by Jane Rogers
“Yes.”
“But people have to make their own choices.”
“It’s not a choice, though, is it? If you grew up in a certain kind of society, you adopt its values.”
“You didn’t.”
“No. But I’m a freak.”
“Well, you might have a freakish child.”
Bryony laughed. “I might. Better not to have one, I think.” She put her mug in the sink and said goodnight. Caro waited in the kitchen till she heard Bryony’s heavy tread going from the bathroom to her bedroom. Then she went upstairs herself.
Caro dreamed she was driving along a straight empty road. The grassy countryside was flat on either side, stretching away as far as the eye could see. The bare road bisected it like a parting. There were no other cars. She pressed her foot down and the car leapt forwards along the road. She was going faster than the wind but nothing moved, there were no landmarks, simply more of the same scenery. It was like running on the spot. Then there was a dot in the distance, on the left side of the road. It grew bigger with incredible speed, she was whizzing towards it. She must slow down or she’d miss it. She took her foot off the accelerator and put it on the brake, and as the car slowed she could see now that it was a child, a toddler with a red woolly hat on. His back was to her, he was toddling along purposefully in the same direction as her, across that bleak empty landscape. She stopped next to him but he ignored her and kept on walking. She moved on and pulled up in front of him.
“I’ll give you a lift,” she called, and opened the passenger door. The child looked at her and climbed up on to the seat. He did not say anything. She leaned across to pull the door shut after him and felt his warm breath on her cheek. “Where are you going?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. She thought, he’s too young, he can’t talk yet. He sat leaning against the back of the seat with his legs stretched out straight in front of him. His feet in their little red shoes just reached the edge of the seat. He was tiny. He was wearing blue trousers and little white socks. He stared ahead through the windscreen, his hands clasped in his lap, and she started to drive again. On and on they went, and the scenery never changed. She didn’t know if they had been driving for minutes or days. The little boy sat still and never moved. But each time she glanced at him she felt a shock. He was so small. He’s getting smaller, she thought, and she tried to watch him as she drove. But she couldn’t see him getting smaller, any more than you can watch a plant growing. She was convinced he was shrinking.
He was staring at the glove box now, he was too low to see out of the window. But his clothes must be shrinking too, she thought, that’s not possible. His little red hat and shoes still fitted him.
But he was tiny now, his feet only reached to halfway across the seat, he was only about twelve inches tall. What if he vanishes? she thought. Oh no, he couldn’t, how silly. How silly I am. She felt relieved and pressed her foot down again. In the distance now she could see a big silvery building. It was the hospital. Not long now, she thought, they’ll soon see if there’s anything wrong with him. As the hospital grew bigger and nearer, she glanced again at the little boy and saw with horror that he was tiny. He was nestling in the crack at the back of the seat, he was smaller than a doll, he was no more than five inches long. Desperately she pressed on but she knew with an awful certainty that he would vanish before she got there.
She picked him up with her left hand and held him clasped in her palm. She could feel him shrinking by the second. Only one thing to do, she told herself, to make sure he’s safe. And she opened her mouth and put him inside, on top of her tongue. He’ll be quite safe now. Carefully she turned in through the wide hospital gates. She was so relieved that she had saved him. She jumped out and ran through the swing doors and over to a desk where a nurse in a white uniform sat waiting.
“It’s a baby,” she said, “he’s shrinking but I think he can be saved.” She put her fingers into her mouth to take him out – There was nothing there. He’d gone.
She cried and rammed her fingers down her throat. “I’ve swallowed – I must have swallowed him –” There was a bitter taste in her mouth, a dusty lumpy bitter taste of lemons and ashes dissolving, dissolving. . . .
The nurse looked at her calmly and smiled.
“You’ve got to get him out!” she screamed, and the nurse smiled and shook her head.
“I’m sorry we can’t help you dear,” she said.
Caro woke up covered in sweat, the bitter taste still in her throat.
Chapter 14
When Alan and Carolyn had been married for four years, Alan’s grandmother (Lucy’s mother) died, leaving him and Pamela £20,000 each. Everyone was surprised. Lucy and her mother had fallen out years before, and the children hardly knew her. She had lived alone, with a housekeeper and gardener, ever since her husband died of a heart attack thirty years before. To Lucy, her only child, she left nothing.
Coinciding as it did with Alan’s trainee appointment to the firm of Lark and Clarkson, Architects, back in the city where he was born, the money marked the beginning of a new era in Alan and Carolyn’s married life. Suddenly they zoomed up the social scale. Or rather, Alan bobbed back, to float again at that level from which (in his family’s eyes at least) Carolyn had dragged him down. They bought a house in the wealthy area to the south of the city some twenty miles away from their parents. It was “respectable semi-detached Victorian gothic”, according to Alan. A palace, Carolyn told herself, a dream house. The roof sloped steeply, and the front of the house was ornamented with mock-Tudor black and white beams. There were four bedrooms. In the back garden, the oval lawn was surrounded by beautifully tended flowering shrubs and bushes, giving complete privacy.
Alan lay on his back on the grass, hands clasped under his head, eyes closed. The sun was pleasantly warm on his skin. From the garden around him came murmurs of sound which were as soothingly constant as the sunshine. He could hear Carolyn reading a story to Annie, the words coming clear at certain points then fading back to a murmur, “UPjumped the troll . . . I want to eat you up. No! No! mmmm mm mmmm. . . .”
He could hear the constant rapid clicking of Meg’s knitting needles, and her erratic conversation with Christopher, who was lying on the grass at her feet, drawing. “What’s that, Chrissy?”
“It’s a rocket.”
Long pause.
“Ninety-two. Is it? That’s very good. Will you do me one to take home with me and put on the wall?”
Rustle of paper.
“Of – what?” Christopher’s serious childish voice, making that odd little pause between words, as if he still needed to think of them.
“Um – just a minute love – a hundred and ninety-four, good. Um, do one of your Mummy and Daddy for me, will you?”
Further away, intermittent, came the sound of Arthur’s clippers. He was having a go at the privet hen. The privet hen had been a joke ever since they moved in; a piece of topiary of which the house’s previous owner had been inordinately proud. Very quickly it grew ragged and dishevelled. Carolyn had had a couple of goes at it and made it into – well, more of a privet dodo than a hen. Now at her request Arthur tackled it, serious and silent as ever. Alan was glad he was busy. There was, even now, a strain between the two men.
“We must be going, Carolyn,” Meg raised her voice to interrupt.
“You’re sure you won’t stay for tea?”
“No love, we d rather get back before it’s late. Your Dad’ll want to pop down and see his blessed allotment before we go to bed anyway. We’ve had a lovely day, haven’t we Arthur? And I’ve got a piece of ham that’ll spoil if we don’t eat it tonight.”
“There’s plenty of food.”
“I know there is love, I know there is.”
Annie started to clamour for the story to go on.
“Stand up a minute, Christopher, and let me measure this.” The clicking stopped and Meg muttered to herself. “There’s a good boy – oh yes, that’s plenty long enough. Carolyn – ?
”
Carolyn stopped reading again.
“I’ll get this finished this week. Will you be coming over next weekend?”
“No, it’s all right Mum. He won’t need it for a bit if this weather goes on. Anyway, I’ll be seeing you before long. I think Alan’s got a weekend course coming up. Alan? Oh, is he asleep?”
Alan pretended to be. “I’ll find out when it is, anyway. I think it might be the week after next. I’ll bring the children over to see you then.”
“On the train?”
“Yes, if Dad’ll meet me at the station –”
“Of course he will. We shall look forward to that. Will you come and stay at Nana’s house, Chrissy? Well, let’s get ourselves sorted out.”
He heard the garden chair squeak and sigh as she heaved herself out of it.
“I’ll just give you a lift with these pots before we go.”
“Oh no, it’s all right Mum, leave them. I’ll do them later, it won’t take long.”
“Well at least I’ll get them into the kitchen for you, I can’t leave you with all this mess, can I Chrissy?”
Christopher didn’t reply, sensibly enough, thought Alan, and he listened to the clink of china and cutlery as the two women cleared the coffee cups and last few lunch things.
“It is nice,” Meg was saying, “to sit out here. Like being on holiday, isn’t it? It makes a lovely change, it’s so nice and private here. You couldn’t eat outside on our street, you’d have all the neighbours counting the peas on your fork. . . .”
Her voice and the rattle of pots faded away into the house, and he heard, close to, Annie’s uncontrolled chortle as she approached him with some wicked intent. He could hear her becoming still next to him, trying to decide how best to attack, and he grinned in readiness. Then she flung herself on to his stomach, squealing with delight, and he began to tickle her.
At last Meg and Arthur took their leave. Carolyn was just sitting down again, with her “thanks-for-putting-up-with-them-and-that-wasn’t-too-bad-was-it?” smile, when the doorbell rang. Alan raised his eyebrows and smiled at her. “What’ve they forgotten? Knitting needle? Spectacles? False teeth?”
“Alan!” She indicated Chris with a quick nod of the head, and ran up the garden to the house. He hoped they wouldn’t come back outside. It would be pleasant to lie and chat now, for a quiet half-hour or so, while the shadows lengthened over the lawn. He felt completely lazy and relaxed.
But then the sound of different voices came to his ears, and Carolyn called him from the french windows. “Alan! Al–an! Come on out,” he heard her say, “would you like a drink? Would you like a cup of tea, or something cold?” She stepped into the garden uncertainly, followed by two tall people. Mike and Sarah, he recognized suddenly. Mike and Sarah from the office. He jumped to his feet.
“What a nice surprise!” he cried, hurrying towards them.
Mike was laughing embarrassedly. ‘Thought we’d look you up – in your little Garden of Eden – hope we’re not intruding.”
“Of course not. Carolyn, let me introduce Sarah – and Mike. Mike’s the other half of my office, yes? You’ve heard me talk about him.” Mike pulled a face. “And Sarah, well, Sarah has an office all to herself.”
Sarah smiled charmingly at Carolyn. “Just shows you how much more important I am than them, doesn’t it?” she laughed.
“Come and sit down – come and sit down.” Alan ushered them down towards the table. He was surprised and rather flattered that they’d called. When he had found out that Mike lived in a flat he’d invited him to come and enjoy their garden any time, but without really expecting to see him. He was intrigued that Sarah was with Mike. He’d suspected them of having an affair for a while , but they had both kept their tracks well covered. Sarah, he seemed to remember, was married. After the routine admiration of children, garden, and so on, they began to chat about the office.
Carolyn came out and served them tea and cake. When they all had what they needed she turned her attention to Annie. “D’you want to wee, Annie-pod? Come here –” She felt the little girl’s knickers. “Annie! Why didn’t you ask me for the potty? Eh? Come on, leaky sieve, let’s go and find some clean ones.” She led her into the house. It wasn’t surprising, Carolyn thought, with all this coming and going. On the whole she was pleased with Annie’s progress on the potty, she seemed to have got the hang of it much earlier than Christopher had.
Annie trotted obediently beside her, chanting to herself, “Wanta-wee wanta-wee wanta-wee,” in a sing-song voice. Carolyn put her on the pot in the downstairs toilet, and laughed at her.
“Come on then, Miss Wanta-wee, get on with it.”
“Mummy wee,” demanded Annie imperiously, and Carolyn obliged her, listening for Annie’s echoing tinkle in the pot. It never failed.
“Good girl – who’s Mummy’s best girl?” She emptied the pot and gave Annie a hug. It was all so much easier, somehow, than it had been with Christopher. Annie was so solid and content, she was like a shiny red apple. Carolyn never experienced the same sort of anguished worry about her as she had with Chris. Annie buried her face in Carolyn’s shoulder. She was tired, Carolyn reflected, she’d missed her sleep that morning because of Mum and Dad. “Early bed for you tonight, my lady.” How warm and soft she was – and heavy too! Leaning their combined weight against the wall at the top of the stairs for a moment, Carolyn felt she would be content to stay there always.
I must go down, she thought, and meet Alan’s friends. She took a pair of pants from Annie’s drawer and hurried downstairs. Christopher was coming through the dining room, drawing book dangling from his hand.
“What’s the matter Chrissy?”
“Nothing,” he said despondently, and threw the book on the floor.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s up, Mr Moody?”
“I’m – sick – of – drawing,” he said. The way he paused between words made her smile, it made his speech seem foreign, an inadequate translation of his thoughts. She mimicked him with an Italian accent which always made him laugh.
“Ees–a – seek–a – of–a – drawing, ah? What shall we do?”
He wrapped his arms around her knees, grinning up at her. “Can we watch telly?”
“Can we watch telly please?” she said automatically, glancing out through the windows at Alan. They seemed to be deep in conversation.
“Pease! Pease!” crowed Annie. For Annie, “please” was a magic password, whose sure prospective effectiveness overwhelmed her with delight. As she said it she grinned from ear to ear, physically contorted by her joy into a sort of bow, arms out stiff behind her like someone about to fly. Carolyn laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll turn it on for you. But no touching the knobs, do you understand?” She left them side by side on the sofa, intent on a cartoon, and hurried out to the garden.
“Ah! At last,” Alan smiled at her. “Come and drink your tea, lass, it’ll be stone cold.”
Carolyn smiled and nodded to them, sitting down quickly.
“Johnson’s another one with his nose in the trough,” said the woman, who was talking to Alan. “Haven’t you noticed how often he takes his dear friend Councillor Waverly out to lunch?”
Alan smiled and shook his head. “I’m naïve, aren’t I?” he said. “Is it the same with all the council contracts we get?”
“Damn near,” said the man. “Waverly’s chairman of Housing and Benson’s chairman of Policy and Resources; and Benson’s like this –” he made an expressive gesture “– with Fielding. The whole thing’s rank, once you get down to details –” he laughed, “but I’m not selling the story until I’ve got a job with another firm.” He turned to Carolyn. “The corruption goes from top to bottom, like a cheese, you know. Did you know what a nasty business your husband’s got himself into?”
Carolyn smiled, sipping at her tea and putting it down because it was, in fact, cold. “I thought he was designing better places for people to live.”
They laughed, alth
ough she had not meant it as a joke.
“Are you going away on holiday this year?” the woman asked her.
Carolyn was aware that the woman was making conversation with her. She stood up.
“Yes, we’re going to St Davids. I’m just going to add some hot water to this tea.” She made her escape from the table, boiled the kettle and looked in on the children. When she returned with her teapot, Alan waved it aside.
“Why not have a proper drink?” he asked the visitors. “Scotch? Gin and tonic? It’s nearly six.” He consulted his watch. “In fact, why don’t you stay to eat, if you’re at a loose end? I don’t know what there is but I’m sure we can rustle something up –” He looked at Carolyn.
“Yes – oh yes, why don’t you stay?” she said.
They demurred politely, but finally succumbed to Alan’s persuasion. Carolyn stood by the table, sipping her new tea and wondering what she could cook. The conversation continued.
“It’s not the worst place to work, by any means,” said the woman. “Look at Jays – I’m amazed by what they get away with there. You know they did the plans for that community college?”
“Sedgemoor?” asked Alan.
“Yes. And now the roof’s leaking so badly they’ve had to close the gym completely.”
“Yes,” said the man. “But the council’s so embarrassed about that one that they’re just leaving them to put it right as quietly as they can. Everyone knows it should never have been passed. It’s the most terrible design I’ve ever seen.”
“Some of these councillors are so thick!” said the woman. She turned to Carolyn with a laugh. “Politics, politics, politics – we seem to end up there every time, don’t we?”
Carolyn smiled quickly. “I – I – don’t pay much attention to politics, I’m afraid,” she said. “What would you like to drink?”
“It’s all right, Carolyn, I’ll get them in a minute.”
As if Alan had excused her, Carolyn made her way to the house. What could they eat? The children were watching TV peacefully, but Annie saw her as she bobbed her head around the door, gave a pleased gurgle and started to scramble down.
