The Godmother by Carrie Adams

a veiled mafia death threat. I winked at Francesca to stop her laying into her son. I didn’t think that would help matters. Caspar’s two sisters, Poppy and Katie, were there, sucking on milkshakes that were bigger than them, and Nick and Francesca, and Nick’s unmarried brother Paul, whom I liked but didn’t fancy. This set-up has been going on for fourteen years; luckily, Paul and I have been in cahoots since the third attempt, so, it doesn’t matter. To us, anyway. I think Francesca and Nick are still holding out, though.
    â€œWould you like a glass of wine, Miss King?” said a sultry male voice to my right. “Or a Bloody Mary?”
    â€œPlease call me Tessa. In my head I’m your age; try to remember that when you talk to me.”
    He smiled. “Coca-Cola, then?”
    I smiled back. “Perhaps not that young.”
    Zac leaned closer to me, his leg touched mine. “You’re as young as the person you feel,” he said quietly.
    Surely I had heard that wrong. This boy, this child, was flirting with me? I looked at him again; he lowered his eyelashes coyly. Well, I never…Was I set to become the Joan Collins of my friends? I saw an image of myself in a few years’ time: convertible car, a jewelry-wearing, snake-hipped youth lounging in the passenger seat who looked uncannily like a young Robert Downey Jr. (he often pops up in my fantasies). I was beginning to enjoy the scene playing out in my head until I took a closer look and saw that the young stud in my passenger seat was filling out his college application. I quickly ordered a medium-rare cheeseburger with chips and onion rings and, as a nod to health, some coleslaw. But firstly, a bottle of Mexican beer with a lime in the top. Bliss. I was in a good mood. If there were family tensions, I bulldozed my way through them, resolutely cheerful.
    â€œI’m glad you got my message,” I said, smiling, to Caspar while the rest of the table busied itself with a milkshake spill. Then I lowered my tone and leaned closer. “But perhaps you didn’t read the subtext. Turning up was one thing, but a smile clinches the deal. And while we’re on the subject, I’m adding another clause. Sit up straight right now or I’ll return the iPod and buy myself the pair of shoes which your birthday gift just barely beat out.” It is what my mother did with me when I was a baby, apparently. She said it was all in the tone. Tone and expression, the words didn’t mean a thing. It must have worked with Caspar because for a moment he looked afraid and sat up. Francesca looked over just as I moved away and her son joined his party.
    As far as conversation went, it felt like I was in sole charge of the ball. I dribbled and sashayed, passed and quickly retrieved, but if I dropped the ball, the table went quiet again. By the end of lunch I was exhausted. The monkey was all performed out. The only reward for my dazzling verbal dexterity was the attention I received from Zac, who, it turned out, was unquestionably flirting with me—terrifyingly successfully, at that. He was good with Francesca too, polite and charming, but always deferring to Nick. But I had no Nick to defer to, so he could let rip on me. The sly innuendoes were always delivered solely in my earshot, the personal questions disguised as polite conversation—it was impressive, to say the least. I thought it best to return to “batty aunt”–style conversation before I crossed a line, so I put a questionnaire to the table, hoping that the family bond I knew so well would return.
    â€œTo the table, in no particular order: who was the last person you kissed?” I looked at Nick.
    He turned to Francesca and kissed her on the mouth. “My wife,” he said.
    â€œQuick thinking,” I replied.
    â€œCaspar?”
    â€œThis is a stupid game.”
    â€œOh dear, I don’t think Caspar has kissed anyone,” said