“Fine,” he said, and by his tone I could deduce that it was anything but.
*****
I spent the day mooching around at Libby’s house with Jamie and the kids, returning to Westminster that evening when I thought the coast might be clear. When I arrived, I could hear voices in the kitchen and made my way there, but on hearing my name I paused outside the door.
“Kira’s not like that, Dad,” Barclay said, irritation threading his tone. “You don’t know her.”
“All I know is that she’s generating all kinds of crazy stories in the press, and you do not need any negative attention if you want to carry on being the nextobvious choice.”
“Dad! For Christ’s sake, not everything is about me becoming the goddamn prime minister.”
“Of course it is!” Mr Lucas’s voice rose in obvious frustration. “What’s the point of all this otherwise? You run rings around those daft halfwits in the House of Commons. Why shouldn’t you be in charge? And I’ll not have some lunatic hippy ruin your chances. You are a Conservative politician. The woman at your side should noteverbe wearing the kind of get-up I saw on the front of The Mail or get covered in whatever this green stuff was.” Oh dear, it seemed the Lucases really had read all the headlines.
“She’spopularwith the public.”
“She’s a novelty act. Of course the public like hernow. You wait until the novelty wears off. All that will be left then is contempt – towards her and towards you.”
“Fergus!” Liz shouted, and I jumped when I heard a load of plates clatter as if they’d been slammed down on the granite. “That’s enough. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You are such an arse!”
I decided this convo was best continued without my presence, despite my need for tea, and I took a step back. Unfortunately, my foot landed on The Squeaky Floorboard and the sound echoed around the hallway like I’d set off an alarm.
“Kira?” I heard Barclay call, and closed my eyes in resignation before I managed to paste a strained smile on my face.
“Fuck it,” I said under my breath then pushed forward into the kitchen. “Hey gang!” I called out to everyone as I crashed into the room. I left my neon orange fluffy coat on for maximum Weird Magic Mushroom Eater points. Liz looked mortified and furious, her husband, however, tilted his chin up and crossed his arms over his chest. I suppressed a sigh.
“Dr Murphy,” he addressed me, no matter that I’d asked to be called Kira. Twice.
“Mr Lucas,” I said back, deciding to go all out in the annoyance stakes and mimicking his deep baritone voice as I withdrew a packet of biscuits I’d picked up at the Co-op from my deep pocket. “Tempt you with a Jammie Dodger?”
“No, thank you,” he said, the distaste lacing his tone enough that you would be forgiven for thinking I’d offered him rat poison. “We had better be going. I’m sure you’re busy enough. Henry, good to see you, boy.” Mr Lucas gave both his sons an awkward hand shake slash hug.
“Don’t let us worry like that again, darling.” Liz was full-on hugging Henry now – no repressed emotion for her, her muffled voice was chock full of it.
“It’s okay, Mum,” Henry said as he hugged her back. Her hands were gripping his jumper behind his neck so hard that her knuckled had turned white, and when she stepped away her eyes were damp. She gave another, slightly less desperate, hug to her elder son before they both start moving in my direction.
“Thank you again, Kira,” Liz said, surprising me by pulling me into a hug just as fierce as those she’d given her boys. “And please ignore the crusty old mumpismus,” she said in my ear, not bothering to lower her voice and throwing her husband a filthy look after she pulled back from me. “Dementia is no doubt setting in.” Mr Lucas scowled at his wife then turned back to me.
“Well, it’s been . . . interesting meeting you,” he told me, his sheer Britishness forcing him to offer me a brief handshake. I took his hand in mine, glanced briefly down at it, and something caught my eye.
“How long has this been there?” I asked, managing to keep his hand in mine when he attempted to tug it back, and reaching over with the fingers of my other hand to trace a lesion on the back of his.
“What?” he asked, clearly thrown by my question and the whole hand stroking thing I had going on.
“This, here?” I traced around its rolled edge and then the scaling in its centre. “How long has this been there?” I finally let him withdraw his hand.
“I . . . I . . . a few months.”
“Much sun exposure in the past?”
“Well, I . . . a fair bit. I sail and . . .”
“Get that seen by your GP. They can refer you to a dermatologist. It doesn’t look too worrying, but they’ll probably cut it out and send it off.”
He blinked at me, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, then gave a short nod. I smiled at him and he looked even more confused. Liz was looking between us with a bewildered expression. She grabbed her husband’s hand and held it up to look closer. In the end, Barclay stepped in to usher them out and she only managed a small wave back at me as she was gently herded through the kitchen door.
“I’m sorry, short stuff,” Henry said as I moved towards the kettle. “He’s always been uptight but that was uncalled for.”
“It’s fine, Henners,” I said with fake cheer. My neck felt tight and I could still see the disapproval swimming in Mr Lucas’s too-familiar blue eyes. “Not everyone can be a rampant Kira fan. I’m an acquired taste.” I would have been more convincing had my voice not cracked at the end. I didn’t know why I was letting this upset me so much. It wasn’t like Barclay and I were engaged.
