Writersguardian.co.uk

Charlie had returned to the source of food and Rosaline was dishing out drinks and ludicrous savoury snacks on sticks.  Hilary was amusing the children with her little rhymes and Toni was talking to Doris, about her hip problem probably, or maybe the average fuel consumption of her friggin Morris 1000.  I was looking around for Natasha to complete the family picture when I felt a little tap on my shoulder.

 'Hello again Lewis.' 

I wasn't normally edgy around women, but Natasha was the kind of woman that made you feel awkward.  She told me that she had gone upstairs to change because it was a bit cold for, what she called, her little shorts.  I hastily slurped another mouthful of Trevor's home-made cider as she asked.

'What do you think of the dress then Lewis?'

As she twirled, Natasha added.

'Trevor bought it for me yesterday.'

Natasha continued to spin as Rosaline arrived with her tray of curios and thankfully, another top-up from the jug of cider stood in the centre of the tray. 

Then suddenly Rosaline shouted 'QUENTIN!'   She then abruptly handed me the tray, ran full-pelt at the boy, and took him by the scruff of the neck.  The two of them were face-to-face and with every brutal shake Rosaline barked.

'IF I EVER SEE YOU DOING THAT AGAIN I WILL TAKE A SLIPPER TO YOUR BACKSIDE.' 

Quentin was unaffected by the outburst.  He didn't cry, he didn't scream, he didn’t respond at all.  He just stared eerily.  Clearly exasperated by the incident, Rosaline plonked him down hard on the ground.  Quentin skipped away gaily. 

Looking directly at Natasha, Red-faced Rosaline complained.

'There's something very peculiar about that child.'  

Trevor wasn’t having that and defended his son from the barbeque. 

'He's all right ‘mother’, and waving a length of Cumberland sausage added.  'He’s a little boisterous that's all - all boys are like it at his age'. 

Rosaline shook her head as the meaty sausage unfurled from Trevor's fork.  As it did Quentin, grinned manacingly behind Trevor’s back.  He also might have given his granny the finger, but I couldn't be sure.

Read part 7 on Thursday  

Follow on Twitter

Submit a short story, or a Flash Fiction piece of your own