The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs Read Online Free PDF

all she was his favourite, he ruefully considered. In his habitual manner of making allowances, Kibby excused his sister’s youth, determining that it was just her way. — And I think she’s nervous for me cause of it being my first day of work and stuff . . . he carried on, again imploring, — Try no tae wind her up, Caz . . .
    Caroline shrugged non-committally as the Kibby siblings headed downstairs to the kitchen. Brian raised his eyebrows as he saw the large plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, grilled tomato and mushrooms on the table. His mother worried about him being thin, but he could eat anything and never put on weight, considering it a metabolic fate he shared with her. — You’ll beglad of it later, Joyce pre-emptively told him as he sat down, — you don’t know what the food’ll be like in that council canteen. You always said the one in Kirkcaldy wasn’t up to much, she mused, turning to Caroline, who loaded some egg on to a slice of toast and pushed aside a rasher of bacon.
    Joyce screwed up her face, which Caroline immediately registered.
    — I’ve told you that I don’t eat meat, Caroline said. — Why did you put it down for me when you know that I don’t eat it?
    — It’s just one rasher, Joyce replied in a supplicating manner.
    — Excuse me, but do you actually
hear
what I say? Caroline asked, looking squarely at her mother. — What do you think the statement ‘I don’t eat meat’ means?
    — You need meat. One rasher. Joyce rolled her eyes, looking to Brian who was busying himself with buttering some toast.
    — I. Don’t. Eat. Meat, Caroline stated for the third time, now adopting a new tone, almost laughing at her mother.
    — It’s hardly anything, Joyce bristled. — You’re a growing lassie still.
    — In all the wrong ways if it was up to you.
    — You’re anorexic, that’s your problem, Joyce stated. — I’ve read all about this daft obsession you ones all have with your weight nowadays and I –
    — You can’t call me that! Caroline flushed in anger. — That’s labelling somebody mentally ill!
    Joyce looked ruefully at her daughter. What did she know about illness, the cocky young besom? — There’s your dad fighting for his life in that hospital, on drips, and he’d give his eye teeth to be able to get down some solid food . . .
    Caroline speared the rasher with her fork and held it up to her mother. — Take it in for him then! She sprang to her feet, storming up the stairs to her room.
    Joyce started to bubble, in small, broken sobs, — The little . . . oh . . . and stopped suddenly, as if just remembering thatBrian was present, — I’m sorry son, on your first day at your new job as well. I just don’t know that lassie any more, she said, looking at the ceiling. — She’d never talk like that if your dad was . . .
    — It’s okay, I’ll go up and speak to her. She’s upset as well, Mum. About Dad. It’s just her way, Brian reasoned.
    Joyce took a deep breath. — No, son, finish your breakfast, you’ll be late, it’s your first day of work. Your new job. It’s no fair, it’s just no fair, she said, shaking her head, leaving him wondering precisely what injustice she was referring to.
    Brian Kibby was anxious to do just that and get out of the house. Though he had time to spare he bolted his food down and stuck his red baseball cap on his head. The momentum and excitement took him swiftly up Featherhall Road to St John’s Road, where he saw a number 12 bus approaching. Sprinting to the stop to catch it, he was fortunate to find a seat and stared out through steamed glass at the cold, sodden city. They crawled in traffic past the zoo, then on to Western Corner, Roseburn, Haymarket and along Princes Street, before he alighted at Waverley Station and walked up Cockburn Street to the Royal Mile. He removed the red baseball cap with the football logo stitched into it, as it didn’t look right with a suit, and stuck it in his bag.
    His