still has his back to us, as if it’s more than he can do to look at us at the moment. He rinses the cups. ‘I thought, why bother them at this time of the night? If my children are stupid enough to go off with a bunch of paleolithic bikers—and I’m stupid enough to let them—’ He turns and looks at us now—‘then why waste the time of the authorities?’ I have this strange wish suddenly—strange isn’t a strong enough word—that this could be a schoolday, that we could get through whatever lecturing we’re going to be forced to endure, eat a token breakfast (I don’t feel hungry, I think I’m hungover) and then take off for school and a day of dozing through lessons and dropping subtly misleading hints about the night’s activities to whoever will listen. Except that I don’t have a school right now; I’m stateless, I’ve got the horror-prospect of starting a new one in September on top of everything else. Dad finishes with the cups and stands watching us. He says nothing for a moment, lets the intensity of his examination pin us to our chairs, a needle-like ray that is all the more powerful because we know in the more boring, rational parts of ourselves that he’s right, we were stupid, anything could have happened to us—and in Jessie’s case, did. This is what I fix on suddenly, that he’s not so much angry with both of us as furious with Jessie for taking off with a reject Hell’s Angel. ‘You ought to have more sense, Jessica,’ he says at last. ‘Even if you think you’re old enough to stay out all night flirting with the local rat pack, you should have thought about Tom. One o’clock, I could have taken. Half past one, even. But you’ve pushed it too far. There’s no point in us treating you as an adult if you’re not prepared to behave like one.’
‘Time just ran away with us,’ I say, in an effort to see how much this is simply between Dad and Jessie. ‘You’ve both got watches,’ he responds, his tone no less testy with me than with her. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like,’ Jessie says, offering her first real defense, although she seems anything but defensive, more like the roles are reversed and she’s explaining life to him. ‘You can’t constantly look at your watch. Either you’re having a good time or you’re not. If you didn’t want me to take Tom, you should have said so.’
‘Jessie,’ Dad says, his voice harder. ‘Don’t try me.’
‘We were in good company,’ Jessie goes on. ‘It could have been a lot worse. Nick’s great. He doesn’t smell and he’s got a job. I would have thought you might have liked him.’
‘If he’s who I think he is,’ Dad says, conceding nothing, ‘he looks ten years too late for life. Did he give you that?’ ‘What?’ ‘That cut on your face. That didn’t get there by chance. Is that his idea of a good time?’ Jessie looks at me and I look back, a dread building up in me not that she’s going to say anything about what we said but that what I’m witnessing here is somehow more fundamental than what I saw in the bathroom. Whatever Jessie thinks this is about, this is about possession. Dad thinks he possesses her, not just in the normal way that parents delude themselves that they possess their children, especially daughters—it’s more complicated than that now because of what has happened. He’s frightened, I can see that and it’s not something you want to see in your dad. He’s frightened he’s going to lose her. Or maybe he’s just shit-scared about the whole thing. But he’s also enjoying it, he’s like her, he’s high on the danger. And where am I in all this? Do I count? What does he feel about the rest of us now—are we still a family? I don’t even know if I want us to be. The kettle boils and cuts out. Jessie has taken a long time to answer. ‘Oh, that,’ she says. ‘I got a branch in my face on the way down to the beach. It’s nothing.’ Mum comes back down, Jack hanging on
‘Time just ran away with us,’ I say, in an effort to see how much this is simply between Dad and Jessie. ‘You’ve both got watches,’ he responds, his tone no less testy with me than with her. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like,’ Jessie says, offering her first real defense, although she seems anything but defensive, more like the roles are reversed and she’s explaining life to him. ‘You can’t constantly look at your watch. Either you’re having a good time or you’re not. If you didn’t want me to take Tom, you should have said so.’
‘Jessie,’ Dad says, his voice harder. ‘Don’t try me.’
‘We were in good company,’ Jessie goes on. ‘It could have been a lot worse. Nick’s great. He doesn’t smell and he’s got a job. I would have thought you might have liked him.’
‘If he’s who I think he is,’ Dad says, conceding nothing, ‘he looks ten years too late for life. Did he give you that?’ ‘What?’ ‘That cut on your face. That didn’t get there by chance. Is that his idea of a good time?’ Jessie looks at me and I look back, a dread building up in me not that she’s going to say anything about what we said but that what I’m witnessing here is somehow more fundamental than what I saw in the bathroom. Whatever Jessie thinks this is about, this is about possession. Dad thinks he possesses her, not just in the normal way that parents delude themselves that they possess their children, especially daughters—it’s more complicated than that now because of what has happened. He’s frightened, I can see that and it’s not something you want to see in your dad. He’s frightened he’s going to lose her. Or maybe he’s just shit-scared about the whole thing. But he’s also enjoying it, he’s like her, he’s high on the danger. And where am I in all this? Do I count? What does he feel about the rest of us now—are we still a family? I don’t even know if I want us to be. The kettle boils and cuts out. Jessie has taken a long time to answer. ‘Oh, that,’ she says. ‘I got a branch in my face on the way down to the beach. It’s nothing.’ Mum comes back down, Jack hanging on
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