is Minette’s turn to throw the dice. Her hand trembles. Another five. Chance. You win £10, second prize in beauty contest.
‘Not with your nose in that condition,’ says Edgar, and laughs. Minnie and Minette laugh as well. ‘And your cheeks the colour of poor Mona’s. Still, one is happy to know there is a natural justice.’
A crack of thunder splits the air; one second, two seconds, three seconds – and there’s the lightning, double-forked, streaking down to the oak-blurred ridge of hills in front of the house.
‘I love storms,’ says Edgar. ‘It’s coming this way.’
‘I’ll just go and shut Mona’s window,’ says Minette.
‘She’s perfectly all right,’ says Edgar. ‘Stop fussing and for God’s sake stay out of jail. You’re casting a gloom, Minette. There’s no fun in playing if one’s the only one with hotels.’ As of course Edgar is, though Minnie’s scattering houses up and down the board.
Minette lands on Community. A £20 speeding fine or take a Chance. She takes a Chance. Pay £150 in school fees.
The air remains dry and still. Thunder and lightning, though monstrously active, remain at their distance, the other side of the hills. The front door creaks silently open, of its own volition. Not a whisper of wind – only the baked parched air.
‘Ooh,’ squeaks Minnie, agreeably frightened.
Minette is dry-mouthed with terror, staring at the black beyond the door.
‘A visitor,’ cries Edgar. ‘Come in, come in,’ and he mimes a welcome to the invisible guest, getting to his feet, hospitably pulling back the empty ladderback chair at the end of the table. The house is open, after all, to whoever, whatever, chooses to call, on the way from the top of the hill to the bottom.
Minette’s mouth is open: her eyes appalled. Edgar sees, scorns, sneers.
‘Don’t, Daddy,’ says Minnie. ‘It’s spooky,’ but Edgar is not to be stopped.
‘Come in,’ he repeats. ‘Make yourself at home. Don’t stumble like that. Just because you’ve got no eyes.’
Minette is on her feet. Monopoly money, taken up by the first sudden gust of storm wind, flies about the room. Minnie pursues it, half-laughing, half-panicking.
Minette tugs her husband’s inflexible arm.
‘Stop,’ she beseeches. ‘Don’t tease. Don’t.’ No eyes! Oh, Edgar, Minette, Minnie and Mona, what blindness is there amongst you now? What threat to your existence? An immense peal of thunder crackles, it seems, directly overhead: lightning, both sheet and fork, dims the electric light and achieves a strobe-lighting effect of cosmic vulgarity, blinding and bouncing round the white walls, and now, upon the wind, rain, large-dropped, blows in through open door and windows.
‘Shut them,’ shrieks Minette. ‘I told you. Quickly! Minnie, come and help –’
‘Don’t fuss. What does it matter? A little rain. Surely you’re not frightened of storms?’ enquires Edgar, standing just where he is, not moving, not helping, like some great tree standing up to a torrent. For once Minette ignores him and with Minnie gets door and windows shut. The rain changes its nature, becomes drenching and blinding; their faces and clothes are wet with it. Minnie runs up to Mona’s room, to make that waterproof. Still Edgar stands, smiling, staring out of the window at the amazing splitting sky. Only then, as he smiles, does Minette realise what she has done. She has shut the thing, the person with no eyes, in with her family. Even if it wants to go, would of its own accord drift down on its way towards the valley, it can’t.
Minette runs to open the back door. Edgar follows, slow and curious.
‘Why do you open the back door,’ he enquires, ‘having insisted on shutting everything else? You’re very strange, Minette.’
Wet, darkness, noise, fear make her brave.
‘You’re the one who’s strange. A man with no eyes!’ she declares, sharp and brisk as she sometimes is at her office, chiding inefficiency, achieving sense
‘Not with your nose in that condition,’ says Edgar, and laughs. Minnie and Minette laugh as well. ‘And your cheeks the colour of poor Mona’s. Still, one is happy to know there is a natural justice.’
A crack of thunder splits the air; one second, two seconds, three seconds – and there’s the lightning, double-forked, streaking down to the oak-blurred ridge of hills in front of the house.
‘I love storms,’ says Edgar. ‘It’s coming this way.’
‘I’ll just go and shut Mona’s window,’ says Minette.
‘She’s perfectly all right,’ says Edgar. ‘Stop fussing and for God’s sake stay out of jail. You’re casting a gloom, Minette. There’s no fun in playing if one’s the only one with hotels.’ As of course Edgar is, though Minnie’s scattering houses up and down the board.
Minette lands on Community. A £20 speeding fine or take a Chance. She takes a Chance. Pay £150 in school fees.
The air remains dry and still. Thunder and lightning, though monstrously active, remain at their distance, the other side of the hills. The front door creaks silently open, of its own volition. Not a whisper of wind – only the baked parched air.
‘Ooh,’ squeaks Minnie, agreeably frightened.
Minette is dry-mouthed with terror, staring at the black beyond the door.
‘A visitor,’ cries Edgar. ‘Come in, come in,’ and he mimes a welcome to the invisible guest, getting to his feet, hospitably pulling back the empty ladderback chair at the end of the table. The house is open, after all, to whoever, whatever, chooses to call, on the way from the top of the hill to the bottom.
Minette’s mouth is open: her eyes appalled. Edgar sees, scorns, sneers.
‘Don’t, Daddy,’ says Minnie. ‘It’s spooky,’ but Edgar is not to be stopped.
‘Come in,’ he repeats. ‘Make yourself at home. Don’t stumble like that. Just because you’ve got no eyes.’
Minette is on her feet. Monopoly money, taken up by the first sudden gust of storm wind, flies about the room. Minnie pursues it, half-laughing, half-panicking.
Minette tugs her husband’s inflexible arm.
‘Stop,’ she beseeches. ‘Don’t tease. Don’t.’ No eyes! Oh, Edgar, Minette, Minnie and Mona, what blindness is there amongst you now? What threat to your existence? An immense peal of thunder crackles, it seems, directly overhead: lightning, both sheet and fork, dims the electric light and achieves a strobe-lighting effect of cosmic vulgarity, blinding and bouncing round the white walls, and now, upon the wind, rain, large-dropped, blows in through open door and windows.
‘Shut them,’ shrieks Minette. ‘I told you. Quickly! Minnie, come and help –’
‘Don’t fuss. What does it matter? A little rain. Surely you’re not frightened of storms?’ enquires Edgar, standing just where he is, not moving, not helping, like some great tree standing up to a torrent. For once Minette ignores him and with Minnie gets door and windows shut. The rain changes its nature, becomes drenching and blinding; their faces and clothes are wet with it. Minnie runs up to Mona’s room, to make that waterproof. Still Edgar stands, smiling, staring out of the window at the amazing splitting sky. Only then, as he smiles, does Minette realise what she has done. She has shut the thing, the person with no eyes, in with her family. Even if it wants to go, would of its own accord drift down on its way towards the valley, it can’t.
Minette runs to open the back door. Edgar follows, slow and curious.
‘Why do you open the back door,’ he enquires, ‘having insisted on shutting everything else? You’re very strange, Minette.’
Wet, darkness, noise, fear make her brave.
‘You’re the one who’s strange. A man with no eyes!’ she declares, sharp and brisk as she sometimes is at her office, chiding inefficiency, achieving sense
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