. . 'Vivienne backs away from me in disgust when she sees the flaking, dried food on my face and neck, the smeary stain on my jumper. I am sitting at the kitchen table. David wouldn't allow me to leave the room. `I thought you wanted to spend more time with the baby,' he said. `You can't touch her, obviously, not while you're covered in that mess.'Vivienne looks angrily at him. `Was it too much to ask you to keep things under control for one morning?' Felix stands behind her, in his turquoise blazer and trousers, the Stanley Sidgwick uniform. He looks at me in the way people look at road accidents, horrified and fascinated.`It's not my fault!' David whines like a toddler. `I cooked her some food, but she refused to eat it. She tried to throw it at me. I caught her arm to stop her and it ended up all over her. As you can see.'`Why didn't you make her get changed immediately? She's filthy! It's all over her face.'`She refused! She said she didn't care what she looked like.' He picks up Little Face and leans her against his shoulder.
