by John Halkin
The day Jeff rang about the lizard experiment Ginny had already been out twice on emergency calls. For the first she’d arrived too late: a twenty-year-old mother with her baby had taken a short cut to the clinic along a woodland path, despite all warnings. Both dead. The second had been in Lingford in a car park behind the supermarket, a typical double attack with the moths first blinding the victims, leaving them helpless against the caterpillars. What made it even more disgusting, they now knew that if no rescuers arrived in time, the moths would return to hover over the corpses. The proboscis would uncurl and hang dabbling in the wounds, drinking up the plasma. On this occasion they came across another example of it – a young assistant manager lying dead among the shopping trolleys. No one had known he was there.
She got back to the house worn out, hot, sick of the whole mess, only to be greeted by the phone ringing the moment she was inside the door. She picked up the receiver and yelled at it through her helmet: ‘Hang on till I’m undressed!’ Her mobile unit had been equipped with Army protective suits which were completely secure against caterpillars but a bastard to get on and off. At last she managed to free the upper half of her body. She grabbed the phone. ‘Yes?’
What met her ears was a chuckle, followed by some sexist joke about ‘can’t wait for videophones’.
‘Jeff, I’m in no mood!’ she snapped. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ve been to the supermarket?’ he guessed right away. ‘I heard about it. Sorry, Ginny, I’ve obviously caught you at a bad moment. Look, it’s about tomorrow. Can you come to London? I’ve arranged a demonstration of what lizards can do – your idea, Ginny! A couple of Ministry people will be there. I’d welcome your moral support. More than welcome it – I desperately need it if we’re to convince them.’
‘Convince them of what?’
‘These aren’t your tiny lizards. They’re two foot long and they chew up caterpillars like they were cocktail sausages. We tried them out today.’
‘Where?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘I’ve a client who supplies zoos. Didn’t I mention him? I must have done. He’s got me into trouble often enough. You must remember the famous chimpanzee case when half of them were found dead on landing at Heathrow? Not my fault, I was only the bloody pilot, yet tell the press that! They really put me in the stocks. Anyway, he’s the man with the lizards. Keen to help, as well.’
‘You think it may be the answer?’
‘It’s worth trying isn’t it? At least it might jolt the Government away from pesticide spraying. Oh, I know it’s my bread-and-butter, but on this scale it’s mad.’
At eight o’clock they met in the car park behind Lingford Station. To be sure of a seat they took first-class tickets but – blaming caterpillars – British Rail ran a reduced service and they passed the journey standing squashed in the corridor. Two girls near them were talking about a new attack at Oxted during the night; one declared from now on she was going to stay in London where it was safer.
Yet both were dressed in ordinary clothes, Ginny marvelled; as though they were immune from the moths. She herself wore a close-fitting safari costume, with her head and face covered by an improvised Iranian chador, plus sun goggles to protect her eyes. A scattering of other passengers were similarly covered, perhaps a third of them in all. Jeff had equipped himself with a sort of balaclava helmet which made him look like a medieval hangman, and he crowned it with a soft felt hat.
The demonstration was to take place in a rented drill hall near Bryanston Square. An area in the centre of the hall was boxed off. Two lizards were already on display there, drowsing under the heat from the high-powered lamps arranged on stands around them. It was obviously intended to video the event, using three cameramen who were busy setting up their equipment.
A small cheerful man bustled forward to greet them, holding out a muscular hand. Jeff introduced him as Andrew Rossiter, responsible for organising the occasion. The two people from the Ministry had already arrived, it seemed. The woman, in a dark costume, seemed rather tense and did not smile even when shaking hands. The man was fidgety and obviously bothered by the heat. His grey suit had seen better days.
‘Right, we’re all here now!’ Rossiter called out when the introductions were over. He clapped his hands to ensure the attention of the video crew as well. ‘This is a private experiment. No press; no outsiders. It’ll happen once only, so keep your eyes open everybody, specially the cameramen. No rehearsal, no second chances – right? Now Fred here has ten caterpillars in his box – the big kind that have been causing all the trouble. When I give the word, he’s going to empty the box into the confined area where you see the lizards.’
They were a kind of monitor lizard, Ginny had learned, roughly two feet long and not yet fully grown. Their tails tapered until at the tip they were no thicker than a washing line, while their dark, speckled skin had a desiccated look about it.
To one side of the boxed-in area Fred stood waiting, clad in full protective gear and clutching an old biscuit tin in his arms. Rossiter checked that the cameramen were ready, then gave the signal. Fred removed the lid and checked the underside. On discovering a long, curling, green caterpillar clinging to it, he tossed it towards the lizards. It landed with a clatter.
Neither lizard moved.
Slowly the caterpillar began to explore its surroundings.
Fred calmly picked the remaining caterpillars out of the tin one by one and dropped them into the enclosure. Counting them as he did so, Ginny guessed. He wouldn’t want to leave any unaccounted for.
Suddenly one of the lizards – without apparently moving – caught the fattest of the caterpillars and swallowed it. It was so quick, Ginny could not be sure she’d actually seen it. She watched more closely, next time just glimpsing the forked tongue as it shot out to seize another.
The second lizard ran forward a few paces, then stopped. In quick succession it took three caterpillars. There was no way they could have escaped.
Within three or four minutes every caterpillar had been gulped down.
‘Right! That’s it – cut!’ Rossiter shouted. ‘They ate all ten, did they, Fred?’
‘Gobbled them up like they hadn’t been fed for a week,’ came Fred’s muffled voice from inside the rubber shield he wore over his face.
‘A wonder they don’t get indigestion,’ the woman civil servant murmured to her colleague. ‘How long d’you think they live inside those lizards?’
‘A few seconds is my guess,’ Rossiter told her confidently. ‘Once those digestive juices get working, bob’s your uncle! Like to see one of the recordings? Let’s have one in slow motion.’
They watched all three recordings. It was obvious to Ginny that the civil servants were impressed, though the woman worried about how dangerous to humans the lizards themselves might be.
‘There’s a place in Nigeria called Bonny where they used to think monitor lizards were sacred,’ Jeff attempted to calm her fears. ‘A hundred years ago, or more, this was. The travellers who went there said they were lying around all over the place – in the doorways, in the road, in the houses themselves. They didn’t harm anyone, it seems.’
‘Then why did they get rid of them – if they did?’
‘Oh, a missionary came along. Attitudes changed. Usual story.’
They coaxed the civil servants into a nearby burger house to discuss the matter further over coffee. If the Government would authorise the shipment of just one plane-load of monitor lizards into Britain they could find out within twenty-four hours whether this was the answer or not. Ginny supported him. It was at least worth trying, wasn’t it? Use nature to fight nature; that was better than poisoning the earth.
‘Yes, there is the environmental argument of course,’ the male civil servant agreed smoothly.
‘Oh Jesus!’ Ginny swore vehemently. ‘Don’t you realise the things are killing people?’
She started to describe the scene at the supermarket only the day before, but Jeff stopped
her.
‘I’m sure they realise,’ he said quietly.
It was almost midday when they parted, the civil servants saying that they had to get back to their desks. They would be putting in separate reports, they said, and would try to get a quick response.
Jeff took Ginny and Rossiter into the corner pub and armed them with a large whisky apiece before going off to telephone. Rossiter launched into a self-justificatory monologue about how he truly lived for animals and was not in the business merely for money, oh no, not at all, if it was only that he’d be selling cabbages. It left Ginny feeling that he had now made his own good work look rather cheap. She was relieved when Jeff returned.
She refused a second round, saying she had to get back to Lingford. Jeff was staying on in London, so she went to the station alone, taking a taxi in preference to the tube. Since the caterpillars she felt uneasy in enclosed spaces.
The train was already pulling away from the platform as she arrived and she had to wait three-quarters of an hour for the next. She thought of ringing Jack, but decided against. Had she behaved badly towards him, she wondered? She was no longer sure. Perhaps it was just one of those untidy things that happen when people break up.
But at least the journey back was comfortable. She had plenty of room and passed the time updating the notes which she still conscientiously kept. Occasionally she glanced out at the passing houses, observing how many now had fitted wire-mesh frames over their windows. More, the farther they travelled from London.
An undisturbed day, that’s all she longed for now. If only she could get back to the house and find no phone calls on the recording machine, no messages of any kind. And Bernie home early, too. A long, quiet evening together.
At Lingford Station all was peaceful. She went first into the High Street for a bit of shopping, then to the car park. Her Renault ran like a dream since the garage had given it a thorough working over, though she still hadn’t recovered from the bill.
The village too was at its most attractive. Few people about, but that was not unusual for mid-afternoon. So far – touch wood – they had been free of both moths and caterpillars since the Spring Fête. In fact, that seemed to be emerging as a pattern. After a mass attack they seldom returned, though she could think right away of two exceptions. It could always happen.
Turning into the drive, she noticed Bernie’s Rover parked before the living-room windows. Her first reaction was a flush of pleasure to find him back so early. Then she remembered that Lesley had taken this car. Was she bringing the children home again? But she couldn’t!
Ginny sat there shattered, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, unwilling to get out. How could she face her? She’d never be able to carry it off, she knew. But of course she couldn’t stay hiding in her car for the rest of the day. Besides, the front door was opening. Lesley was coming out.
Forcing a smile, she swung out of the car and ran forward. Oh God, her voice sounded so false. ‘Lesley, how lovely to –!’
Her sister slapped her hard across the face.
‘You bitch, Ginny!’ she spat at her contemptuously. ‘You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?’
13
A week passed before Jeff got in touch with Ginny again, one long week of hell.
It had been her own fault Lesley had found out, leaving her clothes scattered about the bedroom as though they had every right to be there. She’d not even bothered to make up the bed in the spare room. No pretence of any kind. Anyone walking into the house would have seen at first glance what was going on – and it had to be Lesley.
She’d made no attempt to defend herself but let the storm break over her, feeling she wanted to sink into the ground and disappear for good. What else could she have done? Lesley was right. Then the phone had started to ring persistently. At last she’d answered it – just to get away from Lesley’s bitter fury – and it was an emergency call. A major attack at a comprehensive. Glad to escape, she had changed into her Army suit and gone out right away.
During the following days the attacks never let up and the stream of people fleeing the danger areas now became a flood. Pubs shut their doors permanently, church services were cancelled, and all schools evacuated. Every patient who could be safely moved was transferred to some other hospital, even as far away as Leeds or Newcastle.
Neither she nor Bernie had much time even to think about the mess they found themselves in, though that first night they hardly slept. A dozen times he tried to phone Lesley but first she refused to speak to him, then she left the phone off the hook. Perhaps they should have split up right away but Ginny couldn’t face the idea. The worse the caterpillar attacks became, the more she needed Bernie to restore her sanity. But the time would come soon enough, she knew.
When Jeff rang she picked up the phone wearily, dreading yet another emergency call, but brightened the moment she heard his voice. He was leaving for West Africa, he told her; it sounded as though things were moving at last. He planned to return within two or three days with a plane-load of monitor lizards and would be grateful for her help if she was willing.
‘The Ministry have agreed?’ It was such good news, her exhaustion seemed to fall away from her. ‘Oh Jeff, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘They haven’t agreed.’ On the phone his voice had a metallic, cynical tinge. ‘They sent a letter – second class mail, if you please! – saying they find the idea promising. They’re putting it up to their scientific committee for discussion and evaluation.’
‘But that could take ages!’
‘I’m going ahead without them. Somehow we’ve got to prove these lizards may be the answer, and I can’t think of any other way. Can you come over to talk? Bernie too, if he’s free.’
Bernie was not free, so she drove alone to Jeff’s house. Since her last visit he had boarded up several of the windows and installed an imposing array of aerials on the roof. Inside the front door she had to pass through a double barrier of overlapping lace curtains designed to keep the moths out.
He led the way to an upstairs room and showed her a bank of radio equipment. Tinkering with it was an earnest-looking, bespectacled boy of about eighteen, wearing a school blazer.
‘This is Alan, our local radio ham,’ Jeff introduced him. ‘He’s been organising all this gadgetry and has offered to operate it for us. What you see here is essentially our control room. I’ll be flying a 707. Once I’m over northern France, at any rate, we should have radio contact. If possible, I intend to land at Gatwick.’
‘Gatwick’s closed,’ she objected.
In fact, at least one attempt had been made to reopen the airport, but as soon as the personnel started to arrive the caterpillars emerged again. Not even extensive spraying could dislodge them from the nearby fields and woods, it was discovered. As if they were deliberately lying in wait, the Pest Control Officer reported.
‘The aim is to release the lizards right in middle of them,’ Jeff grinned, tapping one of the charts he had spread out on the table. ‘But keep this under your hats, both of you. Top secret, okay? Don’t want our Ministry friends interfering. The story for the authorities is that I intend bringing the old 707 into Heathrow – an’ I may still have to if conditions aren’t right. I’ll need to know before I reach the Channel.’
His plan involved Ginny stationing herself at Gatwick in the Range Rover. From there she would report on the situation to Alan by car phone; he of course would be in two-way contact with the plane itself. Jeff had drawn up a checklist of points for her to observe. Clouds, direction of the wind, and so on.
‘It’s a gamble,’ he admitted freely. ‘If successful, it’ll only prove we need more lizards. One plane-load won’t wipe out every caterpillar in the land. But worth a try.’
They left Alan to continue checking over the equipment and went downstairs to the living room where he poured a couple of whiskies.
‘I find it hard to visualise Jeff Pringle as a public benefactor,’ she commented, adding extra
soda to hers. ‘Unless you are a millionaire and haven’t told me. What are you getting out of this?’
‘The same as you,’ he retorted. ‘Survival. So – long life!’
‘Long life!’ she repeated, clinking her glass against his. Never had she been more serious about a toast.
‘The plane is already in West Africa. I’m being paid to fly it back anyway – well, you know that. You took the phone call yourself.’
She hadn’t known it, but she made no comment. ‘How many lizards can you bring?’ she asked.
‘Can’t tell till I get there. The locals are already rounding them up and they’ll have to be paid. Still, that’s part of the game.’
They went over the details a few times. There was plenty that could go wrong and Ginny felt far from sure of herself. Jeff took it all coolly – a routine run, he remarked – yet she suspected a tenseness behind that unruffled front. He had been to recce Gatwick more than once before deciding. When she asked why not bring them in through some other airport still in operation, he fobbed her off with a vague reply about red tape and being refused an import licence.
‘Probably true enough,’ Bernie grunted when she told him about it that night. ‘After the scandals about zoo animals being found dead in their cages on arrival. About a year ago, wasn’t it, he had a run of bad luck?’
‘D’you think he has a chance?’
‘Darling, I really don’t know any better than you. But I desperately hope you’re both right about those lizards.’
Next morning Jeff turned up at the house in his Range Rover shortly before Bernie left. While waiting for her to get ready the two men stood in the hall talking. She overheard Bernie speculating on what would happen if a monitor lizard found itself heavily outnumbered by caterpillars: because that, he argued, was the most likely scenario. Wouldn’t they kill it? She did not wait for Jeff’s answer, but bustled downstairs declaring it was time they got going.