Jenny Oliver - The House We Called Home - The magical, laugh out loud summer holiday read from the bestselling Jenny Oliver

Stella didn’t reply. She couldn’t. She had the same rising sensation she’d had in the car, that it was all too much, like she might suddenly burst into tears which was not something she could let happen. Especially not in front of her mother. Or Sonny for that matter. And what would she be crying about anyway? Certainly not the disappearance of a man who’d basically cut her out of the family photo album. She was just tired.

A phone beeped in the kitchen. Her mum went over to read the message. ‘Your sister’s train arrives at about six she says.’

‘Oh God,’ Stella looked up, eyes wide, caught completely unawares. ‘I’d forgotten about Amy.’

Jack wrinkled up his brow as if the workings of her mind continually baffled him. ‘How could you forget about Amy?’

CHAPTER 5

‘No, I just can’t find it.’ Amy rummaged through her bag for the umpteenth time. ‘It’s not here. I did buy one though. I did, I promise. I just …’ She trailed off, searching through her bag, her hair straighteners, her phone charger, her teddy. She pushed that hastily to the bottom of the bag.

She could feel Gus next to her, watching.

The ticket inspector loomed above her seat. ‘Sorry madam, failure to show a valid ticket for a journey means I’m going to have to charge you a penalty fare.’

‘No, you can’t.’ Amy shook her head. The flicks of blonde catching on her cheeks. She pushed the short hair back behind her ears, she was no closer to getting used to it. Why in films they always showed someone getting a haircut to start a new life was beyond her. It was a bloody pain in the neck – learning how to style it, straighten it, stop it from being a giant fluffball on her head. She hated it.

She leant forward for another rifle. The hair flopped forward. She held it back with one hand. ‘Honestly, you can’t charge me again. My father’s gone missing,’ she said, pushing pairs of pants out of the way.

She thought she heard Gus scoff and looked across to glower at him but his expression was innocently bemused.

‘Are you going to help me?’ she hissed under her breath.

He shook his head. ‘What can I do?’

‘I don’t know? Talk to the man.’

‘You seem to be doing a very good job of talking to the man. He says you have to pay a penalty fare.’

‘But I bought a ticket.’ She sat back in her seat. ‘Seriously, I did. I could get my bank details up on my phone and show you.’

‘Sorry, madam, I’m being generous here. Last month it was zero tolerance – would have had to escort you from the train at the next stop.’

Amy put her hands up to her head.

‘Just pay it,’ said Gus, one hand holding his tiny takeaway espresso cup, the other some obscure-looking comic book.

‘No.’ Amy felt suddenly like she might cry. Gus was looking at her all superior through his big black glasses like he couldn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t just do what the man had said. ‘No.’ She looked up at the ticket inspector. His face possibly kindly. His bald head reflecting the strip lighting. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please, I did buy a ticket. This is a nightmare day for me. I’m going home because my dad’s gone missing. I’m not thinking straight. My emotions are all over the place,’ she sighed, pushed her stupid short hair back, ‘because I’m pregnant. And,’ she sighed again, ‘well, you don’t need to know everything about it, but let’s just say it’s not ideal and I did buy a ticket, I promise I did, because the man at the counter I remember thinking looked like Father Christmas and he gave me a toffee.’ She reached into her pocket, eyes welling up. ‘Look, see here,’ she held up the shiny wrapper of the Werther’s Original. ‘See, this is the wrapper.’ She nodded, trying to elicit a response. She could see the people around her shifting in their seats as they uncomfortably tried to listen and not listen at the same time. ‘Do you see?’ she said, brandishing the tiny crinkle of gold. ‘And I nearly threw it away but I didn’t because I liked that he’d given it to me.’ She put her hands up to her eyes to wipe away the first spill of tears. ‘Do you see?’ she said again, voice plaintive, nodding at him and wiping her face while also trying to find a tissue in her jacket pocket.

The ticket man seemed to think for a second, then reaching into his own pocket brought out a brand new Kleenex. ‘That would be Geoff,’ he said. ‘Santa Claus with the toffees.’

Amy blew her nose. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, Geoff.’ She had no idea what his name had been.

‘OK,’ he said, tapping something into the machine that hung round his neck and handing her a replacement ticket. ‘Just this once.’

Amy put her hand on her chest. ‘Oh thank you, thank you so much.’

He nodded. ‘I hope you find your father.’

Amy nodded.

‘And that everything works out with the baby.’

She nodded again, wiping her eyes, clutching the new ticket.

The ticket inspector walked away down the aisle and into the next compartment.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Gus, flopping back in his seat, shaking his head, dumbfounded. ‘That was unbelievable.’

‘What?’ Amy said, blowing her nose.

‘That you just managed to get away with that.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes, you do. That— That little-girl-lost routine. That was unbelievable. How old are you?’

Amy looked at him affronted. ‘You don’t ask a woman that question.’

‘But you ask a little girl.’ Gus raised a brow.

‘Why are you so horrible?’

‘Why are you so like that?’ he said, gesturing to the tissue and the ticket and the blotchy face. ‘Normal people just pay the fine when it’s their fault they lost the ticket. Look at what you put that poor guy through.’

‘He was kind to me,’ Amy snapped, feeling like she was under attack.

‘Yeah, and you made him feel really awkward.’

‘I did not.’

‘You think it wasn’t awkward? You crying about your whole life history?’

‘I don’t want to talk about this any more with you.’

‘Oh, that’s right.’ Gus snorted a laugh. ‘That’s your answer. Very mature. I’m delighted that you’re about to be the mother of my child.’

Amy gasped. ‘How dare you?’

Gus blew out a breath. ‘How dare I?’ He shook his head, turning to look out of the window, closing his eyes for a second longer than necessary.

Amy felt a rush of resentment, it made her want to do something to him – flick his coffee over or maybe pinch his arm. But she sat seething instead, trying to get her hair to stay tucked behind her ear. Gus took a slurp of espresso and went back to his book all aloof.

‘Well at least I don’t read picture books,’ Amy sniped, immediately regretting the comment, immediately realising she’d made herself look even more of a fool.

Gus turned his head slowly as if deigning to address her. ‘What, you mean this Eisner Award-winning graphic novel?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You stick to your Grazia , Amy.’

‘There is nothing wrong with Grazia .’ Amy wanted to take her new ticket and stab his eyes out with it. ‘It’s very issue-led.’

Gus smirked. ‘I’ll look out for it on the Pulitzers.’

‘I’ll look out for it on the Pulitzers,’ Amy repeated, all whiny and childish.

‘That’s very grown up. Again, mother of child, very glad.’

‘I hate you.’

‘Rest assured, the feeling is mutual.’

CHAPTER 6

Just pulling up in front of the house in the taxi made Amy feel better: the sweep of purple sunset like smoke out of the chimney, the sparkle of the solar-powered fairy lights wrapped round the almond tree just visible in the early evening light, and the big hydrangea flowers like perfect pink balloons. The gravel underfoot gave the same comforting crunch as it had her whole life. She just had to block out the crunch of Gus’s feet next to her. As she put her key in the lock she could already picture the dark cosy hallway, smell the roast dinner from the kitchen, see the flicker of the TV, and a fire in the front room.