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‘You’re the nice twin. The calm one. The yin to my yang or whatever.’
Reaching the door, Henry grabbed the handle and rattled it.
‘Why’s it locked?’ he growled.
‘It’s a gun room.’
‘You keep a loaded shotgun by your bed at the livery.’
‘Yes, but like I said, I’m me. And anyway, numpty tourists don’t visit my house looking for a free souvenir.’
‘Where does Dad keep the key?’
Estelle crossed her arms. ‘Henry, if anyone’s going to shoot James, it’s me.’
‘But this is my fault.’ He strode off, yelling for their father.
‘How?’ she cried, running to catch up to him.
‘That man has made it his mission since school to make my life miserable. It’s like some kind of sick game. And I guess he hasn’t forgiven me for punching him.’
They reached the bottom of the main stairs and Henry took them two at a time. ‘Dad! Where are you?’
Estelle followed him up and along the first-floor corridor towards their parents’ room. A sock hung on the door knob.
‘Dad!’ Henry yelled, battering the door with his fist. ‘Get out here!’
It opened slightly and their mother glided out of the room, tying a red silk dressing gown around her.
‘Where’s the key to the gun room?’ Henry demanded.
Vivienne ignored him, staring at Estelle’s skirt. ‘Honey, you do know it’s not meant to be worn like that?’
‘I know, Mom,’ Estelle muttered, pulling the hem back to her knees.
‘And rain boots? What happened to the Louboutin’s I gave you?’
‘I can’t walk in them. They’re too uncomfortable.’
‘Fashion isn’t meant to be comfortable, darling.’
‘Mom,’ Henry interrupted. ‘The key?’
The door opened and their father now appeared. He’d made an attempt at decency by wearing a frayed gold silk dressing gown, however had forgotten to do it up.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘There was a bally sock on the door handle! You know that means Do Not Disturb. Is the house burning down?’
‘No,’ Henry replied. ‘I need the key to the gun room.’
‘Burglars, is it?’ Arthur ran his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. ‘Why the devil can’t they come at night?’
Dervla, their third parent, now entered the corridor in a tie-dyed silk robe.
‘Burglars?’ she cried, pushing her messy blonde fringe out of her eyes. ‘Have you rung the police?’
‘There aren’t any burglars,’ Henry replied through gritted teeth.
Arthur harrumphed. ‘Then what y’doing disturbing our quiet time?’
