Page 76 of The New House

So much for punishing him for trying to drown a kid! We can’t keep ignoring this, Millie, and hoping it goes away.

You’re the one who’s had your head in the sand for ten years.

Well, I’m wide awake now.

So what is it you suggest we do?

I don’t know. But we can’t carry on as we are. We need to—

We need towhat, Tom?

‘What were you doing up so late?’ I ask my son, as if that’s all that matters.

He shrugs. ‘I’m often up late.’

I remember his escapade a few weeks ago when our neighbour found him in his kitchen at five-thirty in the morning. I wonder how often ourson – ourten-year-oldson – slips out in the middle of the night undetected and roams the darkened streets.

‘I don’t think Stacey’s very sad about Felix going missing,’ Peter says.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t think she is, either.’

‘Maybe it’s a good thing he’s gone.’

‘Yes. Maybe it is.’

There’s something about my son that’s different today. It takes me a moment to realise what’s missing: I’ve become so used to his hostility it feels odd to be in his company without it, as if I’ve walked into a room that’s been subtly rearranged, the chairs moved or a painting changed. I know the respite is temporary, and that the barrier between us could come up as quickly as it went down: I need to take advantage of the brief detente.

I sit on the bed next to him. ‘Is there something you want to talk about?’ I ask, careful not to sound as if I care.

Peter doesn’t reply, and for a minute I think I’ve overplayed my hand.

‘Do you remember Mr Tipps?’ he asks suddenly.

For a second I can’t place the name. ‘The school rabbit?’ I say, as I finally make the connection.

‘He bit me,’ Peter says. ‘I just wanted to give him a cuddle. He was so soft and warm. I could feel his heart beating under my hand. I squeezed him, and hebitme!’

It’s the first time he’s mentioned Mr Tipps in years.

My son looks at me, and his amber eyes are filled with competing emotions: hurt, outrage, confusion and frustration.

‘Is that why you put Mr Tipps in the dishwasher?’ I ask.

‘He made me angry,’ Peter says. ‘I was just trying to love him and hehurtme. So I hurt him back.’

My gaze rests briefly on Peter’s shelf of broken things.

‘You pushed Meddie out of the window because she made you angry,too,’ I say, as the pieces fall into place. ‘She teased you, and so you hurt her back. But what about Archie? What did he do?’

‘He was such a baby,’ Peter says scornfully. ‘He made Stacey cross. He wasembarrassingher.’

‘He’s her son,’ I say. ‘She loves him.’

‘She doesn’t. She told me. She likesmebetter.’

‘You know you can’t hurt everyone who hurts you,’ I say.

‘Why not?’

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