Loving Amélie Read Online Free Page A

tell by the ascent of his mum’s voice from inquiry through heated
conversation to a full-blown summit of shouting, then a slammed door, that
Peter had got in trouble again.
    Invariably Chris and his father
would then sit abandoned at the breakfast table in depressed solidarity, having
been served their eggs with an angry spatula. It would occur to each of them to
say something to console Jean, that ‘enough was enough’, that Peter’s behaviour
was ‘out of order’ and ‘something should be done’. But their mutual resolve
would somehow evaporate, and they would eat quietly, then turn their attention
to the Sunday paper and talk about how Wolves got on the day before.
    Eventually, Peter got into a
fight that turned him into a successful chef.
    While drinking in a less than
salubrious pub in what his mum would have called the “wrong” end of town, he
became riled when a punter made a pass at Cheryl, who - as was her wont - stood
in open-mouthed, speechless defence of her overly exposed breasts. Peter let
fly with his fists and punched the guy, who turned out to be a plain clothes
policeman investigating the premises for underage drinking; and Peter was
arrested and charged with assaulting a police officer.
    The local paper, bearing news
of the affray, lay on the Skinner’s kitchen table like a missive contaminated
with the plague.
    Although the policeman in
question eventually decided the charge should be dropped on account of
mitigating circumstances, including Peter’s good character, the incident hung
over the family for a time like a bereavement. He was ordered to do six months’
community service: helping out at an old people’s home.
    “Any chance of a lift out of
here?” Peter had asked his brother, who was underneath the chassis of his Ford
Anglia, glad to be distracted by looking for the cause of leaking brake fluid.
    “Rather you than me, mate,”
Chris replied, wriggling out briefly. “You dick.”
    They stood together dejectedly
by the rusty, leaky car; each wishing he wasn’t in this scenario, or - dare
they vocalise it - that the Tardis of their carefree childhood fantasies would
come gyrating by and whisk at least one of them away.

 
    Groundwell College was mightily
aggrieved. Peter had already been given warnings for lateness and
insubordination; and, although his tutor liked him and thought he had the
makings of a promising chef, there was talk of him being asked to leave the
course. On a day when they had been making puff pastry, he listened intently
while his mother lectured him about “that nasty girl” and “his wasted future”,
before he presented her with a small pastry bird, golden baked and glossy, with
a chocolate chip eye. She burst into tears.
    Then his salvation came in the
form of the H.U.T.
    The Hand Up Trust was a charitable
organisation established to offer disadvantaged but talented youngsters a
better start. A representative from the trust visited Groundwell at that time
and was introduced to Peter and another boy called Kevin Cork. Corky had been
in trouble for glue-sniffing and petty theft, but had something of a talent for
landscape gardening. Following the H.U.T’s visit, the refined grounds man of a
stately home in Oxfordshire got in touch with Corky and offered him an
apprenticeship. With a glowing recommendation from the Skinner boys’ tutor,
despite the unfortunate brawling business, Peter was given the opportunity to
travel to Montpelier to continue his studies at a prestigious cookery school.
It was an almost unbelievable turnaround of fate. Jean declared she would ask
for nothing in her prayers ever again – although not being seen regularly
at prayer, the family generally felt she could make one or two more requests in their favour
with a fairly clear conscience.
    Without altercation, Peter
split up with Cheryl Hinchcliff and packed his bags for his French adventure:
swapping the chipped Formica of the Groundwell kitchens for the polished
granite and