The Square by Rosie Millard Page A

experience first. First, he has a look at his father’s electric razor. Then, he weighs himself. The needle reads two stone six pounds. Is that a lot, or not enough? He has no idea. It’s fun, standing on the scales. I wonder how much I can make myself weigh, he thinks, jumping on them. The needle swings frantically to seven stone. It doesn’t appear to go right back to zero, however, so he gets off quickly and kicks the scales underneath a towel.
    He looks at himself in the giant mirrored wall beside the bath, opens the mirrored door of the cabinet above the basin. Then he stands in the middle, between the two, and waves his arms, marvelling at how the dual reflections go back into a sort of corridor of infinity. He always does this. It’s a bit like being inside the Doctor Who title sequence.
    After about five minutes, George remembers to examine the contents of the cabinet over the basin. As he did last time. And as last time, the cabinet seems to to contain a lot of very dull stuff such as Pepto-Bismol. And plasters, and athlete’s foot powder.
    There is another cabinet, however, on the opposite wall, which George hopes might prove more fruitful. He crosses the room and swings it open. It it is crammed with devices and products for every facet of Jane’s complex beauty regimen. Eyelash curlers. Eyebrow dye. Bikini wax strips. Nose strips. Masks. And a lot of removers. Cuticle removers, hair removers, spot removers. Alongside removers, there are all sorts of creams. What is the difference between creme and cream, thinks George.
    His mother certainly has a lot of both creams, and cremes. Looks like she has a special cream for every single part of her body. Face cream. Creme de Corps. Foot cream. Hand cream. Neck cream. Nail cream. Eyelid cream. Thrush cream. What can that mean, wonders George. Something about a bird, maybe.
    He reaches in, sees something else in the cupboard. He pulls it out. It is a small pink battery driven device with two ears on it. He switches it on. It jumps around in his hand. Wasn’t his mother mad, having electronic toys in her bathroom? Wasn’t that dangerous? He had always been told it was dangerous to have electricity in a bathroom. He holds the toy, lingering over it, wondering why it quivers as it does.
    He would quite like to keep it upstairs in his room, but something about its very pink, squidgy nature and unsettling suggestion of entertainment makes him think this is a private toy, or something medicinal perhaps, that his mother does not want to find by accident anywhere else in the house. He replaces it carefully and softly closes the cabinet.
    He quickly uses the toilet, remembering to flush it. Forgetting to wash his hands, he tiptoes out of the ensuite bathroom and goes downstairs to answer the door bell, which he realises is ringing.
    It’s Anya on the front doorstep. George looks up at her, smiling. “My mother is… ”
    “… Not here?” says Anya.
    “No. She had to go out for about two hours. She said I was not to answer the door. Oh, whoops.”
    “George. If your mother says you are not to answer the door, try to remember that. Never mind. It’s only me. Now, you know your piano teacher Roberta? Who teaches you the piano.”
    George bows in assent.
    “I was wondering, if she could come over today?”
    “Today? But my lesson isn’t until Friday. Plus I haven’t practised.”
    “No, not for you. For Belle. Our piano is broken and Roberta is on her way over to our house, in order to give Belle her lesson. You know Belle, don’t you? Grace’s big sister. Would that be alright?”
    George raises his eyebrows, as if shouldering the metaphorical weight of the household and all the decisions thereof.
    “Should think so. What time?”
    “In about half an hour.”
    “Good. Mother will be back by then, I should think.”
    He closes the door carefully and walks back into the house. He’s not sure how he feels about sharing his piano.

Chapter Nine Jane
    It is so