The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  “Claire said if I want to help I can make a Christmas cake.”

  “Cool.”

  “I don’t like Christmas cake.”

  “Neither do I. They taste of soil.”

  “Does Claire like it?”

  “I don’t think so. No one does, do they?” Matt gestured at the screen. “This guy’s sweating cobs. I hope they’ve got the bucket ready.”

  Alex didn’t say anything. She was still thinking about the conversation with Claire.

  You don’t need to be bothering yourself with the tedious parenting stuff.

  What did that mean? Was it a straight-up, generous statement? Or one of those humblebrags people did to make themselves sound important?

  Or did Claire think Alex was incapable of doing the tedious, actually super-important parenting stuff?

  If so, she had a point. Alex wasn’t brilliant at it, she knew that. Scarlett didn’t hate her—but she definitely nothing-ed her. On the times they’d met, Scarlett had either whispered constantly with her imaginary rabbit, or she’d been on Matt’s iPhone, playing some inexplicable game that involved building dungeons for chickens.

  Two years with Matt, and Alex wasn’t sure Scarlett could pick her out of a lineup.

  Alex tried to concentrate on the telly. Foodstuffs crossed the screen on a Generation Game travelator, showing how much the man had eaten.

  After Matt suggested the Happy Forest…

  “Claire said you suggested it,” Alex said. “The place where we’re going.”

  Matt nodded at the telly.

  “But the holiday was definitely Claire’s idea?” Alex said. “In the first place?”

  “Yep. I was just helping her out. You know me, all-round nice guy.” Matt pointed at the screen. “It’s gonna be game over any second. Ha! Here it comes!”

  4

  A week before their big Christmas trip, Scarlett sat in the back of the car with Posey. Mum was taking them to the big shopping center, but it had taken twenty minutes to get from the last roundabout to the first car park. There were too many cars for the roads.

  “This is disgusting. Disgusting.” Mum banged her hand against the steering wheel. “Commercialism. Ugh.”

  Mum often told Scarlett “patience is a virtue.” Scarlett sometimes wondered whether she was saying it to herself as well.

  Mum twisted in her seat to look at Scarlett. “This place is everything that’s wrong with the world.”

  When Mum turned back to face the front, Scarlett turned to Posey and rolled her eyes. Posey rolled his eyes back.

  They were both the same height (if you didn’t count Posey’s ears) but Scarlett looked down at Posey on the backseat. Mum said Posey didn’t need a booster seat. Scarlett wanted him to have one, but didn’t argue. It was two against one—Posey didn’t want a booster seat either. The tips of his long purple ears folded sideways against the car roof as it was.

  Mum banged her hand against the steering wheel again. “Don’t people feel they have enough stuff?”

  Scarlett read between the lines. “Are we still going in, Mum?”

  “I’ve a good mind to call it a day. But you haven’t got Alex a present yet.”

  That seemed like a silly reason to Scarlett. She barely knew Alex. But Scarlett wanted to go shopping, so she didn’t say anything.

  * * *

  —

  In the shopping center, Mum walked quickly, holding Scarlett’s hand. Scarlett still felt herself getting bumped along by the crowd. She held Posey’s hand just as tightly, because people didn’t get out of the way for Posey. Today, people barely got out of the way for Scarlett. Or Mum.

  “These people are just…how can they do this?” Mum’s blond fringe stuck to her forehead when she was flustered. “How can they be bothered?”

  Scarlett didn’t ask Why are we bothered, then? She didn’t need to. It was about Christmas.

  Everything odd at the moment was about Christmas.

  “The thing is, you can’t just get Alex some gloves or something,” Mum said. “It has to be something meaningful, to show you really care.”

  “But I don’t care.”

  Mum glared at her.

  Scarlett knew she wasn’t meant to say that out loud. “And Alex gives rubbish presents. Remember what she got me last year? A jumper, Mum.”

  “It was a lovely present.”

  “It wasn’t even a good jumper. It was green. It had a spaceship on it.”

  “I thought you wanted to get Alex something.” Mum’s voice had a warning in it. “I thought that’s why we stayed on in all the traffic past the roundabout.”

  Scarlett said nothing.

  Posey let go of Scarlett’s hand. He tilted his head at a shop. “I’m just going in there. Don’t wait for me.”

  “Posey!” Scarlett’s stomach twisted up. “You’ll get lost with all the people!”

  Posey ignored her. His purple furry body disappeared into the crowd and Scarlett watched his white pom-pom tail jiggle as he went. Posey was nearly all purple, apart from his tail and the white patch on his tummy. The only other bit of color was the red Made in China tag that stuck out of the side of his bum.

  “Mum! We need to wait for Posey.”

  Mum didn’t even slow down. “I don’t have time for this today. He’ll be fine.”

  “I told Posey to stay with me. He just doesn’t listen!”

  “He’s a big rabbit.”

  A second later, Posey was back. “Like my new gear?”

  Scarlett looked down. She’d only ever seen Posey naked, but now he was wearing silver moon boots.

  Scarlett’s stomach tightened in a different way now. Those were the same boots Scarlett wanted Mum to get her, but Mum said Scarlett was allowed to get them as her main Christmas present or nothing. Scarlett wasn’t wasting her main present on boots.

  Scarlett was sometimes jealous Posey could just get things, with his different rules.

  Scarlett watched Posey’s boots flash as he walked. “I didn’t think you wore clothes.”

  Posey shrugged. “Everyone wears these kind of boots in China.”

  “Well, don’t run off again.” Scarlett sometimes got sick of hearing how good China was. “We’ll never find you in this crowd.”

  Across the pathway, a scruffy man with a woolly hat stood outside a pop-up booth, holding a megaphone. The booth was all black and white and covered in photographs.

  Scarlett read the words at the top of the booth. The Society Against…

  She didn’t know the last word, so she said it, bit by bit, in her head.

  “Mum, what’s viv-i-sec-tion?”

  Mum glanced at the booth. “It’s like tennis. Come on, let’s dart down here.” She tried to steer Scarlett down a side street, but Scarlett dawdled. She looked back at the man with the megaphone. He was waving his spare arm around as he shouted.

  “These pharmaceuticals are tested on animals. Scientists torture animals, often without anesthetic, for drugs we don’t need….”

  Scarlett peered at one picture, of an unhappy-looking rabbit in a cage. The rabbit had metal spiky bits all round its head.

  “What’s that?” Posey’s voice went all high.

  “Nothing.”

  “What?” Posey’s voice went higher still. “What’s happening to that rabbit in the cage?”

  “I don’t know. But remember what Mum says, not all people are good ones.” Scarlett nodded to the side street. “Come on, Posey, let’s follow Mum.”

  “…Scientists keep animals like monkeys and rabbits in cages. They cause excessive suffering….”

  “But why?” Posey whined.

  A family in front of them stopped suddenly, pointing at something in a shop window. Mum walked into the back of the woman in the group. The woman scowled at Mum. Mu
m looked like she wanted to hit the woman.

  “Right!” Mum spun to face Scarlett. “That’s it, we’ll get something online.”

  “But I haven’t bought anything,” Scarlett said.

  Posey looked down. “At least I got my boots,” he whispered.

  Scarlett shook her head. Posey could be selfish sometimes.

  * * *

  —

  When they got back home, Patrick was in his usual chair in the lounge.

  Mum stood behind Patrick, peering at his screen. “Good afternoon?”

  Patrick put his tablet down on the floor in a rush. “Not bad. You?”

  Mum threw her handbag onto the sideboard. “We were an hour just getting parked up. Then there was a protest going on when we got there, which wasn’t particularly helpful. A vivisection protest. You know, vivisection.” Mum looked at Patrick hard. “Like tennis.”

  Posey crossed his arms. He sat on the floor with an angry bump.

  Scarlett shook her head at him. She didn’t want Mum knowing they’d heard the man shouting. Mum liked to do a good job keeping Scarlett from horrible things, and Scarlett wanted her to think she had.

  “Do you still need anything for Christmas anyway?” Patrick asked Mum. “Didn’t you say you’ve already bought too much?”

  “I haven’t got anything for Alex, though.”

  “I thought we weren’t doing presents with Matt and Alex?”

  “I mean, I haven’t got anything for Scarlett to give to Alex. I forgot.”

  “Can’t you just get her some toiletries?”

  “I don’t think so. Alex is a funny one, Patrick. In a good way, but, you know. I don’t think she’s a bath salts person. She’s a scientist, remember?”

  A scientist.

  Scarlett didn’t know she’d been listening to their conversation. But she definitely heard that.

  Slowly, she turned round to face Posey.

  Posey’s wide eyes told Scarlett that he’d heard it too.

  Posey and Scarlett ran upstairs. They sat cross-legged on Scarlett’s bed, staring at each other.

  “Your dad’s girlfriend’s a scientist,” Posey hissed.

  Scarlett stroked Posey’s paw. The fur on his paw felt thin, like lots of it had worn away. “I know.”

  “You told me she was a doctor.”

  “I thought she was. It says Dr. Alex something on her credit card.”

  “Doctors make people well. Scientists torture rabbits.”

  Scarlett smiled calmly. It was her job to be the brave one. “She won’t do that.”

  “The man said so.” Posey paused. “I didn’t realize you could get girl scientists.”

  “Girls can grow up to be anything they want to be,” Scarlett said quickly. “Astronauts, prime ministers, chief execs.” Sometimes, words came out Scarlett’s mouth in a flow she didn’t remember putting together. She didn’t even know what a chief exec was. “But girl scientists might be different. Maybe girl scientists don’t do the hurting.”

  “The man in the woolly hat didn’t say anything about girl scientists,” Posey said. “He just said scientists torture animals for no reason. That’s what he said.”

  Scarlett squeezed Posey’s paw. “I won’t let her do anything to you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.” Scarlett held Posey’s hand even tighter. “But we’ll have to be careful. So let’s both agree to keep a close eye on Dad’s scientist girlfriend this holiday.”

  5

  Hi, Alex,

  I’ve attached a packing list that I’ve put together to plan what we’re taking to the holiday park—thought you might find it useful? Or not. Whatever!

  I’ve also made some suggestions of who brings which communal things. But I don’t mean to be a packing Nazi. Feel free to ignore me, just let me know either way.

  C x

  It was very thoughtful of Claire to send this email, of course. Because Claire was a thoughtful person. (Alex might not know this woman at all, but she was determined her inner monologue would be kind to Claire. That was the way good relations lay.)

  Alex clicked on the email attachment and scanned the list.

  Swimsuit. Wellies. Swimming towel. Waterproofs. Woolly hat, scarf, and gloves. Torch.

  Alex looked at the bottom of the list, to the communal things.

  Alex and Matt—paper towels, cloths, washing-up liquid, dishwasher tablets, washing powder, tea and coffee and sugar

  Claire and Patrick—Christmas decorations, toilet roll, candles, salt and pepper, oil and butter, herbs and spices, bread and milk

  All very reasonable.

  So why did Alex feel so claustrophobic when she read the email? Like she needed to take her jumper off and loosen her hairband and open a window?

  Alex pushed her laptop a fraction away and pinched the top of her nose. She felt the start of that pressure headache she got when a thunderstorm was on the way—like something behind her eyes was pushing outward. Predicting thunderstorms with her sinuses was Alex’s special superpower, but as powers went it was an annoying one—definitely not comic-book-notable, and never going to save the planet.

  * * *

  —

  A week before the trip, Matt picked up Alex’s phone when she was in the shower.

  Alex walked into the bedroom, rubbing her hair with a towel. She smiled at Matt.

  “But it’s not just for kids,” Matt said into the phone. “And it’s got a half-pipe and everything.”

  Matt held the phone out to her. “It’s Ruby. For you.”

  Alex looked at the phone, and back at Matt.

  “Why haven’t you told her about what we’re doing at Christmas?” Matt asked.

  Alex took the phone. After a long beat, she put the phone to her ear.

  “Yes, Al,” the voice on the end of the line was sarcastic, “why-oh-why haven’t you told me about Christmas?”

  Alex forced a smile at Matt. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  Matt smiled back encouragingly.

  “Yes. Because I’m sure I’d remember that little morsel of insanity. You told me you were going to your parents.”

  “Did I say that? I don’t remember.”

  “Or”—sarcasm made Ruby’s voice sound surprisingly aggressive—“could it be that you were too ashamed to tell me because you know this weekend’s going to go down in a blaze of shit?”

  Alex smiled at Matt again. “I’ll take this call downstairs.”

  She hurried down the stairs, listening to the onslaught. You’re clearly not right in the head for agreeing to this, Al and You need to have a word with yourself and We will definitely be talking about this tomorrow.

  Alex decided to change the subject. “Do you know how to make Christmas cake?”

  “What?” Ruby’s voice rose to a shriek. “Who are you?”

  “It was just a question,” Alex said.

  * * *

  —

  At lunchtime the next day, Alex and Ruby walked outside to their usual bench in the park. There was no eating in the wet lab, and they never wanted to stop for long. Occasionally they couldn’t eat together—university scientists’ lunch schedules weren’t a key factor in dictating surgery times—but, otherwise, it was a punctuation of the working day that Alex had enjoyed since Ruby had joined as a postdoc three years before. There was something so reassuringly twee about their routine: the enjoyable, unspoken predictability of it all.

  “I can understand why Matt would think it’s a good idea”—Ruby raised her gaze in reference to Alex’s boyfriend’s la-la world—“but why would you humor him?”

  Alex sat next to Ruby on the bench. She stared straight ahead as Ruby opened her bag. “Demi Moore and Bruce Willis do it.”

  Ruby opened her foil
-wrapped package. “You’re not Demi Moore. And Matt’s no Bruce Willis.”

  Alex set her own package on her knee. “What do you want from me, Ruby?”

  “I bet Matt doesn’t even own a vest.”

  Alex pressed her fingertips together. “I said I’ll go. I can’t un-agree to go now. Be supportive, please. That’s what mates do.”

  “It’s going to go down in a blaze of shit.”

  “Is that a real expression? You seem to be using it a lot.”

  “Just you wait. It’ll start all ‘pass the salad’ and by the end you’ll be lunging for the razor blades.” Ruby bit into her sandwich. “What’s the poor child meant to think?”

  Alex took a bite of her sandwich. She swallowed with difficulty.

  “I’ll remind you I told you so,” Ruby said. “I’m not an enabler. I’m not that kind of friend.”

  “Speaking to your friends when you have things on your mind is meant to make you feel better.”

  Ruby shrugged. “Yeah, well.” My hands are tied, her shoulders said.

  * * *

  —

  That wasn’t the only conversation about the trip Alex had.

  Before her conversation with Walshy, Alex had always thought of a weekend as a two-day, two-night thing.

  But apparently, that wasn’t the only definition of “weekend.” At least, not according to Matt (according to Walshy).

  According to Matt (according to Walshy), a weekend was some kind of elastic description to cover any general period of time. And if you asked Matt how long a weekend was, apparently you’d get a shrug and a response like How long is a piece of string?

  In what had turned into a regular Thursday night routine since Matt had moved his skateboard and trainer collection into Alex’s house, Walshy sat on the sofa with Alex while Matt was round the corner, restocking at the expensive emergency off-license.

  Alex watched Walshy eat the leftover nachos from her plate. Alex had been saving those nachos for later, but Walshy was not a man defeated by a mountain of food. More specifically, he was not a man restricted by the boundaries of other people’s plates. He was, after all, the one who had introduced Matt to their favorite competitive eating program, and had even been planning to do his own off-brand version on YouTube, until he realized how much all the sausages and pies would set him back.