Peter James - Perfect People

John’s voice startled her. Right behind her, suddenly. ‘Have you ever heard them speaking like that before?’

‘Never.’

He pressed a button on the recorder.

‘Obm dekcarh cidnaaev hot nawoy fedied oevauoy.’

‘Eka foe eipnod hyderlseh deegsomud.’

‘Olaaeo evayeh gibra snahele.’

He paused the tape. ‘I don’t recognize the language at all,’ he said.

‘It’s not some variation of Swedish?’

‘No.’ He played it for a few more moments.

‘Children make up languages,’ Naomi said. ‘It’s in all the books I’ve read – something that twins do quite often. You know, like secret languages?’

‘Idioglossia,’ John said. His voice sounded detached and distant.

‘ Idioglossia? ’

‘Invented speech.’

She picked up a printed napkin, refolded it and set it back down on the table. ‘Is it a game, John? Just a harmless game? Or-’

‘Or?’ he prompted.

She refolded a second napkin. ‘Are they doing it so they can say things they don’t want us to hear?’

He smiled. ‘At twenty months, I don’t think they are old enough to be quite that devious.’

‘Don’t you? Are you sure about that?’

Their eyes met in an uncomfortable silence.

‘ Helan gar, sjung hopp faderallan lallan lej…

‘ Helan gar, sjung hopp faderallan lej!

‘ Och den som inte helan tar,

‘ Han heller inte halvan far…

‘ Helan gaaaaarrrrrr… sjung hopp faderallan lej! ’

Amid a burst of laughter at the ragged singing, four glasses of Skane aquavit clinked across the festive table in John and Naomi’s dining area.

‘ Skal! ’ John said.

‘ Skal! ’ said Naomi.

‘ Skal! ’ Carson Dicks said, putting down his song sheet.

Then with a little less enthusiasm, as if she was embarrassed by such rowdy behaviour, Carson’s wife Caroline added her own, small ‘ Skal! ’

The centrepiece of the table was a huge dish heaped with crimson freshwater crayfish, covered with sprigs of fresh dill. A small plastic Swedish flag was placed to one side of it, and several candles burned around it. Two plates were stacked with the traditional white toasted bread, and another with Greve cheese. In front of each place setting were glasses of schnapps, beer, wine and water. The tablecloth was paper printed with pictures of crayfish, and the theme was carried through on the napkins at each of the four place settings and on the bibs they were wearing.

John, fuelled by alcohol, felt good. Naomi had made the table look wonderful. She looked beautiful, and he felt intensely proud of her. He was with his favourite friends. The air was balmy. How could you fail to be happy on a night like this?

He stood up and raised his glass. ‘I wish to make a toast to you, my darling. You are a wonderful woman, a fantastic wife, an incredible mother, and I love you and adore you.’

Carson and Caroline raised their glasses. Naomi mouthed an embarrassed, ‘Thank you.’

‘To Naomi!’ Carson said.

‘Naomi!’ Caroline said, leaning across the table and clinking glasses with her.

He refilled Carson Dicks’s schnapps glass, but Caroline covered hers with her hand.

‘I’m driving,’ she said.

John looked at her as if she was mental. ‘No one drives to a crayfish party. You should leave your car and take a taxi home!’

Then he got up from the table and staggered over to the baby-monitor speaker. Just a faint hiss of static. All quiet. Good. He hoped their singing down here wouldn’t disturb the children, but hey, the annual crayfish party would become part of Luke and Phoebe’s lives too, in time. An essential cornerstone of their Swedish culture.

‘So, how are you finding life at the Morley Park Institute, John?’ Carson Dicks said, breaking into his thoughts.

John nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad you persuaded me. I’m very happy.’ He looked at Naomi.

‘I owe you a big thank-you for bringing us back to England,’ she said.

‘We’re happy, too,’ Carson said, peering at both of them through his bottle-thick glasses. ‘We’re lucky to have John working for us – and we’re fortunate to have you both here. It’s worked out well. You’re married to a great man.’

Caroline picked up her glass. ‘Who was it who said that behind every successful man there stands a truly astonished woman?’

They all laughed.

John beamed at Carson. He liked him so much. His boss had dressed for the occasion tonight in a blue and yellow striped T-shirt, the Swedish national colours, unbelievably baggy trousers and open-toed sandals. He looked a complete prat, and yet… so adorable. Suddenly he raised his glass and stood up again. ‘Carson and Caroline – you’ve been truly good friends to us. You’ve helped us both in so many ways. I want to say thank you. I think Naomi and I are very fortunate to have your friendship.’ He drank half the glass and sat down.

Caroline, looking a little embarrassed, smiled. Carson raised his own glass. ‘You know the definition of a true friend, John?’

John shook his head. ‘No, tell me.’

‘It’s someone who knows everything about you – and still likes you.’

John roared with laughter. ‘I guess that makes you a true friend indeed!’

‘Don’t you think there is a lot of serendipity in life, John?’ Caroline said. ‘That sometimes things are meant to be?’

‘I think that’s a cop-out,’ Naomi said.

John, sensing an argument about to happen, picked up his song sheet. ‘Right! Time for the next song. Caroline, your turn to sing!’

Reddening with embarrassment, she stood up, holding her sheet, and made a valiant attempt at singing the Swedish words.

‘Tank om jag hade lilla nubben…’ she began.

When she had finished, she sat down to raucous applause from John and her husband, who again drained their schnapps glasses.

John refilled the glasses. He was about to sit down again, when a sound from the baby monitor caught his attention. For a moment he thought it was just the static again, but then, listening closer, he heard a sharp buzzing sound. Naomi looked up at him, catching his eye.

‘Problem?’ she asked.

He listened again. A very definite angry buzzing sound. ‘I’ll go.’

He raised a calming hand and headed, unsteadily, out into the hall. Then, swaying from side to side, he hurried to the twins’ room. Opening the door, he almost immediately had to duck as a small, dark object, barely visible in the weak glow of the night light, hurtled at him, buzzing angrily, batted against a wall, then shot away.

He blinked, his vision a tad blurry. Shit.

He snapped the main light switch down and the room instantly flooded with light. Moments later the insect zoomed low over the cots, then buzzed him again before racing up towards the ceiling. It was a very large wasp, a queen, or maybe even a hornet.

Jesus.

Luke and Phoebe were both awake, silent, staring at him.

‘It’s OK,’ he said, looking around for something to whack it with. A story book lay on the floor beside the play ring, and he grabbed it, looking around for the insect, which had now disappeared. He scanned the walls, the ceiling, then the bright yellow curtains. Nothing.

He raised a finger to his lips. Slurring his words, he said, ‘Sssh – issschhhstt’s OK. Daddy’s s-shhere.’

He wobbled unsteadily, brandishing the book. Took a step towards the window. The insect launched itself at him. He took a wild swipe with the book and missed. It batted off the wall behind him, then swooped low again over the cots.

As it did so, Luke’s hand shot up. He saw Luke’s finger and thumb close like pincers. And a moment later the insect fell, silent and twitching, to the carpet.