Page 50 of The Star in Room 7

He gestures to the TV, which is displaying The Bodyguard.

I wince. “You probably don’t want to watch a film involving security agents with me.”

“Why?”

I arch an eyebrow.

“Oh! Because you’ll comment on how accurate it is.”

“I can’t help it,” I say in a strangled voice.

“My dad’s the same with any films involving chemistry. He works at a drug manufacturing company. Mum’s turned more than a few films off when he’s got on his soapbox.”

“Your mom sounds like a smart woman.”

Zach runs his hand over my hair. “I think it’ll be cute watching you rant about the accuracy of The Bodyguard.”

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Oh?”

“Insufferable.”

He laughs. “You can’t be that bad, Daddy.”

“My folks would beg to differ.”

He laughs. “Well, maybe I want to find out for myself.”

I sigh dramatically. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Popcorn?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Do you prefer sweet or salted?”

“You buy both kinds?”

“I pop it and add whatever I want.”

He stares at me.

“What? Haven’t you ever popped corn before?”

“No. I’ve only ever bought it at the cinema, or in bags in the supermarket.”

I grab his hand and pull him off the sofa. “Then you haven’t lived. Come on. I’ll teach you how to pop corn.”

Not that it’s difficult, just noisy as the kernels collide with the sides and lid of the pan.

“When my youngest sister, Beth, was tiny, she used to try to claim that popcorn was one of her five a day,” Zach says.

I frown. “Five what a day?”

“Fruit and veg. It’s a British thing. You’re supposed to try and eat five portions of fruit and vegetables a day to stay healthy.”

“Huh. How does she figure popcorn counts?”

“Because it’s made out of sweetcorn.”