The heat rising up from the tarmac seemed to get trapped between the thick hedges that towered above their heads like battlements.

"Oppressive," their mother said. They felt trapped too. "Like the maze at Hampton Court," their mother said. "Remember?"

"Yes," Jessica said.

"No," Joanna said.

"You were just a baby," their mother said to Joanna. "Like Joseph is now." Jessica was eight, Joanna was six.

The little road (they always called it "the lane") snaked one way and then another, so that you couldn't see anything ahead of you. They had to keep the dog on the lead and stay close to the hedges in case a car "came out of nowhere". Jessica was the eldest so she was the one who always got to hold the dog's lead. She spent a lot of her time training the dog, "Heel!" and "Sit!" and "Come!" Their mother said she wished Jessica was as obedient as the dog. Jessica was always the one who was in charge. Their mother said to Joanna, "It's all right to have a mind of your own, you know. You should stick up for yourself, think for yourself," but Joanna didn't want to think for herself.

The bus dropped them on the big road and then carried on to somewhere else. It was "a palaver" getting them all off the bus. Their mother held Joseph under one arm like a parcel and with her other hand she struggled to open out his newfangled buggy. Jessica and Joanna shared the job of lifting the shopping off the bus. The dog saw to himself. "No one ever helps," their mother said. "Have you noticed that?" They had.

"Your father's country fucking idyll," their mother said as the bus drove away in a blue haze of fumes and head. "Don't you swear," she added automatically, "I'm the only person allowed to swear."

They didn't have a car any more. Their father ("the bastard") had driven away in it. Their father wrote books, "novels". He had taken one down from a shelf and shown it to Joanna, pointed out his photograph on the back cover and said, "That's me," but she wasn't allowed to read it, even though she was already a good reader. ("Not yet, one day. I write for grown-ups, I'm afraid," he laughed. "There's some stuff in there, well...")

Their father was called Howard Mason and their mother's name was Gabrielle. Sometimes people got excited and smiled at their father and said, "Are you the Howard Mason?" (Or sometimes, not smiling, "that Howard Mason" which was different although Joanna wasn't sure how.)

Their mother said that their father had uprooted them and planted them "in the middle of nowhere". "Or Devon, as it's commonly known," their father said. He said he needed "space to write" and it would be good for all of them to be "in touch with nature". "No television!" he said as if that was something they would enjoy.