Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1 by Sue Nicholls (primary phonics .txt) 📕

In the kitchen, heat radiated from the cooker. Under the flaming grill, lamb kebabs spat and browned. Despite the number of diners, Mick and Lucas were managing a discussion on a well-worn subject.

‘If we opened upstairs, they’d all fit in.’ Lucas shook whitebait from the fryer and dropped it onto a paper towel.

Mick compressed his lips. ‘It’d be expensive, we’d need to borrow. I’m not comfortable about you accruing debt in the current climate. Why don’t you consider the offer from Masons, then you could relax and live a little?’

‘Mum borrowed money, didn’t she?’ Lucas glanced at his father, who was tasting lemon sauce.

Mick plated up the two portions of kebab, added a Greek salad and set the jug of sauce beside them. ‘Service,’ he shouted. To Lucas he said, ‘Your mother did many things I would have preferred her not to, but in light of what happened, so soon after she had spent all that money, we can’t know whether her investment would have paid off.’

Lucas turned to Mick. ‘Dad, I don’t want to get heavy, but this is my restaurant. I have thought about Masons’ offer and I won’t be accepting it. A builder’s coming to quote for the upstairs job tomorrow afternoon, after we close. It’s a simple matter of plastering, electrics and furniture.’

‘And creating a new stock-room.’ Mick interjected.

‘True, but that would be better downstairs, anyway; nearer the kitchen.’ Luc did not wait for Mick’s reply. ‘Dad. Please. I’m only researching it. I need figures and projections before I can decide anything.’

Mick shrugged and opened the fridge. ‘You should add in the cost of a food lift as well if you don’t want staff tripping up and down the stairs.’

Josh did not like arguing, so he changed the subject. ‘Did you ever visit here when Mum ran it?’

Without turning round, Mick breathed, ‘No. I never did.’

‘So, you don’t know what the food was like?’

‘It must have been good. Celebrities came here to dine.’

‘Celebrities? I had no idea. Like who?’

Mick crossed the room to peruse a metal strip, where the last few food orders were clipped. ‘Well, I believe the Duke of Westminster popped in regularly with his family and cronies.’

Lucas wondered where the Duke was now. Perhaps he was soaking up the sun in Juans les Pins or, like Millie, lying cold in his grave.

Service grew less frenetic. Those kebabs had been the last mains to go out, and apart from a few desserts and an occasional order for the board of local cheeses with Churchills’ home-made spicy chutney, Mick and Lucas could clear up and prepare for the evening.

Lucas’s breast pocket vibrated. It was Megan, the girl from the tennis club, and he tutted. After their date, he had told her that relationships for him were impossible because of his antisocial commitments. Apparently, she would not take the hint. He had to admit that she was a gorgeous looking girl. Strong and slim from playing tennis, with golden skin and straight blond hair. Such a shame he was unable to make a go of things. He sighed and answered. ‘Hi Megan, how are you?’

‘Good, Luc. Looking forward to dinner tonight.’

‘Oh? Where are you going?’

She laughed. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m ringing to invite you to have dinner with me. I can actually cook, and I think it’s time someone fed you for a change.’

‘Tonight? I can’t do tonight.’

Mick waved a hand in front of Lucas’s face and yelled so that Megan would hear, ‘Yes you can. I’ll manage. Tom can come in - he’s always asking for extra work.’

Lucas frowned at Mick’s cheery intervention and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

‘There you are,’ said Megan. ‘Sorted. See you at seven thirty.’

~~~

He was not hungry; in fact, as he rapped on the front door of the 1930s semi, he felt nauseous.

Megan’s voice came from deep inside. ‘Give it a shove. It gets stuck.’

He launched into the hallway and met the aroma of garlic and a view of dishes and pans exploding from the kitchen sink at the end of the passage. ‘Something smells good,’ he said, and stuck his head into a compact kitchen, where food and implements littered every space on the brown Formica countertop.

Megan beamed at him from the cooker and gestured at a nearby bottle of gin. ‘Pour us a large one. Sorry about the mess - I’m what you might call an artistic cook.’ She gave a loud laugh, and her joy was so infectious that Lucas laughed with her.

He cleared a space and sloshed alcohol into tall glasses. With the ice cubes cracking in the fizzing concoction, he placed a tumbler next to Megan’s elbow, saying, ‘Don’t knock it over.’

She turned down the heat under a pan, and they faced each other in the ‘decorated’ kitchen and raised their glasses, smiling.

After a huge gulp of liquor, Lucas felt more optimistic that their evening might be more OK than he had imagined. He put down his glass and said, ‘I can’t help it. I have to clear this up.’

‘Don’t let me stop you.’ Megan slapped herself on the wrist. ‘No. Naughty girl. He’s a guest, and he does this all day long.’

Lucas grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I do it in my sleep. It’s still very nice to have a meal cooked for me.’

Megan took another sip of her gin. ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind, it will be more relaxing later.’

Lucas shot her a glance, but her manner implied no innuendo. Trying not to think about ‘later’, he rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Megan did most of the talking. She had had a potentially frustrating week. On her way to catch a train for a London show, her car broke down. She left it at the curbside and sprinted