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and he lashed out, hurling the objects out of his path. He was getting out, they were getting out and nothing or no-one was going to stop them this time.
     
    Richard Mercer and Olivia had just finished dinner when the first crash shattered the silence of the house. It was followed by another and the sound of breaking glass and china.
    ‘Oh, Papa! Papa, what was that?’ Olivia screamed.
    ‘Sit down, Olivia! I’ll see what’s happened. You stay here.’
    As he hastened up the stairs the splintering of furniture continued, accompanied by curses and shouts. His face paled as he thought, ‘He’s lost control! He’s lost control of himself!’
    Total devastation met his eyes as he flung open the door and switched on the light. Furniture lay broken and splintered and overturned. The long mirror had been shattered and the ornaments and clock lay amongst the debris. The curtains were torn and the window had been smashed, its glass carpeting the floor, its wooden lathes and spars hanging brokenly. But his horrified gaze rested on his son who was sitting on the bed, shaking, fighting for breath, his features haggard, his eyes wild with terror. Richard Mercer was shocked to the core.
    ‘James! James! For God’s sake what happened?’ He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder.
    ‘I was trapped! We were all trapped! We couldn’t get out!’ He gazed up at his father, the terror receding, to be replaced by confusion. ‘I didn’t . . . I couldn’t have done . . . this?’
    Richard Mercer pulled himself together. ‘It’s all right, James! It was just a sort of nightmare. These things happen, so I’m told, after . . . after terrible experiences. There’s no need to be alarmed or afraid. None of this matters.’ He gestured with his hand towards the wrecked bedroom.
    ‘I . . . I did all that? I can’t remember. There were flames and shouting . . .’ He was calmer.
    ‘Just the victory parties in the streets around the corner. Nothing to worry about at all. Nothing. We’ll move your things into one of the guest rooms for tonight.’ He continued to pat his son’s shoulder. ‘Nothing but a nightmare. I’ll get you a drink and then you’ll be able to sleep peacefully.’
     
    Olivia was standing at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the carved newel post. ‘What’s the matter, Papa?’
    ‘Nothing to worry about. James had a rather bad nightmare, some things got broken. I’m going to put him in one of the guest rooms and get him a stiff drink.’
    ‘But Edwin’s not here. He’s at the victory party, they all are!’
    ‘That’s not important. I’ll help him . . . move. Now, off you go to wherever it was you said you were going. Abigail’s, was it?’ He managed a smile. ‘And enjoy yourself, your brother’s fine.’
    As he watched her go up the stairs he sighed with relief. He was thankful that Edwin, Emily and Phoebe-Ann were not in the house. The least everyone knew the better. He’d clear up the mess himself and think up a suitable explanation. It was just a nightmare. Nothing more sinister than that, he told himself.

Chapter Five

    O LIVIA WAS BORED. THE soirée was the only thing she had to look forward to and even the preparations for that had begun to pall. Twice her father had impressed upon her the fact that she should now try to perform the duties of hostess with the same calm dignity her mother had always radiated on such occasions. She’d been horrified. She was only eighteen and he wanted her to behave like a matron of twenty-eight! She was young. She wanted to have fun. She didn’t want to be dignified, for that word she had in her mind substituted ‘dull’. The more she thought about it, the less interested and excited she felt. The way things were going it would be a dreadful evening. And James would be no help either.
    He was no fun at all these days, not the way he’d been before the war. Then he’d always been ready for a joke or some kind of a lark, and his recent violent outburst had