“Eleanor,” he said, “look, I’ve got something to tell you, and you’ve got to promise not to be angry with me.”
I sat back and waited for him to continue. “I’ve been doing some research online about your mum, about what happened back then.”
I stared at the grains of sugar. How could each one be so tiny, and yet so perfectly angular?
“Eleanor?” he said. “I’m not sure if what I found is right, but I googled arson,
and the year it happened, and London, and there are some newspaper articles you might want to take a look at.
We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know, in case... well, in case you changed your mind about finding stuff out.
I went to the happy place in my mind for a moment, the pink and white fluffy place with bluebirds
and gentle babbling streams and, now, a semi-bald cat purring noisily.
“Where did you say your mum is these days?” he asked, very gently.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “She’s the one who contacts me. It’s never the other way around.”
I tried to fathom his expression. I find it hard to work out people’s expressions sometimes.
The cryptic crossword is much, much easier. If I had to guess what was showing on his face,
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