when your mum is out, then. But don’t tell her!’ he says in a mock whisper.

After we have finished dinner, Oliver returns upstairs to finish his homework.

‘Do you need any help clearing up?’ Patrick asks.

‘No, it’s fine. Go and relax,’ I say. After I have loaded the dishwasher, I put a portion of