A Desirable Residence - By Madeleine Wickham Page 0,58

giggling into her mug of tea.

‘Daniel, how dare you use such language!’ Anthea neared the table and looked suspiciously at Hannah.

‘What’s a wanker?’ said Andrew again. Daniel blushed.

‘I don’t want to dress up as a bloody owl,’ he said. His face went crimson and he didn’t look at Anthea. ‘I don’t want to go on the parade at all.’

Marcus risked a glance at Anthea. Her mouth was set ominously firm, but her eyes were wavering uncertainly between the assembled faces. Marcus suspected she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the situation.

‘Perhaps,’ he began in a soothing voice, then wished he hadn’t spoken, as Anthea’s head whipped round towards him.

‘What?’

‘Perhaps Daniel needn’t go on the march,’ Marcus said, in a reasonable voice. ‘Perhaps he could stay at home.’

‘He’s got to go!’ Anthea’s eyes glittered angrily at Marcus, then swivelled towards Daniel. ‘You’ve got to go!’ she insisted. Marcus sighed inwardly and looked away. His suggestion had, he realized, simply given her an excuse for an outburst. He should have kept his mouth shut. ‘It’s down on your scholarship application form!’ Anthea was exclaiming to Daniel. ‘It says you’re a keen junior member of a local environmental society.’

‘So what? It doesn’t matter if I don’t go on one lousy march!’

‘It does! You need to be able to talk about it at your interview. They won’t be very impressed if you didn’t go on the annual parade.’

‘They won’t care,’ began Daniel.

‘And yesterday,’ Anthea gave Marcus a glance of self-vindication, ‘yesterday, someone told me that the headmaster of Bourne College has recently joined the society. I’m sure he’ll be there on the parade. You might even get to meet him.’ She threw this information down like a trump card and looked around triumphantly. Hannah shrugged, and moved off towards the sink as though admitting defeat.

This bloody scholarship to Bourne College had become, Marcus thought, like the word of the Lord. Nothing and nobody could argue against it. And Anthea had decreed herself the only person who could pronounce on what might or might not affect it. He gave Daniel a surreptitious sympathetic look. Despite his protestations, he couldn’t think of anything worse than having to dress up as some stupid bird and march through the centre of Silchester. As if that would affect a scholarship result one way or the other. Anthea was just using it as a way of dictating Daniel’s life. He was going to have to talk to her; make her see sense; put a stop to it.

But he’d do it another time. He couldn’t face a row just then; not when he was feeling so pleased with himself. Daniel would just have to wear the costume to the parade and they’d all have a quiet life. Ignoring Hannah’s raised eyebrows, averting his eyes from Daniel’s flushed face, Marcus neatly folded his newspaper and made his way out of the kitchen, down the hall and into his study.

He closed the door, sat back in his chair and dialled the number of the Silchester Tutorial College. If Liz heard the phone ringing from upstairs, she would, if she was able to, run down and answer it. It was safer, she had told him, than ringing the number in the flat. Not that Jonathan was remotely suspicious, she had added, and Marcus had felt a sudden compunction for this trusting man whom they were deceiving so easily. But the feeling had come and gone and been forgotten. Now he sat with his chin resting in his palm, his elbow on the desk, slightly tensed, waiting for the pleasure of hearing Liz answer.

‘Hello?’ She was panting slightly, and Marcus had a vision of her, red-cheeked and dishevelled.

‘You still OK for today?’

‘Yes. Why? Are you—’

‘I’m still fine. Just thought I’d check.’

‘Oh. All right.’ Her breathing had subsided a little, and Marcus imagined her leaning against the wall, running her hand through her hair and smiling at the receiver. ‘So you’ve brought me all the way down here for nothing?’

‘I suppose so.’ He had a sudden thought. ‘No, actually, not for nothing. I wanted to ask you a question.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a bit personal.’

‘Fire ahead.’

‘OK then. Tell me, is your husband going to dress up as a bird for this blasted parade?’

Upstairs in the kitchen, Alice was hurriedly spooning her last mouthful of cereal into her mouth. As soon as she had done so she stood up from her seat on the radiator, still munching. She dumped her bowl in the sink, picked up her half-drunk cup