through to the most apathetic kid in his fifth-year history class, something improbable about Game of Thrones but it seemed to make him happy; Susanna and Melissa bonding over some new band they both liked, Leon rolling his eyes and offering to make them a playlist of real music, Hugo teasing us all for not appreciating the Beatles. It all looked like a nice cozy family afternoon, but this wasn’t in the routine and we all knew it; I could feel everyone wondering and waiting, covert question-mark glances zipping back and forth. I ignored them. I still had the nasty feeling that I had fucked up that conversation with Hugo, in some nebulous but important way, and everything was getting ready to go all wrong.
Susanna’s kids weren’t helping. Their attention span had lasted about as long as their cake, and by the time Tom and Leon cleared the plates Zach was buzzing around the living room like a hornet, nudging things with his toe and flicking bits of paper at people and joggling my elbow every time he passed. “Uncle Hugo!” he demanded. He was swinging off the back of Hugo’s chair by his armpits, like a chimpanzee. “Can I take out the demolition set?”
“Zach,” Susanna said sharply, from the sofa, where she and Melissa had been mooning over some phone video of their new pet band. “Get off Hugo’s chair.”
Zach made a violent barfing noise and collapsed onto the floor in disgust, narrowly missing Sallie, who was lying on her stomach pushing some toy around the rug and talking to herself. “Uncle Hugo,” he said, louder, from there. “Can I—”
Hugo turned, creakily, and reached down to lay a hand on his head. “Not now. I need to talk with your parents and the rest of this lot. You and Sallie go outside.”
“But—”
Hugo leaned over, beckoned till Zach knelt up, and whispered something in his ear. Zach’s face broke into a big grin. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Come on, Sal,” and he zoomed off towards the back garden with Sallie in his wake.
“What did you say to him?” Susanna asked, a little suspiciously.
“I told him there’s treasure hidden in the garden, and if they can find it they can keep it. Presumably it’s not even a lie; there must be all kinds of things out there that have been dropped over the years. They’ll be fine.” Hugo settled carefully back into his armchair. “I do need to talk to all of you. Susanna, would you mind getting Leon and Tom in here for a moment?”
Susanna went, darting one sharp unfathomable glance at me along the way. We settled obediently as schoolchildren, Melissa and me on one sofa, Leon and Susanna on the other, Tom planted in the armchair across from Hugo with his hands on his knees and a St. Bernard’s look of generalized faint worry on his face. A cool-edged breeze, and the sound of Zach yelling orders, strayed in through the open kitchen door.
“Toby pointed out to me,” Hugo said, “that we need to clarify what will happen to this house when I die.”
“Oh. I didn’t—” Melissa stood up. “I’ll keep an eye on Zach and Sallie,” she said to Susanna.
“No,” Hugo said, instantly and firmly, reaching out to touch her arm. “Stay, my dear. I need you to be here. You’re part of this too.” With a faint wry smile: “Whether you like it or not.” Melissa hesitated for a moment, unsure, but he gave her a smile and a tiny, reassuring nod, and she sat down again.
“Good,” Hugo said. “Now. Toby tells me that he and you two”—Susanna and Leon—“think this house should stay in the family. Is that right?”
Both their backs straightened. “I do,” Susanna said.
“Definitely,” Leon said.
“And you’re worried that Phil and Louisa might sell it, if it were to go to them.”
“They would,” Susanna said. “All this stuff about giving the kids advantages.”
Hugo cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t want advantages?”
“We’re fine. It’s not like we’ll be out on the street without that money. The kids don’t need fancy holidays or sailing lessons or a massive house with a cinema room. I don’t even want them to have that crap. But my parents don’t listen.”
Hugo glanced at Tom, who nodded. “Your parents,” he said to Leon. “How do they feel about it?”
Leon shrugged. “My dad’s not mad about the idea of this place going. But you know what he’s like. If Phil turns up the pressure . . .”