Authors: John Halkin
‘Then why did they get rid of them – if they did?’
‘Oh, a missionary came along. Attitudes changed. Usual story.’
They coaxed the civil servants into a nearby burger house to discuss the matter further over coffee. If the Government would authorise the shipment of just one plane-load of monitor lizards into Britain they could find out within twenty-four hours whether this was the answer or not. Ginny supported him. It was at least worth trying, wasn’t it? Use nature to fight nature; that was better than poisoning the earth.
‘Yes, there is the environmental argument of course,’ the male civil servant agreed smoothly.
‘Oh Jesus!’ Ginny swore vehemently. ‘Don’t you realise the things are killing people?’
She started to describe the scene at the supermarket only the day before, but Jeff stopped her.
‘I’m sure they realise,’ he said quietly.
It was almost midday when they parted, the civil servants saying that they had to get back to their desks. They would be putting in separate reports, they said, and would try to get a quick response.
Jeff took Ginny and Rossiter into the corner pub and armed them with a large whisky apiece before going off to telephone. Rossiter launched into a self-justificatory monologue about how he truly lived for animals and was not in the business merely for money, oh no, not at all, if it was only that he’d be selling cabbages. It left Ginny feeling that he had now made his own good work look rather cheap. She was relieved when Jeff returned.
She refused a second round, saying she had to get back to Lingford. Jeff was staying on in London, so she went to the station alone, taking a taxi in preference to the tube. Since the caterpillars she felt uneasy in enclosed spaces.
The train was already pulling away from the platform as she arrived and she had to wait three-quarters of an hour for the next. She thought of ringing Jack, but decided against. Had she behaved badly towards him, she wondered? She was no longer sure. Perhaps it was just one of those untidy things that happen when people break up.
But at least the journey back was comfortable. She had plenty of room and passed the time updating the notes which she still conscientiously kept. Occasionally she glanced out at the passing houses, observing how many now had fitted wire-mesh frames over their windows. More, the farther they travelled from London.
An undisturbed day, that’s all she longed for now. If only she could get back to the house and find no phone calls on the recording machine, no messages of any kind. And Bernie home early, too. A long, quiet evening together.
At Lingford Station all was peaceful. She went first into the High Street for a bit of shopping, then to the car park. Her Renault ran like a dream since the garage had given it a thorough working over, though she still hadn’t recovered from the bill.
The village too was at its most attractive. Few people about, but that was not unusual for mid-afternoon. So far – touch wood – they had been free of both moths and caterpillars since the Spring Fête. In fact, that seemed to be emerging as a pattern. After a mass attack they seldom returned, though she could think right away of two exceptions. It could always happen.
Turning into the drive, she noticed Bernie’s Rover parked before the living-room windows. Her first
reaction was a flush of pleasure to find him back so early. Then she remembered that Lesley had taken this car. Was she bringing the children home again? But she couldn’t!
Ginny sat there shattered, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, unwilling to get out. How could she face her? She’d never be able to carry it off, she knew. But of course she couldn’t stay hiding in her car for the rest of the day. Besides, the front door was opening. Lesley was coming out.
Forcing a smile, she swung out of the car and ran forward. Oh God, her voice sounded so false. ‘Lesley, how lovely to –!’
Her sister slapped her hard across the face.
‘You bitch, Ginny!’ she spat at her contemptuously. ‘You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?’
A week passed before Jeff got in touch with Ginny again, one long week of hell.
It had been her own fault Lesley had found out, leaving her clothes scattered about the bedroom as though they had every right to be there. She’d not even bothered to make up the bed in the spare room. No pretence of any kind. Anyone walking into the house would have seen at first glance what was going on – and it had to be Lesley.
She’d made no attempt to defend herself but let the storm break over her, feeling she wanted to sink into the ground and disappear for good. What else could she have done? Lesley was right. Then the phone had started to ring persistently. At last she’d answered it – just to get away from Lesley’s bitter fury – and it was an emergency call. A major attack at a comprehensive. Glad to escape,
she had changed into her Army suit and gone out right away.
During the following days the attacks never let up and the stream of people fleeing the danger areas now became a flood. Pubs shut their doors permanently, church services were cancelled, and all schools evacuated. Every patient who could be safely moved was transferred to some other hospital, even as far away as Leeds or Newcastle.
Neither she nor Bernie had much time even to think about the mess they found themselves in, though that first night they hardly slept. A dozen times he tried to phone Lesley but first she refused to speak to him, then she left the phone off the hook. Perhaps they should have split up right away but Ginny couldn’t face the idea. The worse the caterpillar attacks became, the more she needed Bernie to restore her sanity. But the time would come soon enough, she knew.
When Jeff rang she picked up the phone wearily, dreading yet another emergency call, but brightened the moment she heard his voice. He was leaving for West Africa, he told her; it sounded as though things were moving at last. He planned to return within two or three days with a plane-load of monitor lizards and would be grateful for her help if she was willing.
‘The Ministry have agreed?’ It was such good news, her exhaustion seemed to fall away from her. ‘Oh Jeff, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘They haven’t agreed.’ On the phone his voice had a metallic, cynical tinge. ‘They sent a letter – second class mail, if you please! – saying they find the idea promising. They’re putting it up to their scientific committee for discussion and evaluation.’
‘But that could take ages!’
‘I’m going ahead without them. Somehow we’ve got to prove these lizards may be the answer, and I can’t think of
any other way. Can you come over to talk? Bernie too, if he’s free.’
Bernie was not free, so she drove alone to Jeff’s house. Since her last visit he had boarded up several of the windows and installed an imposing array of aerials on the roof. Inside the front door she had to pass through a double barrier of overlapping lace curtains designed to keep the moths out.
He led the way to an upstairs room and showed her a bank of radio equipment. Tinkering with it was an earnest-looking, bespectacled boy of about eighteen, wearing a school blazer.
‘This is Alan, our local radio ham,’ Jeff introduced him. ‘He’s been organising all this gadgetry and has offered to operate it for us. What you see here is essentially our control room. I’ll be flying a 707. Once I’m over northern France, at any rate, we should have radio contact. If possible, I intend to land at Gatwick.’
‘Gatwick’s closed,’ she objected.
In fact, at least one attempt had been made to reopen the airport, but as soon as the personnel started to arrive the caterpillars emerged again. Not even extensive spraying could dislodge them from the nearby fields and woods, it was discovered. As if they were deliberately lying in wait, the Pest Control Officer reported.
‘The aim is to release the lizards right in middle of them,’ Jeff grinned, tapping one of the charts he had spread out on the table. ‘But keep this under your hats, both of you. Top secret, okay? Don’t want our Ministry friends interfering. The story for the authorities is that I intend bringing the old 707 into Heathrow – an’ I may still have to if conditions aren’t right. I’ll need to know before I reach the Channel.’
His plan involved Ginny stationing herself at Gatwick in the Range Rover. From there she would report on the situation to Alan by car phone; he of course would be in
two-way contact with the plane itself. Jeff had drawn up a checklist of points for her to observe. Clouds, direction of the wind, and so on.
‘It’s a gamble,’ he admitted freely. ‘If successful, it’ll only prove we need more lizards. One plane-load won’t wipe out every caterpillar in the land. But worth a try.’
They left Alan to continue checking over the equipment and went downstairs to the living room where he poured a couple of whiskies.
‘I find it hard to visualise Jeff Pringle as a public benefactor,’ she commented, adding extra soda to hers. ‘Unless you are a millionaire and haven’t told me. What are you getting out of this?’
‘The same as you,’ he retorted. ‘Survival. So – long life!’
‘Long life!’ she repeated, clinking her glass against his. Never had she been more serious about a toast.
‘The plane is already in West Africa. I’m being paid to fly it back anyway – well, you know that. You took the phone call yourself.’
She hadn’t known it, but she made no comment. ‘How many lizards can you bring?’ she asked.
‘Can’t tell till I get there. The locals are already rounding them up and they’ll have to be paid. Still, that’s part of the game.’
They went over the details a few times. There was plenty that could go wrong and Ginny felt far from sure of herself. Jeff took it all coolly – a routine run, he remarked – yet she suspected a tenseness behind that unruffled front. He had been to recce Gatwick more than once before deciding. When she asked why not bring them in through some other airport still in operation, he fobbed her off with a vague reply about red tape and being refused an import licence.
‘Probably true enough,’ Bernie grunted when she told
him about it that night. ‘After the scandals about zoo animals being found dead in their cages on arrival. About a year ago, wasn’t it, he had a run of bad luck?’
‘D’you think he has a chance?’
‘Darling, I really don’t know any better than you. But I desperately hope you’re both right about those lizards.’
Next morning Jeff turned up at the house in his Range Rover shortly before Bernie left. While waiting for her to get ready the two men stood in the hall talking. She overheard Bernie speculating on what would happen if a monitor lizard found itself heavily outnumbered by caterpillars: because that, he argued, was the most likely scenario. Wouldn’t they kill it? She did not wait for Jeff’s answer, but bustled downstairs declaring it was time they got going.
She drove the Range Rover herself to Heathrow just to get the feel of it, dropping Jeff at Terminal Two. He was catching a Paris flight, then transferring at Charles de Gaulle Airport, though he still would not reveal his final destination. Before getting out of the car he leaned across to kiss her. If anything went wrong, she thought, he might easily be killed. Oh God, she’d seen so many deaths since this all started…
By the automatic doors he paused for a second to wave, then he was gone. It left her feeling even more apprehensive than usual.
Leaving Heathrow, she was tempted to head into London but decided against it. It was so hot, there was a muggy white sky over the capital and the crowds would be unbearable. At home it was too risky to sit outside, but at least they could open the windows now they had gauze over the frames. They had also had the creeper cut away from the walls, just in case. Perhaps when all this was over – if it ever did end – she could coax Bernie away for a few days to somewhere cool. Iceland, even. One last fling
before she surrendered him to Lesley.
If Lesley was prepared to have him back: there was always that.
Ginny had gone over it again and again, but there was no solution: only hard facts. It had happened. Not all her tears – locked in the bathroom to hide them from Bernie – could change a thing.
She swung the Range Rover into a lay-by to wipe her eyes and blow her nose yet again, ignoring the curious glances of the lorry drivers. It was twenty minutes before she felt ready to go on. Then, when she got home, she found a message from Bernie on the tape to say Jameela had been killed the previous night while visiting friends in Kingston. A caterpillar attack.
Ginny sat on the nearest chair and stared at the blank wall, trying to take in what he had told her. Was it even worth going on, she wondered. It all seemed so unfair.
Phuong disentangled herself from four-year-old Caroline who had been climbing over her demanding a story and went into the kitchen to make a start on the meal. Upstairs she could hear Lesley scolding first daughter as she did so often now. Of course Frankie was noisy and often got up to mischief, but that was not the reason, as Lesley herself knew.
In Phuong’s opinion she was wrong not to let Bernie speak to her. In her eyes the doctor was a good husband who provided well for his family. A good father, too. If he took another woman – his wife’s sister, which perhaps was worse – that could cause much unhappiness but it would pass. To maintain the family should be Lesley’s main concern now. For that reason alone she should talk to Bernie. In moments like this families needed the mother’s strength if they were not to suffer.
Thinking it over while she cut a few slices of root ginger, she knew she could never speak to Lesley herself
on the subject, not unless invited to do so. That was not her place. But she could see danger signals. Mary, as the unmarried headmistress of this large boarding school, naturally had different ideas. She had welcomed them warm-heartedly into her home when they needed to escape from the caterpillars, but she was the first to talk of divorce. Phuong had overheard them together.
The tone of Mary’s voice had worried her, she remembered as she picked up the knife and began finely chopping the ginger. No regret that Lesley was unhappy, – but a note of satisfaction that made Phuong dislike her. She was actually glad that her view of marriage had been proved right.
As she worked, the music on the kitchen radio gave way to the announcer’s voice. She reached out to turn it off but stopped with her fingers on the switch, catching the opening words of a news flash.
‘…
report having seen the aircraft surrounded by a large swarm of giant moths which may have been sucked into the jet engines, causing them to stall. No figures for casualties have yet been released but the crash is said to be the worst ever experienced at Heathrow and
…’
‘Phuong, what’s “casualty”?’ Wendy’s voice piped, cutting across the rapid tenor of the announcer.
She flicked the radio off immediately and tried to hide her feelings with a quick laugh. ‘Oh, I didn’t hear you come in!’ she exclaimed, putting the knife down and scooping the little girl up in her arms. ‘Have you finished playing with the doll’s house?’
‘The dolls are asleep,’ Wendy informed her. ‘What’s “casualty”?’
‘Oh – that means people who are hurt.’ She put her down again and continued working.
‘In hospital?’
‘Yes, they do go to hospital. Look, I’m doing cabbage today. My way – you like it my way, don’t you? Can you
bring me the cabbage from the larder?’
‘Say please!’
‘Please.’
It was one of the games they played when Phuong was cooking. She watched Wendy march off to the larder. English food was the rule, naturally, and usually Lesley was in charge, but everyone liked Phuong’s method of preparing cabbage with crushed ginger and garlic. When she could, she tried to divert the children’s attention from the news by asking them to help, hoping to ease them away from the nightmares which regularly disturbed their sleep since the Spring Fête.
Her own father had done the same, of course. When she was small, American bombers had flown daily across their patch of sky on their way to kill Vietcong; to calm her fears he’d made up stories about them in which war and death played no part. Later, in that little boat when she’d really needed his strength, he’d been one of the first to die. She’d had to help her mother and brother tip his body over the side.
‘Cabbage!’
Wendy returned proudly bearing the spring cabbage in both arms, hugging it like a teddy bear.
Phuong was on the point of asking her to put it on the table when, turning, she caught sight of a green, hairy caterpillar slowly appearing from among the leaves and manoeuvring itself on to Wendy’s T-shirt. She stared at it, uncomprehending. Everyone said they were safe here, didn’t they? No caterpillars here, surely?
‘Wendy!’ Lesley appeared in the doorway. Her voice was hardly above a whisper. ‘Wendy, stand absolutely still, d’you hear?’
‘I’ll take the cabbage,’ Phuong said, trying to speak normally. She reached out her hands for it. ‘You’re being a real help today, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
She grasped the cabbage and slowly moved it away, praying the caterpillar would choose to remain on the leaf. Luckily, Wendy still hadn’t noticed it.
But it didn’t. Its rear end suddenly curled on to the T-shirt which it gripped like a brooch.
Dropping the cabbage, Phuong plucked the caterpillar away from Wendy and stepped back with it between her fingers to deposit it in the sink. Immediately its hairs seemed to bristle and she felt a sharp pain shooting through her hand, causing her to cry out.
She had to get rid of it… she had to kill it somehow before it… but it clung to her… she couldn’t shake it off…
Her eyes misted and she felt herself staggering back against the draining board. New pains drilled into her wrist as the caterpillar’s mandibles set to work. Something hit the back of her head. She was lying on the tiled floor moaning and screaming… so much screaming… so much burning… all over her body…
Lesley was shouting something. She could hear the voice faintly. And Frankie? Was Frankie there?
No, it was the ghost whistle of the American jets overhead, and her father swinging her up in his arms, and the hot tangy smell of the sea as it lapped against the side of the boat.