Something Invisible by Siobhan Parkinson Page A

you been?” asked Stella, opening the door to him. “I said four o’clock.”
    â€œHaving lunch with Mrs. Kennedy,” said Jake.
    â€œLunch? But it’s after five.”
    â€œWell, it was a late lunch,” Jake explained. “And then I helped her with the washing up, and that took ages, because she does everything so slowly and then…”
    â€œWhat did you have for lunch?” asked Stella.
    â€œTomato sandwiches and cold sausages and frozen peas, only we unfroze them, of course. And then we were still hungry so we fried some eggs. And we finished the porter cake from last week.”
    â€œShe isn’t supposed to eat cake,” said Stella.
    â€œNo,” said Jake. “But she does. She does what she likes. She says it’s the only advantage of being old. There’s no one else who’s old enough to be able to tell you not to. Her son tells her what to do, she says, but she doesn’t listen to him, because after all, she’s changed his nappy.”
    â€œOh, yuck,” said Stella.
    â€œI thought you liked babies,” said Jake.
    â€œThat’s not the point,” said Stella.
    â€œDo you think your mum or dad could show me how to photograph fish?” Jake asked.
    â€œNo,” said Stella sulkily.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause they work in a studio. They don’t have underwater cameras. They’re not Jacques Cousteau, you know.”
    â€œNo, but they might be able to…”
    â€œOh, Jake, give it over,” said Stella. “I invite you here and you’ve been wuffling on about Mrs. Kennedy and porter cake and underwater photography since you arrived, and I don’t want to talk about those things. I want you to help me to cook.”
    â€œCook?” said Jake doubtfully. “I thought you’d invited me to tea. Wuffling’s a good word, by the way,” he added, seeing a frown forming between her eyebrows. “Is it related to wiffling?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Stella. “I haven’t decided. I did invite you to tea, but I didn’t think you’d mind helping with the cooking. Will you be able to eat it after all that lunch?”
    â€œNo problem,” said Jake.
    â€œOK,” said Stella, cheering up. “Right, you can chop the onions. We’re having spaghetti.”

CHAPTER
    32
    Stella’s parents were doing a jigsaw with Joanne, Stella’s littlest sister, at the kitchen table. There were three children under the table—they seemed to like sitting under tables—two of them banging upside-down saucepans with wooden spoons, but nobody seemed to mind the noise, except Jake. Another child was sitting at the other end of the table, doing sums, or so it appeared.
    Joanne looked up.
    â€œDake!” she said and opened and closed her hand at him.
    That was supposed to be a wave, Jake conjectured, and he waved back.
    Stella’s mother looked around. “Ah, Jake,” she said with a grin. “The Pied Piper of Mount Gregor.”
    â€œWhat?” said Jake.
    â€œYou know, the one who spirits children away? The Pied Piper. I hear you took all my daughters fishing. Not a clever move, Jake, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
    â€œI never…”
    â€œYes, you did, Jake,” said Stella resolutely. “It was your idea to go fishing, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYes, but…”
    â€œHowever, we forgive you,” said Stella’s dad, “because we heard you tried to rescue one of them. Which one we aren’t quite sure.” He finished with a short laugh that sounded like he didn’t really think it was all that funny.
    â€œHow do you do?” said Jake firmly. He was going to be polite even if they weren’t. He’d never met this person before, and that was the right thing to say in the circumstances. “I really did rescue a little girl,” he added defensively.
    â€œHow do you