Do You Remember the First Time?

Clelland II.
    I decided to get a bit cunning.
    ‘Don’t you have a brother who’s in Africa?’
    He immediately looked frightened. Oh, crap. I’d just revealed myself to be one of those terrifying teenage stalkers who write names all over their textbooks and fill their diaries with ‘I love you, John Bloggs, and we WILL be married’, over and over again.
    He coughed.
    ‘Are you talking, Miss Scurrison?’
    This bastard moved on oiled wheels of silence, I swear to God.
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘You haven’t got the hang of this at all, have you, Miss Scurrison?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘I think that’s why we’ll be seeing you on Monday.’
    At least this time I managed not to swear.
    My parents looked like they were sitting shivah for me as I peered in the lighted windows through the oncoming twilight. They probably were: mourning the studious, well-behaved daughter who had woken up yesterday morning and would never be the same again.
    ‘I was in detention,’ I said, hanging my coat on the wall.
    ‘We know,’ said my dad. ‘We asked for you to have it.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that my essay on “Nothingness” was a great use of my time during my AS level year.’
    My mother put dinner on the table in silence. Ooh! Nobody had made me a proper dinner since – well, she’d pretty much given up cooking for herself after Dad left. Just didn’t care any more, I suppose. I had to make sure she was stocked up with Marks and Spencer’s stuff, and that she knew how to heat it up.
    That was a shame, because she was a great cook. I tucked into the sausages and mash with gusto. Olly and I usually went out or ordered in, and I’d forgotten how good a well-made onion gravy could be.
    ‘This is really, really good. Isn’t it, Dad?’ I said enthusiastically.
    They both looked at me.
    ‘Um, yeah,’ said Dad.
    ‘Thanks for cooking, Mum.’
    My mother looked amazed. ‘Just the same old—’ she started.
    ‘Yes. Thanks, Joyce,’ said my dad, embarrassed, as if I’d shown him up. My mother blinked and fluttered.
    I stared at my plate and went back to eating in silence in case I said anything else completely stupid. Then I remembered my mandate to get them back together and started racking my brains to think of some nice friendly family conversation. Which, looking back, I couldn’t actually remember much of from this part of my life first time around.
    After a hundred years, my mother piped up, ‘You’re not going round to Stanzi’s tomorrow night.’
    ‘We weren’t going to do anything,’ I said sourly, thinking of the unknown Ethan’s party.
    ‘Well, you can go to work, and that’s it.’
    I nearly choked on a piece of mashed potato. Work? I had a job? What kind of a job? I thought back to when I was sixteen, at the Co-op. Endless boxes of biscuits. No, no, no. Saturdays were for shopping, and pedicures with Tash. Please, no. Whatever my job was, I didn’t want to do it.
    I swallowed slowly. ‘Actually, you know … it’s been such a big week, here or there …’
    My dad looked at me. I thought for a brief second he could sense my inner confusion and turmoil.
    ‘Don’t think you’re getting any money from us.’
    ‘You don’t want to lose that job, Flora,’ my motherreproached me. ‘They’re good people at the Co-op. And, Duncan, for Christ’s sake, shut up. If she needs money we’ll—’
    ‘No, of course I don’t,’ I said hurriedly. Had they always spoken to each other in this way? I was a bit cheeky to Ol, but this was just awful. ‘But, also, you know, I’ve got a ton of homework to do too and …’
    I got up and left. My dad was glaring at my mother. He looked as if he was thinking something he’d never say aloud.
    My first stop: I should just get fired from the Co-op. Tashy would give me the money, surely. She had plenty sloshing around that wedding fund of hers. And I could pay her back … I swallowed a big gulp of uncertainty. I would pay her back when I got out of this mess. Jeez. And hopefully, when that happened, nobody would remember I’d even been here at all. I had to believe that. I had to.
    I paced around my bedroom, picking up unfamiliar things. I needed some space I couldn’t trip myself up in, plus I’d already seen this week’s episode of Friends and Have I Got News for You a month ago, and I didn’t want to give away any possible psychic abilities. And I certainly couldn’t relax. I mean, when I’d thought