by Chris Hawley
There was more but I couldn’t go on. I stopped reading and lifted my eyes. Mum had sat down on a chair and was sniffing loudly, dabbing her eyes with the corner of a tea cloth. Dad was still standing looking into space, his face creased up. Sonia, who understood everything, just sat and suffered for all of us.
‘It’s not true,’ I said softly. ‘That reporter is a liar. I have never admitted anything. Mum, you remember the day I couldn’t find that outfit? You also came to my room to look, remember?’
She nodded.
‘I admit I wrote a letter on my laptop to an imaginary girl called Michu. It was a game,’ I lied. ‘That reporter came here the other day and he copied the letter that was on my computer and took the outfit from my cupboard. Mum, you were the one who let him in.’
She just sniffed louder and wiped her eyes on her forearm.
‘I’ll go to the police and have the man locked up. How can he go round taking things from people’s houses and making up stories about them?’
‘Dad, don’t!’ I cried. ‘It will just create more trouble. Please don’t.’
‘Alright, but there’s one thing I don’t understand,’ said my father through the creases. ‘How did that man know about the letter?’
I looked at Sonia and she smiled weakly at me.
‘You know I have been going to the library. Sonia works there. I told her of my interest in Mars and we had a standing joke that one day I would take her there. She happened to share the joke one day with her father.’ I paused and looked across at Sonia again. ‘He took it seriously.’
‘I still don’t follow,’ said Dad. ‘That doesn’t explain how the reporter knew about your letter.’
‘He didn’t, Dad. He came to our house to speak to me because he was curious about the story he’d heard. I was not at home but like a crazy idiot I left the letter open on my laptop.’
‘But how did the reporter become interested in the story?’
‘The reporter and Sonia’s father….. they are the same person.’
Dad looked down at Sonia.
‘It’s true Mr. Steadman,’ she said. ‘My father is that reporter for the Post.’ A sad expression came over her face. ‘I hate to say it of my own father but I now believe he is insane.’
‘Insane?’ cried Dad.
‘Yes Mr. Steadman, insane.’
‘So the whole thing is in his imagination.’
‘Sonia looked at me enquiringly.
‘Yes Dad,’ I said. I hated to lie to my parents but I honestly believed it was better than put them through the turmoil of knowing the truth.
‘So you never brought that Martian to the house then?’
‘No Dad, never.’ At least that was something I didn’t have to lie about. Albert Smith had made up that one.
‘Do you know what this means, don’t you son?’
‘What?’
‘It means we are going to be swamped by reporters from all the newspapers in the country. Can you imagine life in Dover Street?’
‘Stan, you exaggerate,’ said Mum.
‘Not a bit of it, Doris. We may even have to move to another town.’
‘No Dad, it will all blow over in a few days,’ I said hopefully. ‘And you won’t call the police, will you Dad?’
‘No. I hope you are right son,’ he said. ‘But I doubt if it will blow over that easily.’
‘Trust me Dad, it will be forgotten in no time.’
How wrong I turned out to be!
