Like everything the Barkers did, Mark's party was extravagant. They could afford it. Mr Barker owned Midas Mountain, a gold-mining theme park and Quakehaven's sole tourist attraction. He also owned Barkerfield Village, the town's shopping centre. More than half the town's population depended directly on the Barkers for a job, and most of the rest would struggle without the busloads of tourists and shoppers his businesses lured to Quakehaven.
Mrs Barker was a partner of a large City law firm. From portraits I'd seen hung up around Mark's house, she'd been beautiful once. But, after one too many face-lifts, she now resembled a half-melted street lamp in a pantsuit.
Rustling paper crackled behind me, like a glutton munching popcorn at the movies. Without looking back, I walked away from Joke to search for Mark.
Despite the Barkers' park-sized garden, I spotted Mark quickly. He was on the back deck off the main house, standing tall on a high-backed chair, surveying his guests. He wore a brilliant white polo shirt and designer jeans that looked like they'd been splashed with radioactive milk. Mark liked to be noticed.
He must have seen me, too, and waved imperiously. Even from that distance, I could see his electric blue eyes, flashing white teeth and symmetrical dimples. Caught in the headlights of Mark's full attention, I froze and had to stop myself from bowing down like a manservant.
Joke rustle-sidled up to me. A flash of his satin rind caught the corner of my eye, distracting me. Mark crossed his arms and smirked. "My name is Ozymandias," whispered Joke into my ear, slightly out of breath. "King of Kings. Look on my Works Ye Mighty and Despair!"
I stepped away from the poetic pumpkin. "Ozy-what?" I snapped. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Joke invaded my personal space again. "Ozymandias," he said. "Another name for Ramesses the Second. The greatest of all Pharaohs. A bit like Mark, especially the way he's standing up there lording over us all. I was quoting a famous poem about the futility of great empires. How even great men and their works end up forgotten and buried in the sands of time. I thought you'd find it fu-"
"I don't," I said. Mark now had his back to me and was talking to Nicky Jackson. I turned on Joke. "I've heard enough about pyramids for a lifetime. Give the ancient Egypt thing a rest. Doesn't your father need some help?"
"No, he's fine," said Joke. "Says I just get in the way."
"I know how he feels," I muttered, and looked away a little too late not to register the pain on Joke's face. I marched over to the stairs. Nicky had gone and Mark was laughing - hopefully not at me.
"Paddy!" Joke called after me, confused. "Don't leave me here alone."
"Sorry, Joke. I gotta go," I said, trying not to lose my cool in front of Mark. "Catch you later, hey?"