'Hullo?' she says but there's no one to answer her. She's hovering outside the spare-room door, stepping lightly from foot to foot as if she's a child needing the toilet. She opens the door a little and peers in.

'Uncle Jeff?' She stops. Looks in a little further. 'Uncle Jeff?' She backs out, and continues along towards the master bedroom. She stays by the closed door. Then opens it a fraction.

'Dad?'

She appears to be rooted to the spot. 'Dad?'

Suddenly, she spins and runs on her tiptoes, fast back to her bedroom. Shuts the door in Arlo's face. When he goes in, he finds her in bed, way down deep under the covers, shaking.

He sits on the edge of the bed and lays his arm gently over the mound of her.

'Where did you go, my beautiful girl, what did you see?'

What's that noise? I heard something. I definitely heard a noise. I think it's the middle of the night. I must go and see. I'm a bit scared, I am. But I'm sure I heard a strange noise. I'll just tiptoe out onto the landing and see what I can hear.

'Hullo?'

There it is again. It's a funny sound like a bear or something. It's coming from the spare room.

Listen.

I'd better look inside.

Oh. It's Uncle Jeff.

'Uncle Jeff?'

Why are you sideways on the bed, Uncle Jeff? Why don't you have any of your clothes on? Why are you crawling all over my mum, making those strange noises? It sounds like she can't breathe. Why are you wearing ladies' shoes, Uncle Jeff? You look silly. And you have a big fat hairy b.u.m.

'Uncle Jeff?'

Why's no one answering me?

I'd better go and find my dad.

'Dad?'

There's funny noises coming from that room too.

Something's not right. What are the grown-ups doing? I didn't even know Uncle Jeff was staying the night. I thought he'd just come for supper. Him and Auntie Mags. And Auntie Anne too.

The door isn't quite closed so I will look through the gap. Auntie Anne is kneeling on my mum and dad's bed. I see her red hair, pouring down her back. She has a baggy bottom and really yuk red pants. What is Auntie Mags doing and what is she wearing that for? That's not a bra, her bosoms are poking out.

Is that my Dad?

Why is Auntie Mags tying him up?

They're all laughing and talking in funny voices. I can't hear what they're saying. If I open the door a bit more, maybe I will.

'Dad?'

Why aren't they wearing many clothes? This is not right. It's a silly game and I wish they would all stop playing it.

Auntie Mags is turning around.

I don't want her to see me. I don't want anyone to see me. I must go back to my room. Quick quick quick quick quick.

Petra was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when Arlo woke up.

'Good morning up there,' he said, chilled and stiff on the floor.

'Do you remember those luminous stickers made for bedroom ceilings?' Petra asked him. 'I never had any of those. I always wanted them.'

'I tried them once, a couple of years ago, when I was fed up counting sheep.'

'Did they help you sleep?'

'Far from it I'd start faffing around in the G.o.d-forsaken small hours, trying to replicate the specifics of the northern hemisphere night sky.'

'Oh.'

Arlo rose from the floor. Petra turned to look at him. 'Looks like you have cellulite,' she said and Arlo inspected the puckering of his skin from a night on the carpet. He sidled into bed next to her. She nustled into his chest and he stroked her hair thoughtfully.

'Who's Uncle Jeff?' he asked quietly.

'He was a friend of my parents,' Petra said and her tone of voice tells Arlo that where she went last night, what she saw, was still vivid. 'He was married to Maggie Auntie Mags. G.o.d knows what happened to them.' She turned to Arlo. 'There was also Auntie Anne. I don't think she had a partner. They weren't real aunts and uncle they were friends of my parents. They often came over. All of them.'

'Last night-' Arlo started.

'I know,' said Petra. A fat tear squeezed out from her eye and oozed down her cheek.

'What did you see last night?' Arlo whispered. 'Was it what you saw when you were little?'

'I saw them all at it,' said Petra, covering her face. 'Oh.'

'I think my parents must have been you know, swingers. How f.u.c.ked up is that?'

'Christ, Petra. How old were you? Can you remember?'

'I must have been about eight, I suppose.'

'Was that when you started sleepwalking?'

'Yes.'

After a breakfast of croissants and apple juice drunk straight from the carton, Arlo looked at Petra intently.

'You need to make your peace here, you know, with all of that, before we leave here. G.o.d, the whole swinging thing, it must have been bewildering, disturbing, for a child to come across but as an adult looking back, try to see it as bemusing or even amusing or just downright ridiculous. We're going to leave all of that rubbish here in the house. Closure without opening the door to your childhood memories any wider. Closure when we close this old front door of yours.'

Petra shrugged.

Arlo held her shoulders steady and looked at her sternly. 'It's about putting the past to bed, Petra. In my case and in yours. You've shown me that. Look what you've done for me.'

'They probably have no idea that I saw,' she told him. 'I wonder what they'd say if I told them.'

'And I wonder what Helen's parents would have said if I had told them. Look what you've taught me about there being a time for silence.' He cupped her face in his hands. 'You can't cancel the past but if you lay it down gently enough, you can put the past to bed. Let it rest. Find your peace. Sleep well.'

Petra looked at him and her expression said, Help me, then, help me if you can.

'Do you know that Philip Larkin poem? Do you remember the n.o.ble Savages singing it? Actually, we weren't allowed to sing it at your school. That poem about your parents f.u.c.king you up?' Petra nodded. 'Well, Mr Larkin would have done well to have met someone like you, Petra though anthologies of modern poetry might have ended up the poorer. I know you regret not having a close relationship with your parents. And Christ, what you saw when you were eight years old, what you experienced when they split up when you were a teenager, the kind of indifference you've faced from them ever since it's a wonder you're not cynical, f.u.c.ked up and bitter. But look at you, Petra. Look at what I see. I see this beautiful, beautiful woman who's so talented and so caring and so brave and so strong. And who, most important of all, knows how to love. You truly know how to love. It's a natural instinct for you.'

Petra's head dropped. Arlo put his arm around her. 'It doesn't matter what you saw,' he told her quietly but emphatically, 'because what you found makes no difference to the life that you're leading so well. You don't need to go looking any more, Petra. You don't need to go looking ever again.'

Chapter Fifty-four.

It was early August when Petra announced that they really ought to go and visit her mother.

'Has she phoned?' Arlo asked.

'No,' Petra hesitated. 'But there again, she never does,' she said with a new equanimity.

Melinda said she'd be delighted to see her daughter though she hoped this new beau didn't have a gas-guzzling car like that other bloke. When Petra told her mother that Arlo didn't even have a mobile phone, let alone a car, she heard her mother applauding down the phone.

'She probably won't be in,' Petra warned Arlo as the minicab from the station dropped them in sight of her mother's cottage. 'Oh, and ask for your tea black.'

But Melinda was in, as were half her hens, and they all seemed to squawk at Petra and Arlo when they entered. Arlo asked Melinda so many questions that she didn't have the inclination to talk much more about herself once she'd answered him. They'd talked about eggs and feng shui and carbon footprints and vegetarian shoes. So they sat and sipped their herbal tea and looked at each other. And Melinda thought she'd ask her daughter how her summer had been.

'Interesting,' Petra told her. 'Interesting.' She paused. She could feel Arlo glance urgently at her. 'An old friend of Arlo's is an estate agent. Guess which house is on his books?' Her mother shook her head. 'Randoline Avenue.'

'Good gracious me.'

'I went and had a poke around.'

'Whatever did you do that for?' Melinda baulked. 'It was a ghastly house.' She shuddered.

'It has a fancy conservatory now.'

'It was ghastly because of what happened there.'

'Happened?' Petra again felt Arlo's concerned glance bore into her.

'Me and your father divorcing,' Melinda frowned.

Suddenly, Petra no longer needed to make her mother think back. 'I know, Mum. I just was curious to see what I remembered.'

'Did you remember much?'

'Not really,' Petra said and she could sense Arlo's stare soften. 'I remembered the water tank with the red padding.'

'You used to call the water tank Bertie,' Melinda said softly.

'I don't remember that,' said Petra.

'I do.'

Melinda busied herself replenishing the rock cakes, which had to be slid carefully onto the plates so as not to break the crockery.

'Your daughter is about to make her fortune did you know that?' Arlo said.

'Oh yes?'

'Do you remember Mrs McNeil?' Petra glinted. 'From when I was at school?'

Melinda looked a little uncomfortable and she glanced at Arlo rather than at Petra. 'Yes, I do.'

'The stone? The tanzanite? Well, I've sold it I'm making it into a platinum bracelet.'

'Clever you. Clever you,' Melinda said, staring at her rock cake. Then she paused and looked directly at Petra. 'Odd, though, that you wouldn't want simply to keep it.'

It followed that, if they'd been to see Petra's mother, then a trip to her father was in order too.

He wasn't in when they arrived but the children made Petra and Arlo the centre of attention and dragged them through to the garden which enabled Mary to disappear inside the house for a while. When John Flint returned, Arlo strode over with his hand extended.

'How do you do, Mr Flint, I'm Arlo Savidge.'

John glanced at Petra whilst continuing to shake Arlo's hand. 'Nice to meet you,' he said. 'Did you come all this way to see us? Can you stay for lunch or are you just pa.s.sing?'

'That was the idea, Dad,' Petra said, 'if it's not too much trouble.'

'Right, right. Well, I'll go and change then.'

And he took a very long time to reappear.

As they sat in the garden waiting for something to happen lunch or Mary or John Arlo put his arm around Petra. 'There's no golden rule that you have to be close to your parents, you know,' he said. 'You don't even have to like the people that they are.'

'I know,' Petra said, 'I do know.'