'I'll look through the serving hatch, then.'

'No—!'

Why not?'

'It's jammed. Stuck fast. Meant to tell you this morning but it slipped my mind. Remember how Anton and I used to climb through it? Got any oil?'

'The serving hatch has never been stuck—'

'How about tea?' I asked brightly, attempting a form of misdirection that I knew my mother would find irresistible. 'I want to talk to you about an emotional problem – that you might be able to help me with!'

Sadly she knew me only too well.

'Now I know you're hiding something. Let me in—!'

She attempted to push past, but I had a brainwave.

'No, Mother, you'll embarrass them – and yourself.'

She stopped.

'What do you mean?'

'It's Emma.'

'Emma? What about her?'

'Emma . . . and Hamlet.'

She looked shocked and covered her mouth with her hand.

'In there? On my sofa?'

I nodded.

'Doing . . . you know? Both of them – together?'

'And very naked – but they folded the antimacassars first,' I added, so as not to shock her too much.

She shook her head sadly.

'It's not good, you know, Thursday.'

'I know.'

'Highly immoral.'

'Very.'

'Well, let's have that cup of tea and you can tell me about that emotional problem of yours – is it about Daisy Mutlar?'

'No – I don't have any emotional problems.'

'But you said—?'

'Yes, Mother, that was an excuse to stop you barging in on Emma and Hamlet.'

'Oh,' she said, realisation dawning. 'Well, let's have a cup of tea anyway.'

I breathed a sigh of relief and Mother walked into the kitchen – to find Hamlet and Emma talking as they did the washing up. Mother stopped dead and stared at them.

'It's disgusting!' she said at last.

'Excuse me?' enquired Hamlet.

'What you're doing in the living room – on my sofa.'

'What are we doing, Mrs Next?' asked Emma.

'What are you doing?' flustered my mother, her voice rising. 'I'll tell you what you're doing. Well, I won't because it's too . . . here, have a look for yourself

And before I could stop her she opened the door to the living room to reveal . . . Friday, alone, asleep on the sofa. My mother looked confused and stared at me.

'Thursday, just what is going on?'

'I can't even begin to explain it,' I replied, wondering where Melanie had gone. It was a big room but not nearly large enough to hide a gorilla. I leaned in and saw that the French windows were ajar. 'Must have been a trick of the light.'

'Trick of the light?'

'Yes. May I?'

I closed the door and froze as I noticed Melanie tiptoeing across the lawn, fully visible through the kitchen windows.

'How can it be a trick of the light?'