in pain.’ She was still yelling at him, all her pent-up emotions flooding out. ‘I lie awake listening to you, d’you understand? Now you go and do this to me.’
‘Helen, I’d like to tell you about them.’
‘The doctors explained you might be like this but I thought—’ She bit her lip anxiously, attempting to control herself. ‘I’ll have to ring them up, Matt.’
‘Why?’
‘They told me to.’
‘Not before we’ve had a talk.’
‘Don’t you see you’re ill, Matt?’ she pleaded with him. ‘The doctors will help you.’
‘Helen, listen to me!’ He stood with his back to the door, refusing to move till she’d heard him out. Then he told her how he’d gone back to the sewers to take some photographs – ‘And to prove I could, I suppose,’ he admitted – and all that had happened down there. The army of worms massing in every tunnel, what Angus had said, the lot.
Her face was anguished. He went to her, putting his arm around her. ‘What really made you do it?’ she asked. ‘Oh, Matt, they look horrid. Those teeth… the colour like slime… We’ve got to burn them. We can’t risk Jenny seeing them.’
‘But I think they’re lovely!’ Jenny stood in the doorway in her pyjamas. ‘I couldn’t sleep when you two were quarrelling. Are those the worms which ate you? Aren’t they beautiful?’
‘Jenny, don’t touch them!’ Helen cried out.
‘They’re dead,’ Matt repeated wearily. ‘And, Jenny, we weren’t really quarrelling. Your Mummy’s worried, that’s all.’
‘About the worms?’
‘That’s right.’
Helen was looking at them both helplessly. She must have been to bed already, Matt thought; perhaps even slept. Her short blonde hair stuck out untidily at the sides; her dressing-gown clung awkwardly to her figure, making it more obvious that she’d been putting on weight around the hips.
‘Have you developed your pictures yet?’ Jenny asked.
‘Yes. Helen. I thought… well, we need to earn more money and if we can sell the pictures to magazines…’
‘Of dead worms?’ Scorn. Disbelief.
‘They were alive.’
‘But why did you bring these dead ones here?’
It was a logical question. He glanced at Jenny. Her hand, clean from the bath and slightly rosy, was resting on the back of one of the worms. He remembered what she’d said about the crocodile farm and the thought he’d had outside the craft shop.
‘For the skins,’ he said. ‘They could be made into belts or something.’
Helen was unimpressed. ‘That colour? Who’d buy that colour? Like cats’ eyes in the dark.’
Her voice had softened, though. She’d constantly nagged at him over the years to show some business initiative. The TVcompany, she’d often declared, was merely exploiting him. They paid him a miserable salary and gave all the big reputation-building jobs to other people. It was up to him to make his own way, wasn’t it? Then she’d go on to quote her own father who’d started half a dozen small businesses in his time.
‘I like the colour,’ said Jenny.
‘And it’s high time you were back in bed.’ Helen took refuge in scolding her. She propelled Jenny towards the door. ‘Matt, don’t stay up all night if you can help it.’
She left him with a feeling of emptiness and bewilderment. He’d neither won nor lost, but could he really talk to her now? As for trying to sell the skins, it had been a passing idea, nothing more. Now he’d have to go through the motions at least, if only to avoid being shunted off to a mental home, certified insane.
With a sharp knife he removed the heads of the two worms, then slit them down the belly and began cleaning them out, dumping the guts and bones on an old newspaper. The stench from the gobbets of half-digested meat made him feel sick. As thoroughly as he could, he cleaned the skins, trying to remember what he’d learned a few years ago while working on a short film about taxidermy. It hadn’t been much.
When he went up
‘Helen, I’d like to tell you about them.’
‘The doctors explained you might be like this but I thought—’ She bit her lip anxiously, attempting to control herself. ‘I’ll have to ring them up, Matt.’
‘Why?’
‘They told me to.’
‘Not before we’ve had a talk.’
‘Don’t you see you’re ill, Matt?’ she pleaded with him. ‘The doctors will help you.’
‘Helen, listen to me!’ He stood with his back to the door, refusing to move till she’d heard him out. Then he told her how he’d gone back to the sewers to take some photographs – ‘And to prove I could, I suppose,’ he admitted – and all that had happened down there. The army of worms massing in every tunnel, what Angus had said, the lot.
Her face was anguished. He went to her, putting his arm around her. ‘What really made you do it?’ she asked. ‘Oh, Matt, they look horrid. Those teeth… the colour like slime… We’ve got to burn them. We can’t risk Jenny seeing them.’
‘But I think they’re lovely!’ Jenny stood in the doorway in her pyjamas. ‘I couldn’t sleep when you two were quarrelling. Are those the worms which ate you? Aren’t they beautiful?’
‘Jenny, don’t touch them!’ Helen cried out.
‘They’re dead,’ Matt repeated wearily. ‘And, Jenny, we weren’t really quarrelling. Your Mummy’s worried, that’s all.’
‘About the worms?’
‘That’s right.’
Helen was looking at them both helplessly. She must have been to bed already, Matt thought; perhaps even slept. Her short blonde hair stuck out untidily at the sides; her dressing-gown clung awkwardly to her figure, making it more obvious that she’d been putting on weight around the hips.
‘Have you developed your pictures yet?’ Jenny asked.
‘Yes. Helen. I thought… well, we need to earn more money and if we can sell the pictures to magazines…’
‘Of dead worms?’ Scorn. Disbelief.
‘They were alive.’
‘But why did you bring these dead ones here?’
It was a logical question. He glanced at Jenny. Her hand, clean from the bath and slightly rosy, was resting on the back of one of the worms. He remembered what she’d said about the crocodile farm and the thought he’d had outside the craft shop.
‘For the skins,’ he said. ‘They could be made into belts or something.’
Helen was unimpressed. ‘That colour? Who’d buy that colour? Like cats’ eyes in the dark.’
Her voice had softened, though. She’d constantly nagged at him over the years to show some business initiative. The TVcompany, she’d often declared, was merely exploiting him. They paid him a miserable salary and gave all the big reputation-building jobs to other people. It was up to him to make his own way, wasn’t it? Then she’d go on to quote her own father who’d started half a dozen small businesses in his time.
‘I like the colour,’ said Jenny.
‘And it’s high time you were back in bed.’ Helen took refuge in scolding her. She propelled Jenny towards the door. ‘Matt, don’t stay up all night if you can help it.’
She left him with a feeling of emptiness and bewilderment. He’d neither won nor lost, but could he really talk to her now? As for trying to sell the skins, it had been a passing idea, nothing more. Now he’d have to go through the motions at least, if only to avoid being shunted off to a mental home, certified insane.
With a sharp knife he removed the heads of the two worms, then slit them down the belly and began cleaning them out, dumping the guts and bones on an old newspaper. The stench from the gobbets of half-digested meat made him feel sick. As thoroughly as he could, he cleaned the skins, trying to remember what he’d learned a few years ago while working on a short film about taxidermy. It hadn’t been much.
When he went up
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