The Summer We All Ran Away by Cassandra Parkin Page A

Life of Johnson, Evelina, Ivanhoe, Persuasion, Middlemarch
, old friends to remind him he had not tumbled entirely out of the world. Finally, two shelves of books he had only seen in charity shops.
Peyton Place. Valley of the Dolls. Tropic of Capricorn. Jaws. Princess Daisy. Firestarter
. The collection ended abruptly with half a case still empty.
    â€œThis is great,” said Davey reverently. He took down a copy of
Kidnapped
and blew the dust off the top. Priss took it away and put it back.
    â€œLater. Come
on.”
    Davey wanted to linger, but Priss dragged him onward, into another hallway with an endless amount of doors. Davey began counting, then lost track when Priss tugged impatiently on his arm.
    â€œOkay,” she said, “now we’re going to play a game.”
    â€œDo we have to?” begged Davey. His head was throbbing and his legs felt weak. He longed to go back to the library and collapse into a sleek leather sofa.
    â€œWhat do you think?” said Priss over her shoulder. “It’s called,
Guess what the fuck anyone ever needed all these rooms for anyway
. Ready?” She flung open the first door. “Big room with a lot of couches.”
    Davey trailed in behind her. On a wall of beige hessian, a stone chimneypiece poured in an unpleasant grey torrent from the ceiling and pooled into a hearth. Four sofas, square-backed but with extravagant round arms upholstered in vivid magenta velvet, filled the room. Purple curtains with contrasting green circles made his eyes ache.
    â€œDrawing room?” suggested Davey wearily.
    â€œYou posh twat,” said Priss.
    â€œSorry?” Her smile was so dazzling he almost failed to register the insult.
    â€œNormal people call it a living room. Or maybe a lounge. And you get
nul points
and all, ’cos it’s missing several key features.”
    â€œLike what? There’s plenty of places to sit.” Davey looked longingly at the nearest sofa. The colour boiled ominously in the pit of his stomach, but he could close his eyes.
    â€œAnd then what?”
    And then I’d go to sleep
, he thought.
    â€œI don’t know, maybe, um, watch television.”
    â€œThere isn’t one.”
    â€œAlright, um, you could drink some coffee.”
    â€œNo coffee tables.”
    â€œYou could put the mug on the floor.”
    Priss looked at him scornfully. He glanced down and realised his feet were sunk deep in cream floor-covering so thick the word
carpet
seemed an insult.
    â€œYou could read.”
    â€œThere’s a library.”
    â€œYou might want some privacy.”
    â€œAnd the light’s shite an’ all, you’d never pick this room to read in. So basically, this is a room where people do
nothing at all but sit
. Except those sofas are crap for sitting on.”
    â€œReally?” Davey sat experimentally, and found his knees were around his ears. He lay down instead, his head resting blissfully on the pillowy arm, and closed his eyes in ecstatic exhaustion.
    Priss squeezed herself onto the edge and flicked his nose hard with her finger.
    â€œDon’t go to sleep when I’m talking to you. What do you reckon?”
    â€œI don’t know,” murmured Davey, with his eyes shut. Priss flicked his nose again. Drifting, he imagined an unknown party of fellow sleepers, each marooned on their own magenta island. “A psychiatrist’s office, maybe.”
    Priss laughed. “That’s not bad, actually. I thought a drugden. But I like yours better. D’you reckon the headshrinker sat in the middle on a big black leather chair and made them all talk about their sex-lives?”
    â€œMaybe.” Davey was nearly asleep. Priss flicked him on the nose again, then pulled his hair.
    â€œStay awake, or I’ll make you tell me about
your
sex life,” she threatened. “There’s lots more to see yet.”
    The house unfolded around him like a half-finished puzzle-box. He