Shrinking Ralph Perfect

by Chris D'Lacey

Ralph swallowed hard.

  Jack Bilt had arrived.

  A Knock-down Price

  ‘Hedges? Broom handles? Flashing lights? Ralph, you’re not making any kind of sense.’ Mrs Perfect threw an armful of clothes into the washing machine and set the dial with a determined twist.

  Ralph paced the kitchen and tried again. ‘But he did something, Mum. Mr Bilt, the builder. It was amazing. Kyle Salter ended up in a hedge.’

  Mrs Perfect sighed, matching the frequency of the steam cloud issuing from her iron. ‘Ralph,’ she said impatiently, flapping a shirt across the board, ‘throwing people into hedges is neither amazing nor pleasant, even if they are an obnoxious bully.’

  ‘But he didn’t, Mum.’

  ‘You just said he did.’

  ‘I know, but…’ Oh, it was hopeless, Ralph decided. How could he explain it when it didn’t make any sense to him, either? Jack Bilt had been standing a good ten yards away when Kyle had apparently taken off like a rocket and come to earth in a pile of twigs. Something must have moved him. Something with incredible strength. But what?

  A sudden bang from next door made Ralph lift his head.

  ‘That sounded like Annie’s cellar,’ said his mum, turning to look at the door to theirs.

  The hairs on the back of Ralph’s neck began to rise. Jack Bilt in Annie’s cellar. Why did Jack, in darkness, make him feel uneasy?

  ‘I expect it’s Mr Bilt, having a root around. Checking for damp. That kind of thing.’

  Checking, thought Ralph. That’s what I should do, check. He cracked his knuckles and headed for the door. ‘Going out, Mum.’

  ‘Not far. We’ll be eating soon.’

  No, not far, Ralph thought. Into next door’s garden, that’s all.

  Annie’s back gate was never locked to Ralph. Within seconds he was in her L-shaped garden, creeping past the tubs of flowering shrubs and the hosepipe that never ceased to spit and the bench he had helped to varnish last summer, up past the kitchen to the dining room window that Annie liked to open for a breath of fresh air.

  He was in luck. Jack was in the room with his back to the window. Knocker, tongue out and panting, was lying out flat on the blue oval rug in front of the sofa. Annie was pacing back and forth, wringing her gnarled old hands in dismay.

  ‘But I’ve never had a moment’s trouble, Mr Bilt.’

  ‘My sympathies,’ said Jack, who sounded more smug than sympathetic to Ralph. ‘It’s like a sleeping sickness, my dear. Creeps up slowly, then you’re engulfed. It wiggles up your brickwork and spreads across your ceilings. Saw a whole ring of these poking out of someone’s chimney pot once.’ He twiddled a mushroom in his fingers. ‘Fungus: starts in the damp, dark places. Cellars. Toilets. Drains. Shoes. Spreads like a fog. Checked behind your washing machine lately, have you?’

  ‘Oh,’ went Annie, beating her chest. ‘This is terrible. Just when I was thinking of selling the house.’

  Jack put the mushroom into his pocket. ‘Of course, that’s not the end of it,’ he said, with a grin so oily it could cure a mouse’s squeak. He stamped a heel on the polished wooden boards. The thump so startled Ralph that he lost his footing and dislodged a plant pot of fuchsias from a stand. The pot fell with a thud onto softly-turned soil. Another centimetre either way and it would have smashed to pieces on a border-stone.

  Knocker was quickly on his feet and growling. Jack hadn’t heard the shuffle outside, but his strange little guard dog had. Letting his twitching nose do the leading, Knocker padded towards the open window. Ralph was about to cut away and run when Jack rasped quietly, ‘Git down, Knocker,’ and stamped the boards once more. ‘Do you hear them?’ he asked.

  Annie clutched her blouse to her throat in terror.

  ‘Worms,’ hissed Jack.

  The old dear’s eyes almost popped from their sockets.

  ‘Worms that likes to eat wood, my dear.’

  ‘No,’ said Annie, cocking her head.

  ‘Takes an experienced ear,’ said the builder. He grabbed hold of the rug and whisked it aside. ‘If we was to take up a board,’ he said, ‘the proof would be there in the joists, in the pudding.’ He pulled a jemmy from inside his jacket. ‘Do it for you, but the back’s playing up. Old injury, rescuing the dog.’ He handed the tool to Annie.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘It’s easy,’ snapped the builder, eyes shrinking to points. ‘Wedge it in a gap and put your weight on it.’

  To Ralph’s horror, Annie did.

  With a snap, and another, a board sprang loose, throwing a rusty brad across the room.

  Meanwhile, out of sight of Annie, but not of Ralph, Jack Bilt ordered Knocker into position, then twiddled the strange contraption on his wrist. Ralph saw it clearly: two touches on the red knob, one on the green. Almost immediately, a cloud of fine dust began to pother upwards from the gap in the floor.

  ‘Tut, tut. Worse than I thought,’ said Jack. He kicked the board fully out of position and a firework of wood motes shot into the air. ‘Look at them go,’ he whooped, dancing like a man from the backwoods of America. ‘More holes than a Swiss cheese. They’re chewing it to bits. They’re gobbling it up!’

  ‘Oh, oh, oh,’ wailed Annie. ‘I’ve lived here for sixty-seven years. I never knew. Rot and woodworm. Insects and fungi. I can’t leave now. Who will give me ninety thousand pounds for this?’

  Jack tapped her on the shoulder. ‘In stormy times, there’s always an umbrella in the rack.’ He spat on his palm and held it for her handshake. ‘Give you fifty thousand – cash.’

  A Strange Discovery

  And so the deal was done. Within a fortnight, Annie had packed up and gone and the house next door was no more than a shell, stripped of its furniture (bar an old sofa), awaiting the arrival of the builder, Bilt.

  He didn’t come immediately. There was a gap of nearly a week, in fact, between Annie’s departure and Jack’s moving in. And when he did come, the moment was very low key. No removal vans pulling up outside, just the battered white van (still minus one wiper) that Ralph had spotted that first afternoon. Ralph was in the front room, following the afternoon football results, when headlights panned across the TV alcove and there was a slight crunch of wood, as if someone had clipped next door’s gatepost with their bumper. He leapt up at once and saw Jack’s van pulling onto Annie’s drive. Annie’s ex-drive. He must get used to that.

  ‘Mum, he’s here,’ he announced, watching the builder reverse and re-park, this time knocking over a plastic flower urn that Annie had left as a ‘housewarming’ present. Her good intentions were wasted on Jack, who made no attempt to right it again as he stepped out, slamming his driver’s door shut. He flicked a lit cigarette butt onto the lawn, then moved round and opened the van’s rear doors, tossing them aside like an old pair of curtains. Ralph felt a growing sense of anxiety as he watched the builder haul out a cardboard box that contained what appeared to be kitchen utensils. A tower of saucepans wobbled and clanked and a lid went crashing towards the ground. A doggy yelp suggested that Knocker had felt the full weight of it.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ said Penny, coming in. She glanced at the envelope balancing on top of the mantelpiece clock. She took it down and handed it to Ralph. ‘Go on, and ask him if he’d like a cup of tea.’

  Ralph turned the envelope through his hands. Inside it was a ‘new home’ card, saying: Welcome to Midfield Crescent from your new neighbours, Ralph and Penny Perfect. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. Ralph had squirmed when he’d seen the message, and nearly died when he’d been forced to add his signature to that of his mum’s. And now, against his better wishes, he had to ‘pop round’ and pretend to be pleasant – to a man who dropped saucepan lids on his dog and didn’t even stop to check if it was hurt.

  ‘Can’t you do it?’ he asked, his toes curling up like pebbles. ‘I don’t like him, Mum. He gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Oh, Ralph.’ Mrs Perfect glanced throug
h the window as if she might be checking that Jack wasn’t listening. The builder was nowhere in sight.

  ‘He does, Mum. He’s weird.’

  ‘No, Ralph. He’s new. New and different. Why don’t you like him?’

  Ralph gave an awkward shrug. ‘He’s got this kind of gadget on his wrist.’

  ‘It’s called a watch, Ralph. Lots of people have them.’

  ‘No, Mum. It’s special. He does things with it.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Ralph was forced to admit, fumbling to stay on the left side of logical and the right side of embarrassed. ‘I think he controls Knocker with it.’

  Mrs Perfect looked at the ceiling. ‘Come on,’ she sighed, reclaiming the card. ‘We’ll both go round.’

  And half a minute later, there they were.

  It hadn’t occurred to Ralph that until that moment Jack Bilt had not set eyes on his mother. But he soon became acutely aware of that fact the moment the door to Number 9 swung open. The builder’s weedy body gave a surprised start. His mean grey eyes grew big and round. It was a horrible, horrible realisation.

  Jack fancied his mother.

  That scared Ralph. Big time.

  But then, who could blame the builder? For Penelope Jane Perfect was a charming woman. She didn’t have the looks of a pop singer or an actress, and she didn’t dress in fancy clothes or wear a lot of make-up. A denim jeans and sweater girl, that was what she called herself. A ‘girl next door’ type, some might say. But her smile was as wide as the ocean was deep, and when it lit up her face, her green eyes sparkled like sunlight dancing on a newly-formed frost. It had melted Jack in a jumping flash.

  ‘Hello, I’m Penelope – Penny – from next door.’ She fixed a raft of mousy brown hair into her clip. ‘This is Ralph, my son, who I think you’ve met.’

  She tousled Ralph’s hair and extended a hand. Jack held it as though it were a piece of lettuce, kissing it with a smoochy smack. ‘Enchanted,’ he said, leaving a droplet of slobber on her knuckles. ‘Mesmerised. Bowled.’

  Penny’s mouth formed into a rather weak smile. She wiped her hand clean on the waistband of her jeans. ‘Thank you,’ she said, covering her throat as if she’d spotted a cobra. ‘Erm, we just wanted to say hello and give you this.’ She elbowed Ralph. He handed out the card.

  ‘Most gracious,’ said Jack, pocketing the card without a second glance. His eyes hadn’t left Penny’s face for an instant.

  ‘Well, we’d better not keep you,’ she laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ve got hundreds of things to be doing.’ She backed away, miming juggling movements. ‘If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. Come along, Ralph.’

  ‘Hundreds,’ Jack said, when they were halfway down the path.

  Ralph bumped to a halt at his mother’s back.

  ‘Pardon?’ she said.

  ‘And thousands,’ Jack added. ‘Need some of those.’

  ‘Hundreds and thousands?’ Penny repeated.

  Jack licked his lips with a paper-thin tongue. ‘Sugary beads. All the colours of the rainbow. Very tasty. Very sustaining.’

  Penny looked at him oddly. ‘Are you making a trifle?’

  Jack’s eyes dipped. ‘Find them a valuable food source,’ he said, in a whisper so sinister that Ralph shuddered hard and almost lost his balance. Knocker, sitting just behind Jack, growled. ‘Like a spoonful or two in my tea.’

  A sprig of hair worked loose over Penny’s brow. She blew it, half-heartedly, making it dance. ‘Well, yes, I think I have a tub in the pantry.’

  ‘And scrubbers,’ said Jack, making scrubbing movements.

  Penny thought for a moment. ‘You mean scouring pads?’

  ‘I do,’ said Jack. ‘Soft on the one side, wiry on the other.’

  Penny smiled a little uncomfortably. ‘Yes, I’ve got a new pack under the sink. I’ll send Ralph round with them in a few minutes.’

  Minutes, thought Ralph and glanced at Jack’s wrist. The device was covered by the builder’s sleeve. This was his chance. While Mum could see. ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh?’ Jack grunted.

  ‘Have you got the time, please?’ Ralph repeated.

  There was a pause, then his mother guessed what he was up to. ‘Oh, pay no attention to Ralph, Mr Bilt. He knows the time; he just wants a closer look at your watch. He thinks it’s some strange science-fiction device that allows you to remotely control your dog!’

  ‘How comical,’ said Jack, smiling limply. And yet his hand spread guardedly over his wrist.

  ‘Books,’ said Penny. ‘That’s his trouble. Reads too many books.’

  ‘Why does it blink so much?’ asked Ralph, who felt there was no harm in reading lots of books. It made you inquisitive. It helped you learn. It made you want to challenge a dubious character like Mr Jack Bilt of Midfield Crescent.

  Jack lifted his sleeve. Ralph locked his gaze firmly on the device. Not diamonds. Pyramids. He’d misread the shape of the flashing ‘jewels’. But not the colour. One green one (lit). One red one (not). And round the side of the casing a few buttons and keys. What did they do, though? What did they do?

  ‘It’s a particle displacement device,’ said Jack.

  Penny Perfect spluttered with laughter. Knocker whimpered and tapped his stick. Ralph moved back half a pace.

  Jack crept forward like a creature of the dark. ‘If I so desired,’ he said, ‘I could wobble his molecules and shrink him to the size of half my thumb. Would he be more use to you like that, my dear?’

  He turned the device in Ralph’s direction. An aerial slid from the side of the casing. The red pyramid lit. The green one flickered. Figures flashed across the silver dial. A surge of fear made Ralph cry, ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, Ralph,’ laughed Penny. ‘He’s teasing you.’

  Jack tapped a button.

  Ralph covered his face.

  There was a beep – and Jack said: ‘At the third stroke, it will be ten past six.’ He pointed to the dial. Floating at its centre were the numerals 18:10. Ten past six. The right time, more or less.

  Penny Perfect hooted with laughter.

  Ralph crossed his arms and felt completely humiliated. So, Jack Bilt had a black sense of humour. Ralph hated him all the more for that.

  ‘We really must go,’ said Penny, ‘just in case you’re telling the truth, Mr Bilt!’

  ‘Jack,’ he said, with piano keys for teeth.

  Penny crouched down and coochied Knocker. ‘Is that how you got so little, eh? Did your molecules get a bit wobbled?’ The little Jack Russell jerked in surprise. Not used to kindness, thought Ralph. But the dog was responding to his mother’s touch, nuzzling her palm, seeking the affection.

  ‘Such a shame about his leg,’ she said.

  ‘He gets by,’ said Jack, without a shred of compassion.

  Ralph glanced at the missing ‘digit’ and his heart took its biggest, most fearful leap yet. For what he’d assumed to be a chewed-off stump, a piece of doggy gristle left hanging in place by the jaws of a machine, was nothing of the kind. It was…

  He was leaning in for a closer look when Jack slapped a hand to his chest and said, ‘Knocker wants feeding. Time you was off.’

  Ralph stared into the builder’s needle-quick eyes. Too late, you know I’ve seen it, he thought.

  There was a leg on Knocker.

  There was.

  It was shrivelled to the size of half a thumb.

  A Plumber Calls

  The next morning began with an argument.

  ‘Well, I don’t know which is worse,’ said Penny, spreading marmalade around with such slap and such dash that Ralph had to lean back on his stool to avoid being splattered with slapdashed spots. ‘It’s either disabled or a mutant. Which would you prefer?’

  Disabled or a mutant? The thought was enough to make Ralph shrivel. ‘You don’t understand, Mum. Jack said Knocker’s leg had been chopped by a machine. But it hasn’t. It’s there. It’s just wither
ed up. That means he was lying.’

  Mrs Perfect gave a maternal sigh. ‘Ralph, it really doesn’t matter how the poor animal came to be in that state, it just is. What it needs is love and affection, like any living creature. The fact that Mr Bilt bothers to keep it at all is a sign that he’s got a caring heart.’

  Poink. A plate of toast arrived on the table with all the heat of a spacecraft re-entering the thin kitchen atmosphere.

  Ralph felt it was time to make his point. He had his Star Trek pants on; he went for it, boldly: ‘Unless he miniaturised it with his special watch and he’s got to keep Knocker so that no one will discover his wicked secret!’

  Penny Perfect placed a hand to her forehead. There was marmalade on her fingers and now in her hair. (Ralph didn’t have the heart to tell her.) ‘Oh yes, silly me. How could I have missed the obvious option? Mr Bilt is really an evil scientist, so dastardly that he’s prepared to carry out hideous experiments on his dog!’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Ralph, pleased they were getting somewhere at last.

  Prok. A mug of tea followed the toast to its landing site. ‘I was joking,’ his mother said darkly.

  ‘But—’ Ralph started, when the doorbell rang. He reluctantly decided to save his jaw for the other important purpose of the morning: breakfast.

  Mrs Perfect headed for the door.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ came a breezy male voice. ‘I’m after your neighbour. Would you know if he’s about?’

  Ralph was off the blocks quicker than an Olympic sprinter.

  ‘You mean Mr Bilt?’ asked Penny, anticipating Ralph’s arrival with a well-timed, well-placed palm to his forehead, buffering him like a troublesome toddler.

  ‘That’s it,’ said the man, smiling at Penny’s handling of Ralph. ‘Dangerous is he, if he gets out?’

  Embarrassed, Ralph glared at the man. He was tall and handsome and probably quite muscular, though it was difficult to tell through his dark-blue boiler suit. He had his hands in his pockets and a tabloid newspaper under one arm. By his feet was a metal toolbox. He was a workman of some kind. In the building trade, perhaps? That set Ralph’s nerves tick-ticking again. Was the visitor a mate of Jack’s? Another member of the evil gang?