Read Stray for Free Online Page B

the final edit today.”
    “We did, already. It’s almost midday. Get dressed.”
    Red-faced, a ringing in my inner ear, I put the spatula on the counter and turn down the heat on the stove; a show of dignity before turning stiff-backed towards the hall. But when she strides after me I spin so fast in the fluffy socks I dug out from under the bed this morning, I nearly fall. “You are overreacting,” I say, steadying myself against the bookshelf.
    The flow of water stops above us and we both look up the stairs. I wish Jamie’s whistling wasn’t quite so loud and cheerful. Miriam tilts her head and squints past my shoulder. She reaches for the porcelain Virgin and turns her face forwards. “I don’t think I am, young lady.”
    “
Young lady?
” I struggle to keep my voice down. “There’s nothing going on. You just came in and got the wrong end of the stick.” I spin on my heel again and stomp ineffectually up the stairs, wishing I were wearing something hard-soled and clompy, wishing Jamie was dressed and downstairs instead of in the bathroom above us with Miriam closing in.
    “That explains the shirt.”
    “It-doesn’t-mean-anything!” I thump the railing. It quivers ominously, the side of my hand goes numb and the whistling stops.
    “Give me some credit, kid.” She stalks behind me and I trip up the remaining stairs onto the landing where Buffy sits waiting for Jamie. The bathroom door opens with a gust of steam. Jamie emerges from the cloud like a magician. He has his Indiana Jones pants on and the towel slung over his shoulder. Moisture still gleams on his chest. He runs his hand up through his damp hair, his expression unreadable, his eyes on my aunt. Buffy purrs and rubs her face on his legs. “Miriam,” he begins. “I–”
    “You,” she says, lips pulled back. “Downstairs.”
    “Just a second, Jamie.” I unbutton his shirt, slipping it from my shoulders. “You’ll need this.” I hold it hooked by the collar, my arm straight out, not taking my furious glare from Miriam’s furious face.
    Clearing his throat, Jamie takes the shirt and edges past Miriam to get to the stairs, the cat at his heels. I swing around and stalk into my room. Jamie’s boots sit at the side of the bed leaking socks out the top. I’m not fast enough to hide them as Miriam barrels in behind me, slamming the door like an exclamation point.
    Hands on her hips, chest rising and falling, she scowls at Jamie’s boots and the telling indentations in the pillows on my bed. I have to keep things from spiralling into an all-out brawl. I grab a T-shirt from my top drawer and yank it on over my head “Okay, okay. It looks bad.”
    “Tell me why I shouldn’t go down there and rip his head from his shoulders.”
    “Don’t blame Jamie. It’s not his fault.”
    “I’m quite sure he was the hapless victim in this scenario.”
    “He was doing me a favour.” I lift my hands. “Not like that. I was,” and I swallow before my next confession, knowing it isn’t going to score me any points, “a little … drunk … last night.” Sure enough, her expression widens to include this new outrage and my voice becomes small. “Very … drunk, actually.”
    “He let you drink? We can’t drink! I told you, no drinking!”
    “I didn’t know you meant that because of our condition. I just thought you were laying down the law.”
    “I was laying down the law for crying out loud. What the hell was he–”
    “Jamie didn’t
let
me drink! I didn’t know … Kitty had champagne in her room while we were getting ready. She didn’t know … and he didn’t know what we were doing in there. When he realised, he was very concerned. He didn’t want me to go to the dance. He wanted to bring me straight home.” I hope this detail might divert some of her hostility before she goes downstairs and begins the decapitation.
    “And did he?”
    “Um, no. I wouldn’t let him, but he did bring me home early.”
    “This is the problem