Silent Children (27 page)

"So long as you're doing that now, John. Would you say I might be able to look forward to not hearing any more about it ever again?"

"I don't know if I can promise that."

"And who do you think is going to believe you if your own mother doesn't?" She swung herself heavily off the desk and stood in front of it, fists on hips, elbows straining to point at him. "Go on then, convince me. Where is he supposed to be?"

"I don't know. I—"

"How's he managing to hide when his face was in half the papers?"

"I didn't know it had been. I guess—"

"How come, that's what you Americans say, isn't it, how come nobody's recognised him? What's he made himself look like?"

"I haven't seen him."

"Oh, you haven't. You're going to though, are you? Is he coming to show you his face so you can describe him?"

"I can't say. That would be—"

"I won't say what I think it would be, I'm not that rude. Is he invisible? Ghosts are meant to be, aren't they?"

"He's no ghost. He—"

"I'm glad you've admitted that at least. That's the kind of story you've been selling though, isn't it? It's how you made your name."

"Not as much of one as maybe you believe. But this isn't—"

"So you're trying to make yourself more of one with a new kind of story. John, I don't blame you for that. Just think a bit more about how it will affect me if you carry on with that part of it. I'll be able to stand the rest of it because it'll be true, but not you saying he's alive."

"Suppose he is, mother. Suppose for someone else's sake."

Her eyes hardened, and Jack saw she'd already had to admit too much about his father. "All right," she said, "you tell me how he managed not to be drowned."

"I don't know that yet."

"You haven't made it up yet, you mean."

"They haven't found the body, have they?"

She looked ready to grab Jack and shake him. "So that's where you got your idea, is it? I hope they do before your book comes out if you dare to say he's alive in it. Serve you right if your book's a flop."

He was in the path of all the grief and rage that made her say so. He felt like the child he'd been. "It isn't for the book," he said.

Either his words enraged her further or she hadn't time to listen to them. "You'd better have more to show or everyone will see through you. And I'll tell you what, if they find out you were calling from here they'll think I've had to take you in. Yes, Karen."

The greeting was addressed more gently to an overalled young woman who had ventured to knock on the open door. "Big Arthur doesn't want to take his medicine," Karen said.

"You'll excuse me, John, won't you? I've got to attend to somebody less fortunate than you." Her tone denied that anyone had heard her lose her temper. "Will you have finished in here?" she said, but it wasn't a question.

Jack followed her out of the office. When she glanced at him, her expression poised to forgive, he responded "I guess I can use a stroll round the block."

"That never does any harm." Her expression hadn't declared more of itself when she said "Don't do anything that would make me not want to have you stay with me."

He had to, despite any consequences of that kind. It was some help that the nearest public phone was out of sight of the Haven. Nevertheless, when the Classical Discount number proved to be engaged and Leslie's home number only rang, he had to own up to some relief. The task of convincing anyone his father was alive seemed not just well-nigh impossible until he had some evidence but also less urgent when he recalled how unmenacing his father had rendered himself. The man no longer had his business to conceal him or his activities, and it was clear that he knew he wouldn't be safe unless he continued to hide. If he tried to return to his old ways he would only betray his existence. He couldn't be that mad.

"Do you want your mouth undone, Charlotte? Will you keep quiet if it is?"

Eyes.

"See yourself in the mirror there. You look like a doll, don't you? A big doll they forgot to put the mouth on. See the funny doll that looks just like you."

Big eyes.

"All right, maybe you're not funny. Even if you are you can't laugh. That's no good, is it? You should always be able to laugh. Do you know what makes the world go round? Of course you do. It's laughter."

Eyes blinking.

"Careful now. You're not scared, are you? You don't want to be scared. You know you needn't be scared of me. There's no call for it. It only makes trouble."

Eyes and lids trying to keep still.

"That's the style. No, it's not. I don't like that. Maybe it's not having any mouth that's making you look scared. See? Am I right?"

Eyes blinking at the mirror.

"You want to say yes, don't you? You want to talk. If I let you undo your mouth you mustn't speak any louder than I'm speaking. Can you promise that? If you're sure you can, just nod."

Head moving stiffly up and down twice, eyes watching Hector.

"Go on then, you undo it. It might hurt if I pull it. You'll know how hard to pull."

Hands trembling toward mouth, flinching away.

"It won't hurt much. You won't have to scream. You're not a baby. You don't scream at your age unless you're like Biff. You'd better pinch your lips together if you think you're going to, mm mm, like that. You can do it better than me, you've got teeth. Never mind, when you haven't got any you can make funny faces like this. I expect you'd laugh at it if you could. I'll show you again if you undo your mouth."

Hands lifting, eyes wanting to retreat from them.

"Go on. Don't think about it, do it. Give a big pull and don't stop till it's off. Right this minute or I'll have to do it for you."

Hands flying to corners of mouth. Eyes widening. Fingers and thumbs closing, tugging, tearing mouth free. Exposed lips quivering, raw as new flesh.

"There, it's over. You'll be fine. Just quieten yourself. Don't even think about making a row or I'll have to do you up again. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

Head shaking, eyes wobbling.

"Let's see a bit of a smile, then, now you've got a mouth. Oh, more than that, come on. A corpse could do better than that. Let the ends go up and the rest will have to follow. Is it stiff from being done up? Give it a try, then it won't be so stiff. Lift the ends like this, look. Up, up, up."

Corners of mouth twitching, trying to twitch higher.

"That's the way. Bit more. Bit more. Bit more even than that. There's nothing in your eyes, is there? I say, you haven't got anything in your eyes. Give them a dab if you want. If they carry on looking like that you'll have me thinking you're going to make a row, and you wouldn't want that, would you?"

Head shaking, hands jerking up to eyes as though to hold them still.

"That's better. You can talk, you know, I told you. Just make sure it's no louder than this, in fact even a bit quieter to be safe. Have a try so I can hear you can. You aren't scared, are you? I say you aren't scared."

Head shaking as though moved back and forth by the hands on the cheeks.

"Speak up for yourself, then. Smile when you do it, that'll make it easier. Is there anything you want that'll let you give me a real smile instead of that shaky item? Look in the mirror and see if it doesn't make you laugh. Don't start that with your eyes again. What are you going to say that'll make you smile? What do you want? Anything within reason. Just don't go mad."

"I w... I w..."

"Take your time. Don't force it if that's going to make it come out too loud. A little bit quieter than that, all right? And remember it's got to be something that'll make you smile. Get the smile going first and that'll help you say it. Off you go. You want..."

"I want to go home."

"You don't really. Give it a bit of a think. You can't want to go back to those people. You sounded more scared when they were about than you're sounding now. You said you were going to have nightmares. You wouldn't want to have them and be screaming half the night like Biff."

"I won't. I promise."

"Aren't you listening? I didn't say you'd do it here. I'll be making sure of that. I said you would if you went back to those people."

"I want to go home to my mummy."

"She can't be much of one or you wouldn't be here, would you? Better give those eyes another dab. We don't want them spoiling that smile. You're not having such a bad time with me, are you? Just don't think about going home and then you won't mind being here."

"I want to. I want to see her."

"Then you shouldn't have made me care about you, should you? You were glad enough to come to me when you didn't know what to do with yourself because you were scared to go near that house. You oughtn't to have been so anxious to hide in here with me if you didn't want to stay."

"I want to go now. I want mummy."

"That's dealt with. Finished. We're not talking about it any more. You sound as if you've used all your voice up saying that so much. What do you want instead? I know, you want a laugh. Here's a face to make you laugh."

Hector sucked in his lips, then turned them inside out as far as they would go and let his tongue steal between them. It ought to amuse her—it was painful enough to produce—but when he looked in the mirror to examine his face before presenting it to the little girl, he saw her pushing herself away up the bed, leaving ripples in the quilt, and when he turned to her she shrank against the padded headboard. He tried lolling his head from side to side and bulging his eyes while his tongue appeared and disappeared between his exposed gums, but that didn't earn him a smile either, never mind a laugh. "You've got to have no teeth to make that face," he whispered, "I pulled all my teeth out myself for it," but that didn't improve her response; nor did his crouching at the foot of the bed and ducking out of sight before poking his head over the edge of the mattress and doing his best to grimace even more comically as a preamble to saying "Peep." When two more performances of this routine went down as badly, he desisted. "You're no fun," he muttered. "All right, you tell me what'll make you laugh."

It seemed to Hector that he couldn't be more reasonable, and the girl could surely do better in the way of an answer than moving her lips from side to side, as though whatever expression they were struggling to form kept slipping off. He stared around the room in growing desperation. What was there to amuse her? He could borrow a comb from the dressing table and stick out his upper lip to prop it up—if the comb fell off while he was talking in a Hitler voice, that might be even funnier—but she might be too young to know who Hitler was and besides, a Hitler voice would have to be louder than he ought to risk. He didn't think a Hitler whisper would be funny enough, though he wasn't sure that he needed to whisper, having heard the phone next door stay lengthily unanswered a few minutes ago. He turned to the chest of drawers and exposed the contents: a few pairs of socks and tights left at home by their owners, two drawerfuls of fat squashed sweaters awaiting winter, a scattering of male and female underwear. He supposed he could wear some knickers on his head and be Old Nick—he could pant at her, and she might laugh if she understood the joke—and then he knew what she ought to enjoy as much as he'd enjoyed it at her age. "Have you been to any shows?" he whispered eagerly. "Does your dad take you to the theatre?"

He would have grown frustrated with the wordless shaking of her head if he hadn't realised the sound she'd released was a word. "Mum."

"Which show did she take you to?"

"A pantomime."

"I never know why they call them that, do you? Pantomime means when you act without any voice. It's not supposed to mean a fairy tale show with all that song and dance and laughs and the rest of it put in. So which one did you get taken to?"

"Riding Hood."

"The little red one, eh?" There must be a joke for Hector to make about that, and he was annoyed not to be able to think of it. "Her and her old wolf," he said. "Did you like him?"

If she hadn't she must think it would please Hector if she pretended she had. She nodded and almost managed to smile at the memory of the wolf. The hint of a smile came apart, however, when Hector strained his head up and thrust out his lower lip as far as it would go and uttered a muted howl. He was beginning to resent how hard she was to amuse. "What else did you like?"

"Snow White."

She was barely able to speak for apprehensiveness. She must be afraid he would show her the wicked queen, Hector thought. Even though his face was perfect for the old crone the queen became, he resolved to be the dwarfs instead. He lowered himself into an aching crouch and trotted back and forth, holding his upper third visible over the end of the bed. "See if you can guess which dwarf I am. See which you think is funniest," he said.

He was baffled to find that the answer was none of them. Each character he laboured to produce only caused her face to tighten—he might as well not have allowed her to undo her mouth. The one with his squashed-together lips stuck out and his frown so exaggerated that it nearly shut Hector's eyes proved unpopular, and it occurred to Hector that he looked too fierce, but what was her objection to the daft one with his wagging head and his tongue groping for the corner of his mouth, and the other little fellow with his rolling eyes and his hopeful grin that kept collapsing whenever he met her gaze? Had she no sense of humour? It wouldn't do her any harm to make a little effort to be appreciative; Hector was certainly making an effort himself, enough of one that he was determined to see more of a reaction than he was earning so far. How could she fail to like the jolly dwarf, his eyes stinging with enormousness, his smile so wide that Hector's bared gums tingled? At least the fifth midget brought a response—a jerk of the little girl's body and a creak of the headboard against which it pressed harder each time he let fly another sneeze he'd screwed his face up for.

Having to sneeze in a whisper was aggravating his frustration, and so was his inability to think how to portray the one with spectacles. He was stumbling back and forth in his crouch while he prepared to play the dozy dwarf, and reflecting that he would settle for her being asleep, when he had an idea that jerked him to his feet. Her eyes seemed to tug her head up as she watched him dance away the pain of having left his crouch. He wondered if she thought he was still performing, and told himself to keep his temper if she laughed. When the agony in his legs subsided enough for him to stand still he said "Did she ever take you to
Hansel and Gretel,
no, what did they call it,
Babes in the Wood?"