With a wordless sound, she put a hand on her belly and squatted down and then she somehow managed to get down on her knees so she could reach them, so she could reach the pieces and touch them. And then Duncan’s arms were round her and he was asking what was wrong, was it the baby, and she was shouting, struggling free of him, rounding on Nick, who was standing there looking at her, of course he was, the fucking wee bastard.
‘He’s done this! He’s smashed my spoons!’
Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘Uh – what?’
‘My spoons!’ She threw the handful of yellow plastic pieces at him, and he dodged out the way, his face going: Nothing to do with me.
‘Maggie,’ went Duncan in her ear, putting his arms back round her. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’
‘I haven’t done anything, Dad.’ Nick had picked up a piece of yellow plastic and was examining it. ‘I guess this is her measuring spoons? They’ve been stood on?’
‘He did it!’ Maggie pushed Duncan away and grabbed at Nick, grabbed for the yellow plastic in his hand. ‘Leave that alone, you wee fucker! Leave it!’
‘Uh, okay.’ With exaggerated care, Nick set the shard of plastic back down on the flagstones. ‘Dad, I don’t think this is good for the baby.’ He was staring, now, at her belly, frowning like he was all worried. And then, as Duncan made reassuring noises, rubbed her arm, tried to ease her to her feet, Nick met her eyes and a shiver of shock went through her.
Those blue eyes of his shone with pure evil, like he was doing terrible things to her in his head.
She knew that look, because she was giving him the same one back.
She took a deep breath, and sighed, and said, ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Nick. Blame the pregnancy hormones.’ And she made herself smile at him. ‘I’m so sorry. Of course it must have been an accident. Those big feet of yours! It’s okay, it’s fine. I don’t know what I’m making all this fuss for.’ And she made a wee I’m that ashamed of myself face at Duncan.
Duncan grimaced sympathetically. ‘I know how much those spoons meant to you.’
She nodded, real tears coming now.
Duncan pulled her into a hug.
‘I didn’t break the spoons,’ went Nick. Ha! He was raging that she’d turned this round and suggested that he’d broken them and not wanted to own up, but that she forgave him.
‘It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.’ She buried her face in Duncan’s jumper so he couldn’t see her triumphant grin. Nick was going to find he was messing with the wrong woman here. Aye, maybe Maggie McPhee was a stunted wee plebe from Paisley who only had one O Grade, but she was a graduate of the school of hard knocks and she’d come up against mad fuckers a whole lot more scary than Nick Clyde.
On Sunday morning, Maggie slept late and found Yvonne in the kitchen, washing dishes at the sink like it was her own house. She turned to Maggie, drying her hands on a tea towel and lifting her eyes to the clock.
So it’s 11:30. Want to make something of it?
‘I’ve been having a lie-in,’ went Maggie, trudging to the kettle.
‘Evidently. I hear Nick’s been giving you grief?’
Maggie looked at Yvonne. The woman was smart-casual in stiff, unflattering jeans, an orange jumper and one of those posh silk scarves with horseshoes on it. Interesting choice of words, though – ‘Nick’s been giving you grief’， not ‘You’ve been getting your knickers in a twist about poor Nick.’
Maggie leant back against the worktop, stretching her back.
Yvonne shrugged. ‘Kids are vile.’ She looked at Maggie’s belly. ‘Sorry, but let’s face it, they’re not worth bothering with until they’re at least twenty-one. You’re older than that, aren’t you?’
‘I’m twenty-eight!’ puffed Maggie. ‘Still get asked if I’ve got a young person’s railcard, mind,’ she conceded. ‘Even with this.’ She patted her belly.
‘I had the opposite problem. Five foot nine at the age of thirteen. I once got mistaken for the teacher.’
‘Aye, I can see that!’ The words were out before Maggie could stop them. She could just imagine Yvonne at thirteen, a forty-year-old in a wee lassie’s body. She was two years younger than Duncan, but you’d think she was ten years older.
Yvonne raised her eyebrows.
‘Aye, Nick.’ Maggie poured boiling water into a mug and dumped a teabag in after it. ‘He’s being a nightmare.’