Barry looked round the Bustles’ living room. He had been expecting it – what with The Secretary Entity being a version of The Sisterly Entity – to be more like his own living room at home.
At home, his family did their weekly shop at Morrisons. But on their way to it they passed Waitrose. Barry would see parents in there, shopping with their children. He didn’t know any of those children, and hadn’t been in any of their living rooms, but he imagined that, if he had, they would look like this one. And smell like it – of fresh bread and coffee. And sound like it – in the background, he could hear a serious voice on the radio discussing “the glass ceiling in the banking sector”, whatever that was.
The floor was wooden and polished. There was a fireplace with a rug in front of it. At the other end of the living room, it became a kitchen. On the walls, there were some modern art paintings and also lots of certificates won by The Secretary Entity: Best Dressed, Best Spoken and (there were loads of these) Best Handwriting.
Also on the walls were four big canvas pictures of The Secretary Entity, from when they were babies to now. But Malcolm was presently taking those down and putting up four big canvas pictures of Barry.
“I hope you like these,” he was saying. The girls came in, frowning hard at their father. “I had them made up from a photo they sent from the Agency.” He stepped back to look at the pictures. “All the same photograph, of course, but I tinted them with different colours. What do you think?”
“Lovely,” said Barry.
“What have you done to our mum and dad?” hissed Secretary One to Barry.
“Oh,” said Barry quietly. “Not much…”
“How much is not much?” said Secretary Two, also hissing.
“Just asked the Head to have a little word with your parents before we got here, explaining how I’d like it all to work… if they wanted me to choose them in the end…”
The Secretary Entity looked at each other, open-mouthed. Then Secretary One turned to Barry and said: “I can’t believe our beloved mother and father are actually going to go along with such a disg—”
“Barry!!” called Marjorie from the kitchen bit of the room. “What would you like for lunch?”
“Hmm,” said Barry. “Pizza?”
“Oh well, you’ve made a mistake there,” said Secretary One smugly. “We only ever eat gluten-free, free-range, nut-free, free-from-E-numbers, salt-and-sugar-free food.”
“Yes, our food is very, very free,” said Secretary Two. “Except, of course, it costs a lot of money.”
“But we never, ever, ever eat junk food.”
“Yes, our parents would simply never allow it.”
“So…” said Marjorie, coming out from the kitchen holding a takeaway menu from somewhere called Pizza Shed, “what would you like: Ten Cheese? Crispy Hottie? Latino? Old ’n’ New? Salty Bananas? Fifty Fish? German? Meat Meat Meat? String? Nobody Likes This One? Eggy Norman?”
“What’s Eggy Norman?”
“Er… mozzarella, bacon, tuna, pickled cucumbers, tomatoes, pineapple and then, in the middle, a hard-boiled egg carved into the shape of a small man called Norman.”
“I’ll have a Ten Cheese,” said Barry after a moment’s thought.
“I’ll call them straight away,” said Marjorie, picking up the phone.
“Mum!” said Secretary One.
“What?” said Marjorie. “I love… pizza.”
“What do you love about it?” said Secretary Two.
Marjorie looked a little uncomfortable. “The… cheese. And the grease… And the salt. And the big fatty… bread.” She stared at the menu for quite a long time. “Yum,” she said eventually. Very quietly.
“But…” said Secretary One, “what are we going to have?”
“Pizza, of course,” said Barry.
Marjorie looked at him. He held her gaze. She seemed to sigh, then looked at The Secretary Entity. “If it’s good enough for Barry, it’s good enough for you.”
“You don’t have to order them anything,” said Barry. “They can have my bits of crust. I don’t eat those.”
“Perfect,” said Marjorie, dialling the number for Pizza Shed.
The Secretary Entity looked on, amazed.
Malcolm appeared, coming down the stairs.
“Do you have any video games?” said Barry.
Malcolm frowned and went back up.
“No!” screamed Secretary One. “Of course we don’t!”
“We only watch educational and improving television!” screamed Secretary Two.
“So don’t expect any of that rubbish here, I’m afr—”
“Yes, Barry, I think I got everything you wanted…” They turned round to see Malcolm coming downstairs again, his arms overflowing with small boxes. “I’ve already set up the TV with a Flii and a Ybox, and you can play any of these: Spanky’s Quest; Ninja Zebra; Space Pitch ’n’ Putt; Find the Fat Tongue; Zombie Crash 3; Death in the Car: the Game; Monkey Sticks; Boxers vs. Spear-throwers; Psyborg 2014; Seven Second Soccer Sevens; Marble Man; Stinky Pirate Revenge…”
“I think Stinky Pirate Revenge only works on the Flii…” said Barry, looking at the cover.
“Right, OK. I’ll bear that in mind,” said Malcolm. “So! TV on…”
“Dad! We want to watch Masterbrain!”
“Yes! And University Big Clevers! And Come Read With Me!”
Malcolm glanced at Barry and also, like Marjorie had before, seemed to sigh. “Yes. Well. You can watch them another day.” He went over to the TV and switched the game console on. “For now, Barry – fill your boots!”
Barry looked at his shoes. Then he remembered what that expression meant.
“Thanks!” he said, sitting down with the Flii control. On the TV, a cartoon pirate appeared, covered in what appeared to be bits of old food. “Oo-er, me hearties! I am SmellyBeard, terror of the seven seas!” he said. “Think ye I whiff? Well then…” He drew his curved sword. “I SHALL HAVE ME REVENGE!!”
“Thanks… Dad…?” suggested Malcolm tentatively.
“Maybe,” said Barry, pressing the buttons on the control expertly.