at the radio. They can’t ever listen to anything without joining in. What Mum was listening to were the Sunday-morning highlights of Dad’s weekday breakfast show, when Dad gives his opinion about what is happening in the world and the public call in and give theirs, and they have a conversation about it. Well, sometimes they do. Sometimes Dad decides that people are idiots and cuts them off. Sometimes they decide that Dad is an idiot and cut themselves off. Sometimes some of them are bonkers. Like this one woman, Monica, that calls in practically every day. She was on there now, her words splattering round the kitchen like machine-gun fire.
“If-you-ask-me-they-should-all-be-made-to-run-naked-through-the-streets-and-have-raw-sewage-thrown-at-them.”
I giggled. I loved Monica! “What’s she talking about?”
“Politicians,” said Mum. “Oh, listen to her, listen to her! That is too much. She is completely mad! JUST BE QUIET, WOMAN, AND GO AWAY! Honestly, I don’t know why your dad puts up with it.”
“He probably agrees with her,” I said. “He probably thinks it’s a good idea.”
“What? Naked politicians running through the streets?” Mum rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid! They’re quite bad enough with their clothes on, thank you very much. What are you doing up so bright and early?”
This was it. The moment I was dreading. I sank down on to a chair opposite her.
“Mum,” I said, “there’s something I w—”
“Omigod, there she goes again! Get rid of her, get rid of her!”
“OK.” I leaned over and switched the radio off. Mum gave a shriek.
“What are you doing?”
“You said to get rid of her.”
“I was talking to your dad! I didn’t mean – oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter. I lose all patience with that woman. Did you want to say something?”
She’d noticed. At last! I braced myself against the table.
“You know last night,” I said, “when you were saying how there’d be five of us at Summerfield?”
“Yes! Great fun. But I definitely intend to ask about a reduction.”
“The thing is,” I said, “I—” I stopped. I couldn’t get it out!
“You what?” said Mum.
I gulped. “I don’t want to go there!”
My voice came out in a pathetic squeak. Mum stared, like I had suddenly gone green or turned into some weird kind of thing from outer space.
“You don’t want to go to Summerfield?”
I hung my head.
“You’re not serious?” said Mum. “Please! Tell me you’re not serious?”
I took a deep, trembling breath.
“Omigod,” cried Mum, “you are!”
There was a silence. Long, and awkward. Mum ran a despairing hand through her hair. Mum’s hair is very thick and springy. It was already sticking up from where she’d been sleeping on it. Now she’d made it look like a bird’s nest.
“I’m really sorry,” I whispered.
This was turning out even worse than I’d thought. I had never, ever known Mum be at a loss for words before. She was shaking her head, like she had earwigs crawling in her ears. She seemed totally bewildered.
“Darling,” she said, “what on earth are you talking about? Of course you’re going there! The McBrides always go to Summerfield. It’s all arranged!”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
“Coop and Charlie couldn’t be happier. They love it!”
“Yes,” I said. “I know they do.”
“It’s not like you’ll be on your own. They’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”
I stared down at the table.
“And the twins,” said Mum. “They can’t wait to get there!”
I mumbled again that I was sorry.
“Is it something someone’s said? Something that’s put you off?”
I assured her that it wasn’t.
“So… what is it?” said Mum. “I don’t understand! Why all of a sudden don’t you want to go?”
“I just don’t!”
The squeak had turned into a kind of desperate wail. Please don’t keep asking me! Because how could I explain? How could I tell Mum the reason I didn’t want to go to Summerfield was that I needed to be on my own? To be somewhere I could just be me, safely anonymous, without everyone knowing my dad was on the radio and who my brothers and sisters were. I loved my family, I truly did, but sometimes they made me wonder whether I actually really existed or whether I was just this empty space in their midst.
“Darling?” A new idea had obviously struck Mum. She studied me anxiously. “It’s not because of them, is it? Charlie and Coop? Because they’re both doing so well? It’s not that that’s bothering you? Because it really shouldn’t! I mean, Coop and his music… we can’t any of us compete with Coop. Not even your dad. As for Charlie – well! She’s just being Charlie. Centre of attention. That’s her thing, it’s what she does. Not everyone can be like Charlie. We’re all different! And just as well, if you ask me. The world would be a very boring place if we were all the same, don’t you think?”
Mum gave me this bright, hopeful smile, like begging me to agree with her. I smiled rather tremulously back, but was saved from having to say anything by the whirlwind arrival of Dad, who came crashing noisily through the door. Dad is quite a large person; he does a lot of crashing.
Mum said, “Alastair, we need to t—”
She never got to finish the sentence. With a howl, Dad lunged at the radio.
“Why isn’t this on? Why aren’t we listening to my highlights?”
“I was,” said Mum. “Peachy turned it off. We n—”
But Dad had already switched the radio back on. His rich fruity tones came booming out across the kitchen.
“Hah!” he said. “I knew they’d play this bit!”
Mum pulled a face. I sort of sympathised with her. Dad does tend to drown people out. But then Mum does a fair bit of drowning herself.
“This next guy was a right plonker,” said Dad. “How about mad Monica? Did they play her?”
“Never mind mad Monica,” said Mum rather grimly. “We have a problem on our hands.”
“Really?” Dad
