not sure about this. I’m not sure about it at all.’
‘My home and contents insurance covers me against theft, does it not?’
‘Well, yeah, sure, but that’s theft of, well, the contents. Not theft of the house.’
‘The house has not been stolen. Only part of it has.’
‘Yeah, I know, but—’
‘If an unruly university student uplifted my mail box or my rose bush or my door knocker, which is an antique in the shape of an elephant, would that be covered?’
‘I suppose—’
‘Well, this is precisely the same situation. Someone has stolen from me; they’ve stolen a part of my house, including, I might add, my front door and, by extension, my rather lovely door knocker.’
The insurance agent changed tack: ‘Yeah, well, we can’t even know for sure that it’s theft, can we? Your wall disappearing. Can’t be that common, wall thieves. And you’re not covered for acts of God, so—’
‘Acts of God?’ said Mrs Featherby, audibly raising her eyebrow. ‘Are you actually suggesting that our Lord and Saviour, in His infinite wisdom, has used His omnipotent power to cause my front wall to dissolve away? Balaam had his donkey, Joan had her magic voices and I have a disappearing house? Is that, in your mind, the most logical explanation?’
‘Look, there’s no need—’
‘Perhaps you would be so good as to allow me to put in a claim, and if in the processing of that claim it is decided that the theft of my wall was, in fact, not theft but the divine intervention of the Almighty, you can take the moral high ground.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Could you confirm your post code, please?’
ROBERT ARRIVED HOME JUST AS Mara and Bonny were getting out of the car.
‘Dad!’ said Bonny. ‘Did you know that lions can’t purr and we get to have pizza for dinner even though it’s not a Friday or a birthday? But not shop pizza; Mum’s going to make it. I would be sad if I were a lion that couldn’t purr. I wish humans could purr.’
‘You’re home early and oh my god, you’re not going to believe it,’ said Mara.
‘What?’ said Robert.
‘Just, just wait. A bit. Bonny, do you want to play a game while your dad and I cook dinner?’
‘Can dad not play with me?’
‘Not this time, pal,’ said Robert, staring curiously at Mara.
‘So,’ she said once she and Robert were alone in the kitchen. ‘So, I may have pulled her out of school.’
‘What?’ said Robert. ‘Why? Where are we going to send her?’
‘I know, oh I know, but honestly, I can’t even—’
‘Jeepers, Mara, breathe.’
Mara closed her mouth and glared at him.
‘Just, what happened, OK?’
‘All right. So, I get there, and everyone’s acting super nice, you know, would you like tea and a biscuit, like the school is a little old woman luring you into her house before she bakes you into a pie.’
‘I think she’d probably get more than one pie out of a whole human.’
‘And then they sit you down and start talking and it seems like they’re being nice, but halfway through you think, “hold on, you think I’m a idiot” and “fuck right off”, but you don’t want to interrupt them, because you’ve a mouth full of tea-dunked biscuit and it’s just not necessary to show people the inside of your mouth when it’s all coated in brown.’
‘But what did they say?’
Mara sighed and leaned forward with her elbows on the bench and her face in her hands.
‘OK, OK. So, apparently, a few weeks ago, when they took the register, instead of saying “present” like all the other children, Bonny got up, climbed onto her chair, and sang “Go Your Own Way”.’
‘Great song.’
‘And I mean, she didn’t just sing the chorus, she sang the whole song.’
‘Well, it’s not long, once you’ve taken out all the guitar solos. Unless she sang those too.’
‘I didn’t ask. Anyway, the next day it was “Short People”.’
‘Hey, that’s our song. She and I play it together. Well, I play the actual song and she plays a rather Dadaist solo. And sings, obviously.’
‘Well, her teacher’s only five foot tall, so I doubt it went down particularly well.’
‘That’s a bit rude of her; she’s still much taller than Bonny.’
‘Next it was “The Only Living Boy in New York”.’
‘Ooh, she’s been listening to your music.’
‘After a week or so, the other children started copying her.’
‘Typical. That’s exactly how indie trends become mainstream.’
‘Apparently it now takes an average of an hour and twenty minutes to take the register.’
‘Yeah, but it’s an hour and twenty minutes of pure joy. Well, assuming the other children are OK at carrying a tune.’
‘I think they’re more worried about cutting into valuable learning time. Anyway, they told her she couldn’t sing in class and she asked them why and they said because class wasn’t an appropriate place to sing and she asked them why not and obviously they’d started a never-ending discussion, because she’s a child, isn’t she, so they tried to cut it short by saying that if she ever answered the register with a song again she’d have to stay in for playtime and she wouldn’t be allowed to read or play with the toys, and she just cried and cried and all the other children cried, so they asked me if we would punish her at home for doing it so they don’t have to punish her at school and make all the children cry.’
‘Bloody hell. Bloody hell! They were going to … a school was going to tell a child she wasn’t allowed to read? Because she sings, she’s not allowed to read?’
‘I’m not telling her she can’t stand on a chair and sing, Rob. I’m not ever telling her that.’
Robert put a hand on the back of Mara’s neck and began massaging the base of her head.
‘I think we shouldn’t start off by letting her have a holiday.’
