Paws for Alarm

by Marian Babson

  ‘Hey, Mom –’ Donald shouted gleefully. ‘Guess what? Dad’s under arrest!’

  ‘I am not!’ Arnold bellowed.

  I dropped the eggbeater on the table and it rolled to the floor, scattering dollops of cream all the way. I was vaguely aware of a delighted Esmond advancing upon this unexpected largesse as I dashed for the front door.

  I took one look at Arnold – held upright by a policeman on either side of him – and screamed. I had never done that before. But I had never seen Arnold in such a condition before, either.

  He had a black eye, a large bump on his forehead and a graze on his cheek. One arm was bandaged, his shirt bloodstained, his glasses bent askew. He held himself strangely, as though there might be a cracked rib or two.

  ‘It’s all right, honey,’ Arnold said. ‘It just looks a lot worse than it is.’

  ‘Arnold! What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shook himself free of the policemen. ‘I was waiting for the train. There’d been a big game somewhere today and Waterloo Station was full of soccer hooligans. But they were at the other end of the station. I thought we were okay down at my end. There were several of us waiting for the platform gate to open.’

  ‘It was a fight!’ Donald’s eyes gleamed. ‘Did you win, Dad? What do the other guys look like?’

  ‘It was no contest,’ Arnold snapped. ‘The last thing I remember, there was shouting and suddenly all the hooligans charged towards us. We scattered. I felt a thump between my shoulder blades. It spun me round. Fortunately, I flung my arm up –’ He paused thoughtfully and went off into one of those analytical asides that are going to drive me crazy someday.

  ‘It was sheer instinct. My hand went automatically to my throat to protect it. It must be one of those gestures arising from race memories: always protect the jugular vein. I’d had no idea I was going to do it. It was –’

  ‘Arnold!’

  ‘Just as well you did, sir,’ one of the policemen said. ‘From the looks of your arm, he was stabbing for the heart.’

  ‘Yes, well, that was when I fell and they began kicking me.’

  ‘Arnold!’

  ‘It’s okay, honey. The doctor patched me up –’ He swayed abruptly and the policemen closed in on both sides again.

  ‘The doctor wanted to keep him in hospital for twenty-four hours,’ the other policeman said, ‘but he wouldn’t have it. Signed himself out. Said he had to get home to you and the kids. Best if you put him to bed now, though.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  ‘Didn’t you catch the guys?’ Donald had inherited his father’s carping nature. He glared at the police accusingly. ‘Did you let them get away?’

  ‘We weren’t there.’ The police were stung. ‘We answered a call and got there the same time as the ambulance. The gang had disappeared by then.’

  ‘If I’d been there, I’d of got them,’ Donald said savagely. ‘They can’t do that to my Dad!’

  ‘I’d have got them, too,’ Donna echoed.

  ‘Please, kids –’ Arnold was swaying again. ‘It’s all over. Let it go.’

  ‘Did they get your wallet?’ Donna was intensely practical.

  ‘No – they just seemed to be after blood.’ Arnold gave a shaky laugh. ‘They sure spilled enough of it.’

  ‘Did you have to have a transfusion?’

  ‘That’s enough, you kids,’ I said automatically, but I raised my eyebrows at the policemen, waiting for the answer.

  ‘The doctor said it wasn’t necessary.’ The policeman’s tone hovered between reassurance and disapproval. ‘But he’s to take it very easy for a couple of weeks. Until the stitches come out.’

  ‘Stitches!’

  ‘Lot of damnfool nonsense,’ Arnold said. ‘I’ll be perfectly all right after a good night’s rest.’ Again he shook off the policemen and started for the stairs. He achieved two steps before he buckled at the knees.

  They were there to catch him.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I said. ‘If you could just help me get him upstairs -?’

  ‘No problem.’ They hoisted Arnold between them and lifted him up the stairs.

  I followed behind. So did the twins.

  ‘Look, you kids, why don’t you go and watch television, or something?’

  It was useless. Real life had suddenly become a lot more exciting than television and they were not going to be fobbed off with what had become a pale imitation.

  The policemen carried Arnold into the bedroom and helped me to get him into his pyjamas. In feet, they did all the work. I nearly fell apart when they got his shirt off and I saw the extent of his injuries. If those knives had struck just a few inches closer ... if he hadn’t raised his arm ...

  ‘The doctor said to give him two of these.’ One policeman produced a small envelope from his pocket. “Two now, and two more every four hours – but don’t wake him up to give them to him. If he’s sleeping, let him sleep through to morning.’

  ‘And that’s another thing —’ Arnold rallied briefly, indignantly. I’m only wounded – not feeble-minded. I’m perfectly capable of taking charge of my own medication.’

  ‘Of course, you are, dear.’ I popped one of the pills into his mouth as he paused for breath and brought a glass of water up to his lips. He swallowed automatically and I repeated the process with the second pill.

  ‘Good old Nancy –’ He grinned feebly. ‘Flo Nightingale could have taken lessons from you.’

  ‘And don’t you forget it!’ I pushed him back against the pillows gently. He struggled briefly, then relaxed.

  ‘It’s good to be home –’ He caught my hand. ‘I’m glad I made it back to you, Babe.’ His eyes closed.

  ‘I’m glad, too.’ I fought against tears. Not in front of the policemen and the twins. Later, when I was alone with Arnold, watching him sleeping ... counting his breaths ... realizing how close I had come to losing him ...

  ‘If there’s anything else we can do -?’ one of the policemen suggested.

  ‘No. No, thank you so much. It was good of you to bring him home.’ I led the way downstairs. ‘Is there – Is there anything else we should do? Does Arnold have to appear in court, or anything?’

  ‘Not unless we catch them.’ Something in his voice told me how unlikely that was. ‘We’ll let you know.’ He edged towards the door.

  ‘Fine.’ I took the hint and opened the door. ‘Thank you again.’

  That’s all right.’ They nodded and disappeared into the night.

  I had barely closed the door behind them, leaning against it for a moment to pull myself together, when the doorbell rang sharply, startling me out of what was left of my wits. I peered suspiciously through the glass. It was Lania.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ She came into the hallway eagerly. ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you had the police here. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Everything’s under control, thank you,’ I lied cheerfully. I had never in my life felt that things were more out of control. She looked at me as though she suspected that.

  ‘But what -?’

  ‘Arnold had a run-in with some soccer hooligans at Waterloo Station. The police got him patched up and brought him home. It’s all right now.’

  ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to!’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not safe anywhere – for anyone.’

  ‘Terrible,’ I agreed. I found that I was beginning to tremble with delayed shock.

  ‘Mrs Sandgate – Mrs Sandgate –’ The twins thundered down the stairs. ‘The soccer hooligans almost killed Daddy!’

  ‘So I’ve been hearing.’ Lania gave me a concerned look. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?’

  ‘Mom, I’m hungry,’ Donald complained. ‘When are we going to eat?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said blankly. ‘Soon ...’

  ‘That’s something I can do!’ Lania pounced on the idea triumphantly. ‘I can take the twins next door and feed them. Then they can watch television with
Angela and Peregrine while you pull yourself together. It must have been the most desperate shock for you.’

  ‘It was,’ I agreed. ‘That would be awfully kind of you, Lania. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  She didn’t, but the twins’ appalled looks told me that they did. They were not prepared to trust themselves to Lania’s impromptu cooking.

  ‘Look –’ I said. ‘I have a casserole all ready. Let me get it out of the oven and you can just feed them that. Have some yourselves. Arnold won’t be eating anything tonight and I – I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I quite understand,’ she cooed, following me into the kitchen.

  Esmond gave a guilty start as we appeared and retreated under the farthest chair, leaving behind a shiningly clean eggbeater in the middle of the kitchen floor. Now I felt guilty.

  ‘Really, this isn’t necessary —’ Lania studiously avoided noticing the eggbeater. ‘I have plenty of food and I’m only too pleased to –’

  ‘Hey, Mom!’ Donald was not so inhibited. ‘Esmond’s done a great job on the eggbeater. You won’t have to bother washing it.’

  Lania winced.

  ‘We’ll wash it anyway,’ I said, hoping she’d believe me. ‘And sterilize it.’ I picked it up swiftly and tossed it into the sink.

  Lania winced again.

  Her – name’s – really – Lana – and – she’s – only – every – other-inch-a-lady. The mantra flashed through my mind and enabled me to get a grip on the situation. I found the oven gloves and began wrestling the casserole on to a platter.

  ‘Daddy has a black eye and six stitches in his arm.’ Donna took over the task of entertaining Lania while I worked. ‘And three stitches in his back.’

  ‘How terrible!’ Lania was suitably impressed. ‘What a frightful thing to happen on your holiday. What will you think of us English?’

  ‘It could have happened anywhere,’ I said. ‘The world seems to be getting more violent every day. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. There’s a lot of arson around in the States.’

  ‘Ghastly!’ Lania shuddered.

  ‘And Dad’s all bruises everywhere –’ Donald wanted his share of the reflected limelight – ‘where they kicked him. He’s going to let us count them tomorrow when he’s feeling better.’

  ‘Please!’ Now, I shuddered.

  ‘Come and tell Angela and Peregrine all about it.’ Lania herded the twins ahead of her. ‘They’ll be enthralled.’

  Ten

  When Lania returned the casserole on Monday, it was filled with a concoction of her own.

  ‘She doesn’t have any Borgia blood in her, does she?’ Arnold eyed it doubtfully.

  ‘And there isn’t any disposal unit in this sink.’ I stared down at the strange-looking mess. Odd smells were rising from it.

  ‘Please, honey,’ Arnold begged, ‘put the cover back on it. My stomach’s still a bit delicate. That stuff is making me feel queasy.’

  As I did so, Esmond strolled in through the cat flap. We looked at him and then at each other in bright surmise.

  ‘Hey –’ Arnold said. ‘Maybe this is the week we save on cat food. Here, Esmond – Here, boy – Come and see what we’ve got for you. All for you.’ We sure weren’t going to touch it.

  Esmond edged forward suspiciously.

  In deference to Arnold’s fragile stomach, I carried the casserole over to the draining board before scooping a couple of generous spoonfuls into Esmond’s bowl.

  ‘There, Esmond, all for you,’ I said, setting it down on the floor. ‘Yum-yum.’

  Esmond halted just short of the bowl and stared at it. He arched his neck, sniffing, then retreated a few steps. He crouched on his haunches thoughtfully for a minute, then circled the bowl and approached it from the other side. It smelled the same over there, too.

  Esmond turned and gave me a nasty look. Then he stretched out his paw and made raking motions towards the bowl. It was a cat’s deadliest insult: he was trying to bury the offending dish.

  ‘And so say all of us,’ Arnold agreed. ‘That cat is smarter than he looks. You’ll just have to flush the stuff down the toilet, honey.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s got bones in it. I’ll have to wrap it in newspaper and throw it out with the garbage. And just hope Lania never finds out.’

  ‘Do it when the kids aren’t around, then. They talk their heads off to Lania’s kids.’

  ‘I know.’ They were playing next door now and I was delighted to have them there. Lania swore she didn’t mind, in fact, she was pleased that they had turned out to be such good companions for Angela and Peregrine. I hoped she continued to think so when the English schools let out for the month of August and she would have the kids there all day instead of just in the afternoon after school.

  I had also discovered how Lania kept her drawing-room such a spotless showcase: the children were never allowed in there. The upstairs was theirs – except for the master bedroom; the downstairs was Lania’s. It seemed to work very well – for her. If I tried it, it would be like issuing an invitation to anarchy. The twins needed only a hint that any place was a no-go area for them and it was a copper-bottomed, gold-plated certainty that they would charge in and take it over.

  ‘Please, honey, wait until I’m out of the room before you scrape out that casserole. I can’t stand it.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I replaced the lid hastily. Arnold was looking a bit green around the gills. ‘Why don’t you go into the living-room and lie down?’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea.’ He inched himself off his chair, groaning slightly.

  ‘Wait a minute. Let me help you.’ I hurried to him. ‘Here, lean on me.’

  Poor Arnold had slept most of Sunday. This morning he had got out of bed, in a feeble feint towards dressing and catching the London train. I put my foot down instantly and he had acceded so readily I realized he had wanted me to. We got him downstairs, still in his dressing gown, and after that he had seized up. It was agony for him to move and I tried not to show how frightened I was. He should have stayed in hospital where the experts could look after him. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn -

  ‘Not so fast, honey. I can’t keep up with you.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I slowed to the crawl that was the only speed Arnold could move at today. If he wasn’t improved in the next couple of days, I’d get the doctor to send him into hospital whether he liked it or not.

  ‘That’s better.’ He sighed heavily and tugged at me. ‘Not the living-room – let’s go in here instead.’

  I helped him into the study. It was a smaller, warmer room and I knew he liked it better. I settled him on to the sofa and switched on the electric fire since there was dampness in the air and rain threatened at any moment.

  ‘Do you want a blanket?’ I hovered uncertainly. ‘Or a book?’ Although I didn’t approve, I’d even let him have one of the do-it-yourself books if he wanted it. ‘Would you rather read or rest?"

  ‘Don’t fuss, honey.’ Arnold shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that imposed the minimum of strain on his wounds. ‘Maybe a blanket would be nice. Just over my legs. They’re sort of aching. It must be all this dampness.’

  ‘I’ll get one.’ I rushed upstairs to the bedroom. While I was pulling the biggest softest blanket out of the blanket chest, I heard a faint familiar scrabbling sound somewhere behind me.

  Mice! Maybe even rats! Wasn’t that all I damned well needed right now? And where was Esmond? This was his job. I snatched up the blanket and hurried downstairs with it.

  ‘Wait a minute –’ Arnold protested as I tossed it at him.

  ‘I’ll be right back.’ I dashed into the kitchen, caught up an amazed and indignant Esmond and carried him upstairs.

  ‘There!’ I set him down on the bedroom floor. Time to get to work.’ To make sure he did, I closed the bedroom door behind me and left him there. Then I went back to Arnold.

  ‘Mice,’ I explained briefly. ‘In the bedroom wall. I’ve left Esmond up there to deal with t
hem.’

  ‘Fat lot of good that will do,’ Arnold said. That cat wouldn’t know what to do with a mouse if it walked up to him and spat in his eye. He’d probably apologize to it for being in its way.’

  ‘Don’t sell Esmond short.’ I was whistling in the dark, not quite convinced myself, but you have to do the best you can with the material to hand. ‘He may have a few bits missing, but he’s essentially a cat.’

  Arnold shrugged, but his eyes were clouded with worry. I knew there was more bothering him than Esmond’s shortcomings.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘This is going to sound silly –’

  ‘Go ahead.’ I just stopped myself from saying that it couldn’t sound sillier than a lot of things he said.

  ‘I’ve been thinking it over and –’ Arnold glanced at me, as though trying to judge how I’d react. ‘And, well, there was something funny about the way those soccer hooligans came at me.’

  ‘Downright hilarious.’

  ‘No, honey, you know what I mean. Funny peculiar. There was a whole crowd of us waiting for that train – and I wasn’t on the outside. They had to push past three or four other people to get at me. I mean, why me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did the police have any theories?’

  ‘I didn’t mention it. I mean, I’ve only been thinking about it the past couple of days and realized that’s what happened. Do you think I should tell them?’

  ‘They’ve probably forgotten all about you by this time.’ In the intervening two days, there had been a spectacular murder, a political scandal and an international incident. Arnold’s problems weren’t likely to be looming very large on the official horizon.

  ‘Probably.’ Arnold nodded gloomily.

  ‘Look –’ I had developed a theory of my own. ‘Were you the only American in that crowd or were there others?’

  ‘I was the only one.’

  ‘There you are!’ That fitted in with my theory. ‘It was just a touch of that old anti-American spirit coming to the surface. “Yankee go home!” and all that stuff.’