Plan B

Chapter Thirty-five

“We are now going to meet a normal person,” Brookie announced as he held the front door open for Fran.

“They seemed… okay,” Fran managed.  “Well, except for Bertie.”

Brookie snorted.  “You place far too much faith in humanity if you think my family’s okay.  I said Bertie was the most insane of the lot – that doesn’t mean the others are anywhere near normal.”

“Oh.”  Fran waited for him to catch up with her in the hallway.  Brookie flicked a switch beside her head and a light pinged on, soft reds and pinks springing up on the walls all the way down the corridor.

“Oh,” said Brookie in surprise, looking down by his feet.  “It’s been re-carpeted.  It was a kind of brown colour before with lots of burn marks.  Now it’s red.”

Fran decided not to ask.

“Must be because Eric’s leaving,” Brookie muttered to himself before he led the way along the hall.  Fran nearly walked into him when he knocked open a door to his left.

“Coat,” he said, sticking out a hand.  Fran wordlessly handed him her coat and Brookie disappeared into the room beyond.  Fran poked her head around the door and had to do a double-take at the sight that hit her eyes.

“Oh, God.”  Brookie’s voice was resigned.  He surveyed the cataclysmic disorder with the air of one accepting the fact that he was about to die.  “When will they learn to clear this place up?”

He stood in the only area of the room that wasn’t under two feet of coats, boots, tent material, outdoor games and other outdoor gear.  After a moment of dithering, he pitched Fran’s coat at the coat-stand, and it landed neatly on one of the hooks.

“There,” he said, turning back around.  There was a crash as a croquet mallet that had been balanced precariously on a shelf with some tennis rackets came tumbling down, knocking over a basket of tennis balls on the way.  Brookie was out of the room like a flash of lightning.

“The boot room,” he explained to Fran.  “Don’t ever go in there unless it’s an emergency.”

“What about my coat?”

“Learn to walk in the rain.  Let’s dump your stuff and go find Caitlin.”

The room in which Brookie dumped her stuff was by far and away the biggest bedroom that Fran had ever seen.  She stared at the bay windows for several long moments before it registered that she had a king-sized bed to herself and that the main artificial light in the room came from an enormous crystal chandelier.

“Holy f*ckballs,” she breathed, staring at the Persian rug in the middle of the room.  There was so much space.  “How f*cking loaded is your family?”

Brookie shrugged.  “Very?  My room’s just next door and Caitlin’s on your other side.”  He grabbed her hand and practically dragged her out of the room before she could take root in the carpet.

Several paces down the passage, he hammered on a newly-painted white door.

“Coming!” called a female voice from the other side.  Seconds later, the door was flung open and a woman a few inches shorter than Brookie appeared.  Fran only had time to see a startlingly white grin and backcombed honey-brown hair before the woman launched herself at her brother.

“Brookie!  It’s been ages!”  She wrapped him in a bear hug and ruffled his hair as they toppled to the floor.

“You moved out of the bl**dy country!” Brookie spluttered, trying to wrestle his way free.  “Caitlin, I have a friend with me and I told her you were normal – please don’t do this to me.”