The House We Called Home - Jenny Oliver

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blowing her nose.

      ‘That you just managed to get away with that.’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Yes, you do. That— That little-girl-lost routine. That was unbelievable. How old are you?’

      Amy looked at him affronted. ‘You don’t ask a woman that question.’

      ‘But you ask a little girl.’ Gus raised a brow.

      ‘Why are you so horrible?’

      ‘Why are you so like that?’ he said, gesturing to the tissue and the ticket and the blotchy face. ‘Normal people just pay the fine when it’s their fault they lost the ticket. Look at what you put that poor guy through.’

      ‘He was kind to me,’ Amy snapped, feeling like she was under attack.

      ‘Yeah, and you made him feel really awkward.’

      ‘I did not.’

      ‘You think it wasn’t awkward? You crying about your whole life history?’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more with you.’

      ‘Oh, that’s right.’ Gus snorted a laugh. ‘That’s your answer. Very mature. I’m delighted that you’re about to be the mother of my child.’

      Amy gasped. ‘How dare you?’

      Gus blew out a breath. ‘How dare I?’ He shook his head, turning to look out of the window, closing his eyes for a second longer than necessary.

      Amy felt a rush of resentment, it made her want to do something to him – flick his coffee over or maybe pinch his arm. But she sat seething instead, trying to get her hair to stay tucked behind her ear. Gus took a slurp of espresso and went back to his book all aloof.

      ‘Well at least I don’t read picture books,’ Amy sniped, immediately regretting the comment, immediately realising she’d made herself look even more of a fool.

      Gus turned his head slowly as if deigning to address her. ‘What, you mean this Eisner Award-winning graphic novel?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You stick to your Grazia, Amy.’

      ‘There is nothing wrong with Grazia.’ Amy wanted to take her new ticket and stab his eyes out with it. ‘It’s very issue-led.’

      Gus smirked. ‘I’ll look out for it on the Pulitzers.’

      ‘I’ll look out for it on the Pulitzers,’ Amy repeated, all whiny and childish.

      ‘That’s very grown up. Again, mother of child, very glad.’

      ‘I hate you.’

      ‘Rest assured, the feeling is mutual.’

      Just pulling up in front of the house in the taxi made Amy feel better: the sweep of purple sunset like smoke out of the chimney, the sparkle of the solar-powered fairy lights wrapped round the almond tree just visible in the early evening light, and the big hydrangea flowers like perfect pink balloons. The gravel underfoot gave the same comforting crunch as it had her whole life. She just had to block out the crunch of Gus’s feet next to her. As she put her key in the lock she could already picture the dark cosy hallway, smell the roast dinner from the kitchen, see the flicker of the TV, and a fire in the front room.

      Except it was summer and there was no fire. And she’d forgotten her mother had had the entire ground floor demolished. When Amy left last it had still been a building site. Now, as she opened the door, she saw it was all pale and grand and open. She swallowed. Everyone was looking up from where they sat in the living room, watching. There was no time to take a breath in the hallway any longer or peek her head round the door and beckon her mother over.

      ‘Er, hello,’ Amy said, conscious of the presence of Gus next to her and everyone staring. ‘Have you found Daddy?’

      Moira stood up. ‘No darling, not yet. We’re about to make a plan.’

      Amy nodded. She felt suddenly on the verge of tears, like she wanted to throw herself at her mother and sob about everything, but in defiance of Gus and his already derogatory opinion of her she stayed rooted where she was.

      ‘Hi.’ Gus raised a hand.

      ‘Hello,’ Stella said back from where she sat at the table, watching intrigued and looking all cool and relaxed in a loose black sleeveless shirt, the plainest gold hoop earrings, skinny jeans and bare feet. Amy saw her glance across at Jack. Jack raise a brow back at Stella. Their silent language asking, ‘Who the hell is he?’

      ‘This is Gus. My—’ Amy paused by mistake because the word friend got stuck in her throat.

      ‘Just a friend,’ said Gus, which sounded so ridiculously unnatural that it made Amy want to cover her face as she blushed scarlet under her hastily retouched contouring. Stella was clearly holding in a smirk.

      ‘Hello darling. Hello Gus, lovely to meet you. You must be exhausted from the journey, it’s such a long time to sit on a train. Come in, sit down, have a drink.’ Moira stood up, glossing over any awkwardness regards this stranger in their midst, and came over to greet the pair.

      Gus dumped his bag by the stairs and went to take the beer that Jack was pouring like he’d never needed anything more in his life. Moira gave Amy a kiss and a hug and whispered in her ear, ‘Will you be sharing a room?’

      ‘Absolutely not,’ Amy snapped.

      ‘Righto,’ said her mother. Then turning back to Stella said, ‘Rosie and Sonny are OK to share, aren’t they?’

      ‘Oh, no way!’ Sonny moaned.

      Stella nodded. ‘They’re fine.’

      Rosie giggled.

      Amy went and sat down at the table across from Stella, refusing to meet her eye, even when Stella kicked her under the table.

      ‘Beer, Amy?’ Jack asked.

      ‘No, I’ll just have water. I’m really thirsty,’ she replied.

      After some pleasantries about how warm the weather was, the length of the train journey, and how long it had been since they’d all seen each other – how terrible it was that someone had to go missing in order for them all to make the journey – Jack cleared his throat and said, ‘Right, shall we get started on a plan of action?’

      Stella nodded.

      Jack opened the pad that was in front of him then looked up at Amy to explain what had been discussed in her absence. ‘We thought it might be a good idea to note down all Graham’s usual spots. Places he goes most often. Then tomorrow go round and have a word with people. See if he mentioned where he was going, just get a sense of how he was. That kind of thing. Yes?’

      Amy nodded. ‘Have you rung his friends?’

      ‘A few,’ said Moira.

      ‘Why not all of them?’ Amy frowned.

      ‘I’ve been busy.’ Moira shifted in her seat.

      Amy glanced perplexed at Stella, who just raised a shoulder to show she knew and agreed with whatever it was Amy was thinking but who knew what forces governed their mother.

      Gus watched.

      Amy said, ‘Mum, you’ve tried to ring Dad, haven’t you?’

      ‘Of course I’ve tried to ring him. And I’ve sent a text asking where he is.’

      ‘A text? I rang his phone twenty-three times on the train,’ Amy said.

      ‘It’s not a competition, darling,’ Moira muttered, turning away to top up her wine with obvious affront.

      ‘OK!’ Jack held up his

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