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door of the first…floor toilet； then cursed when he discovered it was open。 I heard him start up the stairs； towards me。 His steps pattered； irregular； and he grunted as he stumbled and hit a wall。 I went quietly up the ladder； swung up and on to the bare wood floor of the loft； lay there with my head a metre or so from the hole； my hands on the brickwork； ready to duck behind the flue if my father attempted to look into the loft from the hole。 I blinked。 My father hammered on my room door。 He opened it。
'Frang！ he shouted again。 Then 'Ah。。。 fuck。。。。' My heart leaped as I lay there。 I had never heard him swear before。 It sounded obscene in his mouth； not like the casual way Eric or Jamie said it。 I heard him breathing under the hole； the smell of him ing up through it to me： whisky and tobacco。
The steps again； unsteady down the landing； then his door； and it slamming shut。 I breathed again； only then realising that I had been holding my breath。 My heart was pounding fit to burst and I was almost surprised my father hadn't been able to hear it booming through the floorboards above him。 I waited for a while； but there were no more noises； just that distant white sound from the lounge。 It sounded as though he had left the television on； between channels。
I lay there； gave him five minutes； then I got up slowly； brushed myself down； tucked my shirt in； picked up the bag in the darkness； attached my catapult to my belt； felt around for my waistcoat and found it； then with all my gear on crept down the ladder and on to the landing； then along it and softly downstairs。
In the lounge； the television sparkled its colourful hiss to an empty room。 I went to it； clicked it off。 I turned to go and saw my father's tweed jacket lying crumpled in a chair。 I picked it up and it jingled。 I felt through the pockets as I wrinkled my nose at the stench of drink and smoke ing off it。 My hand closed around a bunch of keys。
I brought them out and stared at them。 There was the front…door key； the back…door key； the cellar key； shed key； a couple of smaller ones I didn't recognise； and another key； a key to one of the rooms in the house； like the key for my room but a different cut。 I felt my mouth start to dry up； and saw my hand start to shake in front of me。 Sweat sparkled on it； beading suddenly in the lines of the palm。 It might be his bedroom key or。。。。
I ran upstairs； three at a time； only breaking rhythm for the noisy ones。 I went up past the study； up to my father's bedroom。 The door was ajar； its key was in the lock。 I could hear my father snoring。 I closed the door gently and ran back down to the study。 I put the key in the lock； and it turned with well…oiled ease。 I stood there for a second or two； then turned the handle； opened the door。
I put the light on。 The study。
It was cluttered and full； stuffy and warm。 The light in the centre of the ceiling had no shade； and was very bright。 There were two desks； a bureau； and a camp bed with a mess of sheets lying twisted on it。 There was a bookcase； two large tables standing together covered with various bottles and pieces of chemical apparatus； test tubes and bottles and a condenser linked to a sink in the corner。 The place smelled of something like ammonia。 I turned； stuck my head out of the door into the hall； listened； heard very distant snoring； then took the key and closed the door； locking myself in and leaving the key in the door。
It was as I turned away from the door that I saw it。 A specimen…jar standing on top of the bureau； which was placed just to the side of the door and would be hidden from the hall outside by the door when it was open。 In the jar was clear liquid…alcohol； I assumed。 In the alcohol was a tiny； torn set of male genitalia。
I looked at it； my hand still on the key I had been turning； and my eyes filled。 I felt something in my throat； something from deep in me； and my eyes and nose seemed to fill and quickly burst。 I stood and I cried； letting the tears trickle down my cheeks and into my mouth； salting it。 My nose ran； and I sniffed and snorted； and I felt my chest heave and a muscle in my jaw tremored uncontrollably。 I forgot all about Eric； about my father； about everything except me； and my loss。
It took me some time to pull myself together； and I didn't do it by being angry at myself or telling myself not to act like some stupid girl； but I just calmed down naturally and evenly； and some sort of weight left my head and settled in my stomach。 I wiped my face on my shirt and blew my nose quietly； then started searching the room methodically； ignoring the jar on the bureau。 Maybe that was all the secret there was； but I wanted to be sure。
Most of it was junk。 Junk and chemicals。 The drawers of the desk and the bureau were filled with ancient photographs and papers。 There were old letters； old bills and notes； deeds and forms and insurance policies （none for me； and all expired long since anyway）； pages from a short story or novel somebody had been writing on a cheap typewriter； covered in corrections and still awful （something about hippies in a mune in the desert somewhere making contact with aliens）； there were glass paperweights； gloves； psychedelic badges； some old Beatles singles； a few copies of Oz and IT； some dry pens and broken pencils。 Rubbish； all rubbish。
Then I came to part of the bureau which was locked： one section under the roll…top hinged at the bottom with a keyhole in the top edge。 I got the keys from the door and； sure enough； one of the small ones fitted。 The flap hinged down and I took out the four small drawers set behind it and set them on the working…surface of the bureau。
I stared at their contents until my legs got shaky and I had to sit down on the rickety little chair which had been half…undemeath the bureau。 I put my head in my hands and I was shaking again。 How much was I going to have to go through this night？
I put my hands into one of the little drawers and took out the blue box of tampons。 Shaking fingers brought out the other box from the drawer。 It was labelled 'Hormones…male'。
Inside it were smaller boxes； neatly numbered in black biro with dates going about six months into the future。 Another box from a different drawer said 'KBr'； which rang a bell somewhere in my mind； but only at the very back of it。 The remaining two drawers contained tightly rolled bundles of five… and ten…pound notes and Cellophane bags with little squares of paper inside。 I had no spare capacity for trying to work out what any of that other stuff was； though； my mind was racing with an awful idea it had just formed。 I sat there； staring； mouth open； and I thought。 I didn't look up at the jar。
I thought of that delicate face； those lightly haired arms。 I tried to think of one time I had seen my father naked to the waist； but for the life of me I couldn't。 The secret。 It couldn't be。 I shook my head； but I couldn't let go of the idea。 Angus。
Agnes。 I only had his word for anything that had happened。 I had no idea at all how much Mrs Clamp could be trusted； no idea w