white wig and a fancy gold jacket. He was staring expressionlessly across the rows of tables at Tom. Then he grinned, revealing twin rows of rotten green teeth.
Tom dropped his chopsticks and said something rude. His parents stared at him across the table.
âSteady on, sport!â said Dad. âThereâs no need for that kind of language!â
Tom stood up. âI need to go,â he said. He looked back towards the kitchen. The man seemed to have vanished now but he knew he couldnât just sit here and eat while there was any chance of him returning.
âYouâve barely touched your food,â observed Mum. âAre you sure youâre not feeling ill?â
âIâm . . . tired,â said Tom. He was already sliding sideways off the bench. Dad started waving frantically to one of the waiters, while he attempted to cram in a last couple of mouthfuls of noodles.
âHold on a minute,â protested Mum. âWhatâs the big hurry? Donât you want a pudding?â
âIâll be outside,â he announced and started walking towards the exit.
They drove home in silence. By now, nothing could surprise Tom, so the fact that they were in a brand new BMW X5, rather than the usual five-year-old Vauxhall Astra, had passed without comment. He sat in the back, staring out at the rolling green countryside, while Mum and Dad prattled aimlessly away in the front. Dad was working on a new health centre and Mum was doing a documentary series about the history of theatre, which involved some famous actors. She mentioned their names as though they were old friends of hers. It occurred to Tom that the car didnât seem to be heading towards Withington and, sure enough, a few moments later, he saw a road sign for Wilmslow and realised that this must be yet another change in their circumstances.
Dad pulled the vehicle to the right and stamped on the accelerator as he overtook a slower vehicle. Tom almost laughed hysterically when he saw that it was a black coach being pulled by four horses. Sitting at the reins was an unshaven man wearing a frock coat and a triangular hat. His upraised arm held a leather whip, which he was cracking above the heads of the horses.
âBloody tractors,â muttered Dad, as he accelerated past.
Tom didnât bother correcting him. He realised now that he was seeing things that his parents couldnât see and it probably wouldnât be a good idea to mention it.
Eventually Dad steered the BMW off the road towards a set of ornate metal gates, which swung magically open to admit them. He drove down a long, gravel drive and pulled the vehicle to a halt outside a three storey, ivy-clad building which looked amazing in the last rays of afternoon sunlight. Tom got out of the car and stood there, looking up at the front of the building, realising for the first time just how successful these new versions of his parents really were.
âHow much does a place like this set you back?â he asked.
His dad looked surprised. âWhat an odd question,â he said. âLetâs just say I wonât be retiring for a few years yet.â
Mum and Dad started up a flight of stone steps and Tom followed them, watched as they unlocked the door and disabled the burglar alarm.
âHome sweet home,â said Tom, and Dad smiled.
âYou make it sound like weâve been away for ages,â he said.
Tom said nothing. He accompanied them inside and followed them through room after room, each one furnished like something out of a movie. Then Dad announced he was going to his study to finish some work. Mum said she had stuff to do in the kitchen, so Tom said heâd go to his room for a while, even though he had no idea where that might be. He went up a rather grand staircase to the first floor and had a look around. Helpfully, one door had a sign on it that informed him it was TOMâS ROOM.
He pushed it open and stepped inside, stood
Tom dropped his chopsticks and said something rude. His parents stared at him across the table.
âSteady on, sport!â said Dad. âThereâs no need for that kind of language!â
Tom stood up. âI need to go,â he said. He looked back towards the kitchen. The man seemed to have vanished now but he knew he couldnât just sit here and eat while there was any chance of him returning.
âYouâve barely touched your food,â observed Mum. âAre you sure youâre not feeling ill?â
âIâm . . . tired,â said Tom. He was already sliding sideways off the bench. Dad started waving frantically to one of the waiters, while he attempted to cram in a last couple of mouthfuls of noodles.
âHold on a minute,â protested Mum. âWhatâs the big hurry? Donât you want a pudding?â
âIâll be outside,â he announced and started walking towards the exit.
They drove home in silence. By now, nothing could surprise Tom, so the fact that they were in a brand new BMW X5, rather than the usual five-year-old Vauxhall Astra, had passed without comment. He sat in the back, staring out at the rolling green countryside, while Mum and Dad prattled aimlessly away in the front. Dad was working on a new health centre and Mum was doing a documentary series about the history of theatre, which involved some famous actors. She mentioned their names as though they were old friends of hers. It occurred to Tom that the car didnât seem to be heading towards Withington and, sure enough, a few moments later, he saw a road sign for Wilmslow and realised that this must be yet another change in their circumstances.
Dad pulled the vehicle to the right and stamped on the accelerator as he overtook a slower vehicle. Tom almost laughed hysterically when he saw that it was a black coach being pulled by four horses. Sitting at the reins was an unshaven man wearing a frock coat and a triangular hat. His upraised arm held a leather whip, which he was cracking above the heads of the horses.
âBloody tractors,â muttered Dad, as he accelerated past.
Tom didnât bother correcting him. He realised now that he was seeing things that his parents couldnât see and it probably wouldnât be a good idea to mention it.
Eventually Dad steered the BMW off the road towards a set of ornate metal gates, which swung magically open to admit them. He drove down a long, gravel drive and pulled the vehicle to a halt outside a three storey, ivy-clad building which looked amazing in the last rays of afternoon sunlight. Tom got out of the car and stood there, looking up at the front of the building, realising for the first time just how successful these new versions of his parents really were.
âHow much does a place like this set you back?â he asked.
His dad looked surprised. âWhat an odd question,â he said. âLetâs just say I wonât be retiring for a few years yet.â
Mum and Dad started up a flight of stone steps and Tom followed them, watched as they unlocked the door and disabled the burglar alarm.
âHome sweet home,â said Tom, and Dad smiled.
âYou make it sound like weâve been away for ages,â he said.
Tom said nothing. He accompanied them inside and followed them through room after room, each one furnished like something out of a movie. Then Dad announced he was going to his study to finish some work. Mum said she had stuff to do in the kitchen, so Tom said heâd go to his room for a while, even though he had no idea where that might be. He went up a rather grand staircase to the first floor and had a look around. Helpfully, one door had a sign on it that informed him it was TOMâS ROOM.
He pushed it open and stepped inside, stood
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