Miriam Delaney is saying no, I don’t believe you, my parents are both dead, where’s your proof, what are you after? As she whispers, her heart races and her palms sweat. Hope surges through her, she tries to stop it surging but this hope has a mind of its own.
Ralph Swoon is listening to Miriam on the phone, wondering what’s going on, wondering who is making her whisper slightly louder than usual. He strokes Treacle’s head and glances at the cuckoo clock.
Sadie Swoon is eating a gluten-free pizza with blue cheese, roasted onions and potatoes, spinach, tomato and mozzarella. She is looking at Alison’s mouth, thinking what now, what the hell happens now?
Alison Grabowski is eating a smoked-ham and pineapple pizza with extra chillies. She asks if Sadie has seen a film called Take This Waltz, and Sadie says no, she hasn’t seen a film in ages, in fact she can’t even remember the last time she went to the cinema with Ralph or anyone else, and it’s a long answer, it goes on and on, and Alison just watches her, she doesn’t look away.
Arthur Swoon is watching Breaking Bad on Netflix. He hasn’t left the sofa for five hours. Last night, he dreamt he was swimming through a river and the water was cold, unbearably cold, but his body was warm, the swimming was easy and his mother was standing at the side, shouting words of encouragement, egging him on as if it was some kind of race but there was no one else in the water.
Stanley Swoon is kissing Joe Schwartz in the kitchen. Under the grill, bacon is curling. On the hob, a frying pan is warming up. Three plates, three knives and three forks have been placed on the work surface. The absence of his parents over the past few days—his father gone completely, his mother coming and going—has awakened a sense of personal authority. This house feels like his house. He walked Harvey this morning, fed him this evening, opened a tiny tube and poured it over his neck to protect him from bloodthirsty fleas. He went to the supermarket and brought home the bacon that is curling under the grill. Right now, his iPod is sending music into three different rooms—a new playlist called Our Summer. He is filling this house in a way his parents never could and it’s exciting, it’s uncomfortable, it makes him feel alive.
Kristin Hart is at home with Carol, watching The Good Wife. She is missing her friend Sadie, who has blanked her since that night in the cupboard on the landing—since the kiss that should never have happened, the kiss she can’t think of without feeling furious, the kiss that flutters through her days and nights like a tiny fantastical bird.
Boo Hodgkinson is attempting to invent a new herbal remedy. His kitchen is a laboratory and he is a scientist and Vivaldi’s Four Seasons is playing on his Bose music system. Fuelled by steak and chips and a bottle of ale, he flicks through his books and hums to the music and admires his own reflection in the window: his thick moustache, his rugby player’s physique, his rampant hairy chest.
Eric Delaney is listening to his daughter. She is accusing him of wanting to steal her inheritance. Her whispers race around him like a breeze and the breeze smells of his dead ex-wife—Chanel No. 5.
Alfie Delaney is asleep in bed. He is wearing Doctor Who pyjamas. Amy Pond is lying on the pillow beside Alfie’s head. He is dreaming about the neighbour’s Jack Russell, white and brown and black, running in circles with Amy in its mouth.
Matthew Delaney is listening to his father, who has just finished speaking to Miriam. She whispered at me, Eric says. Oh sweetheart, his wife says, sitting beside him, stroking his hair. It is imperative that Matthew meets Miriam, he can feel it, deep in his bones—skeletal knowledge. He wants to draw her face. He wants to draw his father’s face too, right now in this moment, the way sorrow has made it crumple and give way. Why anyone would want to draw a smile is a mystery to Matthew—it’s sorrow that has the allure, the magnetism.