by Amy Lilwall
‘Sorry?’
Drew blew slowly through pursed lips. ‘Yes, well, I’m turning the situation over in my mind but… But I really don’t see how it would be possible.’
‘Very simple. Just say yes.’
‘Well… In an ideal world…’
‘Blow your ideal world! Just make it happen.’
Drew’s heart clawed at its chest, like a lab-rat scratches at the walls of its tank.
‘I… um… It’s just impossible.’ The words were louder than intended. Drew winced before adding: ‘I’m afraid.’
A deep inhalation hissed at the other end. ‘Do you know how much of a privilege this is?’
Oh God. Drew’s eyes closed. ‘I do.’
‘Do you know how many scientists would tumble over themselves for this opportunity?’
‘—.’
‘Well?’
‘I’m in no doubt.’
‘I don’t think you realize that at this very moment my secretary is drafting five letters to dismiss five student researchers, kids whose interests are rooted in advancing science for the good of our planet and the future generations with whom said planet must be shared, as well as our translation of its mechanisms that we are chipping our way into, day by day, so that our children have major building blocks to cement together; all of this, all of this they realize because they are scientists, but I would get rid of the lot of them in an eye-blink in order to hire you.’
Drew’s head shook slowly. ‘Why me? I’m not that good. We had at least twelve excellent scientists on our team if I remember correctly.’
A pause pulsed at the other end of the line. Drew listened with one eye shut until the sound of a breath intake confirmed that his tantrum was over. ‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right. And we’ve had many more since.’ Then a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry, I just… I’m just in a bit of a spot. I’ll find someone. I’m sorry if I got all shouty.’
The voice went muffled at the word ‘shouty’, as if a hand had been rubbed down the length of its face. Huh! He’d never apologized before… Perhaps he’d mellowed in his old age.
‘You’ll find someone.’
‘Yeah… It’s just I can’t believe the government has landed me with a load of students.’ A chuckle echoed at the other end. ‘Useless bunch don’t know their arses from their elbows.’
Drew pursed his lips; he’d always had it in for them. It wasn’t like they were undergrads… They were probably third-year doctoral students; some might even have been doing postdocs… He was frightened, that was the problem, because they were attached to universities and universities valued standards and good practice. Jesus, this man was so wrong. Mustn’t say anything else, though; he was nearly gone; he was nearly out of their lives for good. ‘You’ll find someone,’ Drew repeated.
‘Oh, I’m sure I will…’
‘You will.’
A pause, then: ‘You’re still dancing, are you?’
‘Erm…’ Why not? If that would make him go away. ‘Yes, actually. Although I’m getting a bit long in the tooth now.’
‘Ha! Long in the tooth? I’ve got grandchildren now; up in Scotland.’
‘Oh… That’s nice.’
‘Yes. Far enough away. I’ve done my share of babies.’
‘Yes, they’re hard work, aren’t they?’
‘And you’ve got Isabel, is that right?’
Drew froze. The heart lab-rat seemed to rise up on its hind legs and twitch its whiskers. That name, coming from that mouth; that mouth had uttered that name so many times in an entirely different context. The rat bolted around its cage, looking for a way out; sending up loud, frightened breaths that forced Drew to face away from the handset so Mark Hector wouldn’t hear them. ‘You know about Isabel?’
‘Sorry, yes! Your friend told me that you had a child.’
Drew exhaled… Phew! It was Reg. Reg wouldn’t have said anything compromising. Not more so than he already had, silly bugger. ‘Yes, she’s just turned eighteen.’
‘Eighteen? Was it really over eighteen years ago that you left? My gosh.’
‘Yes! Funny, isn’t it…’
‘Something I could never do; give up on my whole career because of a child. Your wife must have felt supported, though.’
‘My wife?’
‘Yes! Watty, do they call her?’
‘They do but… He’s definitely a “he”.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Watty’s my husband.’
‘No!’
‘Sorry?’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, who’d have thought it?’
‘I think the name’s a bit of a giveaway…’
‘Ha! You’ve foxed me there…’ He paused for a while. The piranha eyes were probably darting this way and that, trying to make sense of the territory outside their caves. ‘You know, if there’s one thing I’ve never understood it’s this trend for being gay.’
Oh dear. Drew pulled his shoulders back and folded his lips inwards.
‘At what point does it start? That’s the million-dollar question… Ha ha! If I had the answer to that I’d be the most successful doctor on the planet.’
Don’t do it. Don’t bite, Drew. Just clench your teeth and, and… ‘You’re an expert in genetics. You should have a very good idea of the point at which “it” starts,’ Drew’s mouth seemed to say all by itself.
‘Oh, don’t give me all that clap-trap. Why did you never see it back in the day, eh? And now all of a sudden they’re everywhere.’
Drew sighed and flopped against the sofa back. ‘I blame Roundup.’
‘Ha! Quite. You’re alright, you see, you’ve got a sense of humour. You know what? If this project does go completely belly up, I’ll just figure out a way to turn everyone gay – that’ll solve the population crisis.’
‘You know, you should probably be more careful about what you say… Given your position.’
‘Oh goodness, we’re only mucking about. And anyway, it was you who suggested that it could be manipulated genetically.’
‘Um… Not quite.’
‘But in all honesty, all it would really take is for you people to realize that we are here to procreate. And giving into your whims is… is totally anti-family. I should have guessed, actually, you being a dancer an’ all.’
‘I should have had it tattooed on the back of my neck. Then you wouldn’t have had to guess.’
‘I’ll tell you one thing: as good a scientist as I am, I haven’t managed to make one baby with two sperm cells.’
‘—.’
‘Have I?’
‘—.’
‘Or has anyone, for that matter?’
‘—.’
‘True, isn’t it?’
‘I bet you’ve tried, though.’
‘What?’
That was it; the camel’s back had positively dissolved. Drew sat forward, holding one hand high in the air. ‘How can you say that I’m anti-family, Doctor I-could-never-give-up-on-my-career-because-of-a-child, when you’ve spent your lifetime killing children?’ Drew scrunched his eyes shut and listened to the silence that hummed through the handset. Not a breath, not a sigh, not a gasp; nothing. Just as he was about to hoarse ‘hello?’ Dr Hector piped up again.
‘And so what does that make you? You spent most of your scientific career terminating embryos without a hope in hell of going on to procreate. You’re a veritable dark angel, Drew Mahlik.’
A veritable dark angel. A veritable dark angel. Drew’s eyes grew hot. His thumb hovered over the red hang-up button as his top eyelids sought the bottom ones so that they could hold each other while they cried; droplets squeezed between them and burst on his knees, the wet stain marking the end of one short existence before another would fall, and another; his eyelids continuing to hug each other to save them. ‘I have a child.’
‘Well, so does every other normal person on this planet, Drew. Did you adopt her? Buy her?’
‘I’m not like you. I wanted to make something good come of all of this,’ he sobbed.
‘Did you grow her? Ha! There’s a thought.’
‘I tried to save them! I wanted to make Project Isabel work. I knew that as soon as they were babies they’d be safe from you. They’d be protected by the law…’
‘You grew her, didn’t you? Are you telling me that you grew her?’
‘No,’ he whimpered. ‘I. Just. Wanted. Them. To. Live.’ The sobs pulled his head downwards and it rested on his knees.
‘Well, they didn’t. And you’re just as responsible as I am.’
‘I used to sing to them. I used to read them stories…’
The front door clicked behind Drew. ‘Drew, we found the biggest blackberry bush ever!’ But he didn’t notice. He sat, curved over his knees, his feet hoisted onto their toes, feeling each little wet globe as it splashed and evaporated on his thigh, imagining each evaporation as a tiny white soul… ‘Drew, who are you speaking to?’ Watty set Isabel down on the floor and strode across the room.
‘They were just bunches of cells, Drew. The day you took on Isabel was the day you destroyed a real child’s life.’
‘Hang up the phone, Drew. Hang it up!’
There was a click and the line was dead. Dr Hector listened for a moment, then redialled the number on the scrap of paper. Answerphone. He leaned back in his chair and curled his index finger over his top lip. No wonder he’d left; mentally unstable queer. And all this business about him bringing up a child… The doctor shook his head; that was incredibly wrong. The world had completely turned on its head the day that gays were allowed to adopt. That’s if he did adopt her… He had plenty of opportunity to grow her. Ha! Ha! No… Impossible. Not on his nelly. The problem with Drew Mahlik was that he had a sappy conscience that had obviously broken him, over the years. He’d seen it happen to one other person, maybe two… The man just broke down in tears! ‘I wanted to make something good come of all of this!’ he’d cried. Well, didn’t we all, Drew Mahlik? Didn’t we all…
Ha! Growing his own child indeed…
But had he actually said ‘no’? Yes, yes, he had said it but… Just ‘no’. Not: ‘No, you’re bloody crazy!’ or, or: ‘No! How on Earth would you expect me to do that?’
Just ‘no’.
But then again, such a silly question would only really require a ‘no’, wouldn’t it?
Mark Hector found himself typing ‘Isabel Mahlik’ into his tablet… But would it be Mahlik or… Bugger. He didn’t know the other one’s name. He clicked the tablet off and drummed his fingers on it.
Just wanted to make something good come of all of this. Just wanted them to live.
Oh dear. The seed had been planted; this would niggle at him now; what if? What if? His whole life’s work had been building up to creating something like this and, well, what if it already existed? He picked up a coaster on his desk, turned it over and put it back down again before getting up and striding to the window. And anyway, even if he had grown his own baby, which was highly unlikely, there wasn’t much that they could do about it now. No, no… That would be too much trouble, too time-consuming. Who had the time to go around breaking up families for no particular reason? Plus, it would drum up bad press, not what he needed at the moment. The real problem was, if Drew had grown Isabel, which he probably hadn’t, then where had he got the embryo? The lab was the most obvious answer. Theft, ha! And if he had stolen the embryo to make Isabel, the chances of which were very slim, then the lab embryos at the time had been specifically modified… The question was if he’d made his own baby, which he probably hadn’t, and if he’d stolen a lab embryo to do it, which in itself would be in breach of too many regulations to even consider, but if he had, had he stolen it before or after modification? That was the question.
Dr Mark Hector shook his head and chuckled. Drew Mahlik hadn’t done any of these things. ‘Your shortfall, Hector, has always been that bothersome dose of fantasy.’ He walked back to his desk and sat back down. Right, this wasn’t going to get him another scientist anytime soon! He clicked on his tablet and slid through the second-choice profiles. Drew had most certainly been among the best; among the top three, he would say. That’s probably why he’d ended up in such a mess, ha! Might even have turned him… ‘Follow the three-day rule, Hector,’ he said aloud to himself. ‘If you’re still thinking about this in three days, then you may do something about it.’
* * *
Hang on… She could see. But she wasn’t breathing; her mouth wouldn’t let her breathe. Was that possible? She’d never put her head underwater before and now it was there her mouth and nose had closed up. The black speckled ceiling blurred and wobbled. She pushed her face towards the surface and broke through, her mouth opening up and filling with air. She was breathing… and floating. Like a geranium petal or, or the shit inside the toilet bowl. She could see across the bath to the edge and even over the side. The edge wasn’t as high up any more. It was like the fountain when it had been licked by the wind; the water could fall over the side at any minute. If only she could get to the side and fall over with it. Little domes of air formed and popped on the surface. Her humcoat drifted, tummy down, towards the edge. She wriggled after it, wincing as her hair caught in her armpits. The water was right at the top now; one lick and it would slosh over the edge. She pushed out with her forearms and a small wave spilled over, dragging her slightly nearer. Reaching and kicking and twisting her shoulders, her fingers rubbed the edge of the bath until she was able to put her hand over it and pull herself towards it. She hauled herself onto her belly and gazed across the water at her poor humcoat. ‘I’m alive,’ she exhaled. ‘You told me I would drown.’
‘We told us we would drown,’ said the old littler.
Water oozed over her. Bonbon held on to the edge of the bath and let her feet dangle down as far as they would go, the way she had done with the three-legged stool, and dropped onto the carpet, spongy and bitty between her toes. Her feet gripped at it while she picked hair out of her eyes before running to the door to look through its line. The landing was clear and… and the door was open. She ran across the landing, squelching in the bouncy-wet carpet; Chips’s he-one must have dropped most of the water from the dish. When she got to the door frame she peeped around it. Checking left and right she darted forward and swept back the bedspread. Jinx held the soap dish out in front of her, its edge against her belly.
‘Is that… Bonbon! Bonbon, where have you been?’
‘Mrs Lucas?’
‘Yes?’
‘We’re maintenance technicians from Billbridge & Minxus. Your littler has been reported missing.’
Mrs Lucas opened her mouth and stood there with it open. What were these people doing here? The very day after she’d been to that meeting. She let the edge of the door slide closer into her cheek and temple. There were two of them, both dressed in black T-shirts and combat pants. One had a great long rubber cord wrapped over his right shoulder and down and around the opposite side of his waist. An enormous plastic suitcase hung from his left hand. He looked young, very young, with a slim head that would have had crumb-coloured curls if he’d let his hair grow out. He didn’t say anything. The talky one looked more formal, well, he was older to start with; and wasn’t made to carry anything except his ScreenJotta. He also wore glasses. Nobody really wore glasses these days. Maybe he was trying to disguise himself. Hmmm… She didn’t like that one. The other one seemed all right but this one… No; not one bit.
‘Can we come in?’
‘You’re not here to take her away, are you?’
The technicians pinged a look at each other. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘It’s just… I’m very mistrusting at the moment; you’ll have to excuse me.’ Mrs Lucas put one hand on her hip and the back of the other against her forehead, a sheet of Fibre-Web squeezing through the gaps in its fingers. The door slid back to the edge of her hip-arm’s elbow. ‘But who reported her
as missing?’
‘Your neighbour, Hamish Wix?’
The old lady’s face opened up. ‘Oh heavens! The thought never even occurred to me.’
‘Yes, he reported her as missing at…’ The talky one looked at his wrist. ‘12:52. About ten minutes ago.’
‘I’m starting to think that she may have been stolen.’ She plucked another ball of Fibre-Web from her sleeve, unscrunched it and pulled at her nose. ‘Hence the distrust. Did he mention that she might have been stolen?’
‘We don’t want to jump to any conclusions. Our equipment can track as far as twenty metres away and we would like to do the tour of your premises with it; would that be okay with you?’
Mrs Lucas hesitated for a moment. They seemed nice enough… And if it would help to get Blankey back then…‘Yes. Alright. Do you need to come inside?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
Oh, how she wished that Jerry were there! She let the door slide back and stepped aside. ‘Come on through.’
‘We’ll start inside then work around your back yard.’
‘Right.’ Mrs Lucas clasped her hands, her thin skin shining like her rings and fingernails. She looked about the room. ‘Erm… Might I ask…’
‘Yes?’
‘Is this part of the service, or…’
‘There will be no fee, Madam.’
‘No. I didn’t mean that. I’m just surprised at how seriously you’re taking the situation.’
‘A missing littler is a very serious situation.’ Talky folded his arms and nodded at the old lady with wide-opened eyes.
‘Oh, of course… I…’
Crumb-curls started to talk as he unravelled the rubber cord. ‘And the fact that you allowed her to go missing while she was in your care.’ His voice was happy and sing-songy, as if he were explaining something that wasn’t about her. ‘And I’m not being funny but you are, like…’ He stopped unravelling to roll his hands, one around the other, as he searched for the best way of saying what he was going to say. Talky looked at him over his glasses. ‘Not getting-on-a-bit, but, like, elderly, that’s the proper word. Maybe you just can’t look after her any more, like, it’s a bit too much for you now.’