‘You’ll be all right now, my pet,’ she whispered to him, and she kissed him softly on his forehead. I felt so sorry for poor Rick, so I sat with him until it was supper time. He was asleep when I left him.
It was strange being in the nursery alone, but I knew Janie was only a few yards away so I wasn’t afraid.
When I went in to see Rick in the morning he looked much better. It was a great relief, Mummy said. And the day after that he looked better still. The pimples seemed to be going down a bit, they said, and that was a very good sign.
Mummy was especially glad because she had to go up to London to see her publishers or something, and she’d been worried about leaving him. She didn’t need to, though – worry about him, I mean – not with Janie there.
Anyway, Rick got on so well that it wasn’t long before he was able to come downstairs. He couldn’t run about yet – he still looked a bit pale – but he was so much better. It was at that time that we had a little party for his birthday. That was a lot of fun. We didn’t play any moving-about games, but we played other games where you can sit down all the time, so it was all right. Rick looked happy then, and laughed, too. I remember I asked Janie to do some of her magic tricks, but she was too shy to do them with Mummy there. It’s a shame because I know Mummy would have liked to see them.
The next day Mummy asked Rick if he’d be all right if she went away for a couple of days. He told her he would. She was glad about that and she phoned her publisher and said that she could get up to see him after all.
As London was a long way, Mummy was going to set off on the Monday and come back home on the Wednesday morning. It would just be the two nights that we’d be without her. ‘Janie will look after you,’ she said.
The night after Mummy had left for London, Rick slept in the nursery again. He wasn’t afraid this time, though. It seemed that the grasshoppers, as he called them, didn’t bother him anymore.
As a special treat, before we went to sleep, Janie did some more tricks for us. This time, instead of money, she used some of Rick’s little toys – some of his tiny farm animals. He really laughed a lot. Mind you, she was clever. I wish Mummy could have seen it.
I don’t know what time it was when I woke up, I just remember hearing a sort of scream coming from Rick’s bed – or perhaps that was a part of my nightmare, too. It’s all very mixed up, but I have a sort of picture of Rick sitting up in bed and brushing like crazy at his body. The room was all full of moonlight and I thought I saw, just for a second, a big fat shape kind of hop away. No, no, it didn’t really hop, I don’t think – it just looked as if it was trying to hop. I think I put on the light – I’m not sure – but it seemed very bright all of a sudden. Or maybe I was still asleep – yes, I think I was, because that’s the time when I thought I saw it – this big fat grasshopper kind of thing. It was enormous, but the body wasn’t green at all – not like Rick said. It was red – like the colour of blood. Then I was screaming as well. As I said, it’s very mixed up, because then I can just remember Janie leaning over me – putting her arms around me, soothing me. The light was off and there was no sound at all from Rick’s bed.
‘You had a bad dream,’ she whispered to me. Oh, I was so glad to hear her voice; I’d really been frightened for a minute. ‘You probably ate too much cake,’ she said. ‘Go back to sleep now. Try to go to sleep.’
‘I thought I saw – ’ I started to shout a bit and she put up a finger to my lips.
‘Ssshhhh. Don’t speak so loud. You’ll wake Rick.’
I looked over at Rick’s bed and saw that he was sleeping very soundly. I whispered into Janie’s ear, ‘I was so scared. That’s all the talk about his nightmares.’ I was holding on to her hand very tight. ‘Stay with me till I go back to sleep, will you?’ I said.
‘Of course, my pet. Of course I will, darling.’
The next day Rick had got his pimples back. He looked awful. Janie tried to get him to eat some breakfast, but he just shook his head. He looked so pale, poor thing, especially next to Janie’s skin – her cheeks were so red.
He stayed in bed all day and he looked worse than I’d ever seen him before. I didn’t have any nightmares at all that night, and I woke up feeling very good the next morning. That was until I looked over to Rick’s bed. He wasn’t in it, and all his sheets and blankets were tangled and pushed to one side.
Then I saw him.
My heart started bumping like mad and my stomach felt very funny. I think I screamed, sort of – anyway, I know I kept on saying his name:
‘Rick! Rick! Oh, Rick . . . !’
See, he was lying on the little mat between our beds. His pyjamas were all twisted round – almost off – and I could see the little bumps all over his body. They were everywhere. He’d probably scratched himself a lot, because I could see tiny smears of blood on his white skin.
I called out for Janie, then I jumped out of bed and knelt down by him. I put my arms around him. He was so cold. I started to talk to him like I’d heard Mummy and Janie talk to him: ‘All right, my pet. All right, my darling. It’s all right now. Caro’s here.’ He didn’t look at me at all. His eyes were shut. He didn’t move. I couldn’t even feel him breathing. And still Janie didn’t come. In the end I had to go and fetch her.
It was very hard to wake her. I had to keep on shaking her and shouting at the same time. When at last she woke and got up she looked all kind of heavy and puffy, the way some people do when they get up in the mornings.
I watched her as she looked at him, and I saw how her face went. Then she told me to put my dressing-gown on and go downstairs.
Rick was dead, you see. But I didn’t know that until Janie told me later on. I’d never seen anyone dead before, and I remember wondering if they all looked that way.
All the days straight after that are very hazy. I’ve got all sorts of pictures in my mind. Things like Mummy standing in the front doorway, screaming and screaming, and later on crying all the time, and Janie trying to comfort her. There were doctors and other people coming to the house. They took Rick away somewhere. I can see myself wearing this black coat and standing next to my mother while they put this box into the ground. Rick was inside the box – I know it was true, but I could hardly believe it, because I thought about all those times when we played together. I loved my Rick even though he was a boy, yet now I can hardly remember what he looked like.
I can remember Janie, though. She was a real godsend then when my mother was crying all day long. Janie used to tell her not to cry. My mother would keep saying things like: ‘Why? Why? Why?’ Once I heard the doctor saying that Rick was a ‘nemic’, whatever that is. I probably haven’t remembered everything properly – as I said – it all got very jumbled.
It seemed to be absolutely ages before things settled down again. Mummy was different somehow, but I started to do the things I used to do – like my games and things. It wasn’t the same without Rick, though. It was a bit lonely without him. It felt as if there was something missing. Still, Janie was extra nice to me from then on, and she helped to make up for it. In the end I didn’t think of him nearly as much.
I had the nursery to myself now, and Janie still slept in her own room with the door wide open, so I could always call her if I wanted to.
I started to have fun again. In a way I liked having Janie all to myself, too. When she did her tricks now she’d do them just for me.
‘Do your tricks, Janie,’ I’d say.
‘And what will you give me if I do?’ she’d say.
I used to say, ‘Now, let me think.’ and I’d offer her just about anything she wanted of all my toys. It was a kind of game we’d play, you see – but she used to say no to everything. Then I used to say: ‘Well, Janie, the only thing I’ve got left is a kiss,’ and she’d say, ‘Well, that’s just what I want,’ or something like that. Then we used to laugh, and I’d kiss her, and then she’d do
her tricks.
Oh, that Janie – you should have seen her. You should have seen the way she made those things happen! Pennies came out of her ears and her nose – they just seemed to fall out into her hand. Oh, I did love her so.
Everything seemed to be all right then. Except that later I think I caught what Rick had before he died.
I got up one morning and started scratching my leg. When I looked I saw this funny little lump there, like a big pimple, but not quite like a pimple. There was a tiny smear of blood there too. I told Mummy, and she seemed very worried.
The bumps got worse. The doctor came and looked at me a lot, but he just shook his head and I could tell that he didn’t know what was the matter. I started to feel very funny – kind of weak. At the beginning I used to count the lumps, but in the end I had to stop; there were so many of them. Then Janie left and after that I got better.
I don’t know why she left, but she did. Suddenly she just wasn’t there one morning. I asked Mummy where Janie was, and Mummy told me that she’d gone and she wasn’t coming back and that I’d better forget about her. She said to me, ‘Janie’s gone now, and you won’t be seeing her again. You must put her right out of your head. Forget all about her.’ I can remember Mummy’s words so clearly because that whole night – Janie’s last night – was funny in a way.
I had gone to sleep and I must have woken up again – scratching, or something. Anyway, I got up and went to Janie’s room. I can remember stepping on some things on the carpet – funny-feeling things that felt – oh, funny under my bare feet. As I got to Janie’s bed the moon came out all bright. I looked at Janie and then I went to get Mummy.
‘Oh, what is it, darling?’ Mummy said when I woke her up. I remember how sleepy she sounded. She put the light on and I pulled her hand.
‘Come and see Janie, Mummy,’ I said to her. ‘She’s so clever. She’s so funny.’
Mummy said, ‘Oh, go back to sleep, dear,’ but I wanted her to come and I pulled her hand harder. She sat up then and started to get out of bed. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’re going back to sleep. You’re not well, young lady.’
‘Yes, but you must look at Janie first,’ I said. ‘She’s doing her tricks.’
‘What do you mean, she’s doing her tricks?’ she said, but I just took her hand and pulled her along the landing into Janie’s room. Mummy put on the light.
Oh, that Janie and her tricks! She was so clever! She couldn’t stop doing her tricks even in her sleep. Even as we looked at her we saw this funny thing like a big grasshopper coming out of one ear. She kind of made it wriggle too. It was green and had a long, fat, funny-looking body. Then I saw a long feeler-like thing come out of one nostril, then a head followed it, then the body. One came out of the other nostril too. They were all over the place.
I remember I just stood there staring. Then Janie yawned – or pretended to yawn – and I saw this big green thing inside her mouth that poked its head over her lip and then came right out. Then my mummy started screaming and then, of course, Janie woke up.
Now it’s all boring again.
CERA
Ah, yes. Now the fire is taking hold, the flames are growing stronger. The sound of the ocean is quite drowned. When the flames are high enough and fierce enough I shall call the fire brigade. But not yet. Not till the fire’s completely out of control. I can’t take the chance of the firemen finding anything . . .
It’s a shame about the beautiful house. Still, it matters little now. They won’t be needing it any more. I wonder whether Greg ever did . . .
Greg Marchant and I grew up in the same little seaside town. But although we lived right next door to one another we never really became close friends. It was only later, after we had separated and gone our own ways, that our lives became inextricably involved. But while we were there, growing up to manhood side by side, we were apart. What was established between us was a quiet, reserved friendliness, one that was acknowledged, as it were, from the other side of a room.
One factor – and perhaps the main one – that inhibited any close relationship was the great difference in our respective heights. When fully grown I stood a solid six-foot-four in my bare feet, and Greg an unfortunate five-foot-one. I am sure that, for him as much as for me, the mere mental picture of us side by side was enough to stop us even from walking down the street together. The only times we ever felt at ease in one another’s other’s company, as I recall, were the few occasions when we happened to meet down on the beach where we swam. There, in the water, the disparity in our sizes didn’t matter. Greg seemed more relaxed somehow, gaining a confidence which, on his own two feet, he seemed to lack.
He was a strange-looking young man – even without his lack of stature. With his large, fleshy lips and small teeth, his ears flat to his head, he looked most unprepossessing. Once, when I remarked to my mother on his odd looks, and how different was his appearance from that of his parents, she told me that he had been adopted by the Marchants when he was just a baby. Where he had actually come from she did not know. Anyway, Greg was always there, quietly in the background. Until I left home to work in London – then he faded completely. And it was soon after that that I met Cera and fell so hopelessly in love with her.
Our meeting was, in a way, like some awful Hollywood film cliché. Whilst walking down Regent Street one spring afternoon she cannoned straight into me, catching me such a hefty clout on the cheekbone with her forehead that I was momentarily thrown off balance. We clutched each other for a second, like dancers caught in the midst of a step, then she, recovering her balance and her dignity, gave her apologies. She had some grit in her eye, she explained, blinking frantically, the tears streaming down her face, and it had momentarily blinded her. Of course, it was a heaven-sent opportunity for me and I lost no time in demonstrating my prowess with the corner of a handkerchief.
Her eyes were dark and round, rather small but enigmatic and quite captivating. I removed the offending foreign body and then, with my handkerchief, she dried her tears. In her hand I noticed that she held a pair of sunglasses.
‘I had just taken them off to polish the lenses,’ she said. ‘Obviously I chose the wrong moment.’
She had a slight accent. It was almost as if her words were too carefully, too perfectly formed. I somehow had the feeling that perhaps she was Italian – perhaps she told me so – I can’t remember.
I can remember how beautiful she was, though. Very beautiful. And tall. Almost as tall as I. Some men avoid very tall women – understandable in many cases – but I’m sure they wouldn’t have avoided Cera . . . Cera . . .
‘It’s a beautiful name,’ I told her. ‘It suits you.’ I spoke like some lovesick teenager. When she told me her last name I reacted with surprise. It was even more unusual.
‘Tiidae,’ I said. ‘What kind of a name is that?’
She laughed in reply. ‘Don’t you like it? What can I do about it?’
‘You could change it,’ I said, laughing in return. ‘You could change it to Robertson, for instance.’
‘Your name wouldn’t happen to be Robertson, would it?’ she said.
I nodded gravely. ‘You really are very astute.’
I made up my mind then that I wanted to marry her. And I think I might have been successful had not Greg Marchant come once more upon the scene.
Desperately in love, I invited her to spend the weekend at my parents’ house by the sea. A village barbecue had been planned on the beach and I intended to make use of the festive atmosphere to help me in my proposal.
Everything was going well. With the villagers we sat around the fire on that warm, summer night, while the waves of the sea lapped gently just yards away. With the fading of the day Cera had taken off her dark glasses and now her bright eyes shone in the moonlight. She smiled at me, her lovely face framed by her thick, dark hair. I was deliriously happy. I watched her as she
rose to her feet, standing above me tall and statuesque like a goddess of ancient times.
‘I think, Carl, I would like to swim,’ she said, looking down at me. ‘Will you come?’
‘In a moment,’ I said. I wanted, for a while, the sheer pleasure of watching her from a distance; to bask in my proprietary glow.
She slipped the robe from her shoulders and stood there wearing a most becoming one-piece bathing suit. I could sense the eyes of the villagers turned towards her. Quite unaware, she smiled down at me. ‘Don’t be long, then.’ With the words, she turned to move away.
She stopped so suddenly a moment later, that I looked at once to see what or who had attracted her attention.
It was Greg Marchant.
Rather amused at first, I looked from one to the other as they stood there some feet apart in the glow of the fire. Then I looked at Greg’s face more closely. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he gazed up at her from his lower vantage point. Yes, I remember thinking, you might well look at her so adoringly! But there’s no chance for you, I’m afraid, my little friend!
When he came closer I got to my feet and made the necessary introductions. I fully expected that Cera would then make some polite excuse and continue to the water for her swim. But no, she stood there still, and suddenly, quite astounded, I saw the expression in her own dark brown eyes. Where I had expected to see amusement, tolerance, perhaps, I saw instead the reflection of Greg’s own adoration! They stood there gazing at each other, rapt, as if no one else existed for them.
It was just my imagination, I told myself. Such a thing couldn’t possibly be true! How could Greg Marchant, a mere five-foot-one, dream of ever making a match with Cera, who stood at least a foot taller? The idea was ludicrous! It was quite ridiculous.
But when I returned to London I came alone.
Two weeks later, still solitary in my flat, I read the newspaper clipping sent from home that told of the wedding of Mr Gregory Marchant and Miss Cera Tiidae. There was a wedding photograph, too. The top of his head came just to her shoulder.
This Is Midnight: Stories Page 7
