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his
coffee in three loud gulps and jumps up.
    'Jesus,' Harry breathes. 'How does that not burn your
mouth?'
    Flynn whisks the sheet off the desk like a magician,
uncovering Kate's computer and a plethora of office
knick-knacks.
    'Hey, careful, I mustn't get paint on that—' Kate
begins.
    'OK, now, watch!' Ignoring her, Flynn grabs a stapler,
a roll of sellotape and the remote control, throws them
in the air and attempts to juggle. Kate yelps as the
stapler hits her on the arm.
    'Hold on, hold on, this really isn't the best room for
a circus act . . .' Harry protests, his laughter fading
slightly.
    'The walls are wet!' Kate says desperately as Flynn
grabs the offending articles off the floor and tries again.
    'Watch, watch! I've been practising and it isn't
actually that difficult!'
    'Flynn, this isn't funny!' I yell. The stapler, sellotape
and remote go skidding across the floor again and this
time I get to them first. Flynn is momentarily distracted
by a large tub of paint by the door and drags it to the
centre of the room. 'Hey, I know how we can get rid of
this vomit paint! Have any of you heard of the artist
Chris Ofili?' His voice is so loud, he is almost shouting.
I am starting to feel frightened.
    'Flynn, that's the paint for the front door . . .' Kate
looks frantic.
    'You remember him, don't you, Jen?' Flynn continues
as if she hasn't spoken. 'We saw some of his exhibits last
year at the Tate Modern.' He squats down in front of the
paint bucket and begins to prise the lid open with his
fingertips. 'He was the guy who did the Virgin Mary out of
elephant shit and won the Turner Prize—'
    'Flynn, that's black paint!' I shout. Then several
things happen at once. The lid flies off and Flynn
plunges the paintbrush into the inky pool. Kate's hand
shoots out to stop him and knocks over Harry's coffee.
Harry jumps to his feet and tries to grab Flynn's arm.
Flynn jumps back, dodging him easily, and shakes the
paint-loaded brush vigorously, sending a splattering of
black drops onto the nearest wall.
    Kate lets out a small scream.
    'What the hell are you doing?' Harry yells, his eyes
wide with disbelief.
    'Wait, wait, I haven't finished!' Flynn dodges Harry
and dives for the paint tin again. 'Look, it has a speckled
effect, you have to do each wall in turn, all you do is
shake it like this . . .'
    Kate jumps up, looking close to tears, and flees the
room. Harry lunges again for Flynn's arm, misses, slips
in the spilled coffee and crashes to the floor. Flynn starts
to laugh. 'Yeah, this is what I'm talking about! Abstract
art – scene of a struggle – get paint and put it on your
clothes, press yourself to the wall, the paint will show the
movements of your body, like shadows, like spectres . . .'
He dips his hands into the black paint and slaps them
against the freshly painted wall, smearing black streaks
into the wet beige.
    'What are you doing?' Harry tries to block him but
Flynn just grabs Harry by the shoulders and pushes him
back against the wet wall.
    'Stand still!' Flynn shouts. 'I'm going to paint round
you! Now this is how you create a shadow . . .'
    Harry attempts another desperate lunge for Flynn's
arm and Flynn grabs a handful of paint and smears it
onto Harry's clothes. Harry tries to wrestle Flynn to the
floor, but with the speed of lightning, Flynn escapes
Harry's grasp. I realize I haven't moved since the
carnage began. It's as if my body has gone into shock
and all my muscles have frozen. I force myself forward,
towards Flynn, who is now smearing handfuls of black
paint down his own sleeves, over his jeans . . .
    'Oh my God, he's lost it, this time he's really lost
it . . .' Harry stares in horror, starting to back away.
    'Flynn, stop it!' My voice shakes, and I try to grab his
hands. 'Stop it! Look what you're doing! You're destroying
Harry's flat!'
    Flynn laughs. 'I know, I know, I know, it looks great –
d'you wanna help? Look, Jen, you just have to put it on
your hands and then press your hands to the