Dreaming of the Bones

mum.”
    ”Oh, yeah. Hullo.” The boy smiled, a toothy grin that won Gemma instantly, then took an enormous bite of his bread and said through it, ”You’d better come in.” He turned away and started down the hall without waiting to see if they followed.
    They wiped their feet on the mat, then hurried to catch up with him as he disappeared round a turn in the passage. As they came up behind him, he shouted, ”Mum!” at ear-splitting volume and entered a room on the right.
    Gemma had a vague impression of a small room crowded with books and papers, but her gaze was held by the woman who sat at the computer. The heels of her long, slender hands rested on the keyboard, but as Kit came in she swung round and turned a startled face to them.
    ” Duncan . I didn’t hear the door. The bell’s not working properly.”
    ”It just makes a little pinging sound, but / can hear it,” volunteered Kit as he propped himself on a small clear space at the end of his mother’s desk.
    ”Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here,” said Vic, smiling. She took off the pair of tortoiseshell glasses she’d been wearing and stood up. A bit shorter than Gemma, she was slender in a fine-boned way, with straight fair hair falling to her shoulders and a delicate face bare of makeup. She wore a long aubergine-colored tunic over black leggings, and would, thought Gemma, have looked elegant in a flour sack.
    ”You must be Gemma,” said Vic, holding out a hand to her. So he’d rung ahead and warned her, thought Gemma as she touched Vic’s cool, soft fingers with her own. She glanced at Kincaid and was not surprised to see a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He was enjoying this, the bastard. Suddenly she wished she’d at least brushed her hair and checked her lipstick.
    ”Come through into the sitting room,” said Vic. ”Kit and I have made a proper tea. All that’s lacking is to boil the kettle, and that won’t take but a minute.”
    ”You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble,” protested Gemma as she stepped back to let Vic pass.
    ”Actually, it’s a treat—and an excuse to make Kit the goodies he likes. We don’t have guests very often.” Vic led them back the way they’d come and through a door at the opposite end of the passage.
    Following her, Gemma saw a comfortable, lived-in sort of room with a squashy sofa and armchairs, fringed lamps, and the Sunday papers neatly stacked on an end table beside silver-framed photos. At the far end French doors led into the rain-damp garden.
    ”Make yourselves comfortable, and Kit will light the fire. Won’t you, sweetie?”
    Kit made a disgusted face at his mother as he knelt by the hearth. ”I told you not to call me that.”
    ”Oops. Sorry.” Vic grinned unrepentantly, and suddenly looked about ten years old herself.
    ”Can I help?” asked Gemma, feeling she ought to offer. ”No, we’ve got it all under control. Kit’s promised to be my dogsbody today—it’s my reward for making scones and cake.” Vic put a hand on Kit’s back as he returned to her, and pushed him gently out of the room.
    When the door had closed behind them, Gemma joined Kincaid, who stood with his back to the fire, warming his hands.
    After a moment, Gemma broke the silence. ”She’s nice.”
    Kincaid glanced down at her. ”What did you expect?” he asked, sounding definitely amused. ”Horns and tail?”
    ”Of course not. It’s just...” Deciding she’d better not dig herself into an inescapable hole, Gemma changed the subject. ”Did you meet Kit when you came before?”
    ”He was away that day, visiting his grandparents, I think.”
    Slowly, Gemma said, ”He seems so familiar... Maybe it’s just that I imagine Toby will look like that in a few years.” Toby’s hair would darken to just that barley color, and he would move with the same coltish grace. Already Toby was fast losing his baby softness. Soon he’d grow into Kit’s sort of stretched leanness, as if every calorie spared from upward growth was shunted directly into the production of kinetic energy.
    The hallway door creaked open and Kit shouldered his way through the gap, bearing a heavily laden tea tray. Hastily clearing the table for him, Gemma said, ”I can see why you like an excuse for your mum to make a proper tea. And I think it’s a good thing we didn’t have any lunch.”
    ”She’ll do scones or cake sometimes if it’s just the two of us, but not both,” Kit said, glancing up at Gemma