1972
"Christopher?"
Chris turned over in his bed to see his sister standing at his bedroom door. "What is it?" he said sleepily.
"Mummy and Daddy are shouting again."
His heart sinking, Chris threw back his Superman duvet, got out of bed and followed his sister to the top of the stairs. They sat on the top step in their pyjamas, listening to their mother's voice:
"... drinking again, you're either at work or with your boxing friends, you never have time for me or the kids..."
Their father's voice answered, in low angry tones. It was impossible to make out what he was saying.
"Why doesn't Mummy want Daddy to have a drink?" Zoe asked her brother, puzzled. "Everyone needs to drink, don't they?" Chris shrugged. There was the sound of breaking glass from the kitchen and Zoe clutched at her brother, her huge dark eyes wide.
"Hey, it's okay." Chris put his arm around his little sister's shoulders. "I've got you, Ziggy." At eight years old, he was twice Zoe's age and twice as tall. He knew that being a big brother meant looking after Zoe at times like this.
"One drink, that's all!"
Frank Tate came storming out of the kitchen. He stopped dead when he saw his two children at the top of the stairs.
"Go back to bed!" he barked and stomped into the lounge.
Jean Tate emerged from the kitchen, looking tearful. She, too, stopped when she saw Chris and Zoe. "Christopher, take your sister back to bed, will you?" she said, in a calmer voice than her husband. "I'll come and see you in a minute."
Chris stood up and held his hand out to Zoe. She took it, standing, and followed her brother up to her bedroom. Chris returned to his own room, ready to put his fingers in his ears for when the shouting resumed downstairs.