Alan Garner - The Owl Service

“I’ve not had supper,” said Alison.

“Hasn’t Dad been up with your tray?”

“No.”

Roger grinned. “Your mother sent him to do the stern father act.”

“He’s not come.”

“Good old Dad,” said Roger.

Roger went downstairs and out through the kitchen to the back of the house. He listened at the door of a long building that had once been the dairy but was now a billiard-room. He heard the click of ivory.

Roger opened the door. His father was playing snooker by himself in the dusk. A supper tray was on an armchair.

“Hello, Dad,” said Roger.

“Jolly good,” said his father.

“I’ll light the lamps for you.”

“No need. I’m only pottering.”

Roger sat on the edge of the chair. His father moved round the table, trundling the balls into the pockets, under the eyes of the falcons and buzzards, otters, foxes, badgers and pine martens that stared from their glass cases on the wall.

“Don’t they put you off your game?” said Roger.

“Ha ha; yes.”

“This room was the dairy, wasn’t it?”

“Oooh, yes, I dare say.”

“Gwyn was telling me. He thinks it might have been the original house before that – an open hall, with everybody living together.”

“Really?” said his father. “Fancy that.”

“It often happens, Gwyn says. The original house becomes an outbuilding.”

“Damn,” said Roger’s father. “I’m snookered.” He straightened up and chalked his cue. “Yes: rum old place, this.”

“It’s that olde worlde wall panelling that gets me,” said Roger. “I mean, why cover something genuine with that phoney stuff?”

“I thought it was rather tasteful, myself,” said his father.

“All right,” said Roger. “But why go and pebble-dash a piece of the wall? Pebble-dash! Inside!” A rectangle of wall near the door was encrusted with mortar.

“I’ve seen worse than that,” said his father. “When I started in business I was on the road for a few years, and there was one Bed-and-Breakfast in Kendal that was grey pebble-dashed all over inside. Fifteen-watt bulbs, too, I remember, in every room. We called it Wookey Hole.”

“But at least it was all over,” said Roger. “Why just this piece of wall?”

“Damp?”

“The walls are a yard thick.”

“Still,” said his father, “it must be some weakness somewhere. It’s cracked.”

“Is it? It wasn’t this morning.”

“Right across, near the top.”

“That definitely wasn’t there this morning,” said Roger. “I was teaching Gwyn billiards. We tried to work out what the pebble-dash was for. I looked very closely. It wasn’t cracked.”

“Ah, well it is now,” said his father. “Not much use doing any more tonight. Let’s pack up.”

They collected the balls, stacked the cues and rolled the dustsheet over the table.

“Would you like me to take Ali her supper?” said Roger.

“Yes – er: no: no: I said I would: I’d better. Margaret thinks I ought. She’s a bit upset by the fuss.”

“How’s Nancy?”

“Phew! That was a real up-and-downer while it lasted! But I think we’ve managed. A fiver cures most things. She’s dead set against some plates or other – I didn’t understand what any of it was about. No: I’d better go and chat up old Ali.”

Alison was cutting out the last owl when she heard her stepfather bringing the supper tray. She had arranged the plates on the mantelpiece and had perched the owls about the room as she finished them. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and came in backwards.

“Grub up!”

“Thanks, Clive,” said Alison. “What is it?”

“Nancy’s Best Limp Salad, with sheep-dip mayonnaise.” He put the tray by the bed and lit the lamp. “I say, these are jolly fellows. What are they?”

“Owls. I made them.”

“They’re rather fun.”

“Yes.”

“Well – er: how are the gripes?”

“Much better, thanks.”

“Good. Up and about this morning?”

“What sort of a day did you and Mummy have?” said Alison.

“Didn’t catch anything, and one of the waders leaked, but I’ve great hopes of tomorrow. Old Halfwhatsit says he knows a stretch of the river where they always bite.”

“I bet he didn’t say where it is.”

“Er – no. No, he didn’t.”

“Have you been sent to tell me off about Nancy?”

“What? Oh. Ha ha,” said Clive.

“I don’t know why she was going on like that,” said Alison, “and I didn’t see it had anything to do with her. Gwyn found some of those plates in the loft, and she came storming up as if she owned the place.”

“Yes. Well. Old Nance, eh? You know—”

“But she went berserk, Clive!”

“Too true. We had a basinful when we came home, I’ll tell you! Your mother’s very upset. She says you ought to – oh well, skip it.”

“But it’s my house, isn’t it?” said Alison.

“Ah yes.”

“Well then.”

“It’s a bit dodgy. If your father hadn’t turned it over to you before he died your mother would’ve had to sell this house to clear the death duties. Morbid, but there it is.”

“But it’s still my house,” said Alison. “And I don’t have to take orders from my cook.”

“Fair dos,” said Clive. “Think of your mother. It was hard enough to get someone to live in all summer. If Nance swept out we’d never find a replacement, and your mother would have to cope by herself. She’d be very upset. And it is the first time we’ve all been together – as a family, and – and – you know?”

“Yes, Clive. I suppose so.”

“That’s my girl. Now eat your supper. – Hello: sounds as if we’ve mice in the roof.”

“Don’t wait, Clive,” said Alison. “I’m not hungry. I’ll eat this later, and bring the tray down in the morning. Tell Mummy not to worry.”

“That’s my girl. God bless.”

“And the room was so cold,” said Roger. “It was like being in a deepfreeze. But it was the noise that was worst. I thought the ceiling was coming in. And there were scratchings going on round her bed, too, on the wall and then on the iron and her supper tray – you could tell the difference. Is that what you heard when you went up the loft?”

“No, not as bad,” said Gwyn. “But she said it was getting louder. What did you do, man?”

“I called her, but she was fast asleep.”

“What time was it?”

“About one o’clock,” said Roger. “You know how hot it was last night – I couldn’t sleep, and I kept hearing this noise. I thought she was having a nightmare, and then I thought perhaps she was ill, so I went up.”

“The noise was in the loft? You’re sure?”

“Positive. It was something sharpening its claws on the joists, or trying to get out, and either way it wasn’t funny.”

“You’re absolutely certain it couldn’t have been rats?”

“I don’t know what it was,” said Roger, “but it sounded big.”

“How big?”

“Big enough.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing – I funked out,” said Roger. “I couldn’t stand it.”

“How is she this morning?”

“She was all right at breakfast, a bit queasy, but that’s all.”

“Where is she now?”

“She said she was going to find her paper owls. She’s obsessed with those futile birds.”

“Them off the plates?” said Gwyn.

“Yes. Do you know how they got into the loft?”

“My Mam won’t say anything about them – nothing that sticks together: she’s that mad. And the switch Alison put across her! By! It’s making her talk like a Welsh Nationalist!”

“Ali says she didn’t switch the plate.”