Chapter Three
“Chris, Chloe, anyone!” Called out the deep familiar voice of my stepfather.
“In the kitchen!” replied Chloe.
Our respective parents entered the kitchen, looking, it is fair to say, slightly concerned. Chloe and I rarely got on, not as far as they were concerned, in fact they probably believed that we hated each other’s guts, which was possibly a bit strong. Disliked each other, would suit better, but not anymore. The look of relief on my mother’s face when she saw us sitting quietly side by side at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and sharing toast from one large plate, was a delight.
“Hi, have a nice time?” I asked. Mom looked at us both evidently more than surprised to find us together, and hospitable. We were not, as I have said, well known for getting on, in f
