Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

When Mallory touched her hair she jumped. He said, “Sorry. Were you miles away?”

“Yes – well, no. I was absolutely here. But in a way I can’t quite describe.” At the sight of him the final shreds of Kate’s resentment vanished. Mallory’s shoulders were stooped, weariness lay upon him. He looked as he had coming home at night from the Ewan Sedgewick.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“We need some spuds.” She smiled, taking his hand. “I’ll show you where they are.”

Mallory found a fork in the shed and started to dig, putting the Nicola potatoes in an old bucket. As Kate began to pick the broad beans she suddenly remembered what day it was. At four o’clock this afternoon Ashley had been due to see his GP. Had been called in specially. They must be home by now. She hoped the news was good but couldn’t help feeling that if it had been they would have rung to say so.

When Mallory’s bucket was full he took it and the beans to the kitchen, returning almost straight away looking slightly more cheerful.

“Benny’s made us some Pimm’s.”

“ Pimm’s …”

“My aunt’s favourite.”

“What’s it like?”

“Floating salad. Come and try.”

There were several fraying Lloyd Loom chairs on the flagstones outside the french windows. And a great stone table on worn-away lion paws. Kate poured the drinks and went to find Benny so they could all sit down together.

Mallory picked the borage and cucumber out of his glass, drained it and filled it up again. He leaned back, faking relaxation. The croquet lawn, half the size of a playing field and still studded with rusty hoops, stretched widely before him. Perhaps they could have a game soon? A croquet party – ask some friends down from London. Heaven knew, there was enough room to put people up. He would invite the Parnells and maybe some members of his aunt’s bridge club. He dwelled on this attractive prospect for a while, seeing small groups of people strolling across the grass: girls in summer dresses, men in crumpled linen jackets and straw Panamas. Occasionally there would be a burst of laughter. Or a cry of “Hoopla!” when someone’s mallet thwacked a precisely angled ball.

Mallory, trying to fill up every corner of his mind with pleasant things, struggled to add yet more verisimilitude to this pastoral idyll. Some huge sunshades materialised, a swing in the cedar tree, a brightly coloured gazebo. For a moment he was really there amongst them. Taken out of himself, as the saying goes. But then a real sound broke across his consciousness and the dazzling picture vanished.

“It’s all right for some,” said Kate. She sat down and splashed the Pimm’s into two glasses, adding ice from the portable ice box, smelling the orange mint. “Would you like another one, darling?”

“I’ve had another one.”

“These things are a bit creaky.” Kate tipped the chair back, resting her heels on a stone trough of Madonna lilies and tiny green ferns, tightly curled, like shepherds’ crooks. She took a deep swallow of the drink then slowly exhaled, letting everything go.

“I told Dennis,” continued Kate, “half-seven for eight. It’s now seven thirty-five and Benny’s already fretting.”

Dennis. Mallory, about to drain his glass, put it down. He had quite forgotten that Dennis wanted to have a talk with him directly after dinner. Something personal, he had said. And afterwards there would be the inaugural meeting of the Celandine Press. At this rate he’d be drunk before they’d even started eating. Angry and ashamed at how little it had taken to hurl him back into self-indulgent misery, Mallory smiled across at Kate.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“About what?”

“Ohh…being me.”

“I’m not sorry you’re you. If I woke up one morning next to someone who wasn’t you I’d be livid.”

“I wouldn’t be best pleased, myself.”

“That’s all right then.”

Benny, rosy from attending to the duck, appeared on the terrace steps. “This Pimm’s is delicious, Ben,” said Kate. “I’ve poured some out for you.”

“Thank you.” Benny took the glass and perched on the terrace wall. She agitated the ice cubes gently but didn’t drink. “The thing is – I’m getting worried about Dennis. He’s never late, you see.”

“He’s not late now.” Mallory found it difficult to sound reassuring when he could see no reason for anxiety. “It’s only ten to eight.”

“Even so…” Benny, though sensing his impatience, stood her ground.

“Look,” Kate got up. “I’ll walk over, if you like.”

“We’ll all go,” said Mallory, leaning back with his eyes closed.

“No,” said Benny. “You stay here; it’s such a lovely evening.” She disappeared back into the dining room, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll probably meet him halfway.”

It was not generally known that, to balance the unhappy condition of spending her entire life riddled with anxiety, Benny had been given a protective talisman against disaster. All she had to do was remember to call upon it in any situation that looked like being even remotely hazardous.

She had her father to thank for this device, which he drew to her attention when she was barely thirteen. Benny remembered exactly the moment this occurred. The family had been watching the local news on television. Sally, their Cairn terrier, was curled up in Benny’s lap. A woman, whose husband and son had just been pulverised when their car had been squashed under the wheels of an articulated lorry, was being asked by a sparky young reporter how she felt.

“Shattered,” had been her reply. Then, choking between sobs, “I never thought this could happen to me.”

“Did you hear that, Mother?” asked Mr. Frayle. “Doesn’t that bear out what I’ve always said vis-à-vis the human psyche?”

“What’s that, dear?” replied Mrs. Frayle.

“Time and time again my point is proved.”

“What point, Daddy?”

“Hush, Berenice,” said Mrs. Frayle. “Your father’s listening to the news.”

“The only people disaster ever strikes are the people who think it could never happen to them.”

Unaware of the devastating effect of these words on his teenage daughter Mr. Frayle folded his Daily Express and turned his attention once more to the tiny blue screen flickering in its cabinet of light oak.

Forty years on and Berenice was still conscious of her extreme good fortune in having such a perceptive and intelligent father. What devastating stroke of ill fortune might have shattered her whole world any day at any time had she not taken this warning sincerely to heart?

Every morning, from then on, Benny would write down a list of incidents that the following twenty-four hours might reasonably be expected to hold. Then she would imagine every single thing that could possibly go wrong during each occasion and, when the time came round, expected them all to happen. And it worked! Not a single catastrophe had ever occurred.

Of course, she couldn’t quite hold each and every imagined possibility simultaneously in her mind while its companion event was occurring but she did her best. Naturally all this was a terrible strain and meant that only half her attention – if that – was on what she was supposed to be doing at any given time.

Obviously some happenings were easier to classify as potentially disastrous than others. For instance a check on carrot root fly (catching foot in garden hose, falling, breaking leg) was not nearly as complex or alarming as a visit to the zoo (mauled by escaping tiger, trampled by rhino, catching psittacosis from parrot bite). Or a trip on the underground (pushed under wheels in rush hour by maddened claustrophobe). And there were a few rare occasions when Benny did not feel the need to use her talisman at all. Visits to Dennis fell into this category. However disorderly or unharmonious the real world, once in his presence Benny always felt nothing could go ill.