‘We should. We should do that. Right now!’
We both leapt to our feet and jumped down through the trapdoor into the tunnel above the attic. I saw the walls of the tunnel throbbing, like the inside of a body; I felt we were in a throat, maybe, or an oesophagus. We almost fell through the trapdoor into the hallway, and suddenly it felt like we were in the wrong place, like in Doctor Who when he opens the door to the Tardis and doesn’t know where he is.
‘Where are we?’ I said.
‘We’re down,’ said Phin. ‘In down world.’
‘I want to go back up.’
‘Let’s get the pillows,’ said Phin. ‘Quick.’ He pulled me by the hand into his bedroom and we grabbed the pillows and we were about to climb back up into the tunnel when David appeared in front of us.
He was wet from the shower, his bottom half wrapped in a towel, his chest bare. I stared at his nipples. They were dark and leathery.
‘What are you two up to?’ he asked, his eyes switching forensically from Phin to me and back again. His voice was like a low rumble of thunder. He was tall and absolutely hard, like a statue. I felt my blood turn cold in his presence.
‘We’re taking pillows,’ said Phin. ‘To up.’
‘Up?’
‘Up,’ repeated Phin. ‘This is down.’
‘Down.’
‘Down,’ said Phin.
‘What the hell is wrong with you two?’ said David. ‘Look at me.’ He grabbed Phin’s jaw hard with his hand and stared into his eyes. ‘Are you high?’ he asked, turning his gaze to me. ‘God, both of you. What the hell have you taken? What is it? Hash? Acid? What?’
Soon we were being ordered downstairs and my parents were being summonsed, and Phin’s mum, and David was still in his towel and I still stared at his leathery nipples and felt my breakfast start to roil inside my gut. We were in the drawing room surrounded by staring oil portraits, looming dead animals nailed to the wall, four adults asking questions, questions, questions.
How? What? Where from? How did you pay for it? Did they know how old you are? You could have died. You’re too young. What the hell were you thinking?
And it was at that precise moment that Birdie walked into the room.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Oh, go away,’ said Phin, ‘this is nothing to do with you.’
‘Don’t you dare talk to a grown-up like that,’ said David.
‘That’， said Phin, pointing at Birdie, ‘is not a grown-up.’
‘Phin!’
‘She is not a grown-up. She is not even a human. She is a pig. Look. Look at her pink skin, her tiny eyes. She is a pig.’
A gasp went around the room. I stared at Birdie and tried to picture her as a pig. But she looked more like a very old cat to me, one of those bony cats with patchy fur and rheumy eyes.
Then I looked at Phin and saw that he was staring at his father and I saw him open his mouth wide and laugh and then I heard him say, ‘So, that makes you a pig-kisser!’
He laughed uproariously.
‘She’s a pig and you are a kisser of pigs. Did you know that, when you kissed her, did you know she was a pig?’
‘Phin!’ Sally grimaced.
‘Henry saw Dad kissing Birdie. Last week. That’s why we took all Dad’s money and went out without asking. Because I was cross with Dad. But now I know why he kissed her. Because …’ Phin was now laughing so hard he could barely speak. ‘… he wanted to kiss a pig!’