The Queen's Margarine Read Online Free PDF Page B

who always did the ironing. Admittedly, with three A-levels on the near-horizon, her daughter’s life was pressured, but there was no excuse for Rodney. She worked as hard as he did, so he ought to help out in the house, but his mother had brought him up to believe that such division of the chores was undignified, if not emasculating.
    While she waited for the iron to heat, her thoughts returned to last night’s dream – a peculiar, surreal dream, in which she was being born from a tulip’s cup; expelled into the world by gently pulsing, pushing, orangey-yellow petals. She knew Fergus would be fascinated; maybe even use it for one of the poems in his series, which meant she’d be immortalized.
    â€˜Something’s burning,’ Rodney observed, venturing into the kitchen, with his usual worried frown.
    She dashed from ironing board to stove – too late. ‘Your kipper!’ she exclaimed, removing from the grill-pan its black disintegrating skeleton.
    â€˜I’m not bothered,’ Rodney shrugged. ‘To tell the truth, kippers feature on the menu rather too often for my taste.’
    â€˜They’re good for you – that’s why. And you refuse to take fish oil in capsule form, so I have to get it down you somehow.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t believe all that rubbish you read. One minute, they’re pushing fish oil as the super-food to beat all else, then they change their minds and it’s pomegranates or wheat-grass, or some other damn-fool thing.’
    â€˜Shit! What a smell!’ Daniel exclaimed, screwing up his nose in disgust, as he torpedoed in to join them, his hair uncombed; the laces of his trainers trailing loose.
    â€˜Daniel, don’t say “shit”. You know Dad doesn’t like it. And why are you wearing jeans to school?’
    â€˜It’s “Jeans for Genes Day”. I told you twice, last night, but you weren’t listening to a word I said.’
    Another surge of guilt. She had been glued to the computer, totally absorbed in the long, intriguing history of the tulip.
    â€˜I don’t actually agree with it,’ Rodney remarked, seating himself at the table, oblivious to the fact that it hadn’t yet been laid. ‘Just because some businesses go in for this “Dress-down Friday” nonsense, it doesn’t mean that schools should be allowed to follow suit.’
    â€˜That’s different, Rodney,’ Claire put in, trying to make amends to her son. “Jeans for Genes” is a charity thing and—’
    â€˜Which reminds me, Mum,’ Daniel interrupted, ‘have you got a pound? We’re expected to cough up, as soon as we arrive, and I’m completely stony-broke.’
    â€˜I don’t know why you children are always short of money,’ Rodney snapped, ‘when we give you huge allowances each month.’
    â€˜They’re not huge, and we’re not children. I’ll be leaving school in two years’ time.’
    â€˜Over my dead body! You’ll stay till you’re eighteen.’
    â€˜Oh, don’t start that again,’ Claire groaned. ‘I thought we’d agreed we’d wait till your next birthday before deciding anything. Daniel, get the cereals out, please, and the marmalade and stuff. I’m terribly behind today.’
    â€˜You’re telling me! Where’s Sue?’
    â€˜Waiting for her shirt.’ Claire raced back to the ironing board, wondering what to wear herself. It might be Jeans-for-Genes day for Daniel, but certainly not for her. It was imperative that Fergus should notice her as woman, and not just as library assistant. On Tuesday, she’d been a chrysalis, clad in dreary brown, but today she was proposing to emerge as a brilliant butterfly. And if Julia’s gimlet eye registered the transformation, well, she’d better pretend she was going on to a party after work and wouldn’t have time to—
    â€˜