I raise my hand. “I’m very happy to not eat, I had—”
“Well, it’s made now, so we don’t want to waste it, do we?” Karen snaps. She starts slopping it out into some small bowls. “A cow died to make this stew.”
I look, unblinking, at Nate, who just shakes his head. At least she’s serving it to us in crockery. I was half-expecting to be eating from a trough on the floor. When the stew has been handed out, Nate’s mum takes a small spoonful and immediately says, “Oh, my goodness, this is delicious, Karen, thank you so much!” and everyone makes little noises of agreement, and then we all eat in agonizing silence for what feels like ten minutes. And for the purposes of full disclosure, the stew is not delicious. The meat is tough, the stock watery and thin, and the vegetables hard. All the kitchen equipment known to man cannot help Karen cook, but then it’s very clear that Karen does not see food as a pleasurable thing – it’s purely functional. I can tell from the look of hard focus on her face that Karen eats only to stay alive, and if she could just take a pill instead of an actual meal, she would. Although she would still want a kitchen with five ovens.
“How are the kids?” Nate’s mum asks.
“Izzy is having a gap year before uni – she’s building wells in Africa.”
“Oh, where in Africa?” I ask.
Karen’s brow furrows. “Africa!”
I blow out a small breath.
“Jonty’s in his final year at St Marks High – he’s predicted all As for A levels and he’s got a place at Oxford – I think they liked the fact he’s head boy and rugby captain. He’s actually down in Twickers for the week.”
I glance at Nate and mouth, “Twickers?” because anyone who is called Jonty and goes to “Twickers” (rather than Twickenham) needs to be obliterated. But Nate just looks scared and shakes his head again at me.
Karen glances at Nate with an overly wide smile. “What about you, Nate?”
Nate puts his fork down.
“Sorry,” Karen says. “Can you put that in your bowl, not on the table, please?”
“Sorry,” Nate says, hurriedly picking the fork back up.
“So are you staying on for sixth form, or what?” Karen asks.
“Um … yeah.”
Karen waits for more, but Nate’s clammed up and I don’t blame him. Karen shakes her head and turns to Nate’s mum. “He doesn’t talk much – is he going through a moody phase?”
“He’s all right,” Nate’s dad says.
Now he’s finally spoken, Karen has someone new to terrorize. “So, Micky, such a terrible shame you lost your job at the yoghurt factory.”
“Yeah.”
Karen nods, looking very concerned. “But I suppose everyone is turning against dairy these days – what with the environment and all, and if you don’t adapt, you die. We’ve cut down to six international fights a year and bought bamboo toothbrushes. What about you guys? I see you’re trundling around the country in that clapped-out van – is it even unleaded?”
Nate’s dad goes to speak.
“Rhetorical question!” Karen says, raising her hand to stop him. “I’m just saying we all need to be mindful of our consumption these days. That’s why we made a conscious decision not to fly on holiday this summer – we’re taking a cruise instead. Those ships are something else, let me tell you. The food is out of this world. And the shows! West. End. Standard.”
“You know that cruise ships emit three times more carbon than aircraft, right?” I smile.
Karen stares at me. She literally wants to speak to my manager, right now.
But it’s OK, Nate’s mum jumps in with an overly chirpy, “Oh, that sounds wonderful, Karen!” I don’t know why she’s so submissive and simpering towards her older sister, but it’s really pissing me off.
“You should definitely go on a cruise – if you ever get the chance,” Karen says, eyes full of tragedy that she thinks we never will because we’re not as rich as her.
“Oh, I have,” I say.
Karen raises her eyebrows.
Nate actually puts his head in his hands and makes a little whining noise, like a sort of … cry for help, I suppose. I get that he wants me to shut up, but I’m not going to sit here and allow this to happen. I don’t like people making other people feel like shit.
“Hated it,” I merrily continue. “It was just hundreds of obnoxious snobs with no class cooped up on a floating prison. The food wasn’t high quality, there was just a lot of it – the variety hiding the fact it’s actually nothing special, like an all-inclusive hotel buffet. And the musicals were crap – if I want to see a production of Grease – and to be perfectly honest, why would I? – I’ll see the proper show with the full cast, stage hydraulics and flying, thanks.” I grin at Karen. “Oh, I’m not saying any of that will happen to you, it was just my experience. I hope you enjoy it, Karen.”
Karen’s face looks like she’s chewing a wasp, that’s how much she now hates me.
And then, joy of joys, Elliot pipes up. “Yeah, my gran went on a cruise and it was a brand new ship and everyone was super excited, until the plumbing malfunctioned and basically all the toilets.” He stops, realizing everyone is just staring at him in horror. “Anyway, it was pretty icky, puke and poop-wise.”
The mention of “poop” makes Rose giggle. “I don’t want any more stew, it’s horrible,” she whispers to Nate’s dad, way too loudly.
Karen smiles through all this, and then turns to Nate again. “So, Nate. How’s your
