He was sitting at his desk with his hands over his ears and his eyes closed.
She said, ‘Mum’s phone is dead! I need to speak to her about Poppy.’
Brian Junior opened his eyes and said, ‘I need Mum, Bri. Poppy is pregnant, and she says I’m the father.’
The twins looked at each other, then leaned forward and embraced.
They tried the house phone. It rang and rang and rang and rang.
Brianne said, ‘Mum always answers the phone! We’ll have to phone Dad, at work. Anyway, she can’t know if she’s pregnant, you only met her a fortnight ago.’
‘I don’t think I impregnated her, either,’ said Brian Junior. ‘She got into my bed. She was upset about something.’
They were both aware of the hysterical crying coming from Brianne’s room. Concerned voices could be heard in the corridor.
Their father’s mobile rang eight times before the voicemail message clicked on: ‘Dr Beaver is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep. Alternatively, email me on doctorbrian dot beaver at leic dot ac dot uk. If I think that your communication is sufficiently important, I will be in touch.’
When Brianne went back to her own room, she found a small crowd of students. He was sitting on the bed, cradling Poppy in his arms.
Ho said, ‘Brianne, I think you are not a good person! You are saying to Poppy she is slut and whore! And this day her mother and father crash their small plane and are taken to intensive care?’
The little crowd exclaimed sympathetically, then looked disapprovingly at Brianne.
Brianne said, ‘She hasn’t got parents. She’s an orphan.’ Poppy sobbed louder. ‘How can you say that? They’ve been better to me than any birth parents could ever have been. They chose me.’
Ho said, ‘Please go from this room, now!’ Brianne said weakly, ‘This is my room, and she’s wearing my bracelet and my mascara.’
A Korean student with a severe fringe and an American accent rounded on Brianne, saying, ‘Poppy has had so much tragedy in her life, and her adoptive parents are fighting for their lives and you insult her…’
Poppy struggled to be free of Ho’s arms and said, in a little girl’s voice, ‘I forgive you, Brianne. I know you lack emotional intelligence. I can help you with that, if you’ll let me.
16
Brian was angrily showing a group of disabled children around the Space Centre. He was sure that some of them were deliberately crashing their wheelchairs into the back of his legs. Each child had a teacher with them. Before the tour, he had addressed the children and their helpers.
‘I am Dr Brian Beaver and I work here as an astronomer and mathematician. I compile all the statistics to do with space, such as the distance of one star from another, and I protect you against fiery death from the impact of Near-Earth Objects. Now, I’m not going to patronise you. I expect there are several of you who are quite intelligent and are able to process information. The others who can’t will just have to try and keep up as best you can. It would be a great help to me if you could desist from waving your arms about. And please try to keep your heads still. And those issuing the strange noises, could you please stop – it’s extremely distracting.’
The teachers looked from one to the other. Should they say something to this man, who seemed not to understand that a new vocabulary was in use today?
Ms Payne, a teacher whose outfit included the grey version of the ubiquitous Ugg boots and a Palestinian scarf, could not remain silent. She said, ‘The children’s movements and noises are involuntary. Most of them have cerebral palsy. I’m afraid that your language is completely unacceptable!’
Brian said, defensively, ‘At the beginning, I said I wouldn’t patronise these unfortunate children, and I won’t. But it does them no good, madam, if you swaddle them with acceptable words. Now, shall we get on? I have extremely important work to do after you’ve gone. ‘Ms Payne said, ‘You should rewrite the brochure, Dr Beaver. It says school parties are welcome.’
One of the lifts was out of order. It took over half an hour before everybody was on the next floor.
When Brian came home from work, he found two black children – a boy and a girl – wearing primary school uniform, sitting at the kitchen table eating toast and doing homework.
Brian’s first instinct was to turn round and run to the front door – he was obviously in the wrong house. Then he saw his country-walk coat and one of Eva’s jackets hanging on the coat hooks in the hall. But who were these children? Was the boy a burglar and the girl his accomplice?
Then he saw Alexander coming down the stairs. ‘Thomas, Venus, say hello.’
The children turned round and said in unison, ‘Hello.’ Brian thundered upstairs and into Eva’s bedroom. It looked bigger and seemed to have more light. The dressing table, chair and chest of drawers were gone, as were the curtains.
Brian said, ‘That furniture was a family heirloom. I wanted to hand some of it down to the twins.’
‘Alexander took it away for me. He’s going to paint the walls, floor and ceiling white.’
Brian opened his mouth like a goldfish. Then closed it. Downstairs, Ruby let herself into the house and screamed when she saw Alexander buttering toast.
‘Don’t hurt me,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m a pensioner with angina and bad legs.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Alexander. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Well, yes.’
Ruby was staring at the children. Alexander introduced them and she sat down heavily at the table.
‘I’m Mrs Brown-Bird. I’m Eva’s mother. Are you a “friend” of Eva’s?’ she asked.
A new friend,’ he said. ‘I’m her man with a van.’
‘Oh, you’re him,’ said Ruby. ‘She told me about you. She didn’t say you were a coloured chap.’
Alexander cut two slices of toast diagonally and arranged the triangles on a geometrically patterned plate. He found a white napkin and a small tray. He poured the tea into a china cup with a matching saucer.
Ruby said, ‘It’s a bit of a kerfuffle for a cup of tea and a bit of toast, in’t it?’
‘You gotta look after the small things in life, Mrs Brown-Bird. There’s nothing we can do about the big stuff.’
‘That’s very true,’ Ruby said. We’re all in the hands of fate. Look at Eva. I see her one week and she’s as happy as a sandboy. Look at her now! Lolling about in bed like the Queen of Sheba… and she says she doesn’t know when she’s getting up! I didn’t bring her up to be a lazy cow My girl had to be up and dressed by half past seven on a school day and eight sharp at the weekend.’
Alexander said, ‘It would be a boring world if we were all the same.’
Ruby said, ‘It would suit me fine if we were all the same.’ She sucked her teeth in, not realising that Alexander’s mother used exactly the same non-verbal gesture to show her disapproval.
When Alexander took the tray up to Eva, he walked into a strained silence. It was as if Brian and Eva were fencing with invisible swords.
Brian was perched on the window sill, pretending to look out of the window There was nothing much to see apart from a few straggling school kids and the occasional car obeying the 30 mph sign. There were trees, but Brian had never been much of a fan of trees. He had signed a petition to have the trees cut down, which would have made more parking available. He’d said to Eva, ‘Those trees are two hundred years old. They’ve had a good run for their money.’
Now rain and low cloud were forecast, which meant that Brian wouldn’t be stargazing tonight. This was not an unusual occurrence in England – Brian had often bemoaned the fact that Eva would not agree to move to an Australian desert where the skies were huge and clear, and there was no incessant English cloud.