Take Mum Out Read Online Free PDF Page B

makes for the pistachio bowl but I manage to swipe him away.
    ‘Uncooked meringue mixture isn’t proper breakfast food. If you can wait two minutes I’ll make you some eggs.’
    ‘Not too runny,’ he warns.
    ‘No, sweetheart,’ I reply, feigning subservience, ‘I’ll try to do them properly this time.’
    ‘You doing scrambles, Mum?’ Logan has emerged now, rubbing his bleary, pillow-creased face.
    ‘Yes, love.’
    ‘Can I
not
have mine rubberised like his?’
    ‘Of course! I’ll do both differently, according to your precise wishes.’ With a smirk, I grab my piping bag and start to pipe out strawberry kisses on a paper-lined tray, frowning as Logan starts jabbing his fingers into the mixture. ‘
Please
stop sticking your fingers into my bowls,’ I bark.
    ‘Whoa.’ He backs away, turning to Fergus. ‘You’d think I’d spat in it.’ They both chortle as I swap the two trays of cooked meringues in the oven for the freshly-piped batch.
    ‘So,’ I say, now turning my attention to their eggs, ‘what are you two up to today?’
    ‘I’m going to fix my translator,’ Fergus says confidently.
    ‘How about you, Logan? Is Blake coming over?’
    He sighs loudly, clearly overwhelmed by my relentless questioning. ‘I’m going out.’
    ‘Where to? Who with?’
    ‘Just
out
, Mum, with
people
.’ No further information supplied.
    ‘Logan,’ I say, stirring their eggs on the hob, ‘you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that. I need to know where you are, hon.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I’m your mum, dearest.’
    ‘Yeah, and I’m sixteen, I’m an
adult
—’ He stops short as my mobile starts trilling; I don’t recognise the number but take the call anyway.
    ‘Hi, Alice?’ comes the strident male voice. ‘It’s me.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘It’s
me
– Anthony from last night. Don’t say you’ve forgotten already.’ He chuckles disconcertingly.
    ‘Oh, er … right.’ I shudder. It takes years, and probably living under one roof, before you’re allowed to announce yourself as ‘me’.
    ‘Thought you might like to come and see a movie later,’ he goes on.
    ‘You mean today?’
    ‘Well, yes, if you’re not doing anything. I’ve checked out the Filmhouse …’
    God, that’s a little presumptuous. Maybe he interpreted me leaping away from his suckering lips as a sign of being unable to manage my yearning for him – like when you nudge away a chocolate cake in case you lose all control and end up devouring the lot. Or maybe he’s just eager to give me a good going-over with his roller.
    ‘Sorry, I can’t today,’ I reply, wondering what possessed me to add ‘today’ –
ever
is what I should have said.
    ‘Ah, yes, busy with your meringues, I’d imagine,’ he says with a snigger.
    The boys are shooting me curious looks. ‘Actually, yes, I’m making a batch right now. Sorry, better go. Can’t leave the uncooked mixture sitting around too long …’
    ‘Oh, what’ll happen?’ he asks leeringly. ‘Will it
lose its stiffness
?’
    ‘What?’ Something sour rises in my throat; sixteen hours later, that amuse-bouche is still fermenting away in my gut.
    ‘Or are we talking more the texture of
soft peaks
?’ Anthony enquires.
    ‘Yes, sort of,’ I say tersely.
    ‘I’d like to see you brandishing your whisk,’ he growls. ‘I imagine it’d be handy for a little light beating …’
    ‘Logan, keep an eye on those eggs in the pan,’ I order him, striding through to the living room so as to distance myself from the boys’ flapping ears.
    ‘They’re rubberised,’ Logan shouts after me. ‘These are, like,
teeth-bouncing
eggs.’
    ‘What
are
you talking about?’ I hiss into the phone.
    ‘I mean,’ Anthony drawls, ‘a little tap on the bottom would be pleasing.’
    I peer at a small muddy smear on the white wall and wonder, briefly, how it got there. ‘You mean with my whisk?’
    ‘Mmmm, yes …’
    The small pause is filled by the sound of his rhythmic