The Dollhouse

Chapter 27

DINNER with Nick's family proved to be a more dramatic affair than expected.

Arriving at the address - the other side of Haverbrook, I was met with an ordinary brick structure with a tamed garden, from what I could judge in the dark. I shivered in the white lace shirt that reminded me of curtains in an old lady's bathroom, and a modest skirt down to the knee.

A shiver traveled through the winter-bitten trees. I could see silhouettes flickering behind the closed drapery. Not only a few seconds later, Samuel rounded the corner. He was wearing a nice jacket and uncertainly holding a lemon sponge cake.

Damn, I wish I'd thought to return the gesture of hospitality.

"Aren't you cold standing there?" he called.

"Oh, I was about to go in," I said, embarrassed to be caught standing like a loser. As if to redeem myself, I rapped my knuckles against the hard wood of the door, wincing. No doubt bruises would blossom there tomorrow.

Nick answered the door. He appeared fresher than usual, his chestnut hair combed back and he shirt collar straight for once.

"Whoa, you, uh - both look great," he exclaimed. Something about his jittery energy reminded me of the way Betsy acted when I was invited to her house for the first time; eyes everywhere, poker-straight and defenses up. He accepted the cake, and we crossed the threshold and followed down the dimly-lit hallway.

Anyone would know Nick's parents without the family portrait. There were also two young men there, swilling drinks, dead behind the eyes.

Their mother was twiggy creature, small and frail like a bird. Her children had inherited her Roman features. We'd all heard the stories of her cutting-edge nature - I admit I was scared what to expect. However, her smile seemed genuine.

Their father must have enjoyed the same athletic build in his youth, but now his sweater strained, his hair verging on gray. "Nice to meet you, I'm Ronald."

Nick's older brother was the shortest, a bit on the heavier side with the beginning of a beard - introduced himself as Jamie, didn't look the type of person you'd expect at a formal dinner. He wore a football shirt and heavy working-man's boots, black smudges across his hands. It was easy to deduce he was some kind of tradesman.

The middle brother, Joseph, insisted on shaking our hands. He was wiry and tall, at least six foot, with his hair pushed back in the same fashion as Nick's, but something told me no one would have had to persuade him. The sight triggered a long-ago memory, from when we'd asked Nick about his family; Joseph fights for approval. He's a huge momma's boy.

"Delighted to meet you," I choked, masking a grin.

"Well, dinner is on the table," Nick's mother - Beatrice, her name was - did have a brisk way of speaking, like a headmistress. "Make yourself at home!"

"What happened to that weird-looking kid with the big specs?" the older brother asked, looking around.

"Asshole," Nick answered, pulling out a chair.

"Nicholas, that's not dinner talk!" Beatrice scolded, harsh as a whip. I dropped my gaze, but the three brothers shrugged the comment off like it was nothing.

Dinner was wholemeal bread and casserole. The stew-like dish was wholesome and swimming with vegetables, all carrots and leek and potato. There was moment to say grace - in which I was the only person who said 'amen' out of unison - and then we ate.

Nick's mother craned her neck, her eagle-eyes spotting the cake abandoned in the hallway.

"Lydia, did you bake a cake?" she said, sounding impressed.