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Chloe?’ Carl poked Chloe’s arm, and laughed at her blank look.
    ‘Sorry? I was dreaming. Do I what?’
    ‘Think of your parents as people, rather than figureheads,’ Carl repeated. Joy waggled her eyebrows at her.
    Chloe thought about it. ‘Well, they’re not … quite … people the way other people are people—like
you
, say,’ said Chloe. ‘But they’re not, like—these big, severe, laying-down-the-law types, either, if that’s what you mean.’
    ‘Yes, we’re too slack,’ joked Joy.
    Carl gazed out through the glass roof. ‘I think I mean, more—my mother and father seemed to stand for everything I ought to be. People talk about how you grow up and start to see chinks in your parents’ armour, but I have never—I’ve always found them absolutely unassailable. I think—I think this is the root of a lot of my problems!’ he said to Joy, beginning to laugh.
    Chloe liked Carl; he was gentle and civilised, and he had a good sense of humour—or had had one, before Gus got sick. It was struggling to grow back at the moment, like a plant pruned back too hard.
    ‘Wasn’t that irritating, though?’ Chloe asked. ‘Didn’t you ever feel like busting out and doing something stupid, just because they were always so
right
?’
    ‘I didn’t see the point.’ Carl smiled regretfully. ‘I knew I’d just embarrass myself, and possibly them too, which was just not …
thinkable
. It was as if I just absorbed their lessons and didn’t have to bother going out and learning them for myself. You can’t say that’s healthy,’ he added to Joy.
    ‘It sounds fabulous to me. I wish you’d been my child.’ She winked at Chloe.
    ‘Well, you guys never set yourselves up to be figureheads,’ said Chloe. ‘God, it’s not like we never see
your
chinks.’
    Her mother hooted with laughter. ‘You can never bring your friends home in case we’re parading around with our
chinks
showing!’
    Chloe conceded a smile. ‘You know what I mean.’
    Joy leaned forward and rubbed Chloe’s shoulder. ‘I know what you mean. We’ve always tried not to have the last word on anything.’
    ‘Which drives a person mad,’ Chloe said to Carl. ‘I’m sure it’s just as bad as having really strict parents.’
    ‘It’s just as hard for the parents, that’s for sure,’ said Joy.
    Chloe sat back, a bit surprised. Joy and Dane had a pretty light touch, it was true. She’d always thought it just came naturally to them, that they coped with having three children by making things as easy as possible for themselves. Sometimes she wished they’d make an effort to put their foot down like parents in books—‘Just
where
do you think you’re going, young lady? Just
what
do you think you’re doing?’ Instead, Chloe had simply gone, and done. Especially since finishing school last year, she’d informed them of her intentions rather than asking for their permission. If ever she went to them for advice, the discussion ended up with them saying, ‘Well, it’s really up to you. You have to make your own decision on this.’ They were always
handing her life back
to her—and now it seemed it wasn’t just laziness, but a conscious policy they pursued, sometimes in the face of their own doubts.
    Chloe glanced down the table. Dane and Jube were wisecracking and laughing hugely, so she couldn’t catch any words from the conversation at the far end, which was mainly between Nick and Maurice now, with Isaac looking from one to the other and back, listening with all his attention. Beyond him, outside, Janey and Pete leaned against the unlit brick barbecue, talking companionably, Janey having a cigarette. Chloe tried to read Janey’s lips, but then Pete started talking with his head down and Janey was just laughing beside him, smoke coming from her mouth in little puffs and floating up into the leafless poplars.

    ‘What were you and Pete chatting about outside there?’ Chloe asked Janey later, when they were up in her