by Perrin Briar
“Francis, why don’t you go play in the garden?” his grandmother said. “The neighbour’s children are out there now. It’s just going to be a load of boring chat in here.”
“Okay,” Francis said, running outside.
“He’s a lovely boy,” their mother said. She placed her hand on Angel’s hand. “When are you going to have your first?”
“I don’t think I’ll have kids,” Angel said.
Their mother blinked.
“Not have kids?” she said. “Why ever not?”
“I don’t have the time for them,” Angel said.
“No one ever has the time for them,” their mother said. “You make time.”
“I’d prefer to make time for other things,” Angel said.
Their mother nodded to Simone.
“Your sister tried her hardest and lost her child and you’re saying you’re not even going to try and have one?” she said.
Simone looked at her hands. Liz took her sister’s hand and squeezed it, giving her a reassuring smile.
“I couldn’t be just a stay-at-home mum,” Angel said.
Now Simone squeezed Liz’s hand.
“I can’t imagine ever living under a man’s thumb,” Angel said.
“I was a stay at home mother,” their mother said. “I don’t regret it.”
“I’m just more ambitious, I suppose,” Angel said.
Liz released Simone’s hand. She opened her mouth to speak but it was Simone who spoke first.
“Liz helped raise us,” Simone said. “Without her you would never have completed your maths homework at school, or gotten out of bed in time. And you most certainly wouldn’t have gotten the grades you needed to get into university. Yes, you worked hard, and yes, you have yourself to congratulate, but you also had the support of your eldest sister, and without her you wouldn’t be anywhere.”
“Thanks, Sis,” Angel said with a sneer. “Nice to know where your loyalty lies.”
“This isn’t about loyalty, you-” Simone said, taking a deep breath and smoothing out her skirt. “It’s about family.”
“And you look down on me because you think I haven’t got one!” Angel said. “Well, I have. I’m a family of one! Maybe that sounds empty to you, but do you know what sounds emptier to me? Getting up every morning, preparing your kids’ and husband’s meals, and then when they’re gone you tidy up and clean, go on a few errands during the day, and then cook dinner in the evening. That’s it. Every single day. That’s not a life. It’s prison. I refuse to let that be my life. In my life every day is an adventure.”
“Well, good for you,” Liz said. “You find purpose in your life. But guess what? We all do. And we don’t all need frivolous material possessions to do it! I’ve given birth to four gorgeous boys who will have their own children, if they choose to, and I’ll help bring them up too if I’m lucky enough to live that long.
“And you, living under a man’s thumb? Don’t make me laugh! You may be brave in the office, unloading on the phone, but you’ve never been brave enough to let a man get close to you, let him see you for who you truly are, imperfections and all. So think about yourself before you start criticising my life and the decisions I’ve made.”
Liz shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
“I don’t look down on you because you chose to be a career woman,” she said. “In fact, I’m rather proud of you. I just wish you felt the same way about me.”
There was a pause, Angelika for once having nothing to say.
“Simone, can you take Angelika outside, please?” their mother said.
“Why do I have to be the one to go?” Angel said, pouting.
“Now,” their mother said, voice strong with command.
Simone led Angel into the back garden. Angel watched through the glass wall, arms hugging herself.
“What’s happened to you?” Liz’s mother said to Liz.
“It’s Angel,” Liz said. “She goes too far.”
“She does, but she always has done,” her mother said. “It’s never been enough to make you snap at her like that before.”
“It was going to happen one day,” Liz said.
“But why today?” her mother said.
Liz buried her head in her hands.
“I’ve just had enough of her whining,” she said.
Liz’s mother considered her.
“That’s not the reason,” she said.
“It is the reason,” Liz said.
“No, it’s not,” her mother said.
“Why not?” Liz said.
“Because a mother knows her children,” her mother said. “Tell me. What’s the problem?”
Liz looked at her hands.
“It’s… nothing,” she said.
Her mother didn’t blink.
“I’m just finding it hard, that’s all,” Liz said.
“Finding what hard?” her mother said.
“Raising kids,” Liz said. “Life. It just feels like everything is pressing down on me, crushing me.”
“That’s the way it always feels,” her mother said.
“No, it hasn’t,” Liz said. “Not like this. Do you know the worst thing about what Angel said earlier? It’s the daily agenda she described. She was spot on. That’s exactly my routine. And that’s precisely what it is – a routine. There are no surprises, nothing exciting that’s going to happen in my life. We go through the same old procedure. I’m not sure if I’m happy with the life I have. I’m happy with the boys and Bill, of course, but there has to be more than that.”
“There’s certainly more than just fast cars,” Liz’s mother said, putting her hand on her daughter’s arm. “You were always meant to be a mother. You’ve got it in you, like I did. I spoiled Angelika. I almost lost her at birth and… Well, there’s no excuse.”
“The boys are busy with their lives,” Liz said. “I take care of Francis all day. I don’t feel like they need me anymore.”
“A mother’s life is one of sacrifice,” her mother said.
“And that’s fine,” Liz said. “I knew what I was going in for when I quit my job. It’s just… Bill seems so distant lately, so out of reach.”
“Maybe he’s busy at work,” her mother said.
“He is,” Liz said. “But there’s something else, something bubbling under the surface. I can sense it.”
Liz’s mother waved her hand.
“Women always sense these things,” she said. “It’ll just turn out to be something inside yourself you’re not happy with. What you need to do is sit down and have a long conversation with Bill. That’ll straighten all of this out.”
“I hope you’re right, Mum. I really do.”
On The Island #2
I
Fritz knocked on the bedroom door. He waited for a command to enter, but none came. He knocked again, but there was still no response. He pushed the door open.
Liz lay on the bed, prone like she was a mannequin. Bill sat at her side, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth.
“I brought you some food,” Fritz said.
“I’m not hungry,” Bill said.
“I’ll leave it on the table,” Fritz said, setting the tray down. “How is she doing?”
“Not good,” Bill said. “She’s burning up and losing fluids faster than I can replace them.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Fritz said.
“No,” Bill said. “I’m wracking my brain for what it might be, but I feel like I’m missing something.”
“You’ll come up with something,” Fritz said.
Bill gestured to the crushed petals and plants lying in piles on the end of the bed and across the floor.
“I’ve tried everything I can think of,” he said. “But nothing’s working.”
“Get some rest,” Fritz said. “The solution will come to you.”
“No, it won’t,” Bill said, voice heated. “I can’t take a rest now. Not while your mother is this way. I don’t know what she has and tha
t scares me.”
He wiped a hand across his eyes, grey with exhaustion.
“No matter what I try there’s no improvement,” Bill said. “I’ve given her everything I can think of, but she doesn’t seem to get any better. I’m at a loss.”
Fritz put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
“She’s going to be all right,” he said. “She’s tough – tougher than any of us. You’ll see.”
“Don’t make promises you don’t know are true,” Bill said. “It’s one of the first things doctors learn – to not give false hope.”
“Do you think…” Fritz began, but the words got stuck in his throat. “Is there some way…?”
“She could have been bitten?” Bill said. “Or in some other way infected? I don’t think so. She would have turned by now. No, this is some kind of illness. I need to figure out what it is in order to prescribe effective treatment.”
“Maybe it was a small dose of the virus and her body is able to fight it?” Fritz said. “Maybe she’s immune?”
“That’s wishful thinking,” Bill said. “I do know she collapsed the moment she put on the straw hat. I’ve been looking at it but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it.”
“Maybe she’s allergic to something present in the material?” Fritz said.
“Maybe,” Bill said.
Liz mumbled something in her sleep, voice soft and whisper-thin.
“What’s she saying?” Fritz said.
“She keeps saying the same thing over and over,” Bill said. “ ‘Don’t be sorry.’ ”
“Who’s she talking to?” Fritz said.
“I don’t know,” Bill said.
“Do you think she’s talking about Ernest?” Fritz said.
“Could be,” Bill said. “She’s definitely experiencing some kind of hallucination.”
They sat in silence.
“I took care of the traps,” Fritz said. “Ernest, Jack and Francis are putting the food away.”
Bill smiled. It was vague and distracted.
“You’re good boys,” he said.
“Ernest feels terrible about this,” Fritz said. “He feels like it’s his fault.”
“It’s not his fault,” Bill said. “It’s this island. We’re aliens here, in a foreign land. We’re not meant to be here. Maybe we shouldn’t be here at all.”
“It’s our home for now,” Fritz said. “It’s only temporary.”
“Nothing we’ve done here has been temporary,” Bill said. “Everything we’ve built is meant to last for years, not days or weeks. Years. I don’t know if we’ll ever leave this island.”
Fritz was aware of the dark shift in tone.
“The others would like to see her,” he said.
“Not right now,” Bill said.
“Okay,” Fritz said. “I’ll tell them. If you need anything we’re out here.”
“All right,” Bill said.
Fritz approached the door.
“Thank you,” Bill said. “For the food.”
Fritz nodded, and then left the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.
“Can we go in?” Jack said.
“Yeah, can we?” Francis said.
“Not right now, no,” Fritz said. “And don’t go bothering Father. He’s busy helping Mother. Go play some games or something.”
With solemn expressions the boys headed away. Fritz looked out over the clearing. Ernest sat at the empty dining table, head hung and forlorn. Fritz climbed down the ladder and joined him.
They sat for a long moment in silence.
“It’s my fault,” Ernest said. “She collapsed when she put on my hat.”
“Maybe she was so pleased it knocked her unconscious,” Fritz said with a soft smile. “Did you ever think of that?”
His joke was met with no response.
“Cheer up,” Fritz said. “It might turn out to be caused by something else. Even if it was something one of us gave her there was no way of knowing it would have this effect.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Ernest said. “She wasn’t holding your gift when she collapsed.”
Ernest had him there.
“Cheer up though, ay?” Fritz said. “There’s no use moping around. No one blames you.”
“You heard what Father said,” Ernest said.
“He was just angry, worried about Mother, that’s all,” Fritz said. “If you’re determined to pity yourself I suppose there’s nothing I can do to help you. But just so you know, I don’t blame you for this, neither does Father. I’ll bet Francis, Jack and Mother don’t either. There’s no reason for you to blame yourself. If you really want to do something useful, try to figure out how to help Mother.”
Fritz walked away. Ernest held his head in his hands.
II
At five in the evening Bill emerged from the treehouse, the door creaking open on squeaky hinges. He joined Fritz, who had his feet propped up on the dining table, leaning back on his chair, almost asleep in what must have been a very uncomfortable position.
“Fritz?” Bill said.
Fritz started, flying back and hitting the ground.
“Where are Jack and Francis?” Bill said.
“You scared me half to death!” Fritz said, dusting himself off. “They’re in their room taking a nap.”
“And Ernest?” Bill said.
“Sitting by the cliff, feeling sorry for himself,” Fritz said.
“I’d better go see him,” Bill said. “I can’t seem to solve one mess before falling into another.”
“Things will get better,” Fritz said.
“I hope so,” Bill said.
“Any improvement with Mother?” Fritz said.
Bill shook his head.
“Shall I watch her while you’re away?” Fritz said.
“Can you?” Bill said.
Fritz climbed the ladder to the treehouse and entered the bedroom. Bill sighed, got to his feet and walked the short path along the edge of the clearing.
The jungle was noisiest at night, whirring and snorting and shrieking from a thousand different creatures, like an orchestra with no conductor. He’d never noticed how quiet Switzerland had been before, even with the car horns and sirens.
Fireflies lit the path like glowing breadcrumbs, all the way to the cliff edge. Ernest was sat on one of the upturned rocks, the world bathed in a silver light like a fairy tale.
“Ernest?” Bill said.
Ernest started. He put a hand to his chest.
“You made me jump!” he said.
“I seem to have a talent for that,” Bill said. “You should take more care. There could be anything in this jungle.”
“Yes, Father,” Ernest said. He sounded like he wished there was something in the jungle to put him out of his misery.
“How’s your leg?” Bill said.
Ernest looked at it and lifted it, as if feeling for the first time what it was like to have one.
“It’s all right,” he said.
The waves washed against the large rocks in the bay, the spray rising like white trees.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Ernest said. “If I’d thought… If I knew…”
“It’s all right,” Bill said. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is,” Ernest said. “I should have been more careful.”
“You’re the most careful among all of us,” Bill said. “Any more careful and you’d wear a cotton wool jacket.”
Ernest smiled.
“I’m sorry for earlier,” Bill said. “I was upset and didn’t mean what I said. It could have been any of us who gave your mother that hat. I was thinking of making her one myself. It’s easy to forget we’re an alien species to this island, that there are things here that can do us harm, things we don’t even know exist yet. Even the smallest, most innocuous of things.”
“If you’re going to bring up the purple fruit again, I swear I’m going to scream,” Ernest said.
“No,” Bill said,
deep creases forming on his forehead.
He slid a finger under his shirt collar and loosened the top button. He mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that, Father?” Ernest said.
Bill scratched his head and mumbled again.
“Father?” Ernest said, resting a hand on Bill’s shoulder.
His hand came away damp. Bill’s fringe was soaked and clung to his forehead. He swayed on his stool and then collapsed onto the ground.
“Father?” Ernest said, getting to his feet. “Get up! Not you too! Father!”
Ernest turned toward Falcon’s Nest. He cupped his hands over his mouth.
“Fritz!” Ernest shouted. “Fritz! Father’s sick! Help!”
Fritz came running over. Together they picked him up and carried him to the treehouse.
“Do you think it’s infectious?” Ernest said.
“I don’t know,” Fritz said, pulling his father up the ladder. “If it is, I think it’s safe to say we’ve already been exposed to it.”
Ernest’s wound made climbing difficult. They laid Bill on the bed beside Liz.
“What are we going to do?” Ernest said. “We’re not doctors. How are we going to figure out what’s wrong with them?”
“What did he say to you?” Fritz said.
“He mumbled something about green stripes,” Ernest said.
“Green stripes?” Fritz said. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure,” Ernest said. “But he did look out of it. What did he say to you?”
“About the illness?” Fritz said. “Nothing. Only that it probably isn’t an allergic reaction, so far as he could tell.”
“What the hell are we going to do?” Ernest said.
“What can we do?” Fritz said.
Bill
I
Bill’s eyes flickered over the front pages of half a dozen exposed newspapers. Most described the upcoming election, but there was another story tucked in the top corner of each page, a story about an increasing number of deaths associated with an illness originating in the Middle East. There was a grainy image of an awkward stiff figure lurching down an alleyway.
Bill snapped out of his reverie as the tram squealed and came to a stop.
