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with no real meaning. She wouldn’t be listening anymore, she wouldn’t be curious. She wasn’t asleep or even daydreaming. She was drifting—no story, no pictures or things she had to recognize or understand. She was cloudy and light, lifted by the hum of the voices. Until something would pull her back to where she was, under the table. A louder voice, a sudden laugh, a sneeze, the teapot thumped down on the table above her head. A slippered foot shooting right past her nose. She’d be wide awake, and back. She’d tap Raymond’s knee and he’d show her his watch. She was often shocked at how long she’d been away.
    But it took a good while for the drifting to start. She had to settle down and get used to being there, and to the way she was sitting. She had to get rid of the giddiness. She had to let it all become normal. To let her heartbeat slow down. To let this—sitting secretly under the table—become a thing that she always did.

    But this time it was different. Because they—herself and Raymond—were up close to the mumbling for the first time. Usually the adults would see them, stop mumbling, and smile. But this time the adults didn’t know that Raymond and Gloria were near. And they kept mumbling.
    There was nothing at first. No one was talking. It was an important part of mumbling—the gaps between the mumbles. Gloria and Raymond had learned that when they’d been listening upstairs in their beds. They’d hear the actual mumbles. They’d try to make out words.
    â€œWhat are they saying?”
    â€œDon’t know—Shhh.”
    Then they’d stop—the mumbles, the voices, the muffled words. And they’d start again—and stop. And start. And stop again.
    â€œAre they finished, Rayzer?”
    â€œHow would I know?”
    They’d wait.
    Then they’d hear another one. And another.
    Now, Raymond and Gloria waited to hear the mumbles properly. This had been the usual adventure until they’d made it, safe and undetected, under the table. Then they knew, separately and together: They wanted to know what was wrong.
    Gloria tapped Raymond’s knee. He showed her his watch.
    Two minutes and seven . . . eight . . . nine seconds.
    Gloria knew she wouldn’t be drifting tonight.

CHAPTER 4

    P at and Una sat at the kitchen table, with Ben and also Una’s mother. It had been one of those nights, when more bad news had been delivered.
    Una was a bit sick of it. She didn’t blame Ben. He was great, and it was lovely having him in the house. He was Pat’s little brother, and she’d always called him her little brother-in law.
    He was only a teenager when Una and Pat got married. An awkward, lanky, lovely fella—and the worst best man there’d ever been at a wedding. He’d been so nervous he’d forgotten where he’d left the ring the night before.
    â€œDo you have the ring?” the priest had asked.
    â€œWhat ring?” Ben had answered.
    The laughter in the church had been gradual, a ripple that had started at the front and rolled to the back, maybe even out to the street.
    â€œHere,” said a woman at the back. “Have mine. I’m getting divorced anyway.”
    â€œDid you hear her?”
    â€œAh, that’s priceless.”
    By the time the wedding was over, everybody loved Ben. Including Una. And she still loved him. He’d grown out of his awkwardness and lankiness and he’d become a very sound man and a good friend.
    But it was becoming too much.
    No one said anything for a while. The kettle had boiled, and Una’s mother was up at the counter, putting the teabags in the pot.
    Una didn’t know for how much longer this could keep happening. Ben was struggling—so the whole house was struggling. She felt a bit heartless, even thinking like this. But she couldn’t help it.
    Una’s mother put the teapot on the table and sat back down