‘Then it was our turn, and I remember feeling the heat of the lights … ’
‘And the slight smell of petrol,’ says Miss Golightly.
‘Yes, that too. Maybe because we’d had to stop and start, we really went for it. We danced … we danced our socks off – I wish you kids could have seen us.’ Miss Golightly nods her head in agreement. ‘Verity and Derek’s tango was a nine out of ten, but ours … ’ Granddad grasps a cheese straw and waves it, like a conductor. ‘My heart was in my mouth when we set off – I tried not to look at Ted Mildenhall. I knew if I saw him I’d miss a beat, but we danced out of our skins, left them standing.’
‘Perfect tens,’ says Miss Golightly, sipping from her glass. ‘Never happened before.’
‘Our foxtrot was a nine,’ says Granddad.
‘And the paso doble,’ says Miss Golightly.
‘We swept the floor with the cha-cha – won the prize, won the money, won the whole series.’ Granddad coughs and looks away.
‘It was wonderful,’ says Miss Golightly, springing to her feet and hugging Granddad’s elbow.
‘It was the beginning of the TV career of course,’ says Granddad. ‘We never looked back after that, did we, dear?’
‘No,’ says Miss Golightly. ‘And forty years of married life later, you can still take my breath away.’
Granddad married to the school secretary. I have to sit down again.
I think back to the last few hours, or days depending on which way you look at it. So much has changed. Everything’s changed. I look at Mum’s great pregnant bump. That wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t expecting a new baby in the family. I suppose it’ll mean I’m not the youngest any more, which will be quite nice. There should be someone more scared than me, someone to keep me company behind the sofa. And Granddad’s not living with us – he’s living with Miss Golightly, except I suppose she’s Mrs Wells.
I still can’t get used to how young they look.
Mum goes over to the stereo and puts on a CD. It’s a waltz.
Miss Golightly puts down her handbag and puts one hand on Granddad’s shoulder and another on his arm. Granddad puts his free arm around her waist and together they dance the most perfect circle around the coffee table.
Dad holds Mum’s arm and they blunder into an uncomfortable shuffling.
Lorna stuffs another cheese straw in her mouth.
I realise I haven’t worried about anything for at least an hour and go out to check on the fridge.
It’s not humming. It’s utterly silent.
I open the door. The light stays off. And there are no yoghurt pots, only ordinary recent shopping.
A trickle of water slips from underneath the vegetable compartment at the bottom and pools on the floor.
I press the button for the light, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t make it come on.
‘C’mon, fridge,’ I say. ‘Wake up.’
Still no hum.
I slam the door shut. In case it brings the fridge to life, but nothing happens except that some of the plastic letters from the door fall to the floor.
SHNAKT.
KNASHT.
I place them back onto the door, and the fridge lets out a long shuddering sigh.
T H A N K S
Fleur Hitchcock
Born in Chobham, by an airfield, and raised in Winchester on the banks of the River Itchen, Fleur Hitchcock grew up as the youngest child of three. When she was eight, she wrote a story about an alien and a jelly. It was called THE ALIEN AND THE JELLY and filled four exercise books. She grew up a little, went away to school near Farnham, studied English in Wales, and, for the next twenty years, sold Applied Art in the city of Bath. When her younger child was seven, she embarked on the Writing for Young People MA at Bath Spa and graduated with a distinction. Now living outside Bath, between parenting and writing, Fleur works with her husband, a toy-maker, looks after other people’s gardens and grows vegetables.
Fleur’s debut novel SHRUNK! was The Sunday Times ‘Book of the Week’, and you can follow her at: http://www.fleurhitchcock.wordpress.com or on Twitter: @fleurhitchcock
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hot Key Books
Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT
Text © Fleur Hitchcock 2014 Cover illustration © Ross Collins 2014
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-4714-0325-5
This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher
www.hotkeybooks.com
Hot Key Books is part of the Bonnier Publishing Group
www.bonnierpublishing.com
The Yoghurt Plot Page 11