Wodehousian, Thirties thing, but I sense it’s making a comeback.’
She prodded him in the ribs and wriggled down into the pillows to prepare for sleep. ‘Sleep, now,’ she said, gave a huge sigh and went off, just like that. Maxwell lay there amazed, as he always did. Was it a police thing? A female thing? How on earth did she do that? He rolled over and tried to put the day’s events out of his mind. He counted, in his head, the squadrons in the Light Brigade at Balaclava. He listed their commanding officers. He began to list their …
Someone was pulling his hair. It really hurt,but not as much as the exploratory finger up his nose. A bright light was shining in his eyes.
‘God,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve been abducted by aliens.’
He forced open one eye and found that he was face-to-face with Nolan. ‘Dada? Brekkie.’
Maxwell tried to ungum his mouth. To make time, he gently disentangled his son’s fingers from his hair and unplugged his finger from his right nostril. He planted a kiss on the boy’s nose and struggled upright. He glanced behind him. Jacquie’s side of the bed was empty. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ he asked the boy.
‘Mummy ha gone,’ Nolan said. He sounded so precise that Maxwell half expected him to produce a Post-it note with the details.
‘When?’ he asked and then stopped. This lovely boy, bright as a button and twice as cute, was pretty good on where the biscuits were, how far he could push Metternich before the animal moved out and which Hoob was which, if indeed anyone knew. But time was something that happened to other people. For some bizarre spatial reason, Maxwell had been twelve before he could tell the time and he quite understood. He picked the child up and they went into the kitchen to get breakfast. The cooker clock, a tad more forthcoming than his son, told Maxwell that it was seven-thirty. So Jacquie had gone out earlier than usual. He hadn’t heard thephone, but that was no guide; he often didn’t. He stepped deftly over a lurking Metternich and perched Nolan on the worktop. He raised an interrogative eyebrow at him.
‘Pops!’ the little one shouted.
‘Coco Pops it is,’ agreed Maxwell. He glanced down at Metternich. ‘Coco Pops?’ The cat’s disdain was palpable and he showed Maxwell a clean pair of heels as he sped off down the stairs. Maxwell looked at his son who shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms, palms uppermost; a facsimile in miniature of his mother that made his father laugh out loud. The boy’s lip quivered for a moment and then he laughed too. A chip off each block, and no mistake.
As they sat together in companionable silence, watching the apparent acid trip that was the Night Garden, Maxwell began to wonder, ever so slightly, if he should find out where his wife-to -be had gone. As if in answer, the phone began to ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Max? Is that you?’ Jacquie asked, puzzled.
‘Who were you expecting?’
‘Well, no “War Room”? No “Piccadilly Circus”? No “Bedlam”?’
‘All of the above, obviously. But I didn’t know who it might be.’
‘Max, it’s quarter to eight in the morning. Who else might it be?’
‘Your kidnapper?’
‘Hmm, all right, sorry. I should have left a note, but I had to dash. I’m at the hospital. Someone had another go at Mrs Bevell last night.’
‘My God!’ Maxwell nearly dropped his Coco Pops. ‘Is she … I mean, did they …?’
‘Succeed? No. But obviously, she is very scared and also she did take in a bit of the poison, so is back in intensive care big time. She is now planning to sue the paramedic and also Leighford General.’
‘I hope she makes a bundle.’
There was another silence. ‘Max, are you sure it’s you? First answering the phone like a sane person and then applauding the blame culture. I’m in shock.’
‘No, no. Blame culture be buggered. I just mean that if she wins, she won’t need the job, so we won’t have her at Leighford High.’
‘Thank
She prodded him in the ribs and wriggled down into the pillows to prepare for sleep. ‘Sleep, now,’ she said, gave a huge sigh and went off, just like that. Maxwell lay there amazed, as he always did. Was it a police thing? A female thing? How on earth did she do that? He rolled over and tried to put the day’s events out of his mind. He counted, in his head, the squadrons in the Light Brigade at Balaclava. He listed their commanding officers. He began to list their …
Someone was pulling his hair. It really hurt,but not as much as the exploratory finger up his nose. A bright light was shining in his eyes.
‘God,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve been abducted by aliens.’
He forced open one eye and found that he was face-to-face with Nolan. ‘Dada? Brekkie.’
Maxwell tried to ungum his mouth. To make time, he gently disentangled his son’s fingers from his hair and unplugged his finger from his right nostril. He planted a kiss on the boy’s nose and struggled upright. He glanced behind him. Jacquie’s side of the bed was empty. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ he asked the boy.
‘Mummy ha gone,’ Nolan said. He sounded so precise that Maxwell half expected him to produce a Post-it note with the details.
‘When?’ he asked and then stopped. This lovely boy, bright as a button and twice as cute, was pretty good on where the biscuits were, how far he could push Metternich before the animal moved out and which Hoob was which, if indeed anyone knew. But time was something that happened to other people. For some bizarre spatial reason, Maxwell had been twelve before he could tell the time and he quite understood. He picked the child up and they went into the kitchen to get breakfast. The cooker clock, a tad more forthcoming than his son, told Maxwell that it was seven-thirty. So Jacquie had gone out earlier than usual. He hadn’t heard thephone, but that was no guide; he often didn’t. He stepped deftly over a lurking Metternich and perched Nolan on the worktop. He raised an interrogative eyebrow at him.
‘Pops!’ the little one shouted.
‘Coco Pops it is,’ agreed Maxwell. He glanced down at Metternich. ‘Coco Pops?’ The cat’s disdain was palpable and he showed Maxwell a clean pair of heels as he sped off down the stairs. Maxwell looked at his son who shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms, palms uppermost; a facsimile in miniature of his mother that made his father laugh out loud. The boy’s lip quivered for a moment and then he laughed too. A chip off each block, and no mistake.
As they sat together in companionable silence, watching the apparent acid trip that was the Night Garden, Maxwell began to wonder, ever so slightly, if he should find out where his wife-to -be had gone. As if in answer, the phone began to ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Max? Is that you?’ Jacquie asked, puzzled.
‘Who were you expecting?’
‘Well, no “War Room”? No “Piccadilly Circus”? No “Bedlam”?’
‘All of the above, obviously. But I didn’t know who it might be.’
‘Max, it’s quarter to eight in the morning. Who else might it be?’
‘Your kidnapper?’
‘Hmm, all right, sorry. I should have left a note, but I had to dash. I’m at the hospital. Someone had another go at Mrs Bevell last night.’
‘My God!’ Maxwell nearly dropped his Coco Pops. ‘Is she … I mean, did they …?’
‘Succeed? No. But obviously, she is very scared and also she did take in a bit of the poison, so is back in intensive care big time. She is now planning to sue the paramedic and also Leighford General.’
‘I hope she makes a bundle.’
There was another silence. ‘Max, are you sure it’s you? First answering the phone like a sane person and then applauding the blame culture. I’m in shock.’
‘No, no. Blame culture be buggered. I just mean that if she wins, she won’t need the job, so we won’t have her at Leighford High.’
‘Thank
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