The Family Upstairs

They weren’t bad books,” Phin countered patiently. “They were books that you didn’t enjoy. It’s not the same thing at all. The only bad books are books that are so badly written that no one will publish them. Any book that has been published is going to be a ‘good book’ for someone.

I'd subliminally determined at this point that the only way to really know what was going on in the world was to listen to women talk. Anyone who ignores the chatter of women is poorer by any measure.

All men are weak,' said Phin. 'That's the whole bloody trouble with the world. Too weak to love properly. Too weak to be wrong.' My breath caught at the power of this statement. I immediately knew it to be the truest thing I'd ever heard. The weakness of men lay at the root of every bad thing that had ever happened.

All books are good,' he said... 'They weren't bad books,' Phin countered patiently. 'They were books that you didn't enjoy. It's not the same thing at all. The only bad books are books that are so badly written that no one will publish them. Any book that has been published is going to be a 'good book' for someone.' I nodded. I couldn't fault his logic.

It's very strange, looking back, how accepting children can be of the oddest scenarios.

All books are good," he said. "That's not true," I said. "I've read some really bad books." I was thinking specifically of Anne of Green Gables, which we'd been forced to read the term before and which was the most stupid, annoying book I'd ever encountered. "They weren't bad books," Phin countered patiently. "They were books that you didn't enjoy. It's not the same thing at all. The only bad books are the books that are so badly written that no one will publish them. Any book that has been published is going to be a 'good book' for someone.

I know it sounds like it was all just a terrible disaster. Of course it does. Any situation involving four dead bodies is clearly far from ideal.

You have anxiety?” “No. But I told them I did and they said I could bring my dog.

I’m really sorry I can’t pay you back,” I said. He shook his head. “My father’s going to take everything you own and then break your life. It’s the least I can bloody do.

didn’t know who else to turn to. It gives the person you’re trying to manipulate nowhere to go.

Then she will marry the man whom she is currently trying to find both online and in real life, the man with the smile lines and the dog and/or cat, the man with an interesting surname that she can double-barrel with Jones, the man who earns the same as or more than her, the man who likes hugs more than sex and has nice shoes and beautiful skin and no tattoos and a lovely mum and attractive feet. The man who is at least five feet ten, but preferably five feet eleven or over. The man who has no baggage and a good car and a suggestion of abdominal definition although a flat stomach would suffice. This man has yet to materialize and Libby is aware that she is possibly a little over-proscriptive.

And also, I was in love with him and when you're in love, you'll forgive almost anything. It's a trait that I've carried with me into adult life, unfortunately. I always fall in love with people who hate me.

I'm not sure, any more, I'm not sure about anything. But I'd happily try it. Try anything really, just to get back to myself.

And it was them; I knew it clearly. It was them, draining the house, like vampires, of all of its decent energy, of all of its love and life and goodness, draining it all for themselves, feasting on our misery and our broken spirits.

And I remember my mother holding herself back from David, refusing to shine for fear of his desiring her.

All men are weak," Phin said. "That's the whole bloody trouble with the world. Too weak to love properly. Too weak to be wrong.

...even though Im no longer with her, she's still a part of me? You know, the part of love that isn't about sex, it doesn't automatically die. Or at least it doesn't have to.

That's the whole bloody trouble with the world. Too weak to love properly. Too weak to be wrong.

I'd subliminally determined at this point that the only ay to really know what was going on in the world was to listen to women talk. Anyone who ignores the chatter of women is poorer by any measure.

Five minutes ago her joys in life had been small, anticipated, longed-for, hard-earned and saved-up-for, inconsequential little splurges that meant nothing in the scheme of things but gave the flat surface of her life enough sparkles to make it worth getting out of bed every morning to go and do a job which she liked but didn't love.

As an adult man now of forty-one years old I have often used this refrain to get people to do what I want them to do. I didn't know who else to turn to. It gives the person your trying to manipulate nowhere to go. Their only option is to capitulate.

They weren't bad books. They were books that you didn't enjoy. It's not the same thing at all. The only bad books are books that are so badly written that no one will publish them. Any book that has been published is going to be a "good book" for someone.

All men are weak. That's the whole bloody trouble with the world. Too weak to love properly. Too weak to be wrong.

She slept all night with the bedroom window open even though she knows women are advised not to. She arranged glasses in a row along her windowsill so that if a man did break in at least she would have some warning.

all happened so slowly, yet so extraordinarily quickly, the change to our parents, to our home, to our lives after they arrived.

Never marry a woman. They might look good, but they destroy you.

But he's your boyfriend?' 'Partner,' she said, 'he's my partner. I don't own him. He doesn't own me. All that matters is his happiness.' 'Yes,' I said thoughtfully. 'But what about yours?' She didn't reply.

I remember his face when my father said that he no longer had private health cover, how quickly he left the house, how he dropped his unctuous demeanor like a brick. He sent him straight to the hospital in an NHS ambulance and left without saying goodbye.

But she has five years to find Him and marry him and then another five years to have a baby, maybe two if she likes the first one. She's not in a rush. Not yet. She'll just keep swinging left, keep looking nice when she goes out, keep accepting invitations to social events, keep positive, keep slim, keep herself together, keep going.

He had hair the color of old pennies and raw-looking hands with tight red knuckles.