by Perrin Briar
At the end of each day, Bill and Fritz took the rotten, emaciated fly-infested corpses down to the cemetery where they were buried. Bill complained that there were so many graves now, each marked with a simple wooden cross, that they would soon need to expand it.
It had taken three months but they had rebuilt the treehouse, and it came with one important improvement: it now stood on a tall pile of heavy square flint blocks.
They had used Lightfoot the donkey and Valiant the bull to drag the rocks from the bottom of the incline up to the top of the hill. Only Francis could handle Valiant, who would glare at anyone but the small boy.
Once they were finished, Bill said: “I’d like to see them eat through this!”
“They could,” Liz said.
“With rotting teeth?” Bill said.
“They’d chew through the rocks even if they only had gums to chew with,” Liz said.
“Yes, but that should give us enough time to drop a few heavy rocks on their heads,” Bill said.
Bill had also formulated a strong bleach using materials from his natural apothecary. They washed everything that had come in contact with the zombies, and burnt their clothes.
They were offered a dramatic reminder of the danger that existed in the world, where great swathes of the jungle were left empty, like a wild fire had torn through it. Wherever zombie blood had spilled no plant life could be coaxed into growing there again.
Bill and the Robinson boys emerged from the jungle. The smile on Liz’s face curdled when she saw what they were carrying between them.
“What happened to Ernest?” Liz said, rushing to him.
“He’s fine,” Bill said. “Just a bit of a scraped knee, that’s all.”
“You don’t normally need to be carried if you scrape your knee,” Liz said. “Ernest, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Ernest said. “Wow, the spread looks incredible.”
“You see?” Bill said. “If it was something serious he wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Ernest could be at death’s door and he’d still notice the food,” Liz said. “Where’s Jack?”
“Jack?” Bill said. “Who’s Jack?”
“Don’t joke,” Liz said. “Where is he?”
Bill grinned.
“He was just behind us,” he said. “He’ll be here soon.”
Bill and Fritz deposited Ernest on a seat before the table.
“I’ll eat myself healthy,” Ernest said. “Don’t worry about me. Hey, where have all the sausage rolls gone? You could have made more.”
“Ask your youngest brother,” Liz said.
“It’s a mystery,” Francis said with a grin.
“Good use of vocab,” Ernest said. “But try not to have such a guilty expression on your face next time you lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” Francis said.
“Then it was even more poorly told than I thought,” Ernest said.
Jack came running through the foliage. He held something behind his back.
“Have you given your presents yet?” he said with a big grin on his face.
“Not yet,” Bill said. “We were just about to.”
“We’ll go get our gifts,” Fritz said, climbing the ladder into Robin’s Nest, the treehouse the boys shared.
“Can you bring mine too?” Ernest said. “Not sure if I can get up there with my leg.”
“All right,” Fritz said.
“Can I give you my present first?” Jack said.
“Of course you can,” Liz said. “What is it?”
“I got you this!” Jack said, bringing out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.
“Oh, Jack, they’re wonderful!” Liz said.
She took them from Jack and breathed in their scent.
“And they smell so good!” she said.
“I searched the whole island and these are the best flowers here!” Jack said.
Liz breathed in their scent again.
“They truly are gorgeous,” Liz said. “Have you seen this, Bill? The flowers Jack got me?”
“They look great,” Bill said. “Well done, Jack.”
“I’ll put them on my gift table, is that all right?” Liz said. “I have just the vase to put them in.”
Liz put the flowers in the centre of the table in a chipped vessel. She put her nose to the flowers and breathed in their scent one more time, and smiled a smile that made Jack’s heart soar.
“They’re really beautiful, Jack,” Liz said. “Thank you.”
Jack beamed.
“It’s nothing,” he said, hands behind his back and kicking his feet in a caricature display of bashfulness.
Fritz and Francis descended the ladder. Francis handed Liz a round piece of glass with bubbles in the centre.
“If you look at it this way the bubbles make a heart shape,” Francis said.
“Wow,” Liz said. “It’s like magic!”
Liz placed the glass ball on her gift table. Next, Fritz stepped up and gave Liz something that fit in the palm of his hand.
“Oh, Fritz, it’s beautiful,” Liz said.
It was a stylish bracelet consisting of bird feathers and glass beads.
“Help me put it on,” Liz said.
Fritz affixed the bracelet around Liz’s wrist.
“I’m being spoilt this birthday!” Liz said.
“It’s not every day a lady turns twenty-five for the fifteenth time,” Bill said.
Ernest stood up, limping on his sore leg to hand Liz a wide-brimmed straw hat.
“I made it for you to wear while you’re gardening,” he said.
Liz put the hat on. It was so wide it would even shield her shoulders against the sun.
“Look at all these extraordinary gifts!” Liz said. “No mother has ever been more proud or happier than I am right now. Thank you all, really. I’m touched. I’ll take these off for now so I can eat, and put them on again later.”
She took the hat and bracelet off and moved to the gift table.
“Now, let’s eat!” Ernest said.
“Shall I get the cups?” Bill said. “We can make a toast. Liz?”
Liz had become very still. She stood with both her palms flat on the table. She shook her head, but this only made her sway side to side. She fell forward onto the gift table, and slid onto the ground.
Bill rushed over to her and held her in his arms.
“Liz?” Bill said. “Liz?”
She didn’t react to him. He held her head in his hands and gently rapped her on the cheek.
“Liz?” he said. “Are you all right?”
Liz mumbled something, her eyes fluttering, but not opening. Bill spotted something under Liz’s chin. He turned her head to the side with a finger. A blood-red rash wove its way up Liz’s neck. She still had the straw hat in her hand. Bill took it and tossed it aside.
“Let’s get her inside,” Bill said.
Fritz helped carry Liz up the ladder and into the bedroom in Falcon’s Nest. Bill leaned over her.
“Bring her some water,” Bill said.
Francis ran to the water bucket and brought a cup over. Bill wet a rag and dabbed Liz’s forehead with it.
“She’s burning up,” Bill said. “Liz, you need to drink some water, love.”
Bill held the back of Liz’s head, lifted her up, and raised the cup to her lips. He laid her head back down. He felt something on his hand. It was wet, damp with sweat from the back of Liz’s neck.
Ernest panted with the struggle up the ladder.
“What about me, Pa?” Ernest said. “What can I do to help?”
Bill turned his cold hard eyes on him.
“I think you and your hat have done quite enough, don’t you?” he said.
Ernest’s mouth flapped open and closed. His eyes shimmered. He looked to his brothers, who looked everywhere but at him. He turned and left the room.
Liz
I
Bill sat at the kitchen table, a broadsheet newspaper open
ed out wide, arms fully extended. With every turn of a page he took a bite of toast and washed it down with a sip of black coffee. Francis sat opposite him, a mirror reflection of his father, a comic book in place of a newspaper, orange juice in place of coffee. Liz stood at the kitchen counter making packed lunches.
“Don’t forget I don’t like butter,” Ernest said, entering the kitchen with his nose in a book.
“I’ve remembered for the past fifteen years, Ernest,” Liz said. “I’m not about to forget now.”
Ernest turned away to pile the last of his books into his backpack. Liz hastily scraped the butter off his sandwiches and jammed them back into his lunch bag.
“Some last-minute cramming, huh?” Bill said to Ernest.
“As if he needs it,” Fritz said, having to turn sideways slightly to squeeze his shoulders through the doorway. “He’s the smartest kid in the valley! We don’t need a competition to prove that.”
“Still, nice to be validated,” Bill said.
Jack, eleven years old and short for his age, ran into the room, ducking under Bill’s outstretched arms without stopping.
“No running in the house,” Bill said without conviction.
Jack picked up a piece of black toast, leaned over in front of Liz, and scooped a large dollop of butter.
“You’re eating a lot today,” Liz said.
“One piece of toast?” Jack said.
“Usually it’s none,” Liz said. “I thought you were watching your weight?”
“Need to load up on carbs today,” Jack said.
“Oh?” Liz said. “Why’s that?”
Jack’s hand froze at his open mouth, fearful of having said too much.
“No reason,” he said.
“I can’t have more than four hundred calories on my sandwiches,” Fritz said, kneeling down on the kitchen floor and combing his hair in the toaster’s reflective metal case. “Don’t forget I’m on a special diet.”
“I remember,” Liz said with exasperation.
She removed one half of Fritz’s sandwiches and stuffed it into a lunch bag labelled ‘Bill’. She turned and bumped into Fritz.
“Do you have to do that here?” she said.
“The mirror in the bathroom is still warped,” Fritz said.
“You were supposed to fix that, Bill,” Liz said.
“Sorry,” Bill said, not taking his eyes off his newspaper. “I’ll do it this weekend.”
“You said that last week,” Liz said.
The toast hopped out of the toaster and onto the table.
“Toast’s burnt,” Fritz said, still fine-tuning his hairstyle.
Jack reached over, blocking Fritz’s reflection, causing him to scowl. Jack added another thick dollop of butter to his toast and then shoved an arm through a strap on his backpack. His other arm flapped around. He spun in a circle, knocking the jam and marmalade jars over.
“Bill, can you help Jack put his bag on, please?” Liz said.
“Hm?” Bill said.
“Jack’s backpack,” Liz said. “Can you help him?”
Bill looked up from his paper and began to put it down. Fritz stepped forward.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
“No!” Jack said, turning to escape Fritz, but smacked his head on the fridge instead.
Fritz seized Jack’s backpack straps and pulled on them, lifting Jack’s feet up off the floor.
“It’s too tight!” Jack said. “It hurts! It hurts!”
“You don’t want it to fall off, do you?” Fritz said.
“My arms will fall off if you don’t loosen the straps!” Jack said.
Fritz sighed.
“You just can’t please some people,” he said.
“You’re strangling me!” Jack said.
“Stop squirming and I won’t!” Fritz said.
“Mum, Fritz is strangling Jack again,” Ernest said, never taking his nose out of his book.
“Fritz, stop strangling your brother,” Liz said in a tired voice.
Fritz put Jack down with a triumphant smile on his face. Jack looked up at Liz with angry tears in his eyes. Liz smoothed out Jack’s blazer and rearranged his crow’s nest hair style.
“You’re all right now,” she said, loosening his bag’s straps.
“Why’s Fritz so mean to me?” Jack said.
“He’s your eldest brother,” Liz said. “They usually are.”
“He’s an asshole,” Jack said.
“Jack!” Liz said. “Language!”
“Well, he is,” Jack said.
“Save language like that for the bullies,” Liz said.
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m saving a lot more than that,” he said under his breath.
Liz frowned at Jack’s tone, as if there was a deeper meaning to his words than he was letting on. Before she could ask him what he meant the boys were already heading for the door. Bill folded up his newspaper and tucked it under his arm.
“Is this one mine?” Bill said, picking up the lunch bag with ‘Bill’ written on it.
“No,” Liz said, following Bill to the door. “It’s for my other husband Bill.”
“Living a double life, ay?” Bill said, kissing Liz on the cheek. “No doubt one of your many adventures while we’re out of the house.”
Bill and the boys bustled out of the door, taking their cacophonous noise with them. Francis made to follow them. Liz took his hand, holding him back. She looked over the kitchen.
The counter was covered in crumbs, and jam lay in lumps over the dining table from the cracked glass jar. Liz tossed the butter knife she still held in her hand into the kitchen sink, where a pile of dirty crockery protruded like a tank’s turret.
“Adventure?” Liz said, her shoulders slumping. “Chance’d be a fine thing.”
II
Francis climbed into the car and handed Liz a picture he’d made. The paint was still wet.
“Wow,” Liz said. “That’s amazing, Fran. Is this me and your father? And this must be Ernest, Fritz and Jack. Who’s this little person on the end? You? Wow. This will go straight on the fridge when I get home.”
Francis grinned, satisfied with the compliments. He put on his seatbelt.
The small tenement apartment buildings gave way to large houses with front and back gardens. Liz pulled up outside a house on the outskirts of town. She got out, walked to the other side, took Francis by the hand and led him to the front door.
She passed a beaten up Citroen and a new Mercedes on the driveway. She eyed the Mercedes warily. She straightened her clothes, took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She hesitated before knocking.
After a moment the door opened. There was a squeal and a woman – not dissimilar in appearance to Liz – lunged at her with open arms.
“Lizzy!” she said.
“Hello Sim,” Liz said with a smile.
“You look radiant!” Simone said. “What’s your secret?”
“No secret,” Liz said. “Just stress. And lots of it.”
“It must affect us all differently, I suppose,” Simone said. “Come in, come in.”
She looked down at Francis.
“You must be little Francis,” she said. “Why, aren’t you just the cutest little thing? Can I have a hug?”
Francis nodded and let her hug him.
“You get bigger and bigger every time I see you!” Simone said.
She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness.
“Is Angel here?” Liz said, eyes searching the entrance hall as if expecting someone to suddenly jump out.
“Yes,” Simone said. “Didn’t you see that monstrosity she drove here in?”
“The Mercedes?” Liz said. “Looks nice to me.”
“It does,” Simone nodded, “until Angel tells you for the one thousandth time how much it cost. Then it becomes a monster.”
Simone led them down the corridor.
“Come through,” she said. “Mum’s in her
favourite room, as always.”
The floorboards creaked underfoot and there was a musty damp wood smell Liz associated with home. Francis’s grip tightened in his mother’s hand. It would have looked spooky through an eight-year-old’s eyes. Liz put a hand on Simone’s arm, stopping her.
“What’s Angelika doing here?” she said.
“She’s seeing Mother,” Simone said.
“Why?” Liz said.
Simone shrugged.
“She’s got something else to gloat about, I suppose,” she said.
They turned right, into the last room on the end. Sunlight reflected off the conservatory’s glass roof, blinding them as they entered. Liz, Francis and Simone took a seat, facing the sun. Thankfully it had dipped behind the larger conifers at the rear of the property.
Angel sat in deep conversation with her mother, holding her aged hands in her own. She looked Liz over, as if toting up the total value of her ensemble. Liz could have saved her the trouble: thirty Francs. The most expensive thing she wore was her ring: ten Francs from a flea market. Despite the income of a doctor’s wage Liz had never been able to shed the money-conserving habits of her childhood. She had grown up poor and was not ashamed to admit it. It was more than could be said for some.
“Lizzy,” Angel said, her tone cold.
“Angel,” Liz reciprocated.
“Look at all of us!” Simone said, cutting through the icy atmosphere. “I can’t remember the last time we were all together in one room!”
“Aunt Jana’s funeral,” Angel said.
There was a pause.
“Your sister got another promotion,” their mother said.
“That’s great news,” Liz said. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Angel said. “I just brought in a new one hundred million franc account. Decided to splash out on a little car. You might have seen it in the driveway. Eighty thousand francs.”
Angel watched Liz’s expression carefully. Liz ensured there was none – she didn’t care what car she had. Angel smiled with satisfaction, clearly at having seen something on Liz’s face she liked.
