The young man, who I knew as Duncan's elder brother, cleared his throat, moving back to let me try balancing Mark on his feet. "I picked them up from the college union bar- Duncan called me. I think he felt they er maybe needed some help getting home."

More likely that even in this state, the boys had realised that a taxi would not consider taking them anywhere. Duncan, who has been one of Mark's closest friends since he was about four, was slumped and groaning in the passenger seat, and the car reeked of alcohol. Mark, wavering back and forth in my grasp, gave me a happy grin of recognition and clutched at my shirt for support.

"Hi Dad."

It was the first time I had ever seen any of my sons drunk. I gave Duncan's brother a nod, keeping Mark upright more or less by brute force.

"You'd better come inside and get a towel. I don't think you'll get Duncan home without him being sick."

From Duncan's brother's expression his car upholstery was already foremost on his mind.

I'd been listening out for Mark to come home since Anna and I went to bed at eleven thirty. The clock now stood at a quarter to one, and by the time the car drew away and I locked the front door, Sleeping Beauty, snoring heavily, was sprawled in the armchair where I'd put him and was dead to the world.

There was no sense in trying to get him upstairs in this state. Mark is the only one of the boys who has his own room, and apart from that I'd risk waking everyone else if I tried manhandling him up there, I'd worry all night about him being sick or choking without any of us realising. There is a tired and battered sofa in the mud room, which in our old house has a stone floor and is the easiest room to clean. It's also the room furthest away from the bedrooms, and Anna and I had taken throwing up, teething, ear-aching or otherwise unwell little boys there in the middle of the night, in the days before any of them knew what alcohol was. I hadn't tried picking Mark up for several years and I wasn't at all sure I could still do it. It took several tries, since he was as tall as I was and completely limp now he was asleep, but once I managed to gather up several yards of trailing arms and legs he was lighter than I expected. I carried him into the mud room, laid him on the sofa on his side and pulled the blanket over him. And sat down in the armchair nearby, prepared for the fact I'd be dozing rather than sleeping for the rest of tonight.

All in all I came to the conclusion that this was a first time experience, on the list of many that come with having children, that I could have well done without.

*

I was woken at some point by the sound of bare feet on the kitchen tiles and the creak of the door. My youngest son's head peered cautiously around the edge of it. When he saw me awake he padded over and climbed into my lap, pyjamaed and still warm from his bed. It was more or less dawn outside. Tobe, who is still young enough to wake at first light and expect the day to start on cue, cuddled up, glad to find someone out of bed as the family's first words to him in the morning tend to be a uniformly unwelcoming: 'Toby, I'm trying to sleep!'

Little, smelling freshly of soap from his bath last night and bestowing on me one of his hugs which are given with real commitment and purpose, he was an extremely comforting presence. I hugged him back with deep appreciation and tried not to think too wistfully of Mark at the same age.

"Is Mark ill?" Tobe said softly, looking at his brother who was still breathing heavily under his blanket.

"Yes." I said, not trying to explain. "When everyone's awake I'll take him upstairs to bed."

"He smells funny." Tobe commented.

I was prepared to agree. Mark was breathing more or less pure ethanol, and the room's atmosphere by now was probably combustible. Tobe nudged his head under my chin like a puppy demanding attention.

"I'm hungry now. I woke up because I was hungry."

It was quite reassuring to be handed a need that I felt competent to deal with. I put him down and hauled myself out of the chair with one final look at Mark. He had slept quietly for nearly five hours; I thought he was safe to leave. Tobe pattered after me into the kitchen, looking distinctly hopeful as I got out the frying pan.

"If we make pancakes," I asked him, looking for eggs, "how many people do you think we'll get out of bed?"

We made pancakes. In a family our size it isn't often that I get to have one of the boys to myself and after a night spent fretting over Mark, Toby's enthusiastic chatter was a better lift than any caffeine. Tobe opened the kitchen door towards the stairs and the wafting scent speedily brought Jack down in his pyjamas, followed by Dan. Jose, being sixteen, is currently a good deal harder to wake in the mornings. Anna, by virtue of her position, is entitled to breakfast in bed on the rare occasions we make it downstairs ahead of her and once the boys were settled and eating I took a tray upstairs, leaving Dan in charge.

Anna was awake and sat up when she saw me, moving over to make room. Given half a chance she migrates to the middle of the bed and spreads out. For a slender woman she can cover an amazing amount of space when she feels so inclined.

"How is Mark?" was the first thing she said to me. I kissed the face she lifted to me and sat on the bed beside her, putting the tray between us.

"You heard us?"

"I came down about two hours ago." Anna said matter of factly. "You were both asleep and I didn't want to wake you."

"He came in reeling." I said dryly. "Thank God for Duncan's brother. He was sober and he drove Mark home. He's still asleep; I'd think he will be for a few hours yet."

Anna didn't comment although she poured herself a cup of tea and looked at me over the rim as she sipped.

"I have done it myself." I said heavily. "Although I wish I hadn't. And it is only experience that teaches when enough is enough."

Anna continued to watch me.

"And he's eighteen." I went on. "This is an inevitable aspect of college; it was bound to happen sooner or later."

Anna still continued to watch me.

We had, admittedly, kept Mark and the rest of our boys more sheltered than most boys their age. At a time when most of their peer group were out in the evenings hanging around the streets we had resolutely stayed the meanest parents in the neighbourhood and insisted they hung around family homes if they had to hang: either ours or their friends', and we wanted to know their friends and their families too. We minded a lot about what they were exposed to and at what age, and our three eldest had never really shown evidence of finding our limits restrictive. Mark was part of a small group of close friends, none of whom were interested in the wilder social opportunities. Jose was by nature a homebody who preferred us and his brothers for company, and it had taken persuasion on Anna and Mark's part to get him to join the one or two school clubs he did belong to. And Dan had to be pried out of a book to socialise with the family never mind anyone else, although he had his friends at school. Jack was the one I was prepared for future difficulties with, since he was happily sociable with anyone he met and not given to thinking before he plunged into whatever seemed like a good idea at the time; but at only ten, he wasn't old enough to be away from us that much anyway. Mark going to college had been the biggest family separation so far, even though he'd chosen to continue living at home. We'd fully expected him to join in the college social life, we wanted him to enjoy it, and there had been no curfews or restrictions of any kind on him at home for the best part of a year, simply because they weren't needed. We trusted Mark unreservedly. He was no plaster saint, but he was a sensible, level headed boy, who'd proved to us time after time that he entirely deserved our confidence. The fact that I seriously hated seeing him drunk did nothing to change that.

"It's the first time." I said eventually. "And it's Mark. This is an experiment, not a habit."

"Yes," Anna said at last, sipping tea. "I don't like it either, but as a one-off I think it's something we probably need to put up with quietly. I can't see Mark doing this more than once."

She was right. If I knew our Mark, he'd be mortified once he was sober.

Mark woke up while Anna helped the boys clean up the kitchen after breakfast. Anna got him to take a couple of Paracetamol and a glass of orange juice and he stumbled upstairs, more or less undressed and collapsed back into bed. With luck he would sleep off the worst of the hangover.

"Mark came home tight?" Dan inquired when I came back downstairs. "Cool."

Anna, who has limits to her tolerance, swung around and swatted him soundly across the seat of his jeans, but Dan only grinned at her and carried on washing up.

I was helping the little ones build a go-cart out of odds and ends they'd rescued from the wood shed, Anna's art junk in the garage, and a crate. It currently lacked wheels but they didn't seem to see that as a major disadvantage. Most of what I was doing was keeping a wary eye on the creative use of hammer, saw and nails, since the boys were on their honour to only work on the cart when Anna, Mark or I were watching them. They had their materials spread out on the floor of my workshop while I sanded off some planks I was preparing for tomorrow's job, I was listening to their chatter and it was a while before I saw Mark leaning against the doorpost, hands in his pockets, watching me.

He used to do it when he was small. Slip away from the others, sit down against the wall of the workshop and watch. I used to invite him over to help as I did with all the boys, explain what I was doing and teach him to join in. But it dawned on me fairly early with Mark that sometimes what he wanted was just to be there, on his own with me. Considering he was the first of a busy family, and that Anna's hands were often full with someone younger, needier and more demanding than him, I could understand. In many ways Mark was the least problematic or time intensive of all our children, and I hadn't always been convinced that that was a positive thing. I caught his eye now, saw the hangdog expression on his face and the way his face changed when I smiled at him.

"Dad," Jack sat back on his heels, putting the hammer down. "This isn't holding together. I can nail it but it's going to come apart if it's knocked or pulled."

"You might glue it," I suggested. "Or you can make corner posts with slots and set the cross planks in them to strengthen the frame."

"Is the glue strong enough?" Tobe asked doubtfully. I turned over the plank I was working on, blowing off the dust.

"The one in the yellow tube on the second shelf in the garage is. But if you want to use that then I need to help and you won't be able to touch where you've glued for twenty four hours."

Toby and Jack looked at each other for a minute, then Jack got up.

"May I get it?"

"Yes. Don't touch anything else on that shelf, and Jack you carry it please, not Toby."

"Yes Daddy."

Jack took off out of the door and across the lawn, leaving Toby trailing some way behind. The 'Daddy' was a giveaway: at ten he was starting to get too mature for that word and to copy the 'yes sir' his older brothers used, but when excited he tended to forget.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Mark, starting to work on the plank again. He looked still more sheepish but came over, picking up a second sanding block and starting on the opposite end.

"Better than this morning. Mum gave me some coffee. At least it stayed down."

"What were you drinking?"

"Beer." Mark said rather shamefacedly. "A lot of it. Dad, I'm really sorry about last night."

"You found a safe way home." I said mildly. "And you came home. That's the most sensible thing to do if you need help."

"I knew it was getting too much." Mark ducked his head over the sanding, not looking at me. "I started to feel out of it and I could feel I was having to think about talking clearly and walking it was an effort."

I went on working, listening without comment. It wasn't by any means the first independent encounter with alcohol that Mark had ever had: while we kept fairly tight tabs on what happened when the boys went out with friends I wasn't naive enough to believe he'd never encountered alcohol at parties or nights out, even if I'd never seen evidence of him drinking it. This was the first time he'd experimented in any serious detail, and he'd done it perfectly legally.

"I don't know why I kept on either." Mark paused, rubbing at a particularly stubborn knot. "Duncan didn't care if I did or not, he wouldn't have said anything if I stopped and he probably would have stopped too if I had. We just kept on. It wasn't even like I was enjoying it too much to stop. I mean it was ok, we were having a good time but I was doing it deliberately."

He paused and looked up, meeting my eyes, and gave me a rather wry smile.

"Like Jose gets I suppose. Wanting to see what happened."

"And what did happen?" I asked him. Mark grimaced.

"I don't remember much after Duncan called his brother. I didn't like it much."

"I didn't like it much either." I agreed, continuing to work. "You weren't a pleasant sight at one am. And Tobe wasn't impressed when he saw you around six this morning."

I saw the effect of that particular comment hit him like a mallet: he visibly flinched.

"I'm sorry." he said subduedly. "I'm really sorry Dad. It won't happen again."

"If this gets to be a habit, I'm going to get very unhappy about it." I said frankly, straightening up. Mark shook his head.

"It won't sir. It was one stupid night, I don't even know why I did it, but I won't let it happen again."

And that was our Mark. Careful, thoughtful, given to making painstaking decisions and following them. And worrying about things. He has a good conscience Mark; if anything, slightly too good. Anna was absolutely right. She usually was.

"We know you won't." I said gently. "You're eighteen, you didn't do anything technically wrong at all,"

"Just not exactly right or sensible."

"I think you handled it sensibly. You were with friends, in a safe place, you found a safe way home, you didn't endanger yourself or anyone else." I put the sanding block away and peeled off my gloves. "We could talk about the rights and wrongs of getting drunk, but I think you already know most of them."

"Are you " Mark hesitated, giving me a rather sideways look. "Are you upset about it?"

"Like I told you, I didn't like it." I said bluntly. "But we trust you to know what you're doing."

"That's what Mum said." Mark muttered, still sanding. Jack came in with the glue, Toby in hot pursuit, and I spent the next twenty minutes helping them put the go-cart frame together while Mark finished off the plank.

"That's it." I said when the last of the frame was set in place. "Make sure you don't touch it while it's wet or we'll be going to hospital to get your fingers unstuck again. That needs to be left alone for twenty four hours, Jack you'd better help Tobe work out how long that is. Put the glue back and wash your hands."

"Yes sir." Jack gathered up the glue, hopping on the spot. "Thank you for helping."

"Thank you." Tobe paused as he passed me, wrapping his arms around my neck in a tight and sticky hug which risked the conjoining of the two of us permanently. I returned it, swatted him gently on the seat of his overalls and watched him race across the lawn after Jack.

"I'm going to put those planks in the van," I said to Mark, "Give me a hand?"

We loaded them in silence, Mark climbed up onto the roof of the van to tie the tarpaulin down over them and I locked the workshop for the night. Mark dropped down to the ground as I came over, and gave me a sideways look, clearing his throat.

"I- I still don't feel very good about last night."

"I bet you don't." I said calmly. "I'm not sorry either."

Mark dug his hands into his pockets, looking upset and awkward.

"It wasn't a mistake, I wanted to do it. It was a stupid idea, I shouldn't have done it and I shouldn't have come home in that state. You shouldn't have had to deal with it and the kids should never have to see me like that... I feel awful."

"Then don't let it happen again." I dropped a hand on his shoulder, pushing him gently towards the house. "You're the one holding yourself responsible. Listen to what you're telling yourself."

Mark turned towards me again, stopping me on the lawn. "That isn't enough. I- I want that line to be there. I want you to put that line there."

"So you feel better about it?" I said quizzically. Mark shook his head.

"No. I'm old enough to take care of myself. And it isn't just to clear my conscience- well not altogether. I just want a line there in my mind because it's not ok, I don't want to do it again. Is is that using you? Do you mind?"

I looked at him speechlessly. I knew what he was asking. Mark flushed a little more darkly, shrugging his shoulders.

"I need the help to feel the right way about it if that makes sense. I know I'm old enough to take care of myself and I can't go on leaning on you forever-"

"Actually yes, you can." I interrupted. "I don't think I stop being your father at any point. Certainly no one ever told your grandfather he quit being responsible for me."

Mark gave me a wry smile that still asked. My quiet, level headed boy, always steadfastly trying to do the right thing and worrying that in some way he hadn't.

"This is something serious." He said awkwardly. "Or to me it is. I just know how I want to handle it. I don't want you and Mum to be ok about it. I'm not ok about it and I don't- I don't want to have to handle this by myself. Not something this big."

There was no doubting he was in earnest. And that left me in a dilemma I had never expected to be faced with. Except that simple request don't leave me on my own with this, it's too big went straight through me like a knife. He was eighteen, legally an adult, and yet in real life terms I knew that was nothing.

"That's fine Mark." I said gently. "Go on upstairs. I'll be up in a minute."

I'd said that to him so many times, but never before at his request.

Anna was in the kitchen, presiding over homework which was being written by Jose and Dan, while Toby, de-stickied and curled up in her lap, was listening to her reading The Wind In the Willows, which she was currently feeding him in instalments and which he was utterly enthralled by. The older two would never have admitted it but they were equally enjoying the daily chapter. Jack charged past, grinned at me and shot out of the door, football under one arm, which made it clear where he intended to spend the next half hour. Since reading aloud to him would probably involve a straitjacket, no one looked around or commented. All the family were therefore downstairs and accounted for, unaware and unsuspecting, and Mark had plenty of privacy.

He was sitting on the end of Anna's and my bed, chewing on a nail, and the look he gave me was the classic Mark-in-trouble look. Pure apprehension. Mark had never got the hang of defiance or temper; it just wasn't in his nature. I closed the door quietly and went to the wardrobe, opening it to take down the switch without wasting any more time. Mark got rather jerkily to his feet.

"How many do you think?" I asked, coming back to him. Mark looked for a moment at the switch in my hand, and his lips parted stickily. He licked them and cleared his throat as if his mouth was dry and gave me a very awkward shrug.

"I, er….I don't know? You always seemed like you just went on until I was sorry."

"You're already sorry." I pointed out. "I'm not the one with any doubts on that."

Mark gave me a still more awkward smile, fidgeting slightly.

"I never knew how you figured out when I'd come around to the right point of view anyway. I don't know sir. Really."

It was a plea not to have to be responsible as much as a denial of knowledge.

"All right." I told him gently. "It's all right Mark. But you have to accept my part of the bargain as well."

Mark looked up at me, distinctly alarmed.

"What?"

"That no one thinks any the less of you because of last night. There's a difference between 'wrong' and 'foolish'."

"A rod for the back of fools." Mark muttered, quoting to the carpet.

"He that loves his son." I quoted back, just as quietly. "Correcting; not punishing. There's a difference and you know the difference."

He did. He took another, slower breath and looked me in the eye for a minute, uncomfortable, nervous, but a good deal calmer. And then he turned his back and of his own volition unbuttoned his slacks, pushing them down almost to his knees and then awkwardly sliding his shorts down over his hips after them. His t shirt hung down over his pale backside, but as he bent forwards over the bed and spread his arms, taking his weight on the palms of his hands, it rode up to the small of his back. I pushed it a little higher, standing back to take my distance. He'd filled out in the last six months: his hips and legs were muscular, only a few curves left not yet squared off to angles and planes to give away that this was very newly acquired manhood.

"What's this for, Mark?"

Mark answered quietly, without hesitation.

"Being stupid with alcohol. Coming home drunk. Not making myself stop in good time."

"All right mate. Stand still."

One hip and knee jerked in response to the soft swick of the switch landing squarely and firmly across the full breadth of his seat. Mark hissed between his teeth and his back arched. I would never touch the boys with anything I hadn't first tried on myself. The switch is slender, flexible nylon and carries almost no weight behind it, but even lightly applied it bears a wicked sting. I waited, and after a minute he took a slow breath and his back lowered once more. Unlike Jose and Jack who find it a serious struggle to stand still, Mark didn't move after that, his head still ducked and parallel with his shoulders. I waited a minute, giving him time to think and for the smart behind him to do its work.

The older boys are often at their most stoic at the second stroke: there isn't the first shock of discomfort to be faced, this is when they grit their teeth and lock every muscle, and Mark took it without a sound or movement. Again I waited, and then I saw him twist his hips very slightly, shaking them from side to side as if the movement eased the sting. He stilled when I touched the switch against his bottom in preparation for the third stroke, and this time as it fell his bottom clenched tightly, his knees gave, and he eased them forward, resting his weight on his hands. I heard the deep, extremely rueful "AHhh " of discomfort, followed by him easing one knee back and forth, then the other in an effort to deal with the smarting. "Oah." He said very softly under his breath. "Ahhh." And then gradually he came back into position, settling once more. I waited.

Mark's face was screwed up now into a powerful grimace and he was breathing deeply and with serious control. He ducked his head, still not moving either hands or feet, but the slight movement of his hips and knees was becoming more apparent now and stilled only when he directly anticipated the next swat. Quietly, just as firmly, I applied a fourth stroke. Mark hissed again, his feet restless on the floor although he hadn't moved either, and I could see his fingers clenched tightly on the quilt. The tensing and movement of his back and shoulders spoke clearly of his struggle for self control and I could see the grimace on his face shaking slightly, and his jaw clenching. He was beginning to wrestle with watering eyes and worse, a mouth that was determinedly twisting awry as his breathing became more ragged. I knew my Mark: he'd hold on to it for as long as he possibly could.

"I never did know how you figured out when I was sorry," he'd told me. It was, in part, knowing every one of the boys well enough to know from their movements, their voices, their expressions, the difference when their emotions and what they were thinking began to change form. This time I wasn't waiting for defiance to turn into regret, or stubbornness to give way to thinking and listening. At the fifth I saw Mark's head duck and his shoulders start to shake as he lost the battle with tears. He was still now, and by the sixth he was crying freely, but the tension was finally gone out of him. With Jose and Jack, we spent a good deal of time trying to persuade them to think- sometimes with Mark the most effective point we could reach was when he stopped thinking. I rested a hand on his shoulders, rubbing gently.

"We're done."

He wasn't capable of answering aloud but he nodded. I put the switch away, leaving him the peace and quiet to straighten up, to put his hands extremely tenderly behind him and rub, and then to fumble his pants and trousers back into place. He was still fastening buttons when I came back to him, his head down, his face wet, his breathing difficult, but he turned and silently wrapped both arms around me. I hugged him, strongly enough to contain the last of his shaking, and he turned his head into my shoulder.

"Sorry."

"Enough now." I tightened my arms for a moment, then let him go and rested my hands on his shoulders. "Let it go."

He nodded, and this time he looked me in the eye, his own eyes bloodshot but calm.

*

"Everyone for what he likes!
We like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free-"

Anna raised her eyes from the book as I came into the kitchen, looking at me over Toby's head. I filled a glass with water at the sink and leaned against the counter to watch Dan and Jose still working, and Tobe watching the lines on the page as Anna read on. If she suspected anything she didn't comment.

I found Jack outside, playing an extremely fast and accurate game of keepy-uppy which he stopped at the sight of me, launching the ball straight in my direction with enough strength to break a window. I knocked it down and dribbled it round him as he charged across to tackle, legally for a moment and then by throwing his arms around my waist in an attempt to heel the ball away from me.

"Is Mark all right?" he asked when he'd won, pausing for a minute on the spot while he shifted the ball from foot to foot. "Mum said he drank too much last night."

Anna was not given to prevarication. This was something we were going to have to talk through at least to some degree with the other boys and I hadn't yet given any thought as to how, but Jack had already moved on, dribbling the ball rapidly around me in a circle.

Mark came down the steps into the garden, hands dug in his pockets, and Dan followed him. From the look he gave Mark he'd clocked the red eyes and I had no doubt Mark would be dealing with an interrogation there as soon as they were out of earshot of Anna and I, but for the moment Dan left him in peace.

"Mum says it's too hot to cook and she'll make a salad if you'll barbecue."

Mark turned a visible shade of green. I dropped a hand on his shoulder as I passed him to pull the grill out from where it leaned against the wall.

"Trust me, your mother won't let you skip another meal. Go grab a bag of charcoal from the garage, you'll feel better once you eat something."