He’ll eat up all our food and keep on wanting to go to the cinema. And he’ll probably be no good at all at painting.’ ‘We can give him the easy bits to do.’ ‘He actually asked me if we were going to pay him for working. My own brother!’ ‘Oh, Clary! He was only joking. Are the sausages done?’ ‘They must be. They’ve been in the pan for ages.’ ‘If you’ll have a go at the potatoes, I’ll test them.’ Her arms were aching and the potatoes were still lumpy. ‘Poll, I think you’re meant to put butter and milk into mashed potatoes.’ ‘We can’t. We’ve finished the butter, and we’ll need the marge tomorrow for sandwiches for Neville as well as us. And there’s only half a pint of milk left. We’ll have to stop having Grape Nuts for breakfast.’ ‘And have black toast and bright yellow marge.’ ‘It doesn’t have to be black if you watch the grill all the time.’ ‘It seems to me,’ Clary said, when they’d doled out the sausages and lumpy mash and were sitting at the little kitchen table, ‘that cooking only works if it’s the only thing you do.
