‘Really?’ Both girls look up.
‘You can come and get us from the lounge if you need us, can’t you, Eva?’ I take another step away, but Rebecca hasn’t moved.
‘Is Miss Chalmers really going to pick the best ones?’ Eva asks, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.
‘She is,’ Rebecca replies. ‘So you need to make it extra-specially amazing.’
‘We will,’ Lauren says.
‘What time’s dinner?’ asks Eva.
‘Pizza will be here in’ – I check my watch – ‘half an hour.’
‘Great, I’m starving,’ Eva says dramatically.
‘Pizza!’ Lauren’s eyes light up.
‘I thought we’d stay with the Italian theme,’ I explain.
Rebecca always cooks free-range organic everything, from scratch, but I didn’t have time to shop and cook, so I decided to order in pizza as a treat. I’m hoping Rebecca won’t judge. Thankfully, she doesn’t comment one way or the other.
I eventually manage to coax Rebecca away from Mount Vesuvius and into the lounge where we sit and sip our tea. But away from our children, the atmosphere feels a little strained. I’m trying to think of a way to broach the subject of my laptop virus, but I can’t think of a suitable opener. Rebecca seems ill at ease too. Perhaps it’s a guilty conscience, or maybe we haven’t quite got over last week’s incident. I wonder if I need to apologise again, but bringing it up might make things worse. Luckily, Rebecca eventually brings up the subject I was hoping to talk about.
‘Have you managed to find a tutor?’ she asks.
‘Funny you should ask that.’
‘Really?’ She frowns and then leans forward. ‘You found someone?’
‘Yes.’
‘How on earth did you manage that?’
‘Google,’ I reply, watching her face for any telltale signs that she could be responsible for the virus.
‘Word of mouth is better,’ she says, her expression not giving anything away. Either she’s a really good actress, or she’s innocent.
‘It was awful though,’ I continue. ‘I was searching online and my laptop must have got a bug, because it started deleting everything.’
‘Don’t you have antivirus software?’ Rebecca asks, pulling her feet up onto the sofa and tucking them beneath her floaty skirt.
‘Yes, but the virus managed to get around it.’
‘Computers are a nightmare,’ she says.
‘Are you any good with them?’ I ask.
‘Useless. I have to get Charlie to format all my PTA spreadsheets for me.’
Charlie is her husband. I wonder if he could have created the virus at her request. But maybe I’m just being ridiculous and paranoid.
‘So… who’s this tutor then?’ Rebecca steers me back onto the subject.
‘Her name’s Louise Martin.’
‘Who?I’ve never heard of her. Is she local?’
‘I think so. We’ve booked a trial session for Thursday. So we’ll see how it goes.’