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were all smug and expectant, of course, much talk of the eclipse of Socialism, Ramsay MacDonald having fluffed it. Waiting like vampires to do their duty for King and Country.
    Daddy held a party, which meant giving orders for a marquee, terracotta pots with cascades of geraniums and busy Lizzies spilling from them like blood, lanterns strung between posts in the garden for when dusk came, and days of frenzied preparation of food. Mummy was pretty and charming but she was a draper’s daughter. She had a little green book called How to Entertain , and kept it by her bed like a Gideon Bible. The responsibility made her eyes bulge. It took away her sleep.
    I went to talk to Lady and King, my budgerigars. They were in my bedroom. I was allowed them there as long as I kept them clean. Lady was an unpromising-looking creature, pale sulphur colour with a smudge of green down one wing. King, though, looked perfectly splendid. A green-patterned bird, he lived up to his name, mottled with black and majestic. But they were such mute birds. They made sounds but they didn’t speak. I wanted them to talk to me.
    Sometimes I got angry with them. ‘Say something. Speak, will you? Say, “Pretty Livy.” Don’t just sit there looking stupid like that!’
    They’d chatter together sometimes, harsh, shocking outbursts of noise like dried beans falling on lino, but usually when I wasn’t in the room. I’d listen from outside, hearing them gossiping, confiding things between them or fighting over the seed. They fluttered around in a frenzy, pattering their droppings down on the floor of the cage for me to clear up. When I went in they’d go silent suddenly, as if I was interrupting something.
    It was like that that morning. As I climbed the soft, red stair carpet, I could hear them chirruping from the other end of the corridor. I tiptoed, my feet making no sound. I stepped over the raised, creaky board on the dark landing, knowing exactly where it was. I even held my breath when I reached the long strip of light by my bedroom door. They were hopping round the circular cage, chatting like an old couple reminiscing. Cosy, it was. I stood at the door listening, feeling angry. One of them rang the little bell I’d hung in there for them. They hopped and fanned with their wings.
    Slowly and silently I slid into the room. They didn’t see me at first. When my shape and movement came to their attention they stopped. They sat quite still, watching me warily, like they always did.
    ‘Go on,’ I said sweetly, squatting down beside the cage. ‘You don’t have to stop because of me. Keep talking – I like to hear you.’ I pressed my nose against the bars. They fled to the opposite side of the cage and stood on the bottom, shifting nervously from one horrible naked pink foot to the other. I hated to see their scalded-looking skin and the way they were so scared and shifty.
    ‘All right,’ I wheedled. ‘If you’ve got nothing to say, I’ll talk to you. Daddy’s having one of his parties tonight and there’s a big tent on the lawn in case it rains, though it doesn’t look as if it will. And all the important people Daddy knows are coming. And he’s going to make me play the piano in front of them and I don’t want to! I HATE THEM ALL STARING AT ME!’
    My shouting made the birds panic. They crashed around the cage, nowhere to escape to, their wings clumsily hitting each other, beaks open and vicious. Sometimes I thought they might peck each other to death to escape me.
    ‘It’s all right, I’m sorry,’ I soothed them. ‘I’ll tell you something nice now. Something that makes it better. Katie’s coming. My best friend Katie. You like her, don’t you? She doesn’t scare you. She’s coming to keep me company and stop them all pressing in on me with their eyes. Katie doesn’t mind it. She doesn’t see it. She loves me.’
    And I loved her. How I loved her.
    ‘Much more than you ugly little pigs,’ I said to Lady and King. I