‘George.’

‘No, not George – you called it Millat the Monkey, remember? Because monkeys are mischievous and Millat’s just as bad, isn’t he, Oscar?’

‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’

‘Oscar gets terribly upset when Millat doesn’t come.’

‘He’ll be along in a while. He’s on a date.’

‘When isn’t he on a date! All those busty girls! We might get jealous, mightn’t we, Oscar? He spends more time with them than us. But we shouldn’t joke. I suppose it’s a bit difficult for you.’

‘No, I don’t mind, Joyce, really. I’m used to it.’

‘But everybody loves Millat, don’t they, Oscar! It’s so hard not to, isn’t it, Oscar? We love him, don’t we, Oscar?’

‘I hate him.’

‘Oh, Oscar, don’t say silly things.’

‘Can we all stop talking about Millat, please.’

‘Yes, Joshua, all right. Do you hear how he gets jealous? I try to explain to him that Millat needs a little extra care, you know. He’s from a very difficult background. It’s just like when I give more time to my peonies than my Michaelmas daisies, daisies will grow anywhere… you know you can be very selfish sometimes, Joshi.’

‘OK, Mum, OK. What’s happening with dinner – before study or after?’

‘Before, I think, Joyce, no? I’ve got to work on FutureMouse all night.’

‘FutureMouse!’

‘Shh, Oscar, I’m trying to listen to Daddy.’

‘Because I’m delivering a paper tomorrow so best have dinner early. If that’s all right with you, Irie, I know how you like your food.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Don’t say things like that, Marcus, dear, she’s very touchy about her weight.’

‘No, I’m really not-’

‘Touchy? About her weight? But everybody likes a big girl, don’t they? I know I do.’

‘Evening all. Door was ajar. Let myself in. One day somebody’s going to wander in here and murder the fucking lot of you.’

‘Millat! Oscar, look it’s Millat! Oscar, you’re very happy to see Millat, aren’t you, darling?’

Oscar screwed up his nose, pretended to barf and threw a wooden hammer at Millat’s shins.

‘Oscar gets so excited when he sees you. Well. You’re just in time for dinner. Chicken with cauliflower cheese. Sit down. Josh, put Millat’s coat somewhere. So. How are things?’

Millat sat down at the table with violence and eyes that looked like they had recently seen tears. He pulled out his pouch of tobacco and little bag of weed.

‘Fuckin’ awful.’

‘Awful how?’ inquired Marcus with little attention, otherwise engaged in cutting himself a chunk from an enormous block of Stilton. ‘Couldn’t get in girl’s pants? Girl wouldn’t get in your pants? Girl not wearing pants? Out of interest, what kind of pants was she-’

‘Dad! Give it a rest,’ moaned Joshua.

‘Well, if you ever actually got in anybody’s pants, Josh,’ said Marcus, looking pointedly at Irie, ‘I’d be able to get my kicks through you, but so far-’

‘Shhh, the two of you,’ snapped Joyce. ‘I’m trying to listen to Millat.’

Four months ago, having a cool mate like Millat had seemed to Josh one hell of a lucky break. Having him round his house every Tuesday had upped Josh’s ante at Glenard Oak by more than he could have imagined. And now that Millat, encouraged by Irie, had begun to come of his own accord, to come socially, Joshua Chalfen, né Chalfen the Chubster, should have felt his star rising. But he didn’t. He felt pissed off. For Joshua had not bargained on the power of Millat’s attractiveness. His magnet-like qualities. He saw that Irie was still, deep down, stuck on him like a paperclip and even his own mother seemed sometimes to take Millat as her only focus; all her energy for her gardening, her children, her husband, streamlined and drawn to this one object like so many iron filings. It pissed him off.

‘I can’t talk now? I can’t talk in my own house?’

‘Joshi, don’t be silly. Millat’s obviously upset… I’m just trying to deal with that at the moment.’

‘Poor little Joshi,’ said Millat in slow, malicious, purring tones. ‘Not getting enough attention from his mummy? Want mummy to wipe his bottom for him?’

‘Fuck you, Millat,’ said Joshua.

‘OooooooOOO…’

‘Joyce, Marcus,’ appealed Joshua, looking for an external judgement. ‘Tell him.’

Marcus popped a great wedge of cheese in his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m afwaid Miyat’s oar mu’rer’s jurishdicshun.’

‘Let me just deal with this first, Joshi,’ began Joyce. ‘And then later…’ Joyce allowed the rest of her sentence to get jammed in the kitchen door just as her eldest son slammed it.

‘Shall I go after…?’ asked Benjamin.

Joyce shook her head and kissed Benjamin on the cheek. ‘No, Benji. Best leave him to it.’

She turned back to Millat, touching his face, tracing the salt path of an old tear with her finger.

‘Now. What’s been going on?’

Millat began slowly rolling his spliff. He liked to make them wait. You could get more out of a Chalfen if you made them wait.

‘Oh, Millat, don’t smoke that stuff. Every time we see you these days you’re smoking. It upsets Oscar so much. He’s not that young and he understands more than you think. He understands about marijuana.’

‘What’s mary wana?’ asked Oscar.

‘You know what it is, Oscar. It’s what makes Millat all horrible, like we were talking about today, and it’s what kills the little brain cells he has.’

‘Get off my fucking back, Joyce.’

‘I’m just trying to…’ Joyce sighed with melodrama, and drew her fingers through her hair. ‘Millat, what’s the matter? Do you need some money?’

‘Yeah, I do, as it happens.’

‘Why? What happened? Millat. Talk to me. Family again?’

Millat tucked the orange cardboard roach in and stuck the joint between his lips. ‘Dad chucked me out, didn’t he?’

‘Oh God,’ said Joyce, tears springing immediately, pulling her chair closer and taking his hand, ‘if I was your mother, I’d – well, anyway I’m not, am I… but she’s just so incompetent… it makes me so… I mean, imagine letting your husband take away one of your children and do God knows what with the other one, I just-’

‘Don’t talk about my mother. You’ve never met her. I wasn’t even talking about her.’

‘Well, she refuses to meet me, doesn’t she? As if it were some kind of competition.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Joyce.’

‘Well, there’s no point, is there? Going into… it upsets you to… I can see that, clearly, it’s all too close to the… Marcus, get some tea, he needs tea.’

‘For fuckssake! I don’t want any fucking tea. All you ever do is drink tea! You lot must piss pure bloody tea.’

‘Millat, I’m just try-’

‘Well, don’t.’

A little hash seed fell out of Millat’s joint and stuck on his lips. He picked it off and popped it in his mouth. ‘I could do with some brandy, though, if there is any.’

Joyce motioned to Irie with a what can you do look and mimed a tiny measure of her thirty-year-old Napoleon brandy between forefinger and thumb. Irie stood on an overturned bucket to get it off the top shelf.

‘OK, let’s all calm down. OK? OK. So. What happened this time?’

‘I called him a cunt. He is a cunt.’ Millat walloped Oscar’s creeping fingers that were looking for a plaything and reaching speculatively for his matches. ‘I’ll need somewhere to stay for a bit.’

‘Well, that’s not even a question, you can stay at ours, naturally.’

Irie reached between the two of them, Joyce and Millat, to place the big-bottomed brandy glass on the table.

‘OK, Irie, give him a little space right now, I think.’

‘I was just-’

‘Yes, OK, Irie – he just doesn’t need crowding right at this moment-’

‘He’s a bloody hypocrite, man,’ Millat cut in with a growl, looking into the middle distance and speaking to the conservatory as much as to anyone, ‘he prays five times a day but he still drinks and he doesn’t have any Muslim friends, then he has a go at me for fucking a white girl. And then he’s pissed off about Magid. He takes all his shit out on me. And he wants me to stop hanging around with KEVIN. I’m more of a fucking Muslim than he is. Fuck him!’