explain him to us,' Warren says.
'Spray Tubby?' I protest and try again. 'Splay Nubby. Pray Ubby. Say Ub.' Each desperate attempt brings more of a giggle from Mark, and once my speech gives out completely he laughs as if only he sees the humour of my mouthing like a stranded fish. Then Rufus joins in, followed by Colin, who even applauds. Does he think or hope this will end my performance? I clutch at the plastic case and grin with the effort to utter a single word. Joe produces an encouraging laugh, and Natalie seems to think she mustn't let him outdo her for support. Will they be entertained if my straining for words turns into gasping for breath? Natalie's parents and Nicholas look more pained than amused, but Warren leads the most belated mirth, probably as an indication that I can stop performing. The case creaks in my grip, and I'm glad not to be holding the knives; how might I use them to fend off so much clownish glee? I feel as though Mark may never let me stop miming – as though his delight is tugging my lips into the shapes he wants to watch. I can no longer tell which if any words my mouth is struggling to form. Perhaps my antics can only be halted by a different kind of joke, and here's one. My mobile is wishing me a happy Christmas and New Year.
I jab the button as much to silence the relentlessly merry melody as to accept the call. For a moment I imagine that the tune has broken into words, and then I realise that the blurred voices are chanting a different song. My parents must be convinced it's already my birthday, unless they're anxious to deal with the ritual and go to bed. They sound as close as the next room. If holding the phone has somehow given me back my speech, control of language is another matter. 'It severs the time,' I babble. 'It's ever that time.'
'Stop it now, Simon,' Bebe says as if she's rebuking a child.
I make an effort that sets my jaws trembling. 'It's never that time.'
'It's nearly midnight,' Nicholas says, having glanced at his no doubt genuine Rolex, and looks as disconcerted as I feel.
How long did I spend mouthing about Tubby? It doesn't help that my father is saying 'May this be your year.'
'May you realise everything you are at last,' says my mother.
Since when did they go in for that sort of phrasing? They sound as if they're reading from a script. 'You too,' I respond.
'We have,' my father says.
'We produced you,' says my mother.
I could do without feeling so focused upon. 'Happy New Year to you both,' I say, however prematurely.
'And a merry one to you,' my mother cries.
My father agrees, though it's the first I've heard of any such usage. 'Are your lady and her boy there?' he adds.
'My parents,' I explain as I hand Natalie the phone.
'Is it later up where you are?' she suggests, presumably joking, once she has wished them a happy future, and I have the unnecessary notion that she's urging time onwards. When she gives Mark the phone I sense his defiance even before he says 'Happy New Year, grandma. Happy New Year, granddad.'
Bebe settles for widening her eyes to elevate her eyebrows. I would ask my parents what they've said to amuse Mark so much, but they're gone when he returns the mobile. I'm distracted by Bebe, who announces 'Now it's really the New Year.'
Indeed, I can hear bells and cheers and whooping fireworks, not to mention detonations violent enough for bombs. 'That's all for your birthday,' says Mark.
'I don't think Mr Loster is quite that important,' says Nicholas.
I'm virtually certain that's what he called me. Knives come to mind once more. Perhaps Rufus is anxious not to be involved in a scene, because he says 'Happy New Year, everyone, and thanks for the hospitality, Natalie's folks. We should be on our way.'
'Happiest to all and thanks for the party,' Colin says.
They leave the kitchen at a speed that makes me nervous, especially when I realise what I've forgotten to establish. 'When will you be going to the office?'
'Sometime this year,' Colin assures me.
'Don't joke about it, all right?' I'm restraining words Bebe wouldn't like. 'That printout is the only copy of what I actually wrote,' I say to Rufus more than to him. 'A virus got into the document later.'
'It shouldn't have,' Joe objects.
He sounds as if he's blaming me, perhaps as a form of defence. I'm ready to turn on him when Rufus says 'When do you want us to go in?'
'When are you next in the area?'
'We'll be driving pretty well past it tonight.'
'Then could you collect it now?' As Rufus nods somewhat reluctantly I blurt 'I'll come with you.'
'That isn't very trusting,' Joe says.
I won't waste time wondering aloud what it has to do with him. 'I'll make a copy so you don't have the only one.'
'We can and send it to you,' Colin offers.
'You know why I'd rather it doesn't go anywhere out of our control.'
Nicholas glances at Natalie's parents, sharing or inviting their concern. As the three of them along with Joe assume worried frowns that I suspect are mostly for her benefit, Natalie says 'Do you really have to do this now, Simon?'
'I knee too. I need oo.' With even more of an effort I spit 'Yes.'
She shrugs and turns her shoulder towards me, and doesn't wholly come back even when I try to wish her a belated happy New Year with a kiss. 'Hap in your ear,' I tell everyone else, much to Mark's amusement, and I'm not sure whether I said it to Natalie as well. As I hurry after my publishers Mark calls 'See you later, Simon. It's only the start of your day.'
'Where did he learn to talk like that?' says Nicholas.
I swing around to confront him. He asked Natalie, too proprietorially in my view. Before I can utter a retort, let alone ensure that it's coherent, he gives me a smile I'd like to tear off his face. 'Don't fret,' he says. 'They're in the best possible hands.'
I see Natalie's parents agreeing. I might argue if that wouldn't worsen the situation. With a slowness that only parts my syllables I warn 'They bet a had.'
Rufus has opened the front door. The icy night seizes the back of my neck to the sound of explosions and bells. 'Blow up the old,' I seem to hear Colin say, and Rufus responds 'Ring in the new.'
I don't immediately follow them outside, because I sense that Natalie's parents and, worse, Nicholas are waiting for me to leave. Joe gives me an uninvited chummy look, while Natalie's is resigned and not overly affectionate. Then, unnoticed by anyone but me, Mark displays his Tubby face, and a version of it seems to shimmer on the faces of all his companions. Surely that's not real, but there's no doubt that his was. I can't help hoping Nicholas will be the butt of any joke. 'Don't do anything I wouldn't do,' I say and step into the dark.
FIFTY-ONE - TIME TO TELL
We've travelled just a few miles when I'm tempted to ask Rufus to drive me back to Windsor. Our route to London is taking us into Egham, past the park. As I glimpse the totem pole in the distance, I could imagine that the pile of wide-eyed masks is stalking over the frozen grass to match our speed. I could almost think it's craning to keep me in sight, unless one or more pallid grimacing heads have added to its stature. It's yet another of the distractions that are massing in my skull, but the thought of Mark is most insistent. What kind of fun is he having? If he's out of control I'm certain to be held responsible by his grandparents and very probably Nicholas too, but do I blame myself? Returning to Windsor isn't a solution; my presence might well aggravate any problem. Calling Natalie is unlikely to help, and I can't think of a reason to give her. I do my best to concentrate on the journey, which my overloaded brain must be rendering unreal.
I can't see the student house in Egham, but several people are dancing up the road that leads to it. They're so plump I'm amazed that they're able to dance. Of course their baggy costumes are flapping, not their flesh. The
