Capital

bottom?’
    ‘Not yet!’ said Joshua. ‘Hmm. I wonder.’
    This was a new expression which he had picked up from who knew where, and which made Matya’s heart do a little flip every time he used it. He went on:
    ‘Matty, you know the ducks?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘What if there are no ducks? What if they’ve all gone away?’
    ‘Well, then we won’t be able to see them.’
    ‘Yes, but what if they don’t come back?’
    ‘They always come back. They live there.’
    But Matya was being deliberately obtuse, and Joshua started to become annoyed.
    ‘Yes, but one day.’
    ‘I don’t think that could ever happen, Joshua. I don’t think the ducks would ever go away for ever.’
    That brought reassurance. It made sense that the ducks would not go away for ever if they had not gone away for ever before. ‘Could you please wipe my bottom please?’ said Joshua. It would have been untrue to say that this was Matya’s favourite part of her job, but she did her duty. Joshua climbed down from the loo seat and then climbed up on the step by the sink to wash his hands. He liked washing his hands but needed to be supervised or he would use up the entire soap dispenser to make bubbles.
    ‘All clean now,’ he said, holding his hands up for inspection.
    ‘All clean now,’ agreed Matya. ‘Shall we go up and see Mummy?’
    ‘Hmm. I wonder. All right!’ said Joshua. He held out his hand for Matya to help him get down from the step, and then kept holding her hand as they went upstairs together.
    ‘Then we can go and feed the ducks,’ she said.
    ‘Afterwards.’
    ‘Yes, afterwards.’
    They knocked on the Younts’ bedroom door and were greeted by a faint, brave call of ‘Come in, darlings.’ Matya pushed the door open. Arabella lay propped up on a throne of pillows, watching a black and white film; the sound went off but the picture stayed on.
    ‘Hello, Mummy,’ said Joshua. ‘Are you better yet?’
    ‘A little bit, I think, darling,’ said Arabella. She had been out late the night before with her friend Saskia, and they had ended up at two in the morning at Saskia’s club drinking what the man they ended up talking to insisted on calling ‘post-ironic’ Brandy Alexanders. The alcohol and late night had brought on a bug that Arabella had been fighting off for a few days, and now she was ill. It had to be admitted that she did not look well: she was pink-eyed and red-nosed and pale.
    ‘How is my lovely boy?’ she asked.
    ‘I did poo sauce.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Not very runny though. Not dia, dia, diary. Just poo sauce.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Now we’re going to feed the ducks. As long as you’re not going to die?’
    ‘No, I don’t think I will die, darling. It’s just a little coldy thing.’
    Joshua climbed onto the bed, gave his mother a brief powerful hug, then climbed back off it again and said ‘Goodbye, Mummy!’ as he headed for the door.
    ‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Matya.
    ‘You are an angel. No, thank you.’ And then, as she heard the front door being opened with a key, she said, ‘What the hell’s that?’
    It was her husband. Roger made bag-and-coat noises downstairs, then came bounding up to the bedroom, greeting his son with a ‘What’s up, matey?’ on the way.
    ‘I did poo sauce,’ said Joshua.
    ‘That’ll show ’em,’ said Roger. ‘Hello, darling! How’s the dreaded hangovirus?’
    Arabella knew how tall her husband was; and yet about once every two weeks she was surprised by it. Here, as he filled the door frame while she lay in bed, was one of those moments.
    ‘Bastard. I’m dying.’
    ‘You said you weren’t dying, Mummy,’ Joshua said from the hallway.
    ‘Not really, darling. I’m just saying so to Daddy. What about that lovely walk now, darling? The ducks?’
    ‘They’ll still be there,’ said Joshua. ‘Matya said.’
    Arabella waited while her son and his nanny went out. There was a struggle with shoes and clothes and a paper bag of breadcrumbs, and then the door shut.
    ‘What are you doing? Been sacked?’
    ‘Don’t be silly, it’s that thing,’ said Roger, who was taking his clothes off and heading for the shower.
    ‘Thing? What thing? Oh fuck!’ said Arabella, remembering that Roger had, in fact, told her some time in advance that there was a thing; had given it a follow-up mention a week or two ago; and had mentioned yesterday morning, when she had said that she was going out to see Saskia, that she shouldn’t end up too hung-over because