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“You are eating properly, aren’t you, Marius?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve died of starvation.”
That garnered a reproving huff from my dad. “You know that’s not what she means.”
Sadly, assassination remained unforthcoming. “We had jacket potatoes yesterday, okay?”
“Jacket potatoes?” repeated Mum, staring at Leo. “Aren’t you our miracle worker?”
“I,” he began. “I don’t—”
But Mum was already in full food flow and flowed right over him. “And I think,” she called out, “we’d better leave you some barszcz.” As if we could, at any moment, be confronted by an emergency only fixable by barszcz. “I’m just popping it in the fridge. And you’ll want some golabki, won’t you?”
“No,” I said.
“And some fresh clothes, obviously.”
This was unending. Like I was in my own personal circle of hell: just my mother being helpful, over and over again, until I begged to be set on fire and transferred to Satan’s arsehole. “I’ll be leaving as soon as the ice melts.”
“That’s still no reason to be sitting around in dirty underwear, is it?”
“I’m addressing that problem,” I snarled, “by not wearing any.”
“Well”—Mum popped a bundle of shirts, trousers, and socks, all crowned by a magenta Marco Marco thong, onto Leo’s dinette table—“this way you’ll have the option, won’t you?”
“I really wish you hadn’t gone rummaging through my drawers, Mama.”
“Oh please, I didn’trummage. I know better than that. And anyway, you’ve been sneaking out in naughty pants since you were sixteen years old.”
I liked to think, at the very least, the quality of the pants had improved. For whatever reason, I snuck a glance at Leo. And was struck all over again by that quality of stillness he had sometimes. Of carefulness. The soft, startled—almost prised-open—look on his face was new, though. And I found myself half wishing he’d been appalled.Thatwe could have shared.
“And here’s that overpriced moisturiser you swear by,” Mum continued, casting it upon the pile of shame. “And Mr. Froderick.”
If not the underworld, this had to be a nightmare. Any moment now I was going to be told I was late for an exam I hadn’t studied for or standing naked in the middle of St. Giles. But no. We were all still on Leo’s narrowboat. As was Mr. Froderick—the toy frog who had no personal importance to me—his feet dangling charmingly off the end of the table.
“Didn’t you tell me”—somehow I was not yelling—“that you rationally understood I’m not eight anymore?”
“We just thought you’d like to have him with you.”
“I’ve got a sprained ankle. You’re acting like I’m moving in.”
“Then maybe Leo will like you to have him with you.” Mum made Mr. Froderick wave to Leo. “He’s so much easier to deal with when he’s got Mr. F. When he was little, if something was wrong, it was always Mr. Froderick this and Mr. Froderick that. You hurt Mr. Froderick’s feelings. Mr. Froderick wants a cuddle. Honestly”—she gave an apologetic little shrug—“we took him to a specialist in the end. But it turns out he’s just like that.”
“This is wonderful,” I said. “Anything else you’d like to share?”
I’d reckoned without her sarcasm immunity. “I don’t know. Like what?”
“Well, I don’t know either. How about that time you took me to the doctors because you thought my foreskin was too tight? That’s a fun story.”
“I was worried,” Mum protested. “And it was a bit tight,” she added for Leo’s benefit. “But he grew out of it.”
“See?” I flung an arm out in despair. “A happy ending.”
“And so we didn’t have to circumcise him,” Mum went on. “I mean, get him circumcised. Obviously we wouldn’t have tried to do it ourselves. And you don’t always have to anyway. Sometimes they just prescribe steroid creams.”
My dad tapped her on the shoulder. “Where do you want to put this box of pierniki?”
“Maybe…” She took it from his hands and, having already made a mess of Leo’s boat, searched about for somewhere to stow it. “Here?” She plonked it right down in the middle of the counter. “They’re bound to get eaten. Nobody can resist pierniki.”
