WANTED: Kind, intelligent and considerate girl to help parents with their disabled son. A good companion is mainly required, but there will also be some menial duties. Aptitude for the country life an advantage. Driving licence essential. Accommodation and small salary provided, as well as one free day per week.
We had progressed to the gooseberry pie by now, and seeing the advertisement as if before my eyes I began to choke on a mouthful of it. I had, unfortunately, received a shock at the very moment when a large piece of pastry was making its way down my throat, and with the surprise it lodged there, causing me to cough loudly. There was a clatter as the assembled company laid down their spoons.
‘Goodness!’ said Pamela.
‘Hold still!’ said Mr Madden, grabbing my arm firmly.
‘Give her a good slap,’ said Pamela.
Mr Madden administered a firm pat to my back and the piece of pastry flew into my mouth. I closed my Ups tightly to prevent it from travelling out onto the table, and managed awkwardly to swallow it.
‘All right?’ said Mr Madden.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, coughing slightly. My eyes were watering. The imprint of Mr Madden’s fingers remained warm on my arm. ‘Thank you.’
As you can imagine, I was mortified by my performance, even though the Maddens had been very kind; except for Martin, whose eyes I had felt unmoved upon me as I choked. There was something malevolent in his gaze which turned even the smallest and most natural gesture into a false act. There was a flutter around the table, nevertheless, as a result of my accident, and in these distracted seconds I was able to return undetected to my contemplation of what had precipitated it. The fact was that I had no driving licence. Of course, it occurred to me that I might have misremembered the advertisement, for my ability to drive had not actually been mentioned by the Maddens in my dealings with them thus far; but in my heart, I was sure that the words I had recalled were correct. I found it hard to picture my original reading of the fatal fact; or rather, I remembered it glancingly, like something casually and unconsciously witnessed which later becomes crucial evidence. I shook and dredged my memory, wanting more from it than it seemed to contain. I had just, I supposed, trodden the requirement underfoot in my great hurry for the job; and the Maddens had, of course, assumed that I wouldn’t be applying for it at all had I not possessed the specification which was, though ‘essential’, too mundane to mention.
Horror upon horror unfolded in my thoughts as I considered the consequences, and had the Maddens not now been engaged in a lively conversation on another matter, I believe I would have confessed my deception there and then. As I have often found to be the case, however, having missed my moment I found myself less and less able as every second passed to hold on to the courage necessary to an act of assertion. This first compromise with falsehood led to others, and as one minute became ten I found my revulsion for untruth slowly settle into a sly accommodation with it. I was already thinking how I could get around the obstacle without actually declaring it, and as my mind was working in this devious manner Pamela looked at her watch.
‘Bedtime for you, young man,’ she said. She stood up and began piling plates on top of one another. Roy, perhaps with the hope of availing himself of the meal’s detritus, issued from his basket and drew sniffing to the table.
‘Why?’ wailed Martin, fondling his muzzle. ‘It’s still early!’
‘I’ll take him up,’ said Mr Madden, stretching his large frame and yawning. He got up and, pushing back his chair and walking round to the other side of the table, grasped the handles of Martin’s wheelchair. From my seat I could see them both, father and son, and although Martin appeared to submit willingly to the prospect of his removal, this sudden vision of his dependence aroused my pity. For a moment I forgot my troubles, feeling nothing but shame for my early dislike of the boy. His eyes met mine, and seeing as Pamela was distracted by the clearing of plates I risked giving him as kind a smile as I could summon. After the smile had been there for some time, I saw that he was not going to smile back. Then, to my dismay, he put out his tongue; quite slowly, and not at all secretively, as if he didn’t care who saw him do it. His tongue was long and thick, like a dog’s, and I found it difficult to dislodge the memory of it even after he had replaced it in his mouth.
‘Goodnight, darling,’ said Pamela, bending down from behind him to deposit a kiss upon his head. An unpleasant smirk appeared on Martin’s face. Mr Madden began wheeling him towards the door. ‘Say goodnight to Stella, you rascal!’ cried Pamela.
‘Goodnight, Stella!’ called Martin mockingly from the door, without turning his head.
I stood up and began clearing plates from the table. I was desperate to be away from the house and on my own; parched of my own company, I felt as if I could drink down hour after hour of solitude. To my disgust, I saw that Roy had risen on his hind legs and was licking the insides of the dishes on the sideboard.
‘Oh, you revolting creature,’ said Pamela genially, apparently with no intention of stopping him. ‘Don’t worry about Martin,’ she added, to me. I saw that she liked to think of herself as being able to read other people’s minds. ‘He’s a little monkey. He likes to give everyone a real going-over before he lets them anywhere near him. He’ll be devoted to you before long, I promise you.’
‘I liked him,’ I said, weakly.
‘That’s very sweet of you,’ said Pamela. ‘He’s a dear boy. He can be very rewarding.’ She turned around abruptly and caught me leaning against the table. ‘Poor Stella, you must be exhausted after an evening in this madhouse. Why don’t you just turn in?’
‘I ought to help,’ I said, hoping that she would refuse.
‘Don’t be silly. Piers loves fussing about down here late into the night. He contemplates the meaning of life and all that. We’ll just put everything in the sink for him.’
Almost resentfully, I resumed my clearing. Seeing my opportunity, however, I decided that this might be the time to approach Pamela about my duties.
‘What time shall I be here tomorrow?’ I said.
‘Tomorrow?’ Pamela looked surprised. ‘We aren’t expecting you tomorrow. It’s your day off on Sunday.’
‘Oh,’ I said, overwhelmed by relief.
‘Of course, you’re free to wander over. We’ll be having people for lunch, but you can come and go as you please. You’ll probably want a day to yourself just to get your bearings.’
‘All right.’
‘On Monday we’ll start properly. Martin’s usually raring to go by about eight thirty. Poor Stella!’ she said. Pamela was remarkably self-sufficient in conversation, and seemed to require few prompts from her interlocutor. ‘We haven’t really explained anything to you, have we? It’s all been such a rush, I can’t quite keep track of things.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. Hearing my own voice, I was shocked by how terribly dull I sounded. ‘It’ll all work itself out.’
‘But it won’t!’ said Pamela sharply. ‘Don’t you see that with a boy like Martin, things can’t just be left to work themselves out? It all has to be carefully planned and considered. He’s quite helpless without us, and he needs his routines, so don’t think that we can just muddle along somehow, or work it out, as you say, as we go along.’