He blinks at me. “Well. Anyway, the toast caught fire—proper flames, it was pretty scary—and Edwin yanked the tray out and dropped it. Broke the handle. We got a huge telling off.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Joel’s gaze roams around the kitchen. I wash up a couple of plastic tubs with my back to him, keeping half an eye on his reflection in the window. He looks more at home here than I do. The tick of the kitchen clock seems louder with each minute of silence.
“Do you remember Laura?” I ask him suddenly, turning to face him. “The au pair Edwin had before Danny and I were born?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, vaguely, I think. She used to bake cakes with us.”
“How about Alex? Alex Kaimal?” I ask.
“No, who’s he?”
“Do you remember Danny and me being born?”
He gives me a long look.
“Seraphine...” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Oh, okay. Edwin’s said something, hasn’t he? What did he say? Keep an eye on poor Seraphine, she’s lost her marbles, thinks she’s a changeling?”
“Seraphine,” he says calmly, “your toast is burning.”
I jam my hands into the oven gloves and yank the tray out from under the grill, clattering it onto the chopping board. I throw the back doors open, and then I lean against the doorframe, facing the garden, swallowing down the lump in my throat as the smoke drifts past me to curl away with the breeze.
“I don’t really remember you being born,” Joel says from his seat behind me. “Sorry. I remember it being me and Edwin, before we started school, playing here. Just happy memories really. And then after we started school, it was always—sad here, in your house: two screaming babies, your dad all spaced-out, Vera fussing all the time, new nannies starting and leaving. I mean, it got better, of course. Not that you screamedallthe time, I don’t mean that.”
I turn around, try to smile.
“Oh, Gran always says I was a horrible baby, it’s okay,” I say.
“You were pretty fierce back then. Do you remember Edwin and me teaching you and Danny to ride your bikes? Before you started school. Felt like it took us the whole summer holiday, and you had a huge tantrum every time you fell off. You’d stamp your feet and shout at us, blaming us.”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t remember that.”
Joel pulls a face. “Probably just as well.”
“I bet Danny was a dream to teach.”
He doesn’t reply, but the corners of his mouth pinch up in confirmation.
I reach for the chocolate biscuits he brought, and hold them out inquiringly, but he stands up.
“Thanks, but I’ll get going. I just wanted to check you’re okay. I hope I haven’t made you feel any worse.”
I walk as far as the front door with him, and as he steps outside, he turns to face me, not saying anything for a moment. There’s a faint sinuous scar just under his jaw—a pale indentation in his dark skin—and without thinking, I reach up and touch it with my fingertip.
“How did you get this?” I ask.
His pupils widen, and he takes hold of my hand, pulling it down gently.
“From the glass, that day,” he says, his eyes searching mine.
I look at him blankly. “What day?”
“Seraphine.” He draws in a deep breath, still holding my hand. “That day I upset you by the pool, when the others started teasing you and you ran away. The glass you smashed—it cut me.”
I’m shaking my head now, feeling cold.
