ing, and the shouted oaths of a driver, but he didn't care. He picked Janey up in his arms and carried her to the pavement. ‘Janey …’ He heard a man saying that kids shouldn't be out at this time of night, and he felt the eyes of curious onlookers boring into him. Then the stream of people began to move again. Yet Hema still clutched his little sister tightly. And Janey looked up at him. ‘You told me to stay right where I was if I lost your hand,’ she said. ‘So I did.’ Hema looked down at her. ‘You did right,’ he said. ‘But next time you get lost, I'm going to give you a good hiding!’ It wouldn't have been so bad if Mum had made her children understand that there were some things they could do or couldn't do, now that Uncle Pera had come to stay. But she didn't, and as the days passed, they were often confused, watching for any telltale sign, a frown, the flicker of a smile, which would signify to them whether a certain impulse or gesture would be accepted or not, whether it would be rejected or condoned. Sometimes, they would make the wrong appraisal and be repulsed by their mother. Other times, things would be all right, and Uncle Pera in a happy mood, and he would beckon Janey to come and sit in his lap. Then their mother would also be happy, although her anxiety would now and then flash darkly in her eyes. Hema remembered that they did have happy times together; their mother, themselves and Uncle Pera. They were like sudden shafts of laughter, chasing away an anxious silence, like the time that Uncle Pera took them all to Eastbourne to the beach. But there were not many of those happy times. What hurt most, was that Mum began to change, in small ways at first, but finally so much, that her children could never understand her moods. At one moment she would kiss them, the next moment, lash out at them with a harsh word or hand. Once, Hema had returned home late from school and his mother had asked him to find Janey and told him that she'd been naughty and Mum had hit her. Hema had known instantly where Janey would be. He'd gone into their bedroom and sure enough, he had heard her crying beneath the bed. Whenever she felt sad or wanted to have a little cry, Janey always crawled under the bed, so no-one would hear. ‘Come out, Janey,’ he said. ‘I know you're under there.’ ‘I'm not,’ his sister had replied. ‘Go away!’ ‘If you won't come out, I'm coming to join you,’ he'd replied. And he'd crawled under the bed and put his arms round her.