The Three: A Novel

by Sarah Lotz

  (Sound of approaching children’s voices, which get gradually louder)

  ‘… So you can be Rainbow Dash and I’ll be Princess Luna. Unless you want to be Rarity?’

  ‘Have you got all of the ponies, Jess?’

  ‘Yeah. Paul bought them for me. He also bought me Pageant Gown Barbie. Here.’

  ‘Oh cool! She’s so beautiful. But it’s not even your birthday.’

  ‘I know. You can have her if you like. Paul can get me a new one.’

  ‘Really? You’re the bestest! Jess… what are you going to do with all of Polly’s toys?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And, Jess… did it hurt? When you got burned?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will the scars go away?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What doesn’t?’

  ‘If they go away or not.’

  ‘Mummy says it’s a miracle you got out of that plane. She says I’m not to ask you questions about it in case it makes you cry.’

  ‘I’m not going to cry!’

  ‘Mummy says you can cover the scars with make-up later on so that people won’t stare.’

  ‘C’mon! Let’s play!’

  (For the next fifteen minutes the girls play ‘My Little Pony meets Barbie in Essex’.)

  (Distant sound of Paul’s voice calling them to come downstairs for a snack.)

  ‘Aren’t you coming, Jess?’

  ‘You go first. I’ll get the ponies. They can eat with us.’

  ‘ ’Kay. Can I really have Pageant Gown Barbie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re my bestest friend ever, Jess.’

  ‘I know. Now you go first.’

  ‘ ’Kay.’

  (The Dictaphone captures the sound of Summer leaving the room. There’s a pause of several seconds, followed by the sounds of approaching footsteps and breathing. Then, a second later: ‘Hello, Uncle Paul.’)

  When I flew to London to meet with my UK publishers a few days after Jess’s funeral in July, Marilyn Adams invited me to interview her at her residence, a well-maintained, three-bedroomed council house, filled with mod-cons.

  Marilyn is waiting for me on the couch, her oxygen tank close to hand. As I’m about to start the interview, she digs out a box of cigarettes from the side of the couch, lights up and takes a deep drag.

  Don’t tell the boys, will you, love? I know I shouldn’t, but after all this business… How can it hurt? A ciggy is my only bit of comfort these days.

  I know what you’ve read in the papers, love, but we didn’t really have bad feelings towards Paul back then, other than him wanting to keep Jess away from us. I had a cousin who was like that, a gay, I mean. We’re not bigoted, honest to God. Lots of them about aren’t there, and I love that Graham Norton. But the press… well, they twist your words around, don’t they? Do I blame Shelly for giving Paul custody? Not really. She just wanted a better life for herself and the girls, and who can blame her? Never had much growing up. I know people think we’re scroungers, but we have every right to live how we want to live, don’t we? You try getting a sodding job these days.

  Some people think we only wanted Jess because we were after Stephen and Shelly’s house and all that insurance money. I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t have come in handy, but that was the furthest thought from our minds, honest to God. We really just wanted to spend time with little Jess. It dragged on and on, and some days the stress would just get so much I could barely sleep. ‘You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with all that worrying, Mum,’ the boys kept saying. So in the end, when I got really ill, I backed off, decided not to get the lawyers involved. Thought it would be for the best. Jessie could always come and find us when she was older, couldn’t she?

  So when Paul rang and asked if we wanted to see Jess, well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. The social had been promising for ages that they would do what they could, but I didn’t put any store in what they said. We were all dead excited. We thought it would be best not to overwhelm her, it can be right chaos here sometimes when we all get together, so I decided that it would be just me, the boys and her cousin Jordan, who was closest to her age. I told little Jordan that his cousin was coming for a visit and he said, ‘But isn’t she an alien, Nana?’ His dad went to cuff him round the ear, but Jordie was only repeating something he’d heard at school. ‘How could anyone believe any of that bollocks?’ Keith would always say whenever one of those bloody Americans started up about The Three being out of the Bible or whatever it was they was saying. He said the buggers should be sued for defamation, but that wasn’t up to us, was it?

  I got a right shock when the social worker dropped her off. She’d shot up like a tree since I’d last seen her. All those photographs in the press didn’t do her justice. The scars on her face weren’t too bad, made her skin look a bit tighter and shinier, that was all.

  I nudged Jordan and told him to go up and give her a hug. He did as he was told, although I could see he wasn’t too keen.

  Jase went out and got us all a McDonald’s, and I asked Jessie all about school and her friends and that. She was a right little chatter-box. Bright as a button. Didn’t seem at all out of her depth around us. I was a bit surprised, to be honest. The last time I’d seen her, she was dead shy, her and her sister Polly. Hung around their mother’s skirts whenever Shelly brought them over. A pair of little princesses, me and the boys used to joke. Not rough and tumble like the others. Not that we saw the twins often, mind. Shelly only really brought them round on Christmas and birthdays, and there was a right set-to one year when Brooklyn bit Polly. But Brooklyn was only a toddler back then; she didn’t know what she was doing.

  ‘Why don’t you go show Jessie your room, Jordan? Maybe she wants to play on the Wii?’ I said.

  ‘She looks funny,’ Jordan said. ‘Her face is funny.’

  I gave him a smack and told Jess not to take any notice.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘My face is funny. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a mistake.’ She shook her head as if she was a thousand years old. ‘Sometimes we get it wrong.’

  ‘Who gets it wrong, love?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, just us,’ she said. ‘Come on, Jordan. I’ll tell you a story. I have lots of stories.’

  Off they went, the two of them, Jess and Jordan. It warmed my heart seeing them together like that. Family’s important, isn’t it?

  I find it hard to get up the stairs these days, what with my lungs like they are, so I asked Jase to pop up and keep an eye on them. He said they were getting on like a house on fire, Jessie talking ten to the dozen. Before you knew it, it was time to send her home.

  ‘Would you like to come again, Jess?’ I asked her. ‘Spend more time with your cousins?’

  ‘Yes please, Nana,’ she said. ‘That was interesting.’

  After the bloke from the social had collected her, I asked Jordan what he thought of Jess, if he thought she’d changed and that, but he shook his head. Wouldn’t say much about her at all. I asked him what they’d been talking about all afternoon, but he said he couldn’t remember. I didn’t press him on it.

  Paul phoned me that evening, and I got a right shock again when I heard his voice! Civil he was, as well. Asked me if I’d noticed anything strange about Jess. His words. Said he was a bit concerned about her.

  I told him what I’m telling you now, that she was a lovely little girl, a real joy to be around.

  He seemed to find this funny, laughed like a ruddy drain, but before I could ask him what was amusing, he hung up.

  Course, it wasn’t that long afterwards that we heard what he’d done.

  Lillian Small.

  The call came in at six that morning, and I rushed to answer it before it woke Reuben. I hadn’t been sleeping well since that day at the museum, and I’d got into the habit of slipping out of bed at around five, in order to spend a few minutes alone and settle my nerves before I discovered which husband I w
ould be facing.

  ‘Who is this?’ I snapped into the phone. If it was one of the papers or a meshugener taking a chance by calling so early, I wasn’t in a mood to treat them lightly.

  There was a pause, and then the caller introduced himself as Paul Craddock, Jessica’s uncle. His clipped English accent reminded me of one of those characters on that Cavendish Hall show Betsy never stopped talking about. It was a strange conversation, full of long, uncomfortable pauses, although you’d think we’d have lots to talk about. I remember thinking how strange it was that neither of us had thought to be in contact before. The children were always being linked together in the news articles, and every so often, the producers of one of the big talk shows would get it into their heads to try to get all three children to appear together, but I always turned them down. I could immediately pick up that there was something not right with Paul; I suppose I put it down to the time difference or maybe a distortion on the line. He finally managed to make himself clear. He wanted to know if I’d noticed anything different about Bobby, if his personality or behaviour had changed after the crash.

  It was the same sort of question those damn reporters were always asking and I was short with him. He apologised for disturbing me and hung up without saying goodbye.

  I was agitated after the call, couldn’t settle down. Why would he ask me something like that? I knew that Paul, like me and the family of that little Japanese boy, must be suffering under the pressure of all the press attention. I suppose I also felt guilty that I’d been so short with him. He’d sounded troubled, like he needed to talk.

  And I was tired of feeling guilty. Guilty about not sending Bobby back to school; for not taking Reuben back to Dr Lomeier so he could be seen by the specialist; for hiding his condition from Betsy. Like Charmaine, who still called to check up on us every week, Betsy had been there for me from the beginning, but I couldn’t shift the feeling that what was happening to Reuben was my private miracle. And my private burden. I knew what would happen if the story got out. The ridiculous story about the little Japanese boy interacting with that robot his father made him was all over the news for days.

  I made myself a cup of coffee, sat in the kitchen and stared out of the window. It was a lovely spring day, and I remember thinking how nice it would be to just go out for a walk, sit in a cafe somewhere. Have some time to myself.

  Reuben was awake by then, and it was Reuben, and not Al, who was there that day. I thought, I could just pop out for ten minutes, sit in the park in the sun. Breathe.

  I made Bobby his breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, and asked Reuben if he’d mind if I slipped out for a few minutes.

  ‘You go, Rita,’ he said. ‘Go and have a nice time.’

  I made Bobby promise that he wouldn’t leave the apartment, and then I left. I walked down to the park, sat on the bench opposite the sports centre, and raised my face to the sun. I kept telling myself, just five minutes more, and then I’ll get back and change the sheets on the bed, take Bobby to the store with me to buy milk. A group of young men pushing baby buggies strolled past me, and we exchanged smiles. I glanced at my watch, realised I’d been sitting there for over forty minutes–where had the time gone? I was less than five minutes from my building, but accidents can happen in seconds. The sudden rush of panic made me feel nauseous, and I hurried home.

  And I was right to be worried. I screamed out loud when I ran into the apartment and saw the two of them standing there in my kitchen in their identical suits. One of them had his eyes closed and was holding Bobby’s hand to his chest. The other one had his hand raised above his head, and was muttering something under his breath.

  ‘Get away from him!’ I yelled at the top of my voice. I could see right away what they were. The fanaticism radiated out of them. ‘Get the hell out of my apartment!’

  ‘Is that you, Rita?’ Reuben called from the other room.

  ‘The men asked to come in and watch The View with us, Bubbe,’ Bobby said. ‘Are they the ones Betsy calls bupkes?’

  ‘Go to your room, Bobby,’ I said.

  I turned on the two men again, fury sparking through every vein. They looked like twins, their blond hair identically parted to the side, that same smug, self-righteous expression on their faces, which made the situation all the more disturbing. Bobby told me later they’d only been there for five minutes before I got home and that they hadn’t done anything other than what I’d seen in the kitchen. They must have watched me leaving and decided to take a chance. ‘All we ask is that you let Bobby’s spirit wash over us,’ one of them said. ‘You owe it to us, Mrs Small.’

  ‘She owes you nothing,’ Betsy said from behind me–thank God she’d heard me yell. ‘I’ve called the cops, so you get your Bible-thumping tushes out of here.’

  The two men glanced at each other and made for the door. They looked like they were thinking about spouting more of their nonsense, but the look on Betsy’s face shut them up.

  Betsy said she’d take care of Bobby while I made a statement. I knew it was too late to worry about her finding out about Reuben. The police commissioner himself came to see me later that day. He said I should consider round-the-clock protection, maybe hire private security, but I didn’t want a stranger in my home.

  When I’d finished with the police, I could see immediately that Betsy knew and wanted to talk about Reuben’s transformation. What choice did I have then but to come clean? And who did I have to blame but myself?

  Lillian Small’s neighbour, Betsy Katz, agreed to speak to me in late June.

  What pains me most of all was that I’d been careful around those reporters. Those newspaper people, they could be smart. So clever with their sneaking around. Calling me up and asking leading questions as if I was born yesterday and wouldn’t see right through what they were doing. ‘Mrs Katz,’ they’d say, ‘isn’t it true that Bobby is acting a little strange?’ ‘You can keep your acting strange,’ I’d tell them. ‘Does it hurt to be so stupid?’

  If it wasn’t for Bobby, I don’t know if Lily would have found the strength to go on after Lori died. Lori was a nice girl, arty sure, but she was a good daughter. Me, I don’t know if I would have been able to go on after a stab in the heart like that. And that Bobby! What a lovely child! It was never a burden taking him off Lily’s hands. He’d come into my kitchen and help me make cookies, used to let himself in as if he was one of the family. Sometimes we’d sit down and watch Jeopardy together. He was good company, a good boy, always happy, always with a smile on his face. I worried that he wasn’t spending enough time with other children–what kid wants to spend all his free time with old ladies?–but it didn’t seem to worry him. I’d told Lily many times that Rabbi Toba’s family ran a good yeshiva in Bedford-Stuyvesant, but she wouldn’t hear of it. But could I blame her for wanting to keep him so close? I was never blessed with children, but when my husband Ben fell to cancer ten years ago this September, I felt the loss like a knife in my heart. Lily had lost too much already. First Reuben, then her daughter.

  I knew that Lily was trying to hide something from me, but not in my whole life could I have guessed what it was. Lily wasn’t a good liar, she was an open book. I didn’t nag her to tell me. I figured that eventually she would come to me and tell me herself.

  I was cleaning my kitchen when I heard Lily shouting that day. My first thought was that something must have happened to Reuben. I ran straight to her apartment. When I saw those two strange men in their suits, and their fanatical eyes, I called the cops right away. I knew what they were. Me? I could spot one of those fanatics a mile off after they started crawling around the neighbourhood. Even when they thought they were being so clever by dressing up like business people. They were smart, ran out of there before the cops arrived. While Lily made a statement, I went into the apartment to watch Bobby and Reuben.

  ‘Hello, Betsy,’ Bobby said. ‘Po Po and I are watching From Here to Eternity. It’s an old movie where everyone is coloured black and white.’


  And then Reuben said, clear as day. ‘The oldies are the goodies.’

  And how do you think I reacted? I almost jumped out of my skin. ‘What you say, Reuben?’

  ‘I said, they don’t make films like they used to. Are you having trouble with your hearing, Betsy?’

  I had to sit down. I’d been helping Lily care for Reuben since Bobby came out of hospital, and I hadn’t heard him speak a word that made any sense in all that time.

  Lily came back in and she saw right off that I knew. We went into the kitchen and she poured us both a brandy. She explained it all to me. How he’d started talking out of nowhere one evening.

  ‘It’s a miracle,’ I said.

  When I got back to my place, I couldn’t settle down to anything. I had to talk to someone. I tried calling Rabbi Toba, but he wasn’t in and I needed to get it off my chest. So I called my sister-in-law. Her best friend’s nephew Eliott, a good boy–or so I thought then–was a doctor and she told me I should talk to him. I was just trying to help. I thought maybe I could get a second opinion for Lily.

  Saying it now, it sounds like I was a real fool, I know this.

  I don’t know if they paid him, or what they did, but I know it was him who talked to those reporters. The next day, when I left the house to go to the store–just to buy myself some bread as I was having soup that evening–I saw all the reporters hanging around the apartment, but that wasn’t new. They tried to talk to me but I gave them the brush-off.

  I saw the headline on a placard outside the bakery: ‘It’s a mir acle! Bobby’s Senile Grandfather Starts to Speak.’ I almost threw up right there. May God forgive me, but it did cross my mind that I could blame it on those religious putzes who had conned their way into the apartment. But the article made it clear that the news had come from a ‘source close to Lillian Small’.