Gallery Whispers

43

However much Sarah would have liked it to be otherwise, Saturday breakfast in the Skinner household was usually an impatient affair.

Mark was allowed two hours' surfing time on the Internet, and would be on the edge of his seat from the moment his cereal was put in front of him, until the last of his bacon, tomato and mushroom disappeared.

James Andrew would eat determinedly in his toddler chair, knowing that a clean plate meant that he would be turned loose among his toys.

And Bob… Often Bob had gone off to an early teeing-off time on the golf course, a slice of toast clamped between his teeth as the door closed behind him.

This Saturday was different though. The family sat around the dining table in the conservatory, augmented by Lauren and Spencer, their weekend guests. There was toast in a rack, milk for the cereals and for the coffee in a jug, and scrambled eggs and bacon keeping warm in the hostess trolley.

Bob smiled as he looked at the children, from one to another. 'Isn't this just great,' he said. 'Civilisation comes to the Skinner household.'

Lauren frowned back at him, through her solemn, ageless eyes.

'Don't you do this every Saturday?' she asked. 'My mum does. She makes Spence and me use our napkins and everything. She makes my Dad say grace and then she makes him clear the table when we're finished.'

Spencer was staring at her as she spoke. 'No she doesn't,' he protested, loudly. 'She gives us our breakfast on trays while we watch Live and Kicking. It's only on our birthdays she does that.'

The little girl glowered back at her brother for a few seconds, until her head dropped, and until the first big tears fell into her lap.

'Hey Lauren,' said Sarah, gently, 'come on through here with me for a bit. Bob, you dish up the cereal.'

They were gone for around five minutes. When they returned, the child was pale but smiling, her eyes red, but dry. She took her place without a word, and began to tuck into her breakfast. Spencer reached across and gave his sister's arm a quick squeeze. 'Hey Lauren, look out there,' he spluttered, his mouth not quite empty. 'We've been

watching an oil rig.' He pointed out of the conservatory, towards the estuary, where two tugs were hauling a great three-legged structure out towards the open sea.

'Sometimes they bring rigs in here for maintenance,' said Mark, in his matter-of-fact voice. He was younger than either of the Mcllhenney children, but carried himself, automatically, as their equal, as often, he did with adults. Bob and Sarah's step-son, adopted after the death of both of his parents, was a remarkably assured and gifted little boy; if they had a concern about him it was that somehow, through all his experiences, part of his childhood had passed him by.

'Okay,' Sarah interrupted, briskly. 'What are we going to do this morning?'

'Internet,' Mark replied at once.

Jazz simply laughed and slammed his spoon down on the tray of his high chair. 'Stop splashing, young man,' his mother said. 'Mark, you can go on the Net any time during the weekend. I've got a better idea. Lauren, Spencer, I asked your dad to pack your swim stuff, so what say I take the three of you to the Commonwealth Pool, and we all go on the flumes?'

Spencer's eyes lit up. 'Phwoah! Yes please!'

'That would be nice,' Lauren added.

'As long as I don't have to go on the big one,' Mark whispered.

Always, he made that proviso, Sarah knew, yet always, when it came to it, he plucked up his courage and made the vertical slide.

'Right,' she said. 'That's a done deal. As soon as breakfast is over you can go and get ready.'

'What about Jazz?' Spencer asked. 'Can't he come?'

'James Andrew is still a bit young for the flumes. His dad will look after him while we're swimming.'

'Hear that. Kid?' Bob laughed. 'It's just you and me. Maybe we'll go fishing: how about that?'

'You can do what you like, as long as you meet us afterwards at the Bar Roma. I'll book a table there for one thirty.'

The pace of breakfast picked up. Soon the three older children were excused from the table, to go and pack their swimming trunks and towels. 'How was Lauren?' Skinner asked, as soon as the little girl had gone.

'Scared,' his wife answered. 'She's a very perceptive kid. She doesn't really understand what's happening to her mother, but she knows it's not good.

'I told her that Olive had an illness and that she was having treatment that wouldn't hurt her but that would make her sick for a day or two, before it made her better. I told her that after that, she would need Lauren to be very grown up, to help by doing things around the house that she might be too tired to manage.' Sarah smiled.

'Know what she said then?'

Bob shook his head.

'She asked if her daddy would be all right.'

'What did you say?'

'I told her that Neil needed her to be brave, just as much as Olive did.'

She broke off as the children reappeared. 'Okay,' she called out.

'Line up, let's count heads and let's go. Bob, I'll take your car, just so we don't have to swap over Jazz's safety seat.'

Skinner nodded, reached into the pocket of his jeans and tossed her the key. He walked them to the door, waving them off as the BMW pulled out of the drive, then returned to the conservatory, where his younger son was shifting impatiently in his feeding chair.

'So, young man,' he boomed. 'Here we are. The toys, is it? Or would you rather do something else?' A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. 'How would you like to come to work with your Old Man? No, you're never too young to learn about being a detective.'