Page 189

“Oh, Alice,” Mum says. “You look lovely!”

Dad checks his watch.

“Twelve twenty-seven.”

“I was due at twelve thirty,” I say.

“Cutting it fine.”

“Still on time.”

He nods, as though that’s an achievement. Ridiculous. Treating Sunday lunch like an appointment with a parole officer.

“Sit down,” Dad says. “Helen is about to bring the first course.”

I take the chair opposite Mum, as per. Dad waits until I sit down before he does.

“Drink?” he asks.

“Water, please.”

“Just water?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I’m not about to indulge the family hoo-ha with a glass of the posh red wine in front of me.

Helen enters with the first course. Some delicate arrangement of goat’s cheese and chutney. The cheese parallel makes me want to laugh out loud.

Dad waits until the door closes behind her before picking up his cutlery.

Mum smiles at me across the table, with her small talk expression on her face.

“How is the painting going, darling?”

“Great. Really well.”

“That’s good.”

Fuck it. I’m not following their pre-planned conversation schedule.

“I’ve got some news, actually,” I tell them.

Dad pauses with his fork above his plate.

“News?”

This is my moment. I straighten my shoulders and summon Jack’s fire.

“Camilla Stour contacted me. From Hammersmith.”

Mum’s smile grows, but Dad’s doesn’t. “The auction woman?”

“Yes. She asked whether I’d consider entering three of my paintings into the Hammersmith private auction.”

Mum puts down her fork. “Alice, that’s wonderful.”

“It is, yeah.”