Page 91 of Secret Paths

It is also unmistakably furious.

I press my knuckles to my mouth.

Downstairs, they move into the kitchen.

My stomach sinks.

The cottage pie.

We had left the remaining half in the dish on the worktop, covered with cling film because we were too full, too warm and too busy pretending lying fully dressed on her bed meant nothing.

Mark says, “Oh, that looks good.”

I close my eyes.

Alexandra says, “What does?”

“The cottage pie.”

A silence opens beneath me.

I can feel Mandy searching for a lie and finding only cutlery.

“Thank you,” she says.

Alexandra’s voice changes at once. “You made cottage pie?”

“Yes.”

“You.”

“Yes.”

“Made cottage pie.”

“That is what I said.”

“You once burnt soup.”

“It was more complicated than it looked.”

“It was tomato soup.”

“It caught.”

“It was from a tin.”

Mark, poor doomed man, says, “The mash has browned nicely. Good texture on top.”

I look towards the ceiling.

Mandy says, “Thank you.”

“Can I try some?”

“It’s cold.”

“That's okay.”