‘DO YOU WANT A GAME?’ NICK ASKS AS ALEX SAUNTERS into the barn.
He carries on batting the table tennis ball against the raised end of the table. Alex wanders past him and picks up a child’s cricket bat he finds leaning against the wall.
‘Alex,’ Nick repeats. ‘Do you want to play table tennis?’
Alex doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at him; in fact he hums to himself, like he’s the only person in the room. Then he turns round and walks out. Nick smashes the ball one more time, then lets it bounce past him and get lost amongst the bikes and sleds, croquet mallets and other garden paraphernalia that the Moodys store in here. He looks at the door, baffled, then goes after Alex. Outside the kids are setting up a game of rounders. He joins them. Taisie doesn’t look at him, none of them do. There’s an odd taste in the atmosphere. He’s beginning to see a pattern here.
‘Me and Alex will be captains,’ Taisie says. ‘I pick Pansy.’
‘Freya.’
‘Rory.’
‘Taisie! I wanted to be on your team,’ Izzy protests.
‘Well you can’t. You’re on Alex’s team.’
‘Anyone want an uneven number?’ Nick says, smiling from one to the other. No one catches his eye.
‘Right,’ Taisie says. ‘Heads we bat first.’
He wanders over to Alex, who’s standing with Freya, who also looks as though she’d prefer to be on the other team.
‘What’s going on?’ he asks.
‘Izzy,’ Freya calls. ‘Come on. Get over here.’
He can feel how conscious she is of his presence. She’s trying to behave normally, but it’s like she’s suddenly been thrust on to the stage and asked to recite a poem in front of the whole school.
‘Is no one talking to me? Is that it?’
He waits, then shrugs and wanders up to the terrace and sits on the steps, shading his eyes, which he keeps trained hard on Taisie, because he knows this is down to her. He picks at the grass, wondering how long they’re going to keep it up. The ball comes his way, hitting the ground and rolling to within a few feet of him, and Izzy comes running after it. She’s a crap runner, slow with an awkward, rolling gait. When she gets to him, she stoops to pick up the ball.
‘Are you not speaking to me either, then?’ he says.
She looks right at him. It’s an almost physical relief to be looked at and seen. She then turns and runs back. He holds her expression in his head and studies its different facets. Apologetic. Defiant. Embarrassed.