Part 51 (2/2)

terrible mess with smelly gla.s.ses and overflowing ashtrays. More often

than not a few of the guests would be sprawled over the sofas and chairs

amid the clutter.

Emma wondered what it would be like to sit up all night, talking,

laughing, listening to music. When you were grown-up, no one told you

when you had to go to bed, or have a bath.

With a sigh, she rolled over on her back. The music was faster now. She

could feel the driving ba.s.s pulse in the walls. And something else.

Footsteps, coming down the hall. Emma thought. Miss Wallingsford. She

prepared to close her eyes and feign sleep when another thought occurred

to her. Perhaps it was Dad or Mum pa.s.sing through to check

on her and Darren. If it was, she could pretend to have just woken,

then she could persuade them to tell her about the party.

But the footsteps pa.s.sed by. She sat up clutching Charlie. She'd

wanted company, even if only for a moment or two. She wanted to talk

about the party, or the trip to New York. She wanted to know what song

was playing. She sat a moment, a smalk sleepy child in a pink

nightgown, bathed by the cheerful glow of a Mickey Mouse night-light.

She thought she heard Darren crying. Straightening, she strained to

listen. She was certain she heard Darren's cranky tears over the pulse

of the music. Automatically she climbed out of bed, tucking Charlie

under one arm. She would sit with Darren until he quieted, and leave

Charlie to watch over him through the rest of the night.

The hallway was dark, which surprised her. A light always burned there

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