The Imaginary (3 page)

A week after they first met, Amanda took him to school with her to show him off to Vincent and Julia. They were very polite because they knew Amanda was a bit odd. When she said, ‘This is Rudger,' and pointed at him they looked at a bit of empty space nearby and shook its hand, except it didn't have a hand because it was just empty space. But when Amanda said, ‘No, not
there
,
here
, stupid,' and pointed to exactly where he was, they laughed and said, ‘Sorry,' and tried to shake his hand again. Julia jabbed him in the stomach and Vincent, who was taller, almost poked his eye out.

It was clear to Rudger and Amanda that only she could see him, no one else. Obviously he was Amanda's friend, not to be shared, and Rudger rather liked that feeling.

That was the first and last time he went to school.

Amanda and Rudger spent the early part of the summer holiday in the garden, mainly. They built a den at the far end, under the thorn bush, and through her eyes he saw the place transformed.

One day the den would be a spaceship landing on far-off alien planets. They'd climb out through the thorns, taking great care not to prick their spacesuits, and walk across the surface of their strange new home in great slow
loping
bounds, buoyed up by low gravity. They'd marvel at weird rock formations and the extra moons in the sky and chase the strange cat-sized animals that lived on this distant world.

Another day the den would be the gondola of a grand hot-air balloon, setting them down atop a rocky plateau miles above the sticky, steamy South American jungle. They'd dare each other to look over the edge (or, rather, Amanda would dare Rudger to look and then, when he refused to do it, do it herself to prove how easy it was), and chase the strange cat-sized animals who'd been up there for millions of years.

At other times the den would be an igloo and the garden would glitter with ice, or it would be a thick dark nomad's tent and the garden a dusty, parched, hazy desert, or it would be a future-tank trundling endlessly over trackless, cratered, muddy fields.

Wherever they ended up Amanda's mum's cat, Oven, would watch them carefully from the patio, waiting for the moment Amanda would see her. Through Amanda's imagination-tinted eyes, Oven would always play the part of the alien or tiger or dinosaur that needed chasing.

At first Rudger had felt sorry for her, but she always escaped with a rattle of cat flap as soon as Amanda pounced.

Sometimes,
he thought, it seemed as though Oven could see him. She'd catch his eye in the middle of washing her shoulder and stare worriedly, her unmoving pink tongue poking out, but then she'd blink, yawn, turn around, lift her leg and begin licking her wide-spread toes as if she'd seen nothing after all. So, who could say?

Well, Rudger thought, upon reflection, Oven could say, but since she was a cat and cats don't speak, he resigned himself to living without knowing.

One day Rudger and Amanda were exploring a complex of caves, deep and dark, that stretched out for unknown miles underneath the stairs. They smelt of damp and bats and dripping water, and Amanda was just complaining that Rudger had forgotten to bring the torch, when the doorbell rang.

As the echo of chiming bells reverberated through the caverns they heard Amanda's mum grumble her way to the front door. She was working in her study and didn't like being disturbed.

‘Yes?' she snapped as she pulled the door open.

‘Oh, hello,' said a deep voice Amanda didn't recognise. ‘I am in your area with a survey. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?'

‘What's it about?'

‘It's a survey,' the voice replied. There was a long pause as if this were answer enough before it then added, ‘about Britain today. And children.'

‘
I'm not sure,' Amanda's mum said. ‘Do you have any identification?'

‘Identification?'

‘Yes, to say who you are.'

‘Who I am? My name is Mr Bunting, ma'am. Like the bird.'

‘Bird?'

‘Yes, the corn bunting, for example. There are others…'

‘Yes, yes,' Mrs Shuffleup agreed. ‘Do you have something to prove that?'

‘To prove a kinship to the bird?' the man said. ‘No. No, nothing like that. Ornithology is not—'

‘No,' Amanda's mum interrupted. ‘I mean ID? To prove you are who you say you are?'

Mr Bunting gave a little cough, as if he were insulted (but only a tiny bit), before saying, ‘Yes, of course. I have a badge, look.'

By now Amanda had crept into the hallway. She left Rudger in the cave-mouth under the stairs so she wouldn't lose her place in the adventure (in much the same way you leave your thumb in a book when someone talks to you). She tiptoed up behind her mother and gave her a hug. Mothers like this sort of thing. From there it was easy for Amanda to be nosy.

Peering round her mum she discovered two people on the doorstep: one a grown man, showing her mother his name badge, and the other a little girl about Amanda's age.

The man was dressed in Bermuda shorts, with a brightly patterned shirt, all clashing colours and dazzle, stretched across his
wide
round torso like palm trees bending in a tropical breeze. He clutched a clipboard in his hands, had a biro behind one ear, and was completely bald. A pair of dark glasses covered his eyes and a red moustache covered his mouth. It quivered each time he spoke.

The girl, in contrast, was dressed in a dull, dark dress over a white blouse. It was practically school uniform, Amanda thought. Her hair was straight and black and from between its dull falling curtains her eyes shone dimly out. She stood still while the man bobbed and wobbled about. She didn't say anything.

Amanda guessed that the man was her dad and she'd had to go to work with him. She knew that sometimes some of her friends had to do this during the holidays. It didn't look like she was enjoying it.

Then the girl turned and looked at her, straight in the eyes. The suddenness of it made Amanda jump (not that she'd admit it); nevertheless, she managed to squeeze a smile out at the girl. It was good to be friendly, Amanda believed, and the girl looked so miserable it seemed the only kind thing to do. The pale girl smiled a small thin-lipped smile back at her and, as she did so, reached up and gave the man's sleeve a tug.

He stopped talking.

‘I'm not really sure I want to answer questions on the doorstep,' Amanda's mum was saying. ‘Maybe, if you've got a form you want to leave? Something I can pop in the post? Or… It's just I
am
pretty busy right now.'

She
made a typing movement with her hands in the air as if to emphasise the point.

‘Oh, no need, ma'am,' the man said with a happy chuckle. ‘No need at all. I'm very sorry to have troubled you on this pleasantly weathered afternoon. I will leave you now. Be off, eh?'

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow, before spinning on his heel and walking off up the front path.

When she'd shut the front door Amanda's mum said, ‘How odd.'

‘What did they want, Mum?'

‘He was asking about how many children live here and things like that. Seemed most peculiar to me, darling. That's why I got rid of him so quickly.'

‘And she looked so miserable, having to follow him round,' Amanda said, going back up the hallway to where Rudger was waiting.

‘
She
, darling?'

‘The girl.'

‘What girl?'

Amanda looked at her mum with her head on one side.

‘Oh, nothing,' she said, waving her hand and sending her back to her work. It was important stuff and Amanda did her best to not get in the way. ‘I was talking to Rudger.'

‘Rudger,' her mum said indulgently. ‘Is he okay? You two been busy today?'

‘Yes, we're potholing.'

And
then Amanda was back in the caves, feeling her fingertip way through the black, edging round ancient vacuum-cleaner-shaped rock formations and between dim dank dark-dripping stalactites. She told Rudger about what she'd seen.

‘And she didn't see the girl?' he asked.

‘No.'

‘Wasn't she looking?'

‘Oh, she was looking all right. She's not stupid, not
really
. Do you know what I reckon, Rudger?'

‘Yeah, I think so.'

‘That bloke. He had a 'maginary friend, just like I've got you.'

‘Well,' said Rudger, ‘it's nice to know I'm not alone.'