A Good Neighbour by Clare London

Author:Clare London [London, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63533-411-1
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-04-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

THE GREAT-AUNTS were very fractious the following week. When I went to collect them from Laurel House, they were chattering together in hushed voices, and Bess looked quite flushed. She bustled off to fetch her jacket, but not before I saw her slip her mobile phone furtively into her handbag. Mitzi kept glancing at the clock on the mantel and made a lot of fuss about finding where her gloves had got to, until Bess opened her bag again and found them there. I had to escort them both from the building and into the car, or we’d never have got the afternoon started at all, what with all their delays. But back at my house, the tea and refreshments didn’t go much better.

“It’s not your best,” Bess said, peering at her slice of lemon cake. Her upper lip curled.

I resisted rolling my eyes. “I ran a little short of lemon peel. I’ll return to the chocolate recipe next week, if you like.”

“It’s not a matter of what I like.” Bess sounded very peevish.

Mitzi rattled her cup in its saucer. “Did you use four sugars, boy? It’s a little sharp.”

“Good God!” I snapped. “That’s not the only thing that’s sharp today!”

There was a sudden, startled silence.

“What’s wrong, Dylan? You’ve been miserable all week.” Bess’s voice quavered. “I could tell, even on the phone.”

Mitzi peered at me. Her lipstick was applied a little crookedly today. “The boy looks pale again.”

Bess pursed her lips. “Maybe it’s too much time in the classroom. Too much childish company.”

“He needs some tender loving care,” Mitzi murmured, and giggled.

“Dear God,” I protested. I ran a hand back through my hair, disturbing the careful combing. My couch seemed less comfortable than usual. “I’m sorry, ladies. Forgive me. I’m… tired. That’s all. Shall I get some more tea?”

“He looked well enough during the week.” Bess sounded thoughtful. I’d taken her into town on Thursday to get her shopping, after Neal returned to London.

“He always does, when he’s been visiting the Whitmans’ house,” Mitzi said. “He looks splendid when he comes back.”

Bess nodded at her companion. “He positively glows.”

I snorted. “I am here, you know.”

Mitzi sighed and nudged her plate hopefully toward the cake. I cut another slice for her. Bess was right; it wasn’t one of my best attempts. I’d tried to make it without the recipe, on my own. Some kind of stupid protest, perhaps, though I wasn’t sure what against.

“How were the children this week, Dylan?”

“They’re students,” I said automatically, knowing Bess wouldn’t take any notice as usual. “They were fine, thank you. The preparation for summer exams is coming along well. They’re just a little… restless at this time of year.”

“Their families all have such high hopes,” Mitzi said, who hadn’t touched a schoolbook with any real attention since she was fifteen, as I remembered Mum telling me.

But I agreed with the sentiment. I’d had personal experience of the pressure those high hopes can bring, all through my life. Mum’s expectation of me had been to study well and find a good job.

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