His mother= broken. There is something broken about the way she says what she says. the way she leans forward so brightly at the table saying it's such a lovely night, it's been such a lovely day, it's such a lovely supper. Michael=what? His glass are on squint. His body is at an awkward angle. He looks dated. He looks like an Airfix model put together by a boy not concentrating properly, so a wing got stuck on a little crookedly, a wheel got superglued out of joint with the others; dull blobs of too much glue on it in all the wrong places.

Magnus glances at Astrid.
She looks back at him, right in the eyes.
What? She says.

Astrid is'nt totally broken yet. But if a window could throw a brick at itself to test that's what she'll do, she'll break herself, Magnus thinks, then she'll test how sharp she is by using her own broken pieces on herself. Everybody at this table is in broken pieces which won't go together, pieces which are nothing to do with each other, like they all come from different jigsaws, all muddled together into the one box by some assistant who couldn't care less in a charity shop or wherever the place is that old jigsaws go to die. Except jigsaws don't die.

Magnus's stomach starts to really hurt.

What? Astrid is still saying, making a face at him. What? what? what? what? what? what? what? what? what? what? what? what? what?
Astrid, Eve says.
What? Astrid says.
Amber laughs. Eve laughs too. Stop it, she says.
Stop what? Astrid says.
Everybody laughs except Astrid.
I didn't actually do anything, if anyone actually cares, Astrid says. It's him who was looking at me funny.
In a funny way, Astrid, Eve says.
What? Astrid says.

* * *