and tie, pointed to the chair next to him with his dinner fork.
‘Never mind all that now. We’ll be late for the theatre. Sit down, Sarah, and eat your dinner.’
Chloe sat, absolutely bewildered by all this. She had been willing so far to put everything down to mental illness on the part of the middle-aged woman. But clearly everyone else in the room accepted her as one of the family. One of their own. Were they all mad? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps she’d wandered into a television programme, one of those reality shows? Yet there was no evidence of cameras or cables or any of the trappings of such.
And who really was Sarah? Would she come wandering into the room at any moment, a mirror image of Chloe? Or was there no Sarah, just a family waiting to trap one, to draw a Sarah into itself like a fish into a net, with lures of commonplace gatherings and home comforts?
The whole thing was mystifying.
It frightened her more than a confrontation would have done. Something surely lurked around the corner: some terrible truth that would swallow her up with its awful ordinariness.
‘Sarah, eat your vegetables,’ said the woman, over-sweetly. ‘They’re good for you.’
There were two other children there.
A boy about half Chloe’s age and a girl not more than three. The girl looked impish, with golden curls and a grim smile. She gripped her spoon as if it were a club and she was about to beat the overcooked cabbage to death. The young boy had a snub nose, freckles and a dirty collar. A football boy. A woodsy, ditchy, scouty, catapulty boy. He seemed wholly taken up with his dinner, shovelling the food down his throat with gusto. The father, George, looked a bit pompous, rather flabby and soft about the gills, but nice enough. He smiled at Chloe.
‘You should listen to Jane,’ he said. ‘Not watch too much TV.’
‘Not television,’ Jane said, ‘video games.’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied George, wiping his mouth on his napkin. ‘Video games. Never understood the interest.’
‘That’s because you’re no good at ’em,’ interrupted the boy with his mouth full of food. ‘You’re hopeless.’
‘That’s enough,’ ordered Jane. ‘George, why do you encourage them to be so insubordinate?’
‘In-sordy-nut,’ said the little girl and banged her spoon on the table. ‘INSORDYNUT.’
‘That’s enough, Chantelle,’ said George mildly. ‘Get on with your dinner. Don’t you like it? Jane cooked it specially.’
‘She means I’m cheeky, don’t she, sis?’ the boy said, grinning at Sarah. ‘She always uses them long words.’
‘Who’s she, the cat’s mother?’ asked Chloe, repeating an old family saying then, realising she really was speaking out of turn, said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I should think so,’ Jane said, pursing her mouth. ‘Really, George.’
‘We ought to be going,’ said George, putting down his napkin and looking at his wrist-watch. ‘We’ll be late. Can you put the children to bed, Sarah? Don’t wait up for us, we won’t be in ’till one or two. You’ll be all right, won’t you? You’ve got my mobile number. I can’t switch it on during the performance, but I will at the interval, and after, of course. Leave a message if there are any problems.’
‘She’s not putting me to bed,’ growled the boy. ‘I can put myself to bed.’
George said, ‘You’re to go up when Sarah tells you.’
He left the room. Jane swept the faces of the children with an icy stare. ‘One of these days …’ she muttered.
‘We were here first,’ growled the boy. ‘You came after.’
Jane glared at him but left the battlefield.
George came back into the room wearing his own coat and carrying another for Jane.
‘It’s snowing,’ he said. ‘I knew it would. Do you think we should cancel?’
Chloe said quickly, ‘No – it’ll be all right – Dad. You go.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘It’s not coming down too hard. It won’t settle. Look, I think it’s clearing already.’
He patted her head with chubby fingers. ‘You’re a good girl, Sarah.’ Then in a whisper as Jane went to find her gloves, ‘I know it’s hard at the moment, but she’ll come round.’ He nodded at the doorway through which Jane had disappeared. ‘We’ll win her over, you’ll see.’ He smiled at what he clearly believed was his daughter. ‘You’re growing up fast. You’ll soon be a woman yourself and then you can be friends. I don’t think Jane has any objections to friends at all. Look after the other two. Sorry to leave you with them, but you know we don’t get