“Get off that bloody fence!” said the old woman. Man performed a rather gymnastic descent, landing on the balls of his feet directly in front of the policemen.
“Hello,” I smiled winningly.
“All right, your ladyship!” One of the officers pulled me aside for a more private discussion. He pulled a face and told me it was a bit awkward because my husband had killed a valuable snake.
“All life is valuable, don’t you think? Which is why my husband rescued that man.”
“Well, perhaps that man didn’t want rescuing; perhaps that man didn’t need rescuing.”
“I don’t follow... ”
“The man’s a trained professional. A whatsit, an animal man, a highly skilled animal handler.”
“Still not with you... ”
“He was giving a demonstration about snakes. He was in no danger whatsoever. And now those poor little buggers are traumatised and going back to school with wet knickers.”
“Oh dear...” I chewed my knuckle for a bit. Then I reached in my top. “Will this help?”
The policeman took my gold card and went off to speak to the animal man and the old woman. Man, who had cottoned onto his error long before I did, was heartbroken. He kept saying “Brother snake” and I had to try jolly hard to console him.
“Not your fault, darling. If that silly animal man wants to show off in front of a bunch of silly schoolchildren, he can’t be surprised when someone misinterprets what’s going on. Snakes aren’t for demonstrations, however edifying.”
“She’s right, Dad.” Baby came to my aid. “It was the man’s fault for wearing the snake in the first place.”
“Man sorry for brother snake.” My husband looked so devastated, I wanted to hug him in the special way right there and then but, of course, propriety and decorum and boring things of that nature precluded it.
“Ah, well,” said the policeman, returning to us with the old woman in tow. “These things happen.”
“Do they?” I asked.
“But if you don’t mind me saying, your ladyship, perhaps you and the, ha-hah, tribe ought to skedaddle right about now.”
The old woman’s interest was piqued. “What’s this about a ladyship?”
The policeman brought her up to speed. In an instant her whole demeanour and attitude altered. She straightened up as much as her aged vertebrae would allow and, I am certain, had she a forelock she would have tugged it.
“Accidents happen all the time around here, your grace,” she dipped into a curtsy from which she never quite recovered. “You’d be surprised.”
“I think I probably would, yes.” I extended my hand - more to steady her on her pins than from any condescension. I was aware that behind her back, the policemen were ushering the others away from the scene of this interview.
“We are all so terribly sorry,” I said. It was nothing but the truth.
“We thought the price of shipping a new snake from abroad and a round of ice creams for the kiddies would be enough,” said one of the policemen.
I saw then that the old woman was still holding my gold card. I had to prise it from her fingers and had an instant flashback to the occasion when a giant roc had tried to carry off Baby and the cot Man had fashioned from logs. Those talons had been particularly strong but this old dear’s would have given them a run for their money.
Once I had secured the prized - and indeed, prised - object, I said my goodbyes, uttered a final apology and backed away, as one might from an irritated rhinoceros.
I found the others in the car park. Baby was in the front seat of the police car, pretending to drive it. One of the policemen - I really ought to learn their names - was hatless, because Baby was wearing it, and was chatting happily to the Lyons girl. Man, my sweet, big-hearted husband, was standing a little way off. He was still sad; he was looking at the trees that surrounded the reserve.
He sensed my approach without turning around. When he spoke it was in the low whisper of a distant brook skipping over pebbles. “Lady think Man born yesterday.”
“Oh, darling, of course I don’t.”
“Lady think Man come down in last shower on boat of bananas.”
“Darling, please listen, I -”
“Lady think Man weak. Man not take truth.”
“No!” Oops.
He turned to face me with his eyes wet and glistening like two of the pebbles in that brook I mentioned. A suggestion of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Lady forget hide souvenir bookmarks and tea towels. Everything in gift shop say Squirrel Nook not Dedley Zoo.” He broke into a grin. “Lady cheer up. Lady sweet, protect Man feelings.”
“Clever clogs,” I muttered. I should have known better.
“Man barefoot.” He reached for my hand and pulled me to him. The policeman cleared his throat.
“I think we’d better get you lot away from here before there’s any more, um, controversy. And if you do rock up to the zoo, please don’t kill anything.”
We crammed ourselves back into Alison’s little car and the police got into theirs. Ms Lyons was silent all the way back to Edgar Street and appeared to be concentrating on the road ahead and, via a mirror suspended in front of us, the police car behind.
Man and Baby were each in reflective mood. Man was clearly mourning the snake whose motives he had misunderstood and Baby was gazing through the window to his left, watching the buildings and streets of Dedley roll by. The enthusiasm he evinced earlier was now muted, to say the least.
Edgar Street was abuzz with activity when we pulled into it. Alison had to park her car several houses away from her own because the road was clogged with vehicles. Man was instantly on the alert and Baby’s inquisitive and curious nature could not be dampened for long.
“Visitors, Mother!” he marvelled. Man and I exchanged a brief and wary glance. Alison opened the doors and we got out of the car; behind us, the policemen got out of theirs. We approached the group of people congregating around our garden gate.
“Rebecca!” Baby cheered, hurrying to meet his friend. His cry attracted the attention of the group who turned their cameras and microphones towards us. Their gadgets clicked, whined and flashed and we were swamped with questions, like the jabber of so many monkeys giving the alarm. Man drew me protectively to his side and stepped through the crowd as one would a swirl of gnats.
“What’s all this then?” said our policeman friend. From her own gate, Mrs Lyons beckoned him to her.
“I’ll tell you what all this is,” her voice was hardly hushed. “More nuisance, that’s what this is. Heaven knows what they’ve been and gone and done this time to attract the attention of the media but now perhaps people will see what I have to put up with, what they’re really like.”
“Excuse me,” I swatted away an intrusive microphone like an annoying insect, “Do you mean newspapers and so forth?”
Rebecca spoke up before her mother could force words through her pursed lips. “You’re going to be famous, Sonny!”
Baby laughed but he was ignorant of the implications of Rebecca’s declaration.
“You’re going to be in the papers!” she attempted to make things clearer. Man and I shared a longer look of greater concern.
“Your ladyship,” one of the reporters jabbed his equipment into my personal space. “What do you think of your son’s bravery?”
“Er -”
“How does it feel to have a hero in the family?”
“Well -”
“Do you think he should get an award for catching that shoplifter?”
The barrage of questions continued. Man tried to get me to go indoors.
“It’s all right, darling,” I whispered. “It’s not about the snake.”
Cameras flashed like little bolts of lightning. Man and
I flinched every time. Dazzled and dazed, we were bossed around by photographers posing us for family portraits. Then they wanted Baby to pose on his own, like a circus strongman. Baby laughed, enjoying himself. My husband’s smile was like mine: tight-lipped.
“Where in Africa are you from?”
I was embarrassed to admit, I didn’t know. The aeroplane had gone off course, I explained, and crashed somewhere off the beaten track. I only got to know the local names for places, like the Valley of the Red Death or Fire Ant Ridge - none of which had featured in my Geography lessons at Finesse.
Eventually, the newspaper people were satisfied. Some thanked us for our cooperation and reiterated what a brave little hero our Baby is. They split up and drove off in their several cars.
“Wait!” Mrs Lyons hurried into the street, calling after the receding vehicles. “Ask her who she really is! Ask her for her full title! Lady of Where exactly?”
But the reporters were all gone. Refusing to look me in the eye, Mrs Lyons marched up her garden path and into her house, slamming the front door behind her.
“What does it mean, Mother?” Baby tugged my elbow. “Being in the papers.”
It was Man who answered, his gaze fixed along the length of Edgar Street.
“Trouble,” he said.
Chapter Eight
In which we visit the zoo and Man surprises me yet again
The next day we were up at the crack of dawn. Man was eager to get to the zoo but, as Rebecca pointed out when she joined us a couple of hours later for breakfast, it would not be open until ten a.m.
“Jungle never close,” Man folded his arms, in a huff.
“Yes, yes, darling,” I rubbed his shoulders. “We all know the jungle is better than the zoo. Remember what we said about being open-minded.”
He slurped from his bowl of cereal.
Baby questioned Rebecca about what we might expect to see. The younger Lyons girl pulled a face.
“Oh, you know...” she trailed off as soon as she began.
“We don’t,” said Baby, “That’s why I’m asking.”
“There’ll be lions and tigers and bears. Polar bears.” She saw our blank expressions. “You know: bears from the North Pole? Well, the North Pole is right at the top of the world and it’s always cold and the bears there are all white. Like snow.”
Baby looked to me for a definition.
“You remember, Baby,” I prompted him. “I told you about snow... Fat rain?”
“Oh, yes! I should like to see that. Will there be snow at the zoo, Rebecca?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Rebecca. “Not in September. But you can’t say for sure, what with global change and climate warming.”
Man interjected. “Lion come from hot place. Snow bear come from cold place. Dedley... temperate at best. How animals cope?”
Rebecca pulled that face again - a kind of shrug with her lips.
“Is it like Noah’s Ark, Mother?”
Rebecca was surprised. “You know about Noah’s Ark?”
“Honestly, Rebecca; we’re not total savages,” I pointed out. “I told Baby all those stories at bedtime.”
“Well, it’s not exactly like Noah’s Ark. It’s a lot drier for one thing.” She laughed but Baby’s forehead was furrowed.
“I should certainly hope it is not like Noah’s Ark in the slightest,” he said. “Beastly story. Billions of creatures wiped out through no fault of their own and only a tiny, unsustainable minority saved. Horrible. Unfair.”
Man nodded in agreement. Rebecca was taken aback. She said she hadn’t thought about it like that.
“Hello?” said a voice. It belonged to one of the policemen from the day before. He was peering around the side of the house. I waved to beckon him to join us. “Morning, your ladyship,” he waved back and approached. “Morning, each,” he nodded to everyone in turn. Uncle Mjomba offered him a pineapple. “Not for me, chief,” the policeman’s smile faltered, “I’ve just put one out.”
Mjomba shrugged and climbed on top of the shed.
“What can we do for you, officer?” I patted the ground beside me. He squatted.
“Um... you’re not still thinking of going to the zoo, are you?”
“Rather!” said Baby.
“It’s not a problem, is it, officer?”
“Call me Andy, please.”
“It’s not a problem, is it, Andy? I mean, after what happened at the Squirrel’s Nook.”
A hoot from the roof of the shed gave Officer Andy pause. “Oh, no, no... I shouldn’t think so. In fact, I was wondering if you would care for a lift.”
“Lift?” said Man. “Man use stairs.”
“Oh, darling!” I patted his leg. “Forgive my husband, Andy; one might think he was raised by comedians. Darling, the nice policeman is going to take us to the zoo in his car. Isn’t that sweet of him?”
“Sweet,” said Man. He shook Andy’s hand but I can always tell when my husband is wary or suspicious about something.
“You are very kind,” I said. “To make sure we don’t get into difficulty along the way.”
The policeman blushed the colour of an embarrassed flamingo. “Ah well, hands up. I confess I was instructed to keep an eye, as it were, but really, it will be my pleasure.”
“Hurrah!” said Baby, who was already enamoured with police cars. His friend Rebecca was less than enthralled.
“I don’t know about this,” she said grimly. “I know my mom won’t like me being driven off in a police car. You know: the neighbours.”
“But we’re your neighbours!” said Baby, altogether correct.
“The other neighbours,” Rebecca gestured beyond the house, “The rest of the street.”
“Well, I think your mother ought to be proud,” I told her. “It’s not every little girl who gets a police escort.”
“We could put a blanket over your head if that will help,” was Policeman Andy’s kind offer. Rebecca expressed the opinion that a blanket would make things worse. I threw up my hands.
“Oh, who cares what the neighbours think? Let me tell you, we’ve had some neighbours of the most peculiar sorts; haven’t we, darling? Do you remember that death cult who tried to fling me into a chasm? Stark raving bonkers, the lot of them - and I don’t care if that makes me sound intolerant - but they had the damnable cheek to petition us to keep dear old Uncle Mjomba away from their holiest of holies. When everyone knows that Mjomba is a sweetheart and would never harm a fly.”
At that point, Mjomba negated my testimonial by plucking an insect from the air and posting it through the fanged letterbox of his masked mouth.
What was my point?
Oh, yes!
“Never mind what the neighbours think. If we all worried about what the neighbours think, nothing would ever get done. Let them live their own lives while you get on with yours.”
My husband pulled me to him and planted a kiss on my lips. It’s quite the best way to get me to stop talking.
Policeman Andy made a ‘ahem’ sound. “I think we’d best make a move.” He edged towards the gate. Baby scampered after him and Rebecca scurried after Baby. Man released me from our clinch and we said our goodbyes to Uncle Mjomba who had again declined the invitation to join us.
As we walked arm in arm to the police car, Man confided in hushed tones that he was concerned about his uncle who had not left the bounds of our property since the day of our arrival.
“Oh, Mjomba’s all right,” I squeezed Man’s biceps. “He’s just making himself at home.”
Man grunted ambiguously and all the way to the zoo he remained preoccupied and withdrawn. Baby seemed disappointed that his ride in the police car was such a brief one, and Rebecca was almost palpably relieved to get out and distance herself from the vehi
cle as quickly as possible. I believe she didn’t want word getting back to her mother of this fraternisation with the police - for reasons I am unable to understand.
“And you’ll be all right from here?” said Policeman Andy - after he’d got out to open the passenger door.
“Yes, thank you,” I touched his sleeve. Anyone might think I had zapped him with an electric eel. “Only I don’t want to be called back to find you’ve let the monkeys out.”
“I understand.”
“Monkeys!” Baby exclaimed. “Did you hear that, Dad? There are monkeys.”
Now, we have a love/hate relationship with monkeys of which there are many kinds in the jungle, some of them more adorable than others. I have already mentioned the propensity of some of them for petty theft; there are others that are just noisemakers who, I am sure, take delight in howling up a storm and ruining a night’s sleep - but, then again, they can serve a useful purpose as an early warning system whenever trouble is on the prowl. The point is Baby was pleased to have something familiar from home in this strange new world.
But I am digressing.
There we were, Man, Baby and I, our arms around each other at the entrance to the zoo. Rebecca Lyons, who had undoubtedly visited the place several times in her brief life, failed to appreciate the momentous nature of what we were about to do.
“We going in or what?” she asked rather impatiently and I could detect traces of her mother in her she ought to seek to curb.
I looked at Man and Baby and they looked at each other and at me. We all gave a solemn nod that looked like it was choreographed. We squeezed each other’s hands and approached the entrance.
Man’s first reaction was not a favourable one.
“Small,” he said. “Cramped. No room scratch backside.”
“Oh, darling,” I laid my cheek against his arm. “That’s just the ticket office.”
I handed over my gold card and woman in the booth handed me our tickets and the gold card with them - I cannot get used to this method of payment, when one does not physically surrender anything in exchange for goods and services. I don’t fully understand it but I’m sure there must be more to it than that. I shall have to consult Mr Lyons - when I can get him away from his formidable spouse.
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