She blew out a perfect smoke ring.
‘You look like Rizzo in Grease,’ I told her.
‘You wouldn’t be so admiring if you could see her insides,’ my mother replied tartly.
Linda scoffed, shook her head.
‘You’re in a nice mood tonight, Amelia-Rose.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s this business with Matty. And the weather. Sophie’s school’s been shut nearly a week already because of the snow.’
I puffed on the windowpane, drew a smiley face in the condensation. Told her that was fine by me.
‘You’ll have to get your mum to take you to Parliament Hill, Soph. Go sledging.’
‘Can we, Mum?’
‘Not in these storms.’
‘They’re saying it hasn’t been this cold since the turn of the century,’ her turncoat friend replied.
‘The whole country’s at a standstill. What’s wrong with the British? Haven’t they heard of snowploughs?’
‘Sledging’ll warm us up,’ I said, steering the conversation back to where I wanted it.
‘I said no, Sophie.’
‘Linda’s right. You are in a foul mood,’ I muttered.
‘What did you say to me?’
‘That Linda’s right. It would be fun.’
She looked at me a moment, eyes narrowed, then went back to angsting about Matty’s silence.
‘Three weeks he hasn’t called. Not even on Christmas Day. Sophie was crying her heart out.’
Absolutely no regard for my pride.
‘Was not,’ I glowered.
They weren’t listening though.
‘It’s not the 1950s, Am. You can call him, you know?’
‘He didn’t leave a number.’
‘Really? Well, have you tried getting it off the operator?’
‘She can’t. She doesn’t even know what Matty’s parents are called,’ I said with a degree of vengeance.
‘Who’s “she”?’ my mother snapped. ‘The cat’s mother?’
I made a show of looking at my bum.
‘No tail. . .’
‘Go to your room.’