When I Was - Softcover

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Born in London in 1950, to an Anglo-Indian mother and writer father, Miranda Miller has written eight novels, stretching from the eighteenth century to outer space. As well as the life of the artist Angelica Kauffman narrated in the first person, Miranda has given us the voices of London's homeless women. A former Royal Literary Fund Fellow at London's Courtauld Institute, visual art is a key ingredient in Miranda's work, as is her ear for dialogue which stems from a love for theatre. While London is the heartland of her life and work, her writing also takes in experiences from her years living in Saudi Arabia, Libya, Japan and her much-loved Rome. Married with one daughter, she lives and writes in London.

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Colleen smiles radiantly and stoops to kiss Maurice, who responds tenderly. He wishes they could go to bed but the house is full of children and anyway there's all that palaver with rubbers or Dutch caps nowadays.

Alex is furious that they're being soppy when they should be admiring him. One day Will might win the talking prize and if that happens Alex thinks he will commit suicide or possibly murder his brother. He hurries to finish his second helping of apple pie and stands up. "Pudding's over. I've won, haven't I, Daddy?"

Maurice stares at his eldest child in perplexity. He really is a clever boy, wonderfully articulate with a retentive memory. He argues all the time—but if he becomes a politician that will be an asset. When he was tiny Alex used to lie in his cot making up songs and poems while his parents listened adoringly. His favourite was: a lorry and a van called me; Maurice often thinks he seems to be crooning it still, over and over. He doesn't get on with the younger ones, doesn't even try. Then Maurice remembers his own violent jealousy when Benjamin was born. He smiles benevolently and hands Alex the shilling for the talking prize, as he does every Sunday.

Will screams with rage and falls on Alex, biting and scratching his hand to get the prize. Ben helps Will, because he's his twin and Will's no good at fighting and Alex is their natural enemy. Alex, who has already hidden the shilling in his pocket, yells, "They're ganging up on me!" and looks at his parents for help.

Colleen ignores them, clearing the table before they break everything on it. Boys fight, that’s what they're supposed to do. Maurice tries feebly to break up the fight, which has moved over to the French windows that lead to the small paved garden. Then he decides he's had enough of family life and announces he's going to the Embankment for a bit of exercise.

As he puts on his coat in the hall Viola runs up with her coat on, clutching some bread she's saved from lunch. She looks a mess, with her cherry red coat all crooked and her dark greasy hair in tangles around her sallow moon face. Another nanny has just left, and Colleen doesn't seem to have time to do much washing and brushing. Viola's covered with crumbs from the thick white slices of bread she clutches as her passport to the walk she desperately wants.

Maurice, who is fastidious about appearances, straightens her coat, washes her hands at the basin in the cloakroom, wipes lunch away from her mouth with a flannel, pulls up her white socks and puts the bread in a paper bag. Then he accepts her hand and they walk together down Beaufort Street. For Viola, this walk is her weekly prize. She knows she can't talk as much as her brothers. His hand feels dry and warm, completely safe. Maurice enjoys her quiet company and wonders if the talking prize was such a good idea after all. He started it when Alex was four to encourage the twins, who were not as precocious as Alex, to talk more. Also, he remembers, he wanted his children to be self-assured, not crushed by rules and strict governesses as he was when he was small. He hardly ever ate with Florence and Aubrey, by the time he was Alex's age he'd been packed off to prep school. Well, they're certainly confident, even cocky; perhaps it's time to stop the prize. But then there will be sulks and fuss—he decides to leave it and beams down at Viola, who is skipping with excitement as the river opens up in front of them, a vivid blue streak beneath the wide sky.