‘Um, would you like to come inside?’ Aggy asked. ‘We could watch Home and Away; you could have a cup of tea or something . . .’

  ‘There’s not much point if you haven’t got any biscuits to dunk in it,’ said Mr Gurney morosely.

  ‘Oh, come on, Richard,’ Mary said brightly. ‘They might have some pictures or essays or something for us . . .’ She looked at Morag hopefully. Morag shook her head.

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice, in that case,’ said Mary, still trying to remain bright. Mary tried to look on the bright side all the time, even if it meant rigging up arc lights in the Black Hole of Calcutta, metaphorically speaking.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on then,’ Aggy said, running up the path. She stopped at the front door.

  ‘Who’s got the front-door key?’ she asked. All heads slowly turned towards Bill. ‘Well?’ he said, question, realization and defence all included.

  ‘Where did you throw them, Dad?’ Lily asked, wearying a little of sitting in the street looking delightfully provincial.

  ‘Down the drain,’ Carol called, straightening up from searching.

  ‘At least Mum’s venting her anger on the back gate,’ Morag said to Aggy. ‘Rather than us.’

  ‘I’m trying to open it,’ Carol snapped. ‘Not break it. It’s stuck.’

  The Inspectors had joined the rest of the Gonks on the picnic rug with Poppy. The Gonks were telling the Inspectors their plans for the future. Well, that was how it started, but Lily’s plans for the future had run for twenty minutes so far and showed no sign of ending.

  ‘Give me a boost,’ Carol asked Morag. ‘It’ll be quicker climbing over.’

  ‘How are you going to get in the house?’ Aggy asked.

  ‘There’ll be a downstairs window open around the back somewhere,’ Carol said airily. Morag gave her a violent boost, and Carol disappeared.

  Mrs Vernon smiled encouragingly at Lily.

  ‘I’ve got the keys!’ Bill shouted, who had spent the last ten minutes poking down the drain with the broken car aerial. ‘We can go inside now.’

  Carol was stuck in the kitchen window. Not just ‘stuck’ stuck, but stuck so that if she moved she would probably break her leg. Her other leg was resting in the sink in a very inelegant position. The tap was dripping on her foot. She idly resolved to fit a new washer.

  ‘—come into the kitchen. We’ll see if we’ve got any bis– Hello, Mum,’ Morag said, with remarkable self-control, she thought.

  The Inspectors stared at Carol.

  ‘Um, come into the front room,’ Morag said. ‘And Aggy, help Mum.’

  ‘. . . I say education? What is it? A collection of knowledge that continues throughout a person’s lifetime? Or some finite, scheduled process that can be dealt with in a few crowded years at school? I prefer to think my children’s lives are their education.’

  Carol was just finishing an epic speech that had caused everyone’s tea to go cold. Mr Gurney put down a small plastic wind-up penguin that didn’t wind any more, and stood up.

  ‘I see, Mrs Narmo,’ he said, brushing down his trousers. ‘Thank you for explaining that to us. I think we’ll be on our way now. Thank you for the tea, Aggy. And lovely toast, Morag. Very, um, interesting.’

  The Narmos waved the Inspectors goodbye from the doorway.

  ‘Good stuff, that bread,’ Morag said. ‘It’s got certain qualities to it. Anybody want some for dinner?’

  The rest of the Narmos melted away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Child, the Egg and the Wardrobe

  Easter morning

  The sun leapt through the window with a cheery ‘Hey nonny nonny!’ and noted the still sleeping Gonks. It sloped off, muttering about ‘miserable somnolists’ and ‘could at least make an effort’.

  Twenty minutes later, Josh opened his eyes and rolled out of bed. He brushed aside the Lego space-station he had landed on, and wondered if he dared to think about the Easter Bunny. If he did believe in Mr E. Bunny it would mean he was a baby and very gullible and stupid.

  If he didn’t, he wouldn’t get any chocolate. Pride versus Greed. It was a nasty scuffle.

  Pride kept harping on about how Josh was nine now and all that Bunny stuff was for Poppy and others of her ilk, but Greed won in the end after an on-the-belt blow, a quick telex from Josh’s stomach.

  Josh crept out of his room and proceeded at a Lego-injured hobble down the stairs. All illusions of Easter being for the kiddies were dispelled when he found Morag overturning sofas in the front room.

  ‘Hello butt-features,’ she greeted him.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Wobble,’ he said, lolling against the dresser. ‘Didn’t you spy on Mum last night and see where she hid them?’

  ‘I tried,’ Morag said grumpily, ‘but by half past one she still hadn’t done them and I fell asleep. We’re actually going to have to look for them this year.’

  ‘Oh, brilliant,’ Josh said with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Well, you can either hunt for your egg,’ Morag said, shoving the sofa back against the wall with her knees, ‘or go chocolateless.’

  There was a small pause.

  ‘Have you looked in the dogs’ beds?’ Josh asked.

  ‘Didn’t think of there,’ Morag said. ‘C’mon, give us a hand.’

  They ran off.

  In order to reach the Earth, the Sun has to travel eighty million million miles, across the universe, through the atmospheres and magnetic pulls of countless planets; it has to seep its way through clouds of star dust twelve thousand miles thick. It plays leapfrog with time and has a neat little party trick of standing where it was eight and a half minutes ago And still – after all this exertion – it still had the energy to struggle through the yellowing nets and purple nylon curtains of Bill and Carol’s bedroom, and wake them up.

  ‘Oh Bill, Bill,’ Carol moaned, sitting bolt upright and clutching her forehead in dismay. ‘I didn’t hide the Gonks’ Easter Eggs. They’re still in the wardrobe. What will my poor babies think of me? They’re probably down there now, hunting and searching but to no avail, as they will never find their treasure. Oh Bill, what have I done?’

  ‘You haven’t done anything you silly cow,’ the semi-comatose lump beside her grunted. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  ‘But Bill, that’s the point. I haven’t done anything, and my poor children are—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Bill said, with his eyes still closed. ‘Hunting and searching and digging and ruining sofas for fifty-pence-worth of chocolate in a cardboard box labelled “Six pounds please, suckers”. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘Bill, I can’t. It’s part of their childhood. I’m going down to hide them now.’ Carol slipped out of bed, wrapped her dressing-gown around her, and opened the wardrobe door.

  At the very bottom, where light did not usually fall, where matching belts for dresses dwelt in the dark morass, were ten crushed silver boxes. On top of the boxes there was a pile of multicoloured foil, shredded, making a bed for the small golden-haired child who lay curled up, her pink cheek resting on her chubby hand, eyes buttoned up in sleep. A large chocolate-coloured, chocolate smelling, chocolate-tasting ring circled her mouth.

  ‘Poppy!’ Carol gasped.

  The child who answered to that name, when she felt like it, opened her eyes.

  ‘Not me,’ she said automatically.

  ‘Poppy,’ Carol said weakly, sitting down on the end of her bed.

  Bill sat up. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked sleepily.

  Carol pointed at the wardrobe.

  ‘It’s Poppy,’ Carol said faintly. ‘She’s eaten all the Easter eggs.’

  ‘All of them?’ Bill repeated.

  ‘Well, I doubt she missed any,’ Carol said, sliding into annoyance.

  ‘Well, call the Gonks then,’ Bill said, sitting up in bed. ‘We’d better break the news.’

  Carol called the Gonks. Morag and Josh thundered up the stairs; Aggy and Lily trailed in from their room. They all stood lined up against the wall, shifting a little from foot to foot. Aggy didn’t have her glasses on, and Lily stared pointedly at an unfiled nail.

  Carol hauled Poppy out of the wardrobe. Poppy made a special point of being asleep and completely unwakeable. Carol woke her.

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, Gonks,’ Carol said.

  She pointed to the empty egg boxes.

  There was a pause.

  ‘I not do it,’ Poppy said, and then licked a bit of chocolate from around her face.

  ‘Does this mean we aren’t going to get an Easter egg?’ Josh asked, on behalf of his stomach.

  ‘Most probably,’ Carol said, taking the empty egg boxes out of the wardrobe and stuffing them into the bin.

  Morag went pale. Aggy blinked very forcefully. Josh gave a high-pitched wail that sent several devout Muslims to prayer.

  ‘Well, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss,’ Lily said, winding a frond of hair around her finger. ‘Y’all know chocolate is bad for you. We can have carrot sticks for breakfast instead. Yes, carrot sticks. It’ll do your complexion the world of good, Morag.’ Morag lowered her brows, but Lily had left the room.

  ‘Aren’t you going to buy us some more Easter eggs?’ Josh demanded of Bill and Carol.

  ‘Nope,’ said Carol, as she and Bill crawled back into bed. Bill started to snore loudly. ‘But that’s not fair!’ Aggy said indignantly.

  ‘You can’t do that, we’ll be mentally scarred for life!’ Morag added.

  ‘Yeah, and what about my purple rubber dinosaur?’ Josh demanded.

  There was a silence.

  ‘Not now,’ Morag hissed. ‘You’ll dilute the essence of our argument. ‘But it was too late. The Parents were asleep.

  The Gonks filed out of the room indignantly.

  That’s it. End of chapter five. If Bill and Carol were lavish and bountiful parents they would have gone out and bought the Gonks replacement eggs. A jolly time would have ensued, with much merriment and laughter; all very reminiscent of the Waltons.

  But Bill and Carol, unfortunately, were knackered, broke, and generally lacking in the boundless generosity department. The sun got very depressed about everything and sulked behind a cloud for the rest of the day.

  But to return to Lily for a minute . . . She lounged on the end of her bed, listening to the rest of the Gonks clumping downstairs and talking very loudly about demonstrations next Father’s and Mother’s Days. Then, with a cool movement that exuded smugness, she took her Emergency Easter Egg from underneath her bed. With a leisurely motion she unwrapped the egg and folded the bits of red foil into a pile. With a professional flick of the wrist, she snapped the egg in half and broke a piece of chocolate off. She held it for a while, turning it so its glazed surface shone. Then, just as it started to melt, she smiled and popped it in her mouth.

  ‘Carrot sticks. Pleurgh!’ she grinned.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Off-White Wedding

  Bill walked into the front room, flicking through the junk mail that had been obscuring his doormat and instantly throwing into the bin anything looking vaguely official or boring. This left a threatening letter from the library about a book Bill was sure he’d never had, and a letter and invitation from his niece, Clorinda Byron.

  Bill’s eyes grew wider as he read. The little girl he remembered with the swinging red pigtails and the tendency to get stuck up trees was apparently grown-up, and no longer interested in trees. She was getting married next month, to a Malise Madison, and would Bill and his family like to come to the wedding?

  Malise Madison? What kind of a name was that? Bill wasn’t even sure if he knew how to pronounce the name of his future nephew-in-law, and he certainly didn’t want to drag all the Gonks along to some poky little church to throw rice at him.

  Where were they supposed to go?

  St Henry, Gordon and Bennett’s Church,

  Little Problem,

  Lock-Jaw,

  Near Chichester.

  No thank you, Bill thought to himself, tracing the lovebirds on the invite with his finger. The wedding would be six snivelling bridesmaids five hacked-off aunties four beat-up Minis three drunken waiters two hymnals only and a gold-plated ring, made up to look like Dynasty.

  Bill shuddered, and put the invitation and letter carefully back in their envelope. Tenderly he rammed the envelope behind an egg-box dinosaur on the mantelpiece, dating from the Josh-at-nursery-school era, and forgot about it. He wasn’t going and that was that.

  Three weeks later, Carol was snacking on a slice of Morag’s now quite alarmingly long-lived bread and ‘tidying up’ around the mantelpiece; a phrase she liked to employ when hitting cushions and dusting ornaments. With a careless flick she knocked the head off the egg-box dinosaur. Immediately, great waves of guilt broke over her. It was just as she was mentally kicking her shoes off and struggling into a life-jacket that she noticed the letter and invite. She read through them slowly.

  ‘Bill,’ she called. ‘Bill, have you seen this letter about the wedding?’

  ‘What wedding?’ asked Bill, coming into the room.

  ‘Clorinda’s,’ Carol said, absently putting the dinosaur’s head on the end of its tail. ‘Apparently she’s marrying some bloke called Malice in a treble-barrelled church near Chichester.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Bill said, ‘I remember now. Sounds awful, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Carol mushed. ‘It sounds really cute and sweet. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Cute?’ Bill repeated. ‘How can a church be cute? It’s twelve hundredweight of stone and pulpit. How can it be cute?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ Carol said, wrinkling up her nose. ‘Sort of, well, romantic then.’

  ‘Romantic?’ Bill asked, amazed. ‘Romantic? A draughty old building with six hundred dead people camped outside is romantic? I take it you didn’t appreciate our honeymoon in Whernside then? I should have taken you to Transylvania to get you in the mood, should I?’

  ‘Oh Bill, don’t start that again,’ Carol said wearily. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times, the honeymoon was lovely, I’ve no complaints.’

  ‘You had plenty at the time,’ Bill snapped. ‘You kept moaning about my bloody fishing rod, and you never liked my keep-net in the bathroom, did you?’

  ‘Well,’ Carol said reluctantly, ‘it was a bit smelly, but—’

  ‘Ah-ha, I’ve got you to admit it now, at last!’ Bill crowed. ‘It took fifteen years but I finally did it! I saw you moping around in the lobby,’ he said. ‘I saw you coming into the room with a hanky over your nose. It was the smell of the rivers, Carol, the smell of the lakes and streams.’

  ‘It was the smell of dead rotting fish more like,’ Carol argued, ‘and you never told me you had a tin of maggots in your wicker fishing box, did you? I thought you’d bought a picnic for us to eat the next day; there was a flask in there and stuff. I was just putting in a paper twist of salt and pepper when the lid came off the tin and they went all over my foot.’

  ‘Well, if we’re bringing up old grudges,’ Bill said, getting worked up, ‘there was no need for you to bring your cat, was there? It just sat on the bedside table and looked at me. Just looked. It put me right off, I can tell you.’

  ‘How dare you slander the name of Meepo!’ Carol shouted, cheeks reddening. ‘She only died twelve years ago, and here you are being horrid about her! She was part of the family, I had to bring her.’

  ‘Your mother is part of the family, but you didn’t bring her,’ Bill said evilly.

  ‘And you would have preferred my mother sitting on the bedside table looking at you?’ Carol demanded.

  Bill suppressed an involuntary shudder. ‘That’s beside the point,’ he said. ‘What is the point?’ Carol asked.

  ‘I don’t know, what is the point?’ Bill asked. ‘Of anything? Why did we bother getting married? Why did you bring your cat? Why didn’t you bring a litter-tray? And why was it me who had to take the damned cat out in the middle of the night when it wanted to go? Perennial questions that are never likely to get an answer, eh, dear?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t too keen on your fishing stuff either,’ Carol countered, ‘but I managed to cope with the obnoxious smell and the shuffling noises from the bottom of your box for the weekend, and I don’t moan about it all the time.’

  ‘You didn’t have to take my rod-rest out on to the streets at two o’clock in the morning,’ Bill snapped.

  ‘You didn’t have to endure a hook in the ear all the way down the M1,’ Carol said, annoyed. ‘And why you needed a rod-rest on your honeymoon is beyond me.’

  ‘It was for my fishing rod, you ignorant cow.’

  ‘Heartless beast.’

  ‘Well, if you feel like that perhaps we’d better have a divorce then!’ Bill shouted.

  ‘That’s fine by me, Bill Narmo.’

  ‘Well, that’s fine by me, Carol Narmo, or should I say Carol Rhodes now?’

  ‘Yes, you should,’ Carol said, taking a deep breath.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Right.’

  Carol left the room, slamming the door. She reappeared a minute later.

  ‘So we’re going to Clorinda’s wedding then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘—and we really have to go?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘She wasn’t joking?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘And I have to go as well?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Do you know any other words?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Morag snorted.

  ‘Do you think it would help if I hit you?’ Morag asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  Lily had found a new way to avoid arguing with Morag – just say as little as possible. ‘You’re no bloody fun any more, you know that?’ Morag said.

  ‘Yep,’ Lily said, in immensely smug tones.

  ‘And you’re becoming unbearably smug,’ Morag said. ‘The RAF keep picking you up on their radars. WARNING: the next half a mile is contaminated with dangerously high levels of smugness, please use protective clothing.’

  Lily snorted.

  ‘What do you think, Aggy?’ Morag asked, giving up on Lily.