The Steep Approach to Garbadale by Iain Banks

gripped the rake properly, getting back to work. You never thought of the right thing to say at the time.
     
It was late afternoon of the same day. Alban and Sophie had been given the job of setting the table for a big family dinner that evening, with extra guests invited from amongst the many local friends of Uncle James and Aunt Clara. A couple Andy and Leah had known when Lydcombe had been their home had also been added on.
    The table in the dining room was extended to its fullest extent, and had to be polished. The finest silverware was brought out and also had to be polished. It was surprisingly warm work; they opened the dining room’s windows, letting in a cooling breeze. Sophie’s face shone, little beads of sweat at her temples. She limped upstairs to put her hair up and swap her leggings and baggy T-shirt for shorts and a thin blouse. Later she opened a couple of the buttons, fanning herself.
    Alban wondered if she knew how ridiculously, ferally attractive she looked. Was the girl flirting with him? He didn’t know. He and his pals had talked about flirting and fancying and how you could tell whether a girl liked you or not and whether she wanted to do it, but for all their boasting and pretended certainty, it was still a madly confusing area. The stuff you saw on films and TV didn’t really seem like it was in the real world, and porn was useless. He hadn’t seen much porn, but he was damn sure the way to instant sexual success wasn’t becoming a plumber or a pool technician. He had no idea. Maybe she was just teasing him because he’d upset her somehow earlier that morning.
    Anyway, she was still his cousin. His pals had discussed this, too, after Plink had fallen totally if briefly in lust with one of his cousins, and it wasn’t supposed to be illegal or anything, but it was definitely frowned on, discouraged, the stuff of jokes and adults going, Diddleing ding ding ding ding ding ding , which was something called Duelling Banjos , from an old film, and seemingly terribly witty.
    Once they’d done the cutlery, Sophie announced she was going to the kitchen for a big bucket of water just off the boil, and started hobbling in that direction. He dashed after her and volunteered to do the carrying.
    They put the bucket of hot water on the sideboard, on top of some old newspapers. She showed him how to hold the crystal and glasses in the rising steam, before giving them a polish.
    ‘That’s a handy tip,’ he said. ‘Who taught you that?’
    ‘Old waitressing trick.’
    ‘Ah hah.’
    ‘Sorry if I was a bit, you know,’ she said, glancing. ‘This morning.’
    ‘That’s okay,’ he said. Probably a bit too quickly, he realised. God it was hard getting this stuff right!
    ‘Just annoyed at myself for falling.’
    ‘That’s okay. Sorry you got hurt.’
    ‘Me too. Wasn’t my fault, you know.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No. Scrabbles decided to take a short cut, then changed her mind.’
    ‘Really.’
    ‘Soon as I get this knee working properly . . .’ she said.
    ‘Yes?’ he asked, grinning, sensing he was being used as a straight man.
    ‘I’m going to kick that bloody horse.’
    ‘Well, give her one for me,’ he said, then quickly added, ‘Just kidding.’
    ‘Yah,’ she said, ‘me too.’
    They polished some more glasses, presenting them to the silently rising steam until they went cloudy with the moisture, and then smoothing them over with the cotton cloths. Songbirds sounded in the gardens beyond the opened windows, and a magpie gave its sharp, coughy call.
    He looked at her. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said.
    She made a tsk noise. ‘Does anyone ever say “No” to that sort of question?’ she said, shaking her head. The ponytail flicked back and forth. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’
    ‘How come your dad got custody of you?’
    ‘Oh, as opposed to my natural mum.’ She shrugged. ‘I dunno. Just unlucky I guess.’
    ‘No, come on.’
    Sophie put her hand to her mouth, rubbing at the little