John Halkin - Squelch

‘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?’

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.’