After Helen died, Liza brought Vinnie and Nat, refugees with all their world in cardboard boxes and plastic bags, to live with us. As I stalked furiously through the house, searching for my slime-green PVC trousers, I felt Mildney had become a crazed doll’s house. In the black attic, Brodie sat in front of a mirror, delicately Supergluing his ears to the sides of his head, a French textbook forgotten, lying spattered with sticky drips on the table. Dan and Poppy, bewildered by suddenly not being the youngest, stoutly got on with their games, sawing Action Man’s legs off with a carving knife and flushing them down the loo, where they bobbed pinkly when anyone went for a pee.
Liza couldn’t bear to return to the Glade alone. Shrunken by sorrow she scuttled through our house, silently materializing from empty rooms, head bowed to hide the coursing tears on her face. She followed Mummy, mirroring her actions because she couldn’t remember how to function alone, and sat with Daddy, each one trying to rally the other’s spirits with damp jokes.
I found my trousers under Flook’s bed in a small suitcase. ‘Why have you packed these? In fact, why have you packed at all?’ Flook was watching Return of the Living Dead in the playroom. Vinnie, Nat dozing on her knee, was with him.
‘I’m getting out of here.’ Flook did not raise his eyes from the screen. ‘There are too many people. I’m getting my own flat in Norwich as soon as I can.’
‘What about school? You’re not even sixteen yet.’
I too was becoming drawn into the grisly goings-on flickering across the screen; Flook’s answer was plausible in the face of ghoulish spectres emerging from coffins. ‘I haven’t been there for six months, and no one has noticed. But don’t tell Mummy.’
Admiring Flook’s plan, I slumped next to him on the sofa, fantasizing my own escape from home. I wanted to live in London. Norwich was too bound up with school, and school was nearly over. I wanted a new life full of glamour.
In September Vinnie and Nat went to Canada with Liza for a long holiday, and Mummy took a job teaching Latin at a girls’ school on the coast. Three times a week she drove off, legal at last, wearing sensible school clothes and her wellington boots. Not until her first pay cheque arrived did she splash out and buy some shoes. Flook hid at the bottom of the drive until he saw her depart each morning, and then he came home. One morning Daddy met him in the kitchen for elevenses. ‘What are you doing here, Flook? You should be at school.’
‘I don’t go any more. They don’t want me to, and I don’t want to.’ Flook’s head was flung back, a twist of defiance curved his lip.
‘I see.’ Daddy narrowed his eyes. ‘And no doubt you will be supporting yourself from now on. If you are not at school, you can get a job. Let me know if you find one you like.’
Daddy’s tone was icy; Flook didn’t care. ‘I’ll have a look around, and see what comes up,’ he said airily.
Daddy lit a cigarette and threw the match on the floor. ‘You will doubtless do as you please, but get on with it for Christ’s sake, and stop bellyaching.’
Brodie and I were righteous, furious and jealous. Mummy was not told, and Flook went on pretending to go to school. I kept expecting him to leave home, but he was enjoying the charade and lingered on into the spring. If he had nothing better to do and the weather was bad, he did go to school, so he still had enough essays to keep Mummy’s suspicions at bay. Brodie and I had exams; Flook pretended he did.
It was Tuesday. We were about to leave for school, very late. Our exams were not until the afternoon, and Daddy had agreed to lend me the car. Flook had apparently been dispatched on the bus earlier. He burst in through the kitchen door, twigs and leaves from his hiding-place in the hedge shivering on his coat.
‘God, you’re stupid,’ I sneered at him, armed by the smugness of being only weeks away from finishing school legitimately. ‘How can you be so selfish? Mummy will hit the roof.’
Flook frowned, his breath heaving, mouth set and angry. ‘Daddy knows, so I don’t see why you should interfere.’ He moved menacingly towards me, his chin jutting defiance.
‘Don’t be so pathetic.’ I turned away coldly. A strained roar issued from Flook, and I swung round to see him bearing down upon me, both arms raised, a motorbike helmet held like a trophy above his head. He tried to smash at me with the helmet. I grabbed a chair, edging away from him, squeaking, ‘Calm down, don’t be silly.’ I stumbled backwards across the kitchen, dodging from side to side as Flook swung his bludgeon through the air. I thought it would never end, and wondered if I should allow him to hit me. I had a faint hope that contrition would calm him and I enjoyed the prospect of forgiving him.
I lowered my guard and Flook charged. He never reached me. A metal dustbin descended over his head, arresting his progress. Brodie, displaying unexpected stealth, had crept towards the rubbish while Flook and I were duelling. Tipping a suppurating heap of tea-leaves, eggshells and slithering wine bottles on the floor, he ambushed Flook with the bin. Echoing rage boiled in the bin for a few moments. Then there was silence. We cautiously eased Flook out and found him laughing.