‘YOU SAT IN a box!’ said Mum at breakfast the next day.
‘It’s not that big a deal,’ said Dad. ‘It’s just a chair in a little balcony, for God’s sake.’ He yawned and stirred his cornflakes. ‘I’m sick of this mushy stuff. Why can’t we have a decent cooked breakfast, a bit of egg and bacon and sausage?’
‘You know why. You’re the one with high cholesterol,’ said Mum. ‘Fried breakfasts aren’t good for you.’
‘Just one day a week, that’s all. My mother used to make fabulous fry-ups every morning. No one could beat her fried bread or her fried potatoes!’ Dad smacked his lips wistfully. ‘And she’s still fit as a fiddle, even though she’s . . .’ He paused, squinting at the calendar on the wall. ‘Oh God! It’s not the eighteenth today, is it?’
‘Yes,’ said Mum, sounding a little defiant.
‘It’s the old bat’s birthday, isn’t it? And we haven’t got her anything.’ Dad looked at Mum reproachfully.
‘But I didn’t think, seeing as we’re not really on speaking terms any more . . .’ Mum didn’t finish, but she glanced at Will.
He was standing by the breadbin, working his way through slice after slice of bread and strawberry jam. He didn’t pause in his spreading and munching routine, but he chewed more rapidly, as if he had difficulty swallowing.
‘Yeah yeah, I haven’t forgotten,’ said Dad impatiently. ‘I haven’t got Alzheimer’s. Come to think of it, that’s maybe how she came out with all that spiel. She’s quite likely losing the plot, going a bit demented.’
‘That old witch knew what she was doing all right,’ said Mum, with uncharacteristic venom.
‘Don’t start calling my mother names,’ said Dad.
‘You were the one who called her an old bat,’ said Mum, chin up.
‘There are bats next door,’ I said quickly.
They both looked at me, surprised. Will was looking at me too.
‘What did you say?’ Dad asked.
‘Bats. There are lots of them. I think they’re roosting in the loft.’
‘Oh God,’ said Mum, dabbing at her hair. It was still tumbled round the shoulders of her blue dressing gown, so that from the back she looked as young as me. But her face was pale and lined, especially between her eyebrows and at the corners of her mouth. She’d tensed so often the lines stayed, even when she rubbed her forehead hard with her fingertips. I wondered if she’d look any younger married to someone like Jonathan.
‘I can’t stick bats,’ Mum fussed. ‘I knew something like this would happen. Why on earth doesn’t that niece sell the house? I think we should call in the council.’
‘Bats are a protected species,’ said Will. ‘They’ve got squatter’s rights.’
‘Don’t be silly. They’re vermin,’ said Mum.
‘He’s right, actually,’ said Dad, though he sounded reluctant to admit this. ‘The bats have to stay. There’s nothing we can do.’
‘But they’ll get into our house if we’re not careful,’ said Mum, combing her hair with her fingers and securing it in a knot on the top of her head. ‘How many bats did you see, Violet? Were they flying all round the garden?’
‘Mmm,’ I said vaguely.
‘Don’t you go out in the back garden with your hair loose then,’ said Mum. ‘They get tangled in long hair.’
‘That’s a complete myth,’ said Will. ‘There are hardly any recorded instances. Bats are interesting, I’ve been reading up about them – they’re not blind either, they can distinguish light, especially sunrise and sunset, though their eyes aren’t very developed—’
‘OK, OK, Mr Smarty-Pants-Swallowed-the-Encyclopaedia, we all know that. They find their way round using radar,’ said Dad.
‘No, they use sonar, actually,’ said Will.
‘I’m not the slightest bit interested in what they use,’ said Dad. ‘How did we get started on this bat business anyway? Come on, we’d better get cracking, all of us.’
‘Why?’ said Mum, retying her hair even tighter.
‘We’ll have to make a trip to Mum’s. Get some flowers and a big box of chocolates on the way.’
‘You’re not serious?’ said Mum.
‘Look, she’s an old lady. She’s maybe not going to have many more birthdays.’
‘She’s not that old. Make up your mind. First she’s fit as a fiddle, then she’s half daft, now you’ve got her on her last legs—’
‘OK, OK. Look, all I’m asking is we go over there as a family. It’s a nice drive, for God’s sake. We won’t stay. We’ll just have a quick coffee and then we’ll go and find a decent pub and have a Sunday roast.’
‘We’ve got a Sunday roast. I bought a leg of lamb.’
‘So, we’ll have a Monday roast. Go on, you nip up and use the bathroom first,’ said Dad, and when Mum got up he patted her on her bottom, presumably helping her on her way.
I wanted Mum to slap his hand away, but she gave him a little smirky smile that made me feel sick.
I hated her being content with so little. She didn’t seem to care that Dad had no respect for her whatsoever. If he put on his police boots and commanded her to lie down she’d probably let him trample all over her.
I thought of Will and me. I felt even sicker. Didn’t I do exactly what he said? Apart from yesterday. And now he was trying to make me pay for choosing to see Jasmine. He’d been ignoring me ever since.
To hell with Will, I thought. But when I looked over at him my chest went tight. I saw the hunch of his shoulders now that Mum had given in.
‘What about Will, Dad?’ I said.
‘What about him?’ said Dad.
‘You can’t expect Will to come and wish Gran a happy birthday, not after all those things she said.’
‘She’ll likely have forgotten all about it by now,’ said Dad.
‘Will hasn’t forgotten,’ I said. ‘Think what it will be like for him.’
Dad sighed in exasperation. ‘I couldn’t give a stuff what Will thinks,’ he said, acting as if he couldn’t even see the boy chewing jam sandwiches beside him.
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ said Will, with his mouth full.
‘Less of the lip, lad. Go on, get cracking, put a decent outfit on, not those awful scruffy jeans – and don’t wear that necklace either.’
Will didn’t budge. He spread himself another jam sandwich.
‘For God’s sake,’ said Dad, slamming his hand down on the kitchen table, making the plates jiggle. ‘Stop stuffing that big mouth of yours and get ready to visit your gran.’
Will waited until he’d cut his sandwich. He took a mouthful. Then he said very calmly, ‘I’m not coming.’
‘Of course you’re bloody coming,’ Dad thundered, standing up.
‘Of course I’m doing no such thing,’ said Will.
‘You’ll do as I say, lad, or—’
Dad stood in front of Will. They were exactly the same height now. Dad was much the heavier, built like a barn door, but Will was wiry and surprisingly strong. Dad took a small step forward. Will stepped forward too, so they were comically close, noses almost touching. Will went right on chewing.
‘Can’t you eat with your mouth shut? You’ve got the manners of an animal,’ said Dad. He edged around Will, and started to clear the table. ‘OK then, don’t come. See if we care,’ he said. ‘Come on, Violet, get these dishes washed up and then go into the bathroom after your mother.’
‘I’m not coming either, Dad,’ I said.
Dad stopped. He was still holding a cup and saucer. He slammed them down so hard that the handle snapped straight off the cup. Dad hung onto it, hardly noticing.
‘This is all your fault,’ he said, glaring at Will. ‘What sort of example are you to your sister?’
‘She’s not my sister – as her grandmother pointed out so charmlessly,’ said Will.
‘I am your sister,’ I said. ‘And I don’t want to see Gran ever again.’
‘Violet.’ Dad came over to me, shaking his head. ‘Stop this nonsense. Now go and get ready, sweetheart.’ He reached out as if he was going to give me the same proprietorial pat on the bottom he’d given Mum. I swerved away from him.
‘Don’t, Dad! I mean it. I’m not coming,’ I said.
Colour flooded Dad’s face. I saw the pulse beating at his temple. He raised his arm again and this time I thought he was going to slap me. I clenched my fists and stood my ground. Dad let his hand fall to his side without making contact.
‘Stay at home, then,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with either of you. You make me sick, the pair of you.’ He turned on his heel and started to march out of the kitchen, but he was wearing his old scuffed slippers. He tripped and one slipper twisted sideways. He didn’t stop to sort it out, he walked on anyway, step shuffle, step shuffle, until he was out the door.
Will and I looked at each other and then cracked up laughing, hands over our mouths to muffle it or he’d be back and really slapping us about. Will made another strawberry jam sandwich, taking great care this time, even cutting off the crusts. He arranged it on a plate in dainty triangles and then offered it to me with a flourish. I ate it up in eight quick bites.
‘So it looks like we have a day to ourselves,’ said Will.
‘I thought you said you had plans for today,’ I said.
‘I could cancel them,’ said Will, grinning.
‘Maybe we could go to Brompton Woods,’ I said. ‘Oh Will, please let’s.’
‘Maybe. Later on. We can see what we feel like.’
‘OK. Only . . . don’t feel like playing any games, will you?’
‘Games can be fun.’
‘Blind Man’s Buff isn’t my idea of fun.’
‘I’ll invent a new game for your delight.’
‘Exactly. Or what would be the point?’ said Will, his eyes glittering.
I looked at him warily, wondering what little game he was hatching. ‘We are friends now, aren’t we?’ I said.
‘Of course we are.’ Will dug his finger in the strawberry jampot and smeared my wrist and his own with scarlet jam. ‘We’ll still be blood siblings,’ he said, and then he licked my wrist clean and I licked his.
Mum made a fuss when she came downstairs in her green woollen dress, a purple scarf pinned into place with an amber brooch. Her face was very pale above her colourful outfit.
‘What’s all this about you not coming? Of course you’re coming – both of you.’
‘No, we’re not,’ said Will. ‘And you don’t want to either. You’re just going because Dad bullied you into it. Gran’s never been that nice to you either, has she?’
Mum flushed, looking uncomfortable. ‘Don’t, Will, please. All right, you don’t have to come. I do understand. But Violet, you must go. You’ll upset your dad so if you don’t.’
‘That’s just too bad,’ I said, folding my arms. I kept them folded, hugging myself for courage when Dad came back downstairs. His face was still bright pink, his neck nearly purple where his tight collar was digging into him. He always dressed in a formal shirt and tie and suit to see Gran because she said she couldn’t bear seeing grown men in sloppy T-shirts.
‘Last chance, Violet,’ Dad said. ‘We’re leaving in five minutes. You’ve still got time to get washed and get your togs on if you jump to it.’
‘I’m not jumping, Dad,’ I said.
‘Right,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not going to lower myself and plead. Though what if this is the last birthday your grandmother ever has? It’s surely not too much to ask, one little family visit on a special day, after all I do for you? I even act like your personal chauffeur, driving you round to see your fancy friends.’
I stood silently, hanging onto my elbows, trying not to react.
‘You stone-faced little cow,’ Dad said suddenly. ‘What sort of a daughter are you? Well, stew in your own juice then.’
He stormed out of the house. Mum gazed at us anxiously, fumbling in her purse and putting a ten-pound note down on the table.
‘There’s not much in the fridge apart from the lamb and stuff. Get yourselves something nice down at the corner shop. And don’t do anything silly, either of you. Do you hear me?’
I nodded, suddenly near tears.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,’ said Will.
Dad yelled from out in the driveway for Mum to get a bloody move on.
‘Hark at him, bellowing like a bull. What will the neighbours think?’ said Mum. ‘I’ve half a mind to stay home too.’
But she scuttled out to join him. We heard the car doors slam and then the roar of the engine as they drove off.
It was very quiet in the kitchen. Will tore a kitchen towel off the roll and gently dabbed at my wet eyes.
‘I’m crying because of Mum, not Dad,’ I sniffed. ‘You’re lucky, Will. I wish he wasn’t my real dad. I hate him. If only I had a dad like Jonathan.’ But I shut my mouth quickly. I didn’t want to spoil things by talking about Jasmine and annoying Will.
‘Cheer up, little sister,’ said Will.
‘Oh Will!’ I sobbed.
‘Hey, you won’t need a shower at this rate. Race you for the bathroom, eh?’
Will got there long before me, but he was only two minutes using the bathroom. I took much longer, washing my hair in the bath. I heard music coming from Will’s room, beautiful strange piano playing. He usually played really loud thumping rock music, partly to annoy Dad, but I knew he had a collection of classical CDs that he listened to secretly, using headphones.
When I was dressed I pattered shyly along to his room, my hair tied up in a towel. Will had propped the door open so I could hear the music properly.
‘It’s lovely. What is it?’
‘Debussy. It’s called “The Dance of Puck”. It’s the nearest I can get to fairy music for you.’
I hovered at Will’s door. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
It was ages since I’d been in Will’s bedroom. Muffy’s cage was still there, taking up half the room. He’d tied black ribbon and white silk lilies to the bars and made a model of a chinchilla out of papier-mâché, painting it white and putting it on a pedestal so it looked like a marble memorial statue.
‘Oh Will. You must get another.’
‘No, no more pets. I’m not keeping anything caged any more. I’m getting into bats though. I’ve made a bat box and hung it out the back of our house. I want them to roost in our loft.’
‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ I thought he was, but I saw he had several library books on bats. He had piles of books all over his room, mostly non-fiction, but he had a lot of fantasy and horror paperbacks and there were all his old childhood favourites still on the windowsill, the Narnia books and The Wind in the Willows and The Jungle Book. There were reminders of the little boy Will all over his room. He’d kept his quartz collection, and the same little troop of pipe-cleaner mountaineers were trekking up this rocky terrain. I looked all round and eventually spotted Big Growl hibernating under a pile of crumpled clothes.
The pictures and postcards Blu-tacked to his walls were more sophisticated, mostly photos of tortured Gothic singers, boys in black with black hair, girls in white with long blonde hair. There was a set of Hieronymus Bosch creatures with rabbit heads and flowering genitals coupling in imaginative new ways, then a painful series of souls being tortured in hell. There were also five photos of Muffy crouching in corners, her snout in the air, her eyes bright with love. The only other photo was one of a baby, a peaky little creature with a shock of thick black hair and big violet eyes.
‘You’ve got my photo on your wall!’ I said.
‘Well. You were quite sweet then. You’ve gone off rapidly since,’ said Will.
‘I looked so weird as a baby. It’s odd, we are a bit alike. Look at the hair.’
‘I always used to wonder why there weren’t any baby photos of me,’ said Will. ‘I asked them once. Dad said it was because I was such an ugly little tyke that the camera broke. Mum got a bit flustered and spun me this long story about a photo album going missing. I was more inclined to believe the old man.’
‘What – that you were ugly?’ I said.
‘Well, I am,’ said Will, lying back on his bed, his arms behind his head.
‘Oh, come on! You’re milking the poor-little-me situation a bit too much now. You know perfectly well everyone thinks you’re drop-dead gorgeous,’ I said.
‘What do you think, Violet? No, OK, we’re related, more or less. What about little friend Goldilocks? You two obviously have long discussions about me.’
‘No, we don’t. Well. Just the once.’
‘And what did she say about me?’
‘I don’t know.’
I did know. Jasmine had said he seemed the only interesting boy in the whole school. But that was private, between Jasmine and me. She’d die if I told Will, I was sure.
‘I think we’ll maybe play a game of Truth or Dare,’ said Will.
‘Oh God,’ I said.
‘Don’t look so panic-stricken. It’ll be fun.’
‘For you. No, Will, let’s go out, please. We don’t have to go all the way to Brompton Woods. We could go anywhere. We could just have a little wander in the park, or go round the shops. We’ve got Mum’s tenner, look. We could have lunch in McDonald’s. Or I’ll cook us lunch. I could do the roast, I’m sure I could, though I’ll have to get started right this minute.’
‘You go and make us a coffee while I ponder,’ said Will.
‘OK, great, coffee coming up,’ I said, shooting straight down to the kitchen. I made us both black coffees and I snaffled two truffles from Mum’s secret supply in the tablecloth drawer. She always hid her birthday boxes of chocolates because Will and Dad would help themselves indiscriminately if she left them out on the sideboard.
Will came downstairs when I called, ate his truffle and then mine too. I decided not to object. I made burbling small-talk, switching on the television and flicking from channel to channel, suggesting we play an old game where we turned the sound down and acted out madly surreal voiceovers. Will was exceptionally good at this. I hoped he might want to show off but he shook his head. He drained his coffee, and leaned back in the upright chair, rocking it precariously on two legs.
‘OK, we’ve had our light refreshments. Now it’s Jolly Japes time. Right, little Shrinking Violet, we’ll play Truth or Dare.’
‘Will, stop it. It’s a ridiculous game. And anyway, you don’t ever tell the truth, and I’m useless at dares.’
‘Which should add considerably to the fun! Come on, indulge me. Then we’ll go out. We’ll buy a picnic at Waitrose and get the bus to Brompton Woods, OK?’
‘Promise?’
‘Well, it depends. Indulge me now, and then we’ll see.’
‘I don’t want to play, Will. I hate games.’
‘But we’ve never played Truth or Dare. Don’t worry, it won’t be the ordinary kids’ game. It’ll be my special variation.’
‘Which makes it much more scary.’
Will bowed as if I was complimenting him, grinning at me. He had very good white teeth but there always seemed rather a lot of them, giving him a disconcerting wolfish look. When I was little and Will played around threatening to eat me up I took it very seriously.
He rocked on his chair, almost but never quite overbalancing.
‘First Truth or Dare challenge, Violet. If you could have a love affair with anyone, who would you choose?’
I felt as if I was overbalancing myself. This was a very different kind of game. Will never seemed the slightest bit interested in my feelings and we’d never discussed love in our lives. I’d often wanted to, and long ago when we shared secrets I’d try to start Will off on the subject, but he’d always groan and make vomit noises and tell me not to be so boring.
‘You’re hesitating, Violet. Come along, we’d better introduce a time limit,’ said Will, going to the kitchen and getting Mum’s timer. ‘OK,’ he said, returning. He adjusted the clock mechanism. ‘You have precisely sixty seconds in which to answer. Failure to come up with a truthful response or an acceptance of a dare means you will have to pay a dire penalty. Mmm, I shall enjoy making one up.’ He sat back on his chair, chanting, ‘Tick tick tick.’
My thoughts ticked over in time. I remembered going to nursery school and some scruffy little boy with a skinhead haircut taking a shine to me. He said he loved me. I lied and said I loved him too, to be polite, though I didn’t like his stubbly head, or his nose-picking habits. ‘That’s good,’ he said, exploring his nose thoroughly. ‘So we’ll get married, right?’
‘I can’t,’ I said, too shocked to stay polite. ‘I’m going to marry my brother Will.’
When I got old enough to know I couldn’t marry Will I decided I didn’t ever want anyone else. Will didn’t seem particularly interested in going out with any girls when he got into his teens so I had wistful fantasies about us sharing a flat together.
Now I was in my teens I could see this probably wouldn’t work. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to go out with anyone, let alone have a love affair. I thought of all the boys at school. Jasmine was right, they were all rubbish.
I thought of Jasmine. I loved her, but not in that way.
‘Tick tick tick, ten seconds left. Penalty looming,’ Will said.
‘Shut up, I can’t think.’ I shut my eyes tight to concentrate. Coloured lights danced behind my eyelids. When I was little Will told me these were fairy lights. I spent hours with my hands over my eyes, trying to see them more clearly.
‘Fifty-seven, fifty-eight—’
Fairies!
‘I know! Casper Dream,’ I said triumphantly, as the timer went off.
Will frowned. ‘He’s not a real person.’
‘Of course he is.’
‘You don’t know him. You don’t even know what he looks like. That photo on his books is all blurry.’
‘I don’t need to know him. I still choose him.’
‘OK, OK,’ said Will, sighing.
‘So who would you choose, Will? Come on, it’s my turn to play Truth or Dare. Who would you choose for a love affair?’
I set the timer and looked at Will. His eyes were very green, staring back at me without blinking. His face was impassive, utterly Zen-cool. I couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say. I sat forward eagerly, holding my breath. Then the phone started ringing, making us both jump.
‘Leave it,’ said Will.
‘But what if it’s Mum checking up on us? She’ll come back if we don’t answer.’
Will frowned and picked up the phone. He listened for a second – then held out the phone. ‘Jasmine,’ he said.
The timer went off, the sound filling the whole kitchen.