With a sigh, Bram turns out the gas burner and follows the boy, promising himself to return to his task at the first possible moment. He feels he has grown accustomed to the chaotic nature of life at home with the Mangans. Their excesses and eccentricities rarely shock him now, and he is so used to the noise and frenetic energy the children supply he misses it when they are out of the house. It comes as a surprise to him, then, to find that there is another level of Bedlamic wildness into which the household can be propelled, given certain circumstances, and one such is Mangan falling ill. Mangan has a heavy cold, though to hear him rail and moan anyone could be forgiven for thinking it at the very least influenza, or possibly some little-known tropical disease. From his bedroom come sounds of suffering and drama equaled only by the enthusiastic and noisy care he is given by his wife, his mistress, and his children. Jane comes striding from the room carrying a tray of dirty plates and glasses. Mangan’s hoarse cries follow her onto the landing.

“Brandy under these circumstances must be considered a medicament, Jane. Surely you can see that?” His entreaties disintegrate into coughs.

Jane turns a wild-eyed, sleep-deprived face to Bram.

“Oh, dear Bram! Have you any brandy hidden in your little aerie? We’ve not a drop left in the house, and poor darling Mangan is suffering so.”

“I’m sorry, Jane, I haven’t any.”

She looks on the point of dissolving into tears of exhaustion.

“No? I’m certain Perry will have none. Twins! Keep your noise down, do! Your pa has a dreadful headache as it is, without having to listen to children thundering up and down the stairs.”

The twins charge past at dangerous speed. Freedom follows on more slowly. Bram has noticed the boy is his father’s shadow, always watching quietly, taking in the great man’s every word. With Mangan temporarily bedridden, the child looks bored and lost.

“Have you tried Gudrun?” Bram asks.

Jane tuts and lets her face show an uncharacteristic flash of anger. “All Gudrun has to offer is cigarettes and sex, neither of which Mangan needs nor wants at this moment. Boys! Do please avoid slamming what doors are left on their hinges!”

“I could go out and buy some brandy, if you like,” Bram suggests.

Jane looks as if she might hug him, were she not still holding the tray.

“Would you? Oh, Bram, that is frightfully kind. Mangan will pay you back, of course. He will insist,” she says, vigor renewed as she squeezes past him and heads for the kitchen.