The Father's House

by Larche Davies

  He pulled himself together. It was not for him to question the Magnifico’s will. He drew the second set of curtains to shut out the night and was immediately comforted by the warmth and luxury of his surroundings. Crossing back to the desk he put the file to one side and took another out of a walnut cabinet to his left. He turned to a section labelled ‘Disposals’. It recorded the deaths of some wives who had been abducted for their brains and beauty, and had been brought to him unwillingly. They had refused to be converted to the Holy Cause and had to be disposed of. The woman upstairs should have suffered the same fate, but he had managed to persuade the Holy Leaders that there was a possibility of more children, and that he still had hopes of her conversion.

  What was it about her? Was it just her hair? He felt warm when he touched it. It was soft and cloudy and dark, and it reminded him of his mother.

  Also under Disposals were the names of three commune aunts who had succumbed to ill health and ceased to be useful. And there were two children who had suffered physical or mental frailties. The Holy Leaders had arranged everything for him with the good doctors. He didn’t like to think about that, but it had to be done. There was no room for weakness in the service of the Magnifico, and the lethal injection was very humane. Of his thirteen living children, and the extra hangers-on, he could not think of one who was not hale and hearty, and he couldn’t justifiably dispose of any of them. Today he’d heard that the good doctors had taken one of Drax’s boys. It always reflected badly on a father if his kids weren’t up to scratch.

  To his left, at the far end of the room, a purring sound announced the arrival of the dumb waiter. He moved towards it, catching his foot on the Persian carpet as he went. For a split second he wondered if he should sell a couple of his valuable carpets, or some of his antiques or paintings, but immediately put the thought out of his head. He liked to be surrounded by lovely things.

  He opened the door to the dumb waiter and lifted the top tray onto the sideboard. Then, closing the door, he pressed a button and sent the other tray up to the second floor. The food looked and smelled good. However many aunts he might dispose of he would never get rid of Sarah. He’d inherited her from a much older father, and she was a wonderful cook. He lifted a bottle of wine out of the rack next to the sideboard and poured himself a glass. Then he put on some Vivaldi and set the tray down on a small table next to the big leather chair by the fire. He was glad he had had that fire fitted. The flames were so realistic. He settled down to his meal. It was pleasant to be comfortable.

  He gazed up at the Van Gogh over the fireplace. So crude. Perhaps that could go. He would never have bid for it except that he knew Father Drax wanted it for his own private collection. It could go back into auction, now that he had had his little triumph. He smiled as he thought that Drax might bid again and have to pay more for it than he had. Even with the auctioneer’s commission he might make a profit out of Drax. That would indeed be amusing.

  The wine was a lovely colour. He swirled it around in the glass and allowed his mind to roam beyond the little world of his own household to the wider and more fulfilling world of ambition. The deputy to the current Holy Envoy would be retiring soon, and the post would be open to candidates. If he were to be elected his income would double and his troubles would be over. He could think of only one possible rival of equal calibre to himself, and that was Drax. It was always a pleasure to get one up on him.

  All of a sudden his eyes filled with bitter tears. He had been just three years old when they took him from his mother. Her face was a blur, but he could see and smell her hair now, and feel its gentle warmth. Of course he’d had to leave her, he understood that. Most children left the breeding rooms at two, and the Magnifico had been generous in letting him stay until he was three. But when he turned at the door to blow his mother a final kiss, she wasn’t looking at him. She already had another little boy on her lap – a toddler – and she was smiling down into his blue, blue eyes, and stroking his golden curls.

  OK. So Drax’s mother had died. Bad luck. But there was no need to steal his.

  The next morning, as Lucy was crossing at the lights, Matthew and David came out of the bicycle shed.

  “What were you writing on that bit of paper yesterday?” asked Matthew.

  David hardly heard the question. His head felt heavy.

  “What bit of paper?”

  They reached the school at the same time as Lucy.

  “Hi there!” called Matthew cheerily, just behind her as she started up the steps. “If you’re still looking for John, he’s gone.”

  She turned and looked at him. “What do you mean?

  “John’s gone. The good doctors took him away.”

  Relief flashed over Lucy’s normally inscrutible face.

  “Wow! That’s great news! They’ll get him well again.” She smiled. “Do you know how long it’s likely to be?”

  Matthew was taken aback and his smile disappeared.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

  As she moved off she glanced at David and stopped in her tracks. Her relief switched to concern.

  “Are you alright?”

  He nodded.

  “Well you don’t look it. You should ask the surgery aunt if you can lie down.”

  He nodded again, and she ran on up the steps. Matthew looked at David.

  “Did you see her face when I said about the good doctors? She hasn’t got a clue, poor fool,” he said, genuinely surprised. “That’s what comes of living in Father Copse’s private house instead of in his commune. Just so ignorant!”

  David too had seen the look on Lucy’s face. It was obvious no-one had ever told her about the good doctors. But what was worrying was that he and Dorothy had thought they were the only ones who knew that John had gone. One of the aunts must have been blabbing. He nearly blurted out that he knew already, but stopped himself in time. If he let on he might find himself giving an explanation about the linen cupboard.

  “How do you know the good doctors have taken him?” he mumbled.

  “I don’t,” replied Matthew. “I just assumed she knew what it meant, and thought it would be fun to wind her up.”

  “That’s really mean.”

  “Yeah. I realise that now.” Matthew looked contrite, then brightened up. “Still, she won’t know that’s what I was doing. If John is at his desk today, I’ll tell her it was just a rumour, and if he isn’t I’ll be proved right.”

  Well, you are right, thought David to himself. The horror of it sickened him.

  “He’s dead.”

  Lucy grabbed the back of her chair. “What d’you mean?”

  “Well, I can’t put it any more clearly than that,” said Matthew a little crossly. “You asked if I knew when John was coming back, and I told you he’s dead. What that means is he’s died. Gone. The Magnifico’s taken him.”

  He looked at Lucy’s ashen face, and grabbed David’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go, before she faints or something.”

  David shook him off. “Listen, Lucy,” he said quietly, “I’ll explain it all to you.” But she turned sharply, and started weaving her way through the rows of desks towards the door.

  “Leave her alone,” said Matthew. “She’ll get over it. Let’s go and get some food. It’s Father Copse’s duty to educate her, not ours.”

  As they watched, a boy jumped up from his chair and shoved it backwards into Lucy’s right hip.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed. “It’s FOBF, knocking into innocent people.”

  Two of his friends loomed up alongside him.

  “Holy Magnifico! She looks like something the cat sicked up!” laughed one of them. “What’s the matter, FOBF?”

  Lucy hardly heard them. John’s face was swimming before her eyes. She moved on. One of the boys grabbed her arm and swung her round to face them.

  “We’re talking to you, FOBF. Don’t you turn your back on us.”

  Trying to clear her head, she
looked at the three grinning faces.

  “We’ll be fathers someday, and you’ll just be a kitchen aunt, so show us some respect.”

  Slowly, Lucy took in what they were saying.

  “Oh, I thought fathers were chosen because they were clever and handsome, not stupid and ugly,” she said contemptuously. “The Holy Leaders must have changed the rules!”

  She didn’t wait for a response. As she turned one of the boys pulled her back by the neck of her jumper. David leaped forward between the desks and pushed him away. “Leave her alone!” he growled.

  Matthew grabbed him from behind. “Come away, you idiot!” he muttered in his ear. “Let’s go and get our lunch.”

  “Ooh! Sir Galahad!” jeered one of the boys, and all three laughed and whooped as Lucy walked towards the door with as much dignity as she could muster.

  David couldn’t see Lucy in the canteen. He left Matthew at the counter and took his plate over to where Dorothy was sitting on her own at a window table.

  “I think we’ll have to give up on our idea of making friends with her,” he said, after he had described Lucy’s reaction to the news about John, and the incident in the classroom. “She hasn’t got a clue what goes on, or what the good doctors do. An outside friend who doesn’t know things won’t be much use to us.” He looked past Dorothy and noticed that Matthew had settled himself down with two buddies, and was talking nineteen to the dozen. Probably telling them about how stupid Lucy was, thought David.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Dorothy checked over her shoulder. “But I think we should make one big and final effort, very subtly, to educate her. There isn’t anyone else. Otherwise we’ll just have to leave together at the same time.”

  “Well, I’ve been making a really big and final effort for the past two months. It’s like talking to a rubber wall. Whatever I say to her some polite response bounces back at me and that’s it.”

  “We’ve got to keep positive.”

  “I know.” David watched the runny stew dribble off his spoon into the bowl and gave it a stir. “Yuk!” he said, pulling a face. “I hope it tastes better than it looks.”

  They ate in silence for a while.

  “She’ll get suspicious if I’m too friendly,” said David when he had finished, “and I don’t want Matthew to think I fancy her! He’d blab it out to the whole school, and she’d never speak to me again.”

  “We’ll have to think of a strategy.”

  David looked out of the window. The sky was a miserable grey. “Look how dark it is, and it’s still only lunchtime!” he remarked forlornly. “Everything’s so depressing.”

  “Mmm,” Dorothy was thinking. Her face brightened. “The clocks go forward on Sunday, and it’ll be light in the evenings. You boys’ll be allowed to take your bikes on the common after school.”

  “Good! I’m fed up with having nothing to do except homework.”

  “Count yourself lucky,” remarked Dorothy. “I wish girls were allowed to ride bikes.”

  “Ah, girls would be tempted to ride away! The Magnifico wouldn’t want to risk that.”

  Dorothy laughed. “You’re so right! We’d be off like a shot.” She lowered her voice. “You’ll be going up South Hill to get to the common, and that’s the way Lucy goes home.”

  The significance sank in. David nodded. “Ah! Right. I see.”

  “You might get a chance to talk to her.”

  “Maybe,” he said slowly, “as long as I can do it without looking suspicious.”

  “And I might be able to too.” Dorothy’s voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “Some of the girls will go up to sit on the grass and pretend to do their homework while they watch whoever they’ve got a crush on – poor fools.” She tossed her head scornfully. “A waste of time seeing they’ll be forced to marry a father! Anyway, if I come up with them I might have a chance to talk to Lucy on her way home.”

  They finished their lunch in silence and stood up to leave.

  “Change of mind!” Dorothy announced suddenly. She dropped her voice. “I’m not going to wait till the clocks go forward. I know where she’ll be now. She’ll be behind the bike shed digesting the news about John. Being subtle takes too long. I’m going to be direct. I know it’s risky, but I’ll suss her out a bit before I say anything stupid.”

  Lucy was huddled up with her chin on her knees. There was a huge pain in the pit of her stomach. Big tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to reason with herself. It was not as if she had been friends with John. And the Magnifico must have a purpose. Even so, she felt her heart would burst. How could He be so cruel?

  She looked up nervously as Dorothy slipped round the corner of the shed. “Oh, it’s only you,” she whispered with relief.

  “Only me,” said Dorothy quietly, sliding down next to her and putting her arms round her.

  Lucy wriggled away. She used to cry on Aunt Sarah’s shoulder sometimes years ago before she started school, but now Aunt Sarah would have told her sharply to pull herself together this minute! Sitting up abruptly she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t be daft.” Dorothy handed her a tissue. “David told me what Matthew said. We’re upset too, but it’s not such a shock for us because we already knew about the Magnifico’s ways.”

  “It’s his purpose, isn’t it?” sniffled Lucy. “Why use poor harmless John to carry out his purpose?”

  She stopped, aghast at what she had said, and looked around, almost expecting to see the fire licking towards her and melting her flesh.

  Dorothy hesitated. This could all go terribly wrong. “There isn’t a purpose,” she said.

  “Yes there is.” Lucy sniffed and wiped the crumpled tissue all over her face. “Aunt Sarah told me. She knows. It’s called having faith.”

  Dorothy was wondering if she dare say more when the bell rang, and they could hear the playground aunt clapping her hands for them to go in. “Having faith isn’t the same as knowing,” she said as she jumped to her feet. “And listen,” she added hastily, “David and I want you to be our friend. We’ll talk about it some other time.” She walked quickly away.

  Lucy waited behind and then sidled out on her own, and made her way back to class. It was impossible to concentrate. Her mind switched back and forth from John to Dorothy. The astonishing offer of friendship had brought fleeting joy followed by puzzlement and suspicion. She’d never had a friend and would love to think she could be seen as potential friend material, but why? After all, they’d known her for the past ten years. Anyway, she couldn’t even contemplate it. They’d both had the guidance cane and there was the risk of being tempted to their ways. It would be wrong to put herself in the way of temptation. Perhaps there could be a sort of friendship if she were to make it her task to persuade Dorothy that there was such a thing as the purpose. But was there? She wouldn’t dare ask Aunt Sarah, so she’d have to ask Thomas.

  Thomas wasn’t there when Lucy got home. She was disappointed, but not surprised. He only came to do the father’s garden when he could fit it in, and he couldn’t always stay long because he had two proper jobs – one as a corporation gardener, and one as a nurse at the Mortimor Hospital at the end of the road. Even so, she sat down on a pile of sacks inside the garage door and waited, just in case he did come. Sometimes he called in after his shift at the hospital finished.

  Lucy thought she loved Thomas. She wasn’t sure what love was, but she certainly knew that she liked him very much. He wasn’t good-looking or clever enough to be a father, but he worked hard and was useful to the Holy Envoy, so he must be a good man. Not only did he look after the local parks and do three days a week as a nurse, but on top of that he was paid by the Holy Envoy as an infiltrator into the local authority and into the health service. If anyone knew what was going on it was Thomas.

  He was skinny and pimply with thin, sandy hair, but he had such a kind face. Leaning up against the garage wall he would roll himself a cigarette and chat, asking
Lucy about herself and Aunt Sarah and the father, and how things went on at the house. He was the one person in the world who seemed interested in her, and what was more he always answered her questions if he could without making her feel guilty for asking. And he told her things. Once he had shown her the secret hand signal the infiltrators used if they needed to make themselves known to other infiltrators. He’d crossed his right thumb over his palm and dropped his hand to his side in a twisting movement. It had to be done very subtly and quickly so people wouldn’t notice. According to Thomas some of the councillors used it when they came to meetings at the town hall.

  Lucy had practised it over and over again, and he’d told her she might make a good infiltrator one day. They were always looking for people to train.

  Sometimes he gave her a sweet, and she would hide behind a shrub to eat it, for the sweet things in life were forbidden. Lucy knew that when she was sixteen, less than two years from now, she would have to marry some unknown father she had never met before. She would rather marry someone like Thomas.

  After waiting a good ten minutes she scrambled to her feet. He’d have turned up by now if he was going to come. When she entered the kitchen Aunt Sarah was sitting with Paul on her lap playing ‘round and round the garden’ on the palm of his hand, and they were both laughing. Lucy couldn’t remember when she last saw Aunt Sarah laugh. Paul reached up and fingered the gold circle that hung from a chain round Sarah’s neck.