The Green Drift

by John Lymington

  ‘I must be ill. I can’t remember,’ Barbara said. She looked helpless. ‘I haven’t got my face. I haven’t got anything at all! ’ She got up as if the final disaster had struck.

  Jennifer looked back.

  ‘Come upstairs,’ she said.

  They went out together. Richard stayed, then rubbed his face. He felt the stubble, then switched on the razor and shaved the half he had shaved already. Then he put the razor down and went to the cupboard. He looked in. It had once been a small room of some kind, and the Chances had meant, very often, to shove in a lavatory basin so that Richard’s study could be completely self- contained. It had a window and a lot of stacked books and papers on the shelves. It was the type of annexe that was fated to be off-handedly considered for doing something with, and never quite coming to the fore enough to get started. The car rugs had been there on the floor some days. Richard had thrown them in there to get them off the study chairs, so that he could put some stacks of magazines on the seats instead.

  How the hell had she got in there? What for? Had she thought it her bedroom?

  The sudden question shocked him, because it had the bright-edged glitter of a near truth.

  Perhaps the sun was beginning to come out of eclipse. But how had she thought that? She had undressed and lung her clothes on the hooks. That was a thing he bought that no one would do unless they fully believed themselves to be in a familiar, private room. And how ould she have come to believe that—here—in a room where she had never been before?

  Outside, Jennifer came into the kitchen. Ellen was peering out between the slats of the translucent Venetian blinds. She started when she heard someone behind her and turned.

  ‘Oh! ’ She caught her breath. ‘You made me jump. I can’t help it. I keep getting the feeling something’s going to happen. When I was a little girl and heard the sirens go and then nothing happened and it was all quiet. I used to get wishing something would happen, it was so horrible waiting like that. It’s just like that now. What—

  She jumped again as the front-door bell pealed.

  ‘All right,’ Jennifer said. ‘I’ll go.’

  A man stood at the door in light grey suit, very blond hair, a neat narrow tie and a face which, though of a stranger, she seemed to know. He smiled the instant he saw her.

  ‘Mrs Chance?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am Geoffrey Hayles. I wonder if I could speak to your husband?’

  ‘Yes—that is. I think you can. We’re all upside down this morning.’

  She was trying to-remember where she had seen him.

  ‘Yes. I think I understand.” He smiled again. There was a quirk trace of uneasiness on his rather pretty face, a tic that ended the smile abruptly.

  ‘I’m representing the Daily News,’ he said.

  Then she remembered. She had seen this face heading articles in women’s magazines, and stuck in amongst the radio programmes.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said. She felt a quickening of excitement, as suddenly she realised that this man might hold the key to the mystery of the nightmare. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  She turned towards the study doorway as a buzzing approached it and Richard appeared, shaving still. The two men looked at each other. Richard turned his back and went into the room again, still shaving.

  ‘Come in! ’ he called out.

  It seemed to Jennifer that Hayles became wary and -“ore uneasy still at her husband’s behaviour. He smoothed his jacket down with flat, well manicured hands, smiled briefly, and made a small sign for her to lead him.

  Richard finished shaving as he watched them come in.

  ‘I’m so sorry about all this, Mr Chance.’ Hayles said earnestly. ‘I hardly know what to say.’

  Richard switched off the razor, put it down and stared incredulously at die columnist.

  ‘You surely don’t mean Woman’s Sphere is anything to do with this?’ he said.

  “Woman’s Sphere?’ Hayles’s eyes widened. ‘Heavens, no! I’m so sorry. No, the News asked me to come. The Daily News. I do an interest column for them every Wednesday.’

  ‘The News! ’ said Richard. ‘That’s the only one we haven’t seen! ’

  ‘You haven’t seen it?’ said Hayles. ‘But you know—?’

  ‘We don’t know anything but that a vast collection of peaheads has been staring at us for some hours now. If you can throw any light on that mystery, I assure you your visit will be most welcome.’

  ‘But it’s the story, Mr Chance! ’ Hayles was clearly startled. ‘Surely you know that?’

  ‘What story?’ Richard said.

  ‘Your story,’ Hayles said, a faint trace of exasperation showing on his smooth face. ‘What else?’

  . “My story?’ said Richard. ‘Which one? But I’ve never sold a story to the News. They don’t do stories! ’

  Hayles stared blankly.

  “Well, I hardly know—’ He glanced at Jennifer. ‘I think I’d better get the paper. That’s better than trying to explain it. I can’t quite understand— Excuse me. I’ll etch it. I had to leave my car some way off. I won’t be long.’

  He went out, walking quickly.

  ‘That man’s scared to death,’ said Richard, pointing after him.

  ‘What story is he talking about?’ Jennifer said. ‘Oh darling. It gets worse all the time! ’

  Barbara Baynes came in at the door. She was clean and attractive now, but her brown eyes were big with alarm.

  ‘What are all those people doing out there?’ she asked. ‘Hundreds of them! All looking up here! ’

  ‘We don’t know what they’re doing,’ Richard said. ‘But the police have been looking for you—’

  ‘Your wife told me, naturally. I don’t know why—’

  ‘Well, you’d better get back as quick as you can,’ Richard said brutally. ‘I don’t know how you got here, but we’ll find out some day. The thing is, go now! There’s a newspaper man around and he’ll be back in a minute. If he gets the kind of story I think he’ll try for, about you being here, it’s going to mean big trouble for all of us. Now you get back and open the bar—’

  ‘No! ’ It was almost a scream.

  ‘What do you mean—no?’

  ‘I can’t! I can’t go through that—that crowd! ’

  ‘But you’ve got to! ’

  ‘I can’t! Suppose they’re waiting for me?’

  ‘Why on earth should they be?’

  ‘Then what are they waiting for? No.’ She shook her head quickly. I’m not going till they’ve gone. Let the police get rid of them, then I’ll go! ’

  ‘But this man—’

  ‘I don’t care anything about any man. I’m not going out there to face that mob. That’s what it is—a mob! I’ve had people come and stare at me since my husband went. They ask sly questions. They want to know. They don’t approve. They blame me. They think it’s my fault. They think I drove him away. That’s why they come and stare and try and find out—’

  ‘You’re depressed,” Richard said. ‘You’re distorting things.’

  ‘I’m not. I can see through people. Don’t worry.’

  “But this crowd can’t have anything to do with you!’ he protested angrily. ‘And if this newsman comes back ^nd finds you and hears what happened whatever you’re frightened of now will be a bloody sight worse! No, be sensible—’

  ‘You can’t send her out to walk through that lot, all by herself! Jennifer said. You were scared of them yourself! How can you expect her—’

  ’All right! Everybody’s ganging up on me!’ Richard shouted.

  ‘Look, if she goes back now and they see her come out of this house they’ll think she’s got whatever it is they think we’ve got—’ Jennifer broke off and shuddered. ‘I don’t know what I mean exactly, but you can.’

  ‘You mean they’ll hound her to the pub?’ he asked blankly.

  ‘Of course they will! She’ll be besieged in there like us! ’

  ‘I confess I h
adn’t thought of that!’ He swung round to the window. ‘What’s happened to Hayles, then?’

  He stared down the lane. Hayles was hurrying along, slim, graceful, almost like somebody running away. The crowd in the lane began to draw back slowly, but then Hayles turned to his right, swung over a five-bar gate and began to cross the field towards the road. The people scattered in the field kept well away from him, but Richard could see their heads turning to follow his flight before they turned again back to watch the house.

  ‘It’s a dream. It’s all a dream,’ Richard said.

  ‘There’s something wrong with this house!’ said Barbara. ‘You know that, don’t you? It’s magicked! Everybody in it’s going crazy! You do things and can’t remember. Mad things, impossible things. That’s what it is! Look at those people—’ She pointed down through the window, then suddenly stopped as if petrified. Slowly, a look of horror spread across her face, and life came back to her rigid frame. She covered her face with her hands and turned away. ‘Oh my God, my God I ’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Richard cried.

  ‘They’re not people!’ she almost screamed. ‘They’re skeletons I They’re dead! They’re skeletons!’

  ‘Goodness!’ Jennifer said. ‘Steady! They arc people. Look again.’

  ‘No, no!’ Barbara sobbed. ‘No! I saw their bones. They hadn’t got any eyes, just holes! Oh Lord! what’s happening to me? I’m going mad! I must, be! I knew I would! I can’t stand any more. It’s been twisting and twisting till it’s got to go—’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Richard said, trying to sound calm. ‘I had that, too—seeing skeletons. I don’t know what causes it, but it goes off.’

  ‘He’s coming back,’ said Jennifer looking out of the window. ‘We’ll know in a minute. Whatever story did you do that’s caused all this?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it must be a hit,’ Richard said bitterly.

  Jennifer put her arm round Barbara’s shoulders.

  ‘Steady,’ she said. ‘It’s the shock. You’re all right. We all feel the same. It’s like a dream, as Richard says. But it’ll go right again. For heaven’s sake, it’s got to!’ She could not stop her voice rising over the last sentence.

  ‘You’re kind. You’re very good. I’m sorry I—’ Barbara swallowed and ended with a shiver.

  Richard watched the slim, quick grey man coming back across the field. He had a folded paper in his hand.

  ‘It hadn’t occurred to him that somebody didn’t take the Nexus,’ Richard said. ‘That’s an illusion the great newspapers share. When you meet an Editor he assumes you’ve read every bloody word in his rag every’ day for the past twenty years— They’re still keeping clear of him. I wonder if it is some yarn about a contagious disease?’

  ‘But they wouldn’t be standing out there, would they?’ Jennifer said.

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘No, it must be something else. Something that Hayles is shy of, anyway. He’s got the wind up

  over it. But I’m sure he wouldn’t come if it was disease.’

  ‘It was suddenly like those awful X-ray photos,’ said Barbara, recovering. ‘They all changed, like in a film. It made me sick.’

  ‘It’s seeing death,’ Richard said.

  He watched Hayles hurrying up the lane after vaulting the gate, then turned and went out into the hall. The sun was bright, the air sweet and warm, yet its very charm seemed to accentuate the nightmare quality of the things that were happening. He watched the butterflies wandering in the sun; their laziness made his impatience to know the answer to the mystery. Yet when Hayles appeared in the gateway, a sudden fear went through him, tempting him to run and take the mystery with him.

  Hayles came up into the hall, his eyes on Richard. He opened the folded paper and handed it over.

  Richard took it and read, bewilderment growing- worse.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he cried out. But there isn’t a word of truth in this! It’s nonsense! It’s a string of stupid lies. How on earth could anybody have swallowed a yarn like this?’

  He stared. Hayles looked back at him. Each man tried to find the truth in the other.

  ‘How could I have done it?’ Richard shouted.

  “Anything is possible,” Hayles said quietly.

  The police house was a red brick cottage in the village where Porch lived with his wife. The office was a small room, inadequate for the sudden descent of minions. The office door was propped open, and the sunlight from the passage and the wide open porch eased the situation.

  There was a sergeant at the telephone, an Inspector at the desk. Porch stood by the desk. A town constable stood at the passage entrance. The eyes of all these were fixed upon a civilian who stood in his shirt sleeves, legs apart, hands in his pockets, his jacket hanging from the crook of his right arm.

  He was big and thick, fat bellied. His face was heavy, like an actor’s marked with the expressions of a thousand roles. His greying eyebrows were bushy, and beetled over hard, bright, unbelieving eyes.

  ‘What is this man, then?’ he said. His voice was deep, with a touch of impatience, the suggestion of a sneer, the force of a bully.

  ‘He is a surveyor and estate agent in the town,’ the Inspector said, warily, for he had not seen this visitor before. ‘He has a junior partner. The practice is sound. There are six employed—’

  ‘I want the cracked angle,’ interrupted the stranger. ‘What’s odd about him? Who knows him best?’ He stuck his big head forward at Porch. ‘You?’

  Good God. thought Porch; he looks just like a bulldog.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, what about him?’

  ‘He’s what you might call a character, sir. Yes, that’s it, a character. Does things ordinary people would lie a bit scared of doing. Says things, too. Takes you by surprise sometimes. Makes you laugh, too. He writes a lot of stories for the newspapers. These science stories, you know. Very good they are, too, but far-fetched. But they’re all far-fetched, aren’t they?’

  ‘Just make me out a list of something these boys fetched from afar that hasn’t happened.’ He swung away and glared at the sunny garden through the’ open window. “Married? What?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There’s a boy away at school now—’

  The bully ignored him and swung to the desk.

  ‘There was a power break last night?’ he said.

  The Inspector flushed angrily.

  ‘Yes, Mr Griswold. In fact, there was quite a long delay at one time.’

  ‘What was the matter?’

  ‘As I understand, some kind of voltage surge. It kept kicking out the contact breakers. You know they kick out.

  wait a space, then kick back in again automatically. Well, night they kept kicking out. The service gang had to come out.’

  ‘just the village?’

  “The main village circuit and a sub-loop out to Cliffend - over the headland. Just a few houses.’

  Griswold stuck his head aggressively forward at a map on the wall.

  “Yes. I see.’ he said. ‘Apart from that there is no evidence that anything unusual happened here last night?’

  The Inspector looked at Porch.

  ‘Well, a lady disappeared—’ began Porch.

  “Yes. I know about that. Did anybody see anything unusual ?’

  There was some chat about this man Chance disappearing in the pub somehow,’ said the Inspector. “It’s very confused. I don’t put much on it.’

  ‘No phenomena?’ Griswold said.

  ‘Not that I’ve heard of.’ The Inspector was surprised.

  ‘When did you last see the aurora borealis?’ Griswold shouted with sudden ferocity.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it,’ the Inspector said.

  Griswold looked at the street and the wandering sightseers going by.

  ‘Flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, gaggles of geese,’ he said. ‘But there is nothing more determinedly sad, stupid and utterly futile than a crowd of people.’

  ‘It’s
been a difficult problem this morning,’ the Inspector said. ‘We kept them moving, of course, but these people on holiday with nothing to do, come in from the resorts.’

  “What do they really expect to see?’ Griswold said, wondering!. ‘I don’t suppose one of them has seriously thought what he might expect. They want to imagine, but they won’t. They like to get the thrill that they might see something too dreadful for their soft brains to conjure up… . Have you had that phone put through to Chance’s house?’

  ‘That’s being done now, sir.’

  ‘I want to see the pub.’

  The Inspector got up. put on his cap and accompanied the big man out into the sunlit street. The village was a scattered collection of cottages roofed with stones that glowed at times like pink mother-of-pearl, velvet edged with moss. The windows winked as the passing visitors blocked the sunlight. Small groups of people gathered round the fronts of the cottage shops not large enough inside to hold all the customers so unexpectedly thrown at them.

  The pub was open. The odd job man, potman and part-time barman was operating and the sweat shone on his face as he tried to satisfy the rush and answer the mad questions that were being shot at him. Most of the customers did not want a drink; they wanted to know.

  Griswold went through them like a battleship through a rough sea. He went across the bar to the loggia facing the back garden. He stood looking out at the flowers and the trim lawn. He regarded the seven-foot brick wall of mellowed hues, where peaches clung and there was, curiously, no door. Slowly he walked round the edge of the lawn watching the beds below the garden wall, then he came back to the Inspector.

  ‘Just tell me about the woman again,’ Griswold said.

  ‘She seems to have gone out after closing last night, and was seen walking with Mr Chance from the phone-box down the street here in the direction of his house. She left the bar light on, which indicates she meant to come back before long. Everything in the house was normal. She was very quiet last night, and cleared up while the last two customers were still there.