‘I can’t believe you did that, Mum.’ ‘It wasn’t like that,’ I protest, catching my breath as I march home from the restaurant. ‘Yeah, it was. It was totally wrong. You’ve violated his human rights.’ I splutter ineffectually, furious at Tom for mentioning the smoking bum when I’d far rather have discussed it with Fergus face-to-face. ‘What else have you been doing while we’ve been away?’ Logan wants to know. ‘Nothing,’ I retort. ‘Well, apart from tidying your hovel of a room—’ ‘Tidying my room?’ he exclaims. ‘Logan, stop speaking to me like this, like I’m forever delving through your private things. I’ve actually bought you a new chest of drawers …’ ‘What for?’ ‘To look at. To amuse yourself by opening and closing the drawers. What d’you think it’s for?’ ‘Dunno,’ he says crossly. I bite my lip, any lingering pleasure from my lunch with Stephen having ebbed away, and will myself to remain calm and not start shouting in the street.
