‘It feeds the heart and soul,’ was how Titus would go on to sell it to Angelica. This was two decades later, shortly before their engagement, after the couple had spent many date nights at his flat simply eating in. ‘You feel it in your bones and in your blood,’ he went on, before tapping the side of his head. ‘Most of all, you feel it in your mind. Am I right?’
Angelica had also reacted with some questions, of course, once she’d come round from her faint and stopped screaming. Yes, it was a shock for her to learn what he had been serving her all this time. It was only human nature, after all. By then, however, Angelica had come to crave the sense of sheer satisfaction delivered by such a feast. Bonded by a shared secret, and deeply in love with this food pioneer, it seemed there was only one thing she could say when Titus dropped down on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. From that moment on, as the couple set out to build a family, it was clear to Titus that the Savages were a breed apart when it came to good taste. No matter what challenges they faced, he swore to his new bride and then later to Sasha and Ivan, that’s exactly how it would stay.
‘But Daddy, eating people is wrong.’
It was Sasha who had spoken up. Barely five years old at the time, she sat at the table with her feet swinging under the chair while her father explained where they had obtained the meat on their plates.
‘Honey,’ he had said with a sigh. ‘People are in plentiful supply. Most free range for much of their lives, and enjoy a happy existence. We don’t just eat anyone!’
Unlike his sister, Ivan responded to the revelation by asking for second helpings. He seemed completely unconcerned, which Titus put down to his tender age. The boy had only just turned three at the time, after all. As for Sasha, once she’d got down from the table she simply headed off to play with her doll’s house. Titus wasn’t worried, despite her protest. He knew from experience that once someone had tasted the ultimate in flesh, it became a part of who they were.
‘So,’ said Sasha, in a bid to rouse her grandfather from his thoughts. ‘What am I going to do about Dad? I’m dating someone who chooses not to eat dead animal products. That doesn’t put him in the same category as a drug addict.’
Oleg blinked as if in surprise at her presence in the room, and then squeezed his beard with one hand.
‘Oh, my son is all bark and no bite,’ he assured her. ‘I’m sure if he meets this young man then his fears will ease. Why not invite him round?’
Sasha sighed to herself.
‘Why does everyone in this family want to meet Jack?’ she asked.
‘Because everyone cares for you,’ he said. ‘We Savages look out for each other. If we didn’t, God alone knows what would happen to us.’
4
The signature at the foot of the letter was convincing. Ivan had been practising for some time. So, when the boy handed the letter across to Mrs Risbie, the school counsellor, he was confident she would believe the session that was about to take place had parental consent. In Ivan’s view, it was in both their interests that his father wasn’t involved.
‘How are you feeling today?’ she asked.
They were sitting across from one another on cheap and worn sofas. Mrs Risbie wore her fringe like a badly closed pair of curtains. She curled one side behind her ear, which proved unsuccessful when she reached for a cup of tea on the low table between them. Ivan ignored the glass of weak squash that she had made for him.
‘I feel fine,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
As a psychologist working part time in a school environment, Mrs Risbie did her level best to make her room look as informal as possible. She made no notes, preferring to maintain eye contact with anyone who came to see her.
‘Actually, I thought we’d start with an exercise,’ she said. ‘Would you like to do an exercise, Ivan?’
‘Do you want to do an exercise?’ he asked.
‘I’d like that.’ Mrs Risbie had already stashed the pack of square picture cards down the side of the sofa in readiness for the moment. She plucked out the pack and quickly thumbed through to find one to begin. ‘It’s very simple,’ she said, and selected a card to show the boy. ‘Each picture features the face of a child. I want you to look at them in turn and tell me what her expression says about how she’s feeling.’
‘Is that it?’ asked Ivan, who was already beginning to sound bored. ‘Well, seeing that she’s smiling in that one I’d say she’s happy.’
‘Very good.’ Mrs Risbie brought the next card to the front.
‘Perplexed,’ he said after a moment.
‘Excellent!’
Ivan studied the next card, and then sat back in his seat. ‘Thoughtful. Reflective, perhaps?’
Mrs Risbie smiled and nodded. The kid didn’t seem to have an issue relating to other people. Given his vocabulary, it was simply revealing a higher than average intelligence.
‘How about this one?’ she asked, and flipped around the picture of the girl with the sad face. It showed her looking down, with tear-stained cheeks and her lower lip jutting.
Ivan sat forward again. He studied the picture for a while, tipping his head one way and then the other.
‘It’s a tough one,’ he said, before looking back at Mrs Risbie again. ‘She looks like someone who can’t take a joke.’
‘Right.’ At times like this, Mrs Risbie wished she could put the pupil on pause while she rushed to write down some observations. Instead, she nodded sagely and placed the cards flat on the table. ‘Ivan, has there ever been a time when you’ve felt sad?’
The boy sat on his hands while he thought about this. He looked to the floor, pressing his lips together. Mrs Risbie couldn’t help noticing how focused he seemed. Just waiting for him to answer left her feeling tense.
‘When people don’t understand me,’ he said eventually, and looked directly into her eyes. ‘That’s when I feel angry… sorry, I mean sad.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Risbie shifted in position. Ivan wasn’t unpleasant company. He was polite. He listened. He considered every question. Even so, there was something about him she found unsettling, though she reminded herself not to entertain such unprofessional thoughts.
‘How is home life?’ she asked next, hoping to build a bigger picture. ‘Tell me about your family.’
This time, Ivan didn’t hesitate in his answer. Much to the surprise of Mrs Risbie, he sat back in his seat and provided a full and detailed description of a seemingly content, stable and supportive domestic environment. By the time he had finished, stopped by the lunch-break bell, she had drawn her own conclusions. Often kids from damaged backgrounds felt the need to protect their parents by making out that everything was fine. Ivan didn’t seem to fit into this category. It really hadn’t sounded forced or tailored, as if he had just told her what she wanted to hear. Nor were there any holes or inconsistencies in the picture he had painted. Instead, the boy had spoken in detail about each family member with heartfelt love and admiration. That had extended to Ivan’s grandfather and siblings, and though it was clear that he and Sasha liked to wind each other up, it was her considered opinion that he came from a very close unit indeed.
‘Can I go now?’ he asked, having stopped abruptly when the bell rang for break time. Mrs Risbie was surprised that Ivan didn’t want to continue, given how enthusiastically he had just been talking about their best ever holiday.
‘Well, I was enjoying your account of the safari,’ she said, keen for him to continue. ‘Looking out for all those wildebeest must’ve been fun. Animal conservation is an admirable cause.’