A Storm of Paper Starlings

34. The Blackmore Picnic

I nudge Seth, who's frozen to the spot beside his car, a blush creeping up his face. "Who was that, then?"

"That's Sarah Tully," says Archer, whose mood has perked up considerably. "She's madly in love with Seth."

"Shut up, she's not," says Seth.

"See you around, handsome," Archer whispers, stroking Seth's cheek with a dopey look on his face.

Seth bats his hand away and scowls while Archer dances about laughing.

Leia gasps. "Ohmygod, she did not say that."

"She's fancied Seth since they were about ten," Archer tells her. "She was his dance partner."

"For fuck's sake, Archer. Shut up!"

"No can do, handsome," Archer singsongs. "She spied on him in the shower and told all her friends he had the smoothest buttocks she'd ever seen on a boy."

I grimace. "How many boys' buttocks was she spying on? What a pervert."

"Mum and Dad are already out the back," Seth mutters, wandering off.

"Mum went full rabid at the Tullys," Archer admits.

"Good for her," Leia says. "It's a gross invasion of privacy."

"That's what Mum said. Sarah's dad had her mucking out their stables for a month. She says without gloves. She's still terrified of Mum."

We walk around the side of the house. It's not as big as the priory, or as old, but the gardens are enormous. The house is back to front, so the pipes and drainage are exposed at the front, and from the garden, the rear of the house is neat and symmetrical.

A large terrace runs across the back of the house with steps down to a lawn that slopes gently to the lake below. I shield my eyes against the sun glinting off its surface. People are already out there in rowboats, and pedaloes shaped like swans. The Blackmores must be loaded.

We find Eden and Adam in deckchairs beneath an ash tree, but despite his height, I can't see Magnus. Then his cannon laugh booms near the house where he's surrounded by women.

The whole place smells like summer—like sun-baked grass, sunscreen, and barbecue. Little kids run shrieking through the sprinklers beyond an orange flowerbed, their laughter bringing smiles all round.

We spread the duvets out beneath the tree to make a giant picnic blanket bed to lounge on. Ben and Ezra bring a stack of enormous cushions from Seth's boot to make it even more comfortable. Seth sits on the hard ground at the root of the tree, staring into space.

I roll over to look at him. "That can't be comfortable."

"Stop talking to me," he whisper-hisses. "I'm in the shadows."

"But you'll ruin your smooth buttocks."

He glares at me. "Do not."

"I can't believe she did that to you."

"The minute she hit puberty, she went feral. It's why I stopped dancing."

"Couldn't you just get another partner?"

"We'd been together since we were six."

"How old were you when you quit?"

"Fourteen. I think all the girls were like it. Most of the other boys quit soon after I did."

"I wasn't feral at fourteen," I say.

"Dancing releases endorphins," he says, finally smiling. "It made the girls... amorous. If they'd given the boys another year or two to catch up, they might've got lucky."