At the other end of the table Helene gives a gentle laugh and spears a glistening piece of steak with her fork. Tom takes a long drink from his beer glass, as if toasting his own wit. Connor sets his fork down on his plate. Saffron tries to make eye contact with him but he is staring at the wooden salt and pepper shakers, his jaw clenched.
“That's not true at all,” Saffron says to Tom. "Why would you even say that?"
“Saff, it's okay," says Connor. “Dad just thinks he's being funny. Don't worry about it."
“All I'm trying to say is that Helene and I are exceedingly grateful to you for all you've done for Connor this term," says Tom. He bestows his shark-like smile upon her once again, but she doesn't smile back. “I meant academically, but I’m sure you’ve helped him in myriad other ways as well. We’ve noticed a lot of positive changes, haven’t we Helene?"
“Oh, definitely,” says Helene.
“What are you talking about? You wouldn't notice if I grew two heads,” says Connor.
“Watch the attitude, son,” says Tom. His tone is pleasant, and sends a small shiver down Saffron's spine.
“I'm glad to hear that you think I'm a positive influence, because I was paranoid you'd think I was a bad influence after I made Connor skip school with me the other day," says Saffron. Tom looks at her blankly, his eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t hear anything about this,” says Tom. “Did you, Hel?”
“I think I may have received a voicemail or an email from the school, now that you mention it,” Helene says. “I probably just assumed it was a message asking me to donate to the second-hand uniform sale or something.”
“Wow," says Saffron. “My mother went off her head.”
“Saffron’s mother is a police officer,” Helene tells Tom, as if this is the sole explanation for her reaction.
“Ah,” says Tom. “And what does your father do, Saffron?”
“Here we go,” mutters Connor.
“He operates a chain of childcare centres,” says Saffron.
“Really,” says Helene. “What's the name of his business?”
“Little Sprouts,” says Saffron. Both Helene and Tom make noises signifying their recognition and approval.
“Oh, I’ve heard they’re doing very well!” Helene says. “Didn’t he just open several more centres?”
“Yeah, he’s got five now,” says Saffron.
“Does he use an accountancy firm?” says Tom. Connor mutters something under his breath.
“I think Mireille- his girlfriend- does all the accounting,” says Saffron.
“There’s a wise saying that I like to tell my clients, Saffron,” says Tom. “And that saying is: 'It’s not the money that matters, it’s how you use it that determines its true value'.”
He pauses for effect.
“Woah. Interesting,” Saffron deadpans while Connor stifles a loud yawn. Helene narrows her eyes at him.
“Now, I’m sure your Dad’s girlfriend is more than competent in the area of bookkeeping and handling the payroll and the rest of the basics, but how up to date is she with the latest tax laws?” says Tom. “Does she know how to forecast cash flow? Does she realise the importance of accurate record keeping? Does she have access to the most up-to-date accounting software, which will enable she and your father to maximise business efficiency and productivity?”
"I have no idea," says Saffron sweetly. "But I'm guessing you do, right?"
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Twenty-five minutes later Saffron and Connor have managed to escape the dinner table and find refuge on Connor’s bed. Saffron was in giggles on the stairs, and is still giggly now, her eyes shiny and her cheeks flushed. Connor feels like laughing too, laughing with relief that dinner is over, and that Saffron is by some miracle still here with him, despite how awful his parents are.
“Oh my God,” says Saffron. “Did you see the way your mother’s eyes lit up when I mentioned that Dad owned Little Sprouts? Oh my God. And I was trying so hard not to lose it with your Dad, especially when he was dissing you in front of me. And then when he started giving me his sales pitch. Ugh. He’s completely shameless. Do they always do that, try to recruit your friends’ parents as clients? That’s even more embarrassing than my mother getting drunk and falling in the hydrangea bushes. Isn’t it?”
“One hundred percent,” says Connor. “I warned you tonight was going to be hideous. But you didn’t believe me. Can I have an apology now?”
“It wasn’t totally hideous. Some of it was entertaining. Do you think they liked me?”
“Of course they liked you. You’re not covered in tattoos or piercings and your Dad’s rich, what’s there not to like?”
“True,” says Saffron, tossing her hair with an air of mock complacency. She rolls over and pushes him flat on his back, smiling at the look of wide-eyed hopefulness on his face.
“Anyway, who gives a crap about whether your parents like me. All I care about is whether you like me,” she says.
“I like you,” he says quietly. “A lot.”
“Good,” she says, with another toss of her hair to deflect from the fluttering sensation in her chest. Her hand moves down to the crotch of his jeans. “I think you’re going to like this a lot, too.”
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