The girls were transfixed and fascinated, listening to the argument – whose actual terms weren’t audible – rising and falling with suppressed vehemence on the other side: much more of Juliet than Alex, his silences weighty. Eventually Juliet emerged triumphant and went to get changed upstairs – into a gypsy-dress in printed black Indian cotton, which showed off her small breasts defiantly. She tried to put Sandy to bed but he soon reappeared, haunting his babysitters, lugubriously ghostly in washed-out pyjamas: he had huge heavy eyes and skin so transparent it was almost blue. — You don’t mind, do you? Juliet said blithely. — He’ll take himself off to bed when he feels tired.

Alex, martyred, lifted the car keys off a hook, followed his wife out to the car without a word; Sandy cast himself against the door closed behind his parents, in a mute paroxysm. — Obviously he doesn’t love her, Lydia pronounced, lighting up her first cigarette.

— Lyd, shush. Anyway, you can’t possibly tell. We just don’t know, about how marriage works.

— Who doesn’t love who?

Sandy was suddenly attentive. Lydia laughed at him with her husky laugh; she had no idea how to behave with children. — Just some people you don’t know. Friends of ours. X doesn’t love Y. What do you know about love anyway? You’re a little eavesdropper, aren’t you?

— What’s an ease-dropper?

Sandy was drawn to Lydia as if he couldn’t help himself, and to begin with she exerted all her adult charm on him, flirting and teasing, asking him inappropriate questions in her deadpan voice. — Can you read and write? Why can’t you? What are those pictures on your pyjamas? Yachts? Do you own a yacht, then? Who d’you love best, your mummy or your daddy?

— My mummy, Sandy responded promptly.

Lydia pretended to be his daddy, feeling sad, rubbing her fists in her eyes and moaning. Sandy pityingly drew close, almost with tears in his own eyes: then she grabbed him and poked his tummy, playing at biting him. It was all too much. Soon he was thoroughly worked up, running round screaming with excitement. When he collapsed five minutes later in frantic sobs, Lydia grew tired of him and Christine had to take him to bed, calm him down, read him stories. Meanwhile she could hear Lydia snooping around downstairs, opening drawers and cupboards.

— It’s for my survival, Lydia explained when Sandy was finally asleep. — I have to find out everything about Alex. Do you think they’re sleeping together? Obviously there’s only the one double bed. But do you think they’re actually having sex in it? I don’t think they are. I don’t feel any electricity between them.