“Did you say you read my letters?” I said with gathering momentum, knowing quite well that he did, just as he knew that I usually read his. “Did you say that you read my letters? Of all the mean, unspeakable things to do to anyone. You’re not fit to live with; if it weren’t for the children I’d leave you tomorrow.”

“You can go,” he said. “I wish to God you’d go, and take all your filthy rubbish with you,” and with that he advanced on the small marble pillar, picked it up in his arms, staggered out to the door at the top of the stairs and hurled it down the stairs to the garage below. It made an extraordinary noise in its descent, and woke Joseph, who had been sleeping in his pram by the garage door. He started to cry, and David and I stared at each other at the top of the stairs in amazement. I hardly knew what to say: whether to comment on his feat of strength, whether to deplore his violence, whether to point out that the stairs had suffered damage or whether to walk out of the house. What I finally came out with was:

“You might have killed Joseph,” which was quite untrue as the pram was well out of any direct line of attack from the staircase and the pillar had ended up a good three yards from him.

“What nonsense,” said David righteously but quietly, and I went down to pick my baby up. On the way back up the stairs I put my foot right through one of the floorboards: the pillar had also destroyed the last few banisters and the newel post. David seemed strangely appeased by his action, and said to Pascal, who had arrived in curlers to enquire what had happened:

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a slight accident.” Flora, too, appeared, with a couple of curlers in, and started to tell me about Daddy’s haircut. I left her with David and went to the telephone and rang up some men to come and fix the stairs. I told them to come very urgently, which they did, and the job cost us twelve pounds. I said to David as he left for the theatre that evening:

“Well, we all have to pay for our own excesses, and at least I’ve got something left to show for mine,” and he replied:

“It’s all very well if you do pay for your own, you seem to forget that most of the time I pay for yours as well.”