Lifesaving for Beginners

the name of the café.’
    ‘But . . . I can’t just appear . . . with no notice.’
    ‘No notice is better than notice, in a case like this.’
    ‘But . . .’
    Minnie switches off her iPad and says, ‘There.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’ve booked you on the morning flight to Gatwick. Tomorrow.’
    ‘But tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I can’t just show up on Christmas Eve. The café might be closed.’
    Minnie continues as if I have said nothing. ‘From Gatwick, you get a Southern service straight to Brighton. You’ll be there by lunchtime.’
    ‘No, Minnie, I can’t. I can’t go tomorrow. It’s too soon. I’ll wait till after Christmas. St Stephen’s Day, maybe.’
    ‘Too late, I’ve already booked your flight and your train.’
    ‘You’ve done all that already?’ Minnie nods.
    ‘Just now?’
    Minnie nods again, this time adding one of her smug smiles. I can’t blame her, I suppose. She really is a tour de force.
    I say, ‘But . . . after everything that’s happened in the last few days, I’m in no fit state to do this. I need to gather my wits about me. I’m exhausted.’
    Minnie says, ‘You’re not exhausted,’ like it’s a fact rather than merely an opinion that she happens to hold.
    ‘I won’t know what to say.’
    Minnie pats my shoulder and says, ‘You’ll think of something.’ I know I’ll go in the end. I have no choice. Arguing with Minnie is one of the most useless and exhausting pursuits any human being could engage in. She’s as relentless as a tank.

 
    We end up eating chilli con carne on Christmas Eve, which happens to be one of my favourite dinners, on account of the kidney beans and the chilli peppers. Dad said he was going to cook his speciality for us on Christmas Eve, which is steak and chips, but he’s still at the hospital with Celia. The baby hasn’t arrived yet but the doctor said that Celia was exhausted with all the coming and going so she should stay another night. She’s asleep now, Dad said, when he phoned. I told him to get some sleep too and he said, ‘I think it might be on BBC Four.’ He sounded like an actual zombie when he said that.
    Ant makes so much chilli that there’ll be enough for Christmas Day too, even though there’s a turkey hanging on a hook in the pantry. Dad got it from a friend of his who’s a farmer. It still has feathers. Dad was going to show me how to pluck it. It’s starting to stink a bit. I hope we don’t have to eat it. It would seem too much like Christmas if we had turkey.
    Adrian mashes up avocados and garlic for the guacamole. I put the garlic bread in the oven and Faith sets the table. Adrian flexes his shoulder every now and again and says, ‘You’ve got a good right hook, all the same.’ He winks at me when he says it so I’m pretty sure there’re no hard feelings.
    Every time the news comes on the telly, they show the woman again. Saying the same thing about her books and about Faith being her daughter, except she doesn’t say Faith’s name and she always says, ‘No comment,’ when the people ask questions about Faith.
    The newsreader says, ‘Sales of the Declan Darker series of books have surged, since the revelations about their author, Katherine Kavanagh, who has been writing under the pseudonym Killian Kobain for nearly twenty years.’ There’s a shot of people in a bookshop but you can’t see what books they’re buying. Not really.
    Faith says, ‘That worked out well for her.’
    Ant says, ‘What?’
    ‘That little publicity stunt.’
    Ant shakes his head and says, ‘Hardly. The woman must be up to her crow’s feet in loot.’
    Faith and Adrian turn their heads towards Ant and say, at exactly the same time, ‘Shut up.’ In fairness to Ant, he’s pretty easy-going. He just shrugs his shoulders and spoons some more chilli and rice and sour cream and salsa onto his plate, and eats his way through it. Then he says, ‘I bet she never washes her tea towels. She probably just throws them away when they’re dirty. And her socks too.’
    Adrian says, ‘So that’s what you’d do, is it? If you were rich and famous? You’d stop washing your tea towels? Let’s hope your lotto numbers come up really soon.’
    Ant says, ‘It’s weird, isn’t it? Dad got Milo the Declan Darker game for Christmas – what’s it called? Mind Games, or something.’
    Adrian says, ‘But that’s rated eighteen. And it’s on Xbox. Milo is . . .’ He looks at me. ‘How old are you, Milo?’
    I say, ‘I’m