Samantha had to contribute to his misery. 'When I grow up I'm going to be a nurse,
daddy.'
'Bounce on the bed like that again and you won't grow up to be anything,' snarled Wilt on the
recoil.
Downstairs the telephone rang.
'If it's the Tech again, what shall I tell them?' asked Eva.
'Again? I thought I told you to say I was sick.'
'I did but they've phoned back several times.'
'Tell them I'm still sick,' said Wilt. 'Just don't mention what with.'
'They probably know anyway by now. I saw Rowena Blackthorn at playschool and she said she was
sorry to hear about your accident,' said Eva, going downstairs.
'And which of you quadraphonic loudspeakers blurted the good news about daddy's whatsit to Mrs
Blackthorn's little prodigy?' asked Wilt, turning a terrible eye on the quads.
'I didn't,' said Samantha smugly.
'You just egged Penelope on to, I suppose. I know that look on your mug.'
'It wasn't Penny. It was Josephine. She played with Robin and they were playing mummies and
daddies.
'Well when you get a little older you'll learn that there's no such thing as playing mummies
and daddies. You will find instead that there is a war between the sexes and that you, my
sweethearts, being females of the species, invariably win.'
The quads retreated from the bedroom and could be heard conferring on the landing. Wilt edged
his way out of bed in search of a book and was just getting back with Nightmare Abbey, which was
sufficiently unromantic to suit his mood, when Emmeline was pushed into the room.
'What do you want now? Can't you see I'm ill?'
'Please Daddy,' said Emmeline, 'Samantha wants to know why you've got that bag tied to your
leg.'
'Oh she does, does she?' said Wilt with dangerous calmness. 'Well you can tell Samantha and
through her Miss Oates and her animal minders that your daddy wears a bag on his leg and a pipe
up his prick because your mummsyfuckingwumsy took it into her empty head to try to rip off
daddywaddy's genitalia on the end of a strip of fucking sticking-plaster. And if Miss Oates
doesn't know what genitalia are tell her from me that they're the adult equivalent of a male
stork only its spelt with a fucking L. Now get out of my sight before I add hernia, hypertension
and multiple infanticide to my other infernal problems.'
The children fled. Downstairs Eva slammed the phone down and shouted. 'Henry Wilt...'
'Shut up,' yelled Wilt. 'One more comment out of anybody in this house and I won't be
responsible for my actions.'
And for once he was obeyed. Eva went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. If
only Henry would be more masterful when he was up and about and well.
Chapter 9
For the next three days Wilt was off work. He mooched about the house, sat in the Spockery and
speculated on the nature of a world in which Progress with a capital P conflicted with Chaos and
man with a small M was continually at loggerheads with Nature. In Wilt's view it was one of
life's great paradoxes that Eva, who was forever accusing him of being cynical and
nonprogressive, should succumb so readily to the recessive call of nature in the shape of compost
heaps, Organic Toilets, home weaving and anything that smacked of the primitive while at the same
time maintaining an unshakable optimism in the future. For Wilt there was only the eternal
present, a succession of present moments, not so much moving forward as aggregating behind him
like a reputation. And if in the past his reputation had suffered some nasty blows, his latest
misfortune had already added to his legend. From Mavis Mottram the ripples of gossip had spread
out across Ipford's educational suburbia, gaining fresh credence and additional attributes with
each retelling. By the time the story reached the Braintrees it had already incorporated the
crocodile film by way of the Tech, Blighte-Smythe, and Mrs Chatterway, and rumour had it that
Wilt was about to be arrested for grossly
daddy.'
'Bounce on the bed like that again and you won't grow up to be anything,' snarled Wilt on the
recoil.
Downstairs the telephone rang.
'If it's the Tech again, what shall I tell them?' asked Eva.
'Again? I thought I told you to say I was sick.'
'I did but they've phoned back several times.'
'Tell them I'm still sick,' said Wilt. 'Just don't mention what with.'
'They probably know anyway by now. I saw Rowena Blackthorn at playschool and she said she was
sorry to hear about your accident,' said Eva, going downstairs.
'And which of you quadraphonic loudspeakers blurted the good news about daddy's whatsit to Mrs
Blackthorn's little prodigy?' asked Wilt, turning a terrible eye on the quads.
'I didn't,' said Samantha smugly.
'You just egged Penelope on to, I suppose. I know that look on your mug.'
'It wasn't Penny. It was Josephine. She played with Robin and they were playing mummies and
daddies.
'Well when you get a little older you'll learn that there's no such thing as playing mummies
and daddies. You will find instead that there is a war between the sexes and that you, my
sweethearts, being females of the species, invariably win.'
The quads retreated from the bedroom and could be heard conferring on the landing. Wilt edged
his way out of bed in search of a book and was just getting back with Nightmare Abbey, which was
sufficiently unromantic to suit his mood, when Emmeline was pushed into the room.
'What do you want now? Can't you see I'm ill?'
'Please Daddy,' said Emmeline, 'Samantha wants to know why you've got that bag tied to your
leg.'
'Oh she does, does she?' said Wilt with dangerous calmness. 'Well you can tell Samantha and
through her Miss Oates and her animal minders that your daddy wears a bag on his leg and a pipe
up his prick because your mummsyfuckingwumsy took it into her empty head to try to rip off
daddywaddy's genitalia on the end of a strip of fucking sticking-plaster. And if Miss Oates
doesn't know what genitalia are tell her from me that they're the adult equivalent of a male
stork only its spelt with a fucking L. Now get out of my sight before I add hernia, hypertension
and multiple infanticide to my other infernal problems.'
The children fled. Downstairs Eva slammed the phone down and shouted. 'Henry Wilt...'
'Shut up,' yelled Wilt. 'One more comment out of anybody in this house and I won't be
responsible for my actions.'
And for once he was obeyed. Eva went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. If
only Henry would be more masterful when he was up and about and well.
Chapter 9
For the next three days Wilt was off work. He mooched about the house, sat in the Spockery and
speculated on the nature of a world in which Progress with a capital P conflicted with Chaos and
man with a small M was continually at loggerheads with Nature. In Wilt's view it was one of
life's great paradoxes that Eva, who was forever accusing him of being cynical and
nonprogressive, should succumb so readily to the recessive call of nature in the shape of compost
heaps, Organic Toilets, home weaving and anything that smacked of the primitive while at the same
time maintaining an unshakable optimism in the future. For Wilt there was only the eternal
present, a succession of present moments, not so much moving forward as aggregating behind him
like a reputation. And if in the past his reputation had suffered some nasty blows, his latest
misfortune had already added to his legend. From Mavis Mottram the ripples of gossip had spread
out across Ipford's educational suburbia, gaining fresh credence and additional attributes with
each retelling. By the time the story reached the Braintrees it had already incorporated the
crocodile film by way of the Tech, Blighte-Smythe, and Mrs Chatterway, and rumour had it that
Wilt was about to be arrested for grossly
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