The Chinese Egg by Catherine Storr

the table, give a shiver and come back to the present as he had. He didn’t need to speak to her, they simply looked at each other and understood. It was Chris who was saying, “What’s the matter?” And then, quickly perceiving, “Oh! Another flash?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Stephen said, “I saw the girl.”
    â€œWhat’s she like then?”
    Why did he feel this intolerable disinclination to talk about it? He said, “Sort of fuzzy.”
    â€œFuzzy?”
    Vicky said, “It’s her hair. It’s crinkly. Like Bert Sanders.”
    â€œOh, that What else?”
    Neither Vicky nor Stephen answered. Chris looked from one to the other, impatient.
    â€œWhy don’t you say? There must have been something.”
    Stephen said to Vicky, ignoring Chris, “You saw her too?”
    â€œI only saw the back of her head.”
    â€œI saw the back of his head. Did you see him properly? What’s he like?”
    â€œNot properly, I didn’t. Her head got in the way. I think he’s got. . . . Wait a minute. There was something funny about him.”
    Stephen waited.
    â€œHe’s got funny hair.”
    â€œHow d’you mean, funny? You mean fuzzy, like hers?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat then?”
    â€œI don’t know. I can’t remember properly. All I know is when I saw him I thought his hair looked funny.”
    Chris cut in. “It was about the baby, wasn’t it?”
    Stephen and Vicky looked at each other again, as if each needed confirmation from the other.
    â€œI suppose so,” Stephen said.
    â€œWas it, Vicky?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, then!” Chris said triumphantly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNow you’ll go to the police.”
    Vicky looked at Stephen and Stephen looked at Vicky.
    â€œWell? Why not? You said. If you got another flash.”
    Stephen glared at Chris and Chris glared back.
    â€œWhy not?”
    Stephen said, “It’s having to go and tell people something so stupid.”
    â€œYou mean you’re going to let whoever it is get away with stealing a baby, because you’re frightened what people’ll say about you if you tell them?”
    â€œIt’s not only that. . . .”
    â€œVicky! You’ll do something?” Chris said urgently.
    Vicky understood Stephen’s feeling of not wanting to tell people. Who wanted to make themselves look like some sort of freak? But she saw, too, that he minded the idea much more than she did. Was it something to do with his being a boy, she wondered. Or the difference of class? As she thought this, Chris burst out again. “I never saw what Dad meant before, when he talks about being middle class. You’re too frightened of looking sillyto mind about what happens to a baby! A little baby!” Her face was red and there were tears in her voice.
    â€œI do mind. If only I was sure.”
    â€œVicky!” Chris appealed.
    â€œI think we’ll have to tell someone. Try, anyhow. Even if they don’t take any notice. We can’t not, Stephen. Think what you’d feel like if they did hurt the baby and we’d just kept quiet,” Vicky said.
    â€œAre they going to hurt it?” Chris demanded.
    â€œShe said something about how they’d said they wouldn’t. Only the way she said it, I think they might. Did you hear that?” she asked Stephen.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œI didn’t hear anything else.”
    â€œLet’s go now. They may be doing something terrible,” Chris said, standing up and looking as if she were going to rush out of the room immediately.
    â€œWait a tick. We’ve got to decide who to try to tell.”
    â€œBut think what’s happening. . . .”
    â€œYou’ve forgotten, Chris. It hasn’t happened yet. I mean, if it’s like the other times we’ve seen what’s going to