Will knew he would never be good in that way. He would never look at a hairy jumper and work out why it was precisely right for him, and why he should wear it at all hours of the day and night. He would look at it and conclude that the person who bought it for him was a pillock. He did that all the time: he’d look at some twenty-five-year-old guy on roller-skates, sashaying his way down Upper Street with his wraparound shades on, and he’d think one of three things: 1) What a prat; or 2) Who the fuck do you think you are?, or 3) How old are you? Fourteen?

Everyone in England was like that, he reckoned. Nobody looked at a roller-skating bloke with wraparound shades on and thought, hey, he looks cool, or, wow, that looks like a fun way of getting some exercise. They just thought: wanker. But Marcus wouldn’t. Marcus would either fail to notice the guy at all, or he would stand there with his mouth open, lost in admiration and wonder. This wasn’t simply a function of being a child, because, as Marcus knew to his cost, all his classmates belonged to the what-a-prat school of thought; it was simply a function of being Marcus, son of Fiona. In twenty years’ time he’d be singing with his eyes closed and swallowing bottles of pills, probably, but at least he was gracious about his Christmas presents. It wasn’t much of a compensation for the long years ahead.

It was good having a mum and dad who didn’t decide things together, Marcus thought; that way you got the best of both worlds at Christmas. You got things like jumpers and sheet music, which you had to have, but then you got things like computer games and fun stuff as well. And if his mum and dad had still been together, what would Christmas have been like now, with just the three of them? Pretty boring, probably. This way it was more like a party, what with Will and Lindsey and, well, he wasn’t really bothered about Lindsey’s mum, if he were honest, but she sort of helped to fill the room up.

After presents they had lunch, which was a big ring doughnut-type thing made of pastry rather than doughnut, with a lovely cream and mushroom sauce in the hole in the middle, and then they had Christmas pudding with five-pence pieces hidden in it (Marcus had two in his portion), and then they pulled crackers and put the hats on, except Will wouldn’t wear his for very long. He said it made his head itch.

After they’d watched the queen on TV (nobody wanted to, apart from Lindsey’s mum, but whatever old people wanted they got, in Marcus’s experience), Clive rolled a joint, and there was a bit of a row. Lindsey was angry with Clive because of her mum, who had no idea what he was doing until people started shouting about it, and Fiona was angry with Clive because of Marcus, who had seen him roll a joint about one thousand million times before.

‘He’s seen me do it hundreds of times before,’ said Clive. It was the wrong thing to say, as it turned out, so Marcus was glad he hadn’t said it.

‘I wish you hadn’t told me,’ said Fiona. ‘I really didn’t want to know.’

‘What, you thought I’d given up dope the day we separated? Why would I do that?’

‘Marcus was younger then. He was always in bed before you started rolling up.’

‘I never smoke any, Mum. Dad won’t let me.’

‘Oh, well that’s all right then. As long as you’re not smoking any, I have no objection to your father indulging his drug habit in front of you.’

‘Ha, ha,’ said Marcus. Everyone in the room looked at him, and then they continued the argument.

‘I’d hardly describe the occasional spliff as a drug habit, would you?’

‘Well obviously I would, because I just have.’

‘Can we talk about this another time?’ Lindsey asked. Her mother hadn’t said anything so far, but she certainly seemed interested in what was going on.

‘Why? Because your mother is here?’ Marcus had never seen Fiona get cross with Lindsey before, but she was getting cross with her now. ‘Unfortunately I can never have a conversation with Marcus’s father without your mother being present, for reasons I have yet to fathom. So you’ll just have to bloody well put up with it.’

‘Look, I’ll put the dope away, OK? Then we’ll all calm down and watch International Velvet and forget about it.’

‘International Velvet isn’t on,’ said Marcus. ‘It’s Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.’

‘That wasn’t the point I was making, Marcus.’

Marcus didn’t say anything, but inwardly he disagreed: it hadn’t been the only point, but it had certainly been one of them.

‘I know he takes drugs,’ said Lindsey’s mum suddenly. ‘I’m not daft.’

‘I don’t… take drugs,’ said Clive.

‘Well, what do you call it then?’ said Lindsey’s mum.

‘It’s not drug-taking. It’s… just normal. Drug-taking is something different.’

‘Do you think he takes them on his own?’ Fiona said to Lindsey’s mum. ‘Do you think your daughter just sits there watching him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She doesn’t mean anything, Mum. I think Clive’s idea is an excellent one. Let’s put it all away and play charades or something.’

‘I didn’t say anything about charades. I suggested watching International Velvet.’

‘It’s not International—’ Marcus begun.

‘Shut up, Marcus,’ said everybody, and then they all laughed.

The row changed the atmosphere, though. Clive and Fiona agreed to have a proper conversation about the dope thing some other time, Fiona and Lindsey snapped at each other a couple of times, and even Will seemed different, although none of it had had anything to do with him. Marcus reckoned Will had been having a good time up until then, but afterwards he seemed apart from it all, whereas before he’d been one of the family. It was almost like he was laughing at them for rowing, for reasons Marcus couldn’t understand. And then, after they’d had supper (there were cold meats for the meat-eaters, and Marcus had some, just to see the look on his mum’s face), Suzie came round with her little girl and it was their turn to laugh at Will.

Marcus didn’t know that Will hadn’t seen Suzie since his mum had told her about Ned and SPAT and all that. Nobody had said anything, but that didn’t mean much—Marcus had always presumed that after he had gone to school or to bed adults did all sorts of things they didn’t tell him about, but now he was beginning to suspect this wasn’t true, and that the adults he knew didn’t have any sort of a secret life at all. It was obvious when Suzie walked into the room that this was an awkward moment, especially for Will: he stood up, and then he sat down, and then he stood up again, and then he went red, and then he said he ought to be going, and then Fiona told him not to be pathetic, so he sat down again. The only spare chair was in Will’s corner, so Suzie had to sit next to him.

‘Have you had a nice day, Suze?’ Fiona asked her.

‘OK, yeah. We’re just on the way home from Grandma’s.’

‘And how’s Grandma?’ asked Will. Suzie turned to look at him, opened her mouth to reply, but changed her mind and ignored him completely. It was one of the most exciting things Marcus had ever seen in real life, and easily the most exciting thing he had ever seen in his own living room. (His mum and the sick on the Dead Duck Day didn’t count. That wasn’t exciting. It was just horrible.) Suzie was snubbing, he reckoned. He’d heard a lot about snubbing, but he had never watched anyone do it. It was great, if a bit frightening.

Will stood up and sat down again. If he really wanted to leave, Marcus thought, nobody could stop him. Or rather, they could stop him—if everyone in the room grabbed him and sat on him he wouldn’t get very far. (Marcus smiled to himself at the thought of Lindsey’s mum sitting on Will’s head.) But they wouldn’t stop him. So why didn’t he just stand up, stay stood up and start walking? Why did he keep on bobbing up and down? Maybe there was something about snubbing that Marcus didn’t know. Maybe there were snubbing rules, and you just had to sit there and be snubbed, even if you didn’t feel like it.