Rachaela felt old. She felt desiccated, and yet curiously immature, a child again among the family.

"Anyway," she said, "he's found a horse to ride."

Camillo, the outcast. He had given Rachaela the key to the attic when Ruth had been shut up. He had wanted Ruth taken away. And with the key Rachaela had let Ruth out.

Rachaela had known Camillo was burned to cinders.

She imagined him lying on a bed with the two girls like limpets, showering him with hair.

She felt far older than Camillo.

CHAPTER 9

WARM SUNSHINE STILL HOVERED HIGH up over the street; it would be light for another hour. No one was about. In the five-foot front garden of the empty house adjoining Julie and Terry's, dusky opium poppies had sprung wild between the old concrete paving. The nettles around Julie's dustbin were gilt-edged. It was a peaceful scene spoiled only by sound effects: the music center was playing loud enough to be heard fifteen doors away.

Joseph Black and Jennifer Devonshire walked up the road. He was dressed very casually, but Jennifer wore a short pink flowery dress and twenty bracelets. She carried a carrier bag with a bottle of wine in it.

"Here we go," said Blackie, swinging through the gate in front of her. He rammed the knocker against the front door and shouted through the letter box: "It's a raid!"

It was Terry who came to the door in an orange shirt and very blue jeans.

"You're late."

"No car."

"Where's Lucy?"

"She's got a cold," said Jenny.

"She says," said Blackie. "It's a cold sore" He smiled at Terry and punched him lightly in the chest. "Worried?"

"Nah," said Terry, grinning. He looked worried.

They went in, and the great noise enveloped them. They seemed to like it, loosening and expanding like plants in refreshing rain.

"Someone to meet," said Terry.

Ruth was sitting on the settee in her black T-shirt and jeans. She had had a glass of wine but she had drunk it, now she only had the empty glass.

Blackie looked at her. "Who's she?"

"That's Ruth. This is Blackie."

"Everything they've told you about me is true," said Blackie.

"Hallo," said Ruth, but they did not hear her. Unlike the others she did not shout effortlessly above the music. She had taken some cottonwool from her bag and put it in her ears.

"Where's the frigging booze?" asked Blackie.

Julie appeared out of the kitchen with a wine bottle and a glass for Jenny, and one for Lucy who had not come.

"Where's Lucy?"

"She's got herpes," said Blackie.

"Don't tell lies," said Jenny.

Terry took cans of beer out of the fridge, and he and Blackie opened them, in a spray of fizz.

Julie filled Jenny's glass and her own. Then, reluctantly, Ruth's.

"Who's Ruth, then?" inquired Jenny. Ruth watched her, perhaps reading her lips.

"Better ask Terry."

"Oh."