Edward Aubyn - The Patrick Melrose Novels - Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, and Mother's Milk

When Wednesday came round Mary brought Thomas to the door of her mother’s flat.

‘Your mother is not here,’ said Amparo.

‘Oh,’ said Mary, surprised and at the same time wondering why she was surprised.

‘She go out to buy the cakes for tea.’

‘But she’ll be back soon…’

‘She has lunch with a friend and then she come back, but don’t you worry, I look after the little boy.’

Amparo reached out her child-greedy, ingratiating hands. Thomas had met her only once before and Mary handed him over with some reluctance but above all with a sense of terminal boredom. Never again, she would never ask her mother to help again. The decision seemed as irrevocable and overdue as a slab of cliff falling into the sea. She smiled at Amparo and handed over Thomas, not reassuring him too much in case it made him think there was something troubling about his situation.

The thing to do is the thing to do, thought Thomas, heading towards the disconnected bell beside the fireplace in the drawing room. He liked to stand on the small chair and press the bell and then let in whoever came to the fireplace-door. By the time Amparo had said goodbye to Mary and caught up with him, he was welcoming a visitor.

‘It’s Badger!’ he said.

‘Who is this Badger?’ said Amparo with precautionary alarm.

‘Mr Badger is not in the habit of smoking cigarettes,’ said Thomas, ‘because they make him grow bigger and smaller. So he smokes cigars!’

‘Oh, no, my darling, you must not smoke,’ said Amparo. ‘It’s very bad for you.’

Thomas climbed onto the small chair and pressed the bell again.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘there’s somebody at the door.’

He leapt down and ran around the table. ‘I’m running to open the door,’ he explained, coming back to the fireplace.

‘Be careful,’ said Amparo.

‘It’s Lady Penelope,’ said Thomas. ‘You be Lady Penelope!’

‘Would you like to help me with the hoovering?’ said Amparo.

‘Yes, m’lady,’ said Thomas in his Parker voice. ‘You’ll find a thermos of hot chocolate in your hat box.’ He howled with pleasure and flung himself on the cushions of the sofa.

‘Oh, my God, I just tidy this,’ wailed Amparo.

‘Build me a house,’ said Thomas, pulling the cushions onto the floor. ‘Build me a house!’ he shouted when she started to put them back. He lowered his head and frowned severely. ‘Look, Amparo, this is my grumpy face.’

Amparo caved in to his desire for a house and Thomas crawled into the space between two cushions and underneath the roof of a third.

‘Unfortunately,’ he remarked once he had settled into position, ‘Beatrix Potter died a long time ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, darling,’ said Amparo.

Thomas hoped that his parents would live for a very long time. He wanted them to be immortalized. That was a word he had learnt in his Children’s Book of Greek Myths. Ariadne was immortalized when she was turned into a star by Dionysus. Immortalized meant that she lived for ever – except that she was a star. He didn’t want his parents to turn into stars. What would be the point of that? Just twinkling away.

‘Just twinkling away,’ he said sceptically.

‘Oh, my God, you come with Amparo to the bathroom.’

He couldn’t understand why Amparo stood him by the loo and tried to pull his trousers down.

‘I don’t want to do peepee,’ he said flatly and started to walk away. The truth was that Amparo was quite difficult to have a conversation with. She didn’t seem to understand anything. He decided to go on an expedition. She trailed behind him, wittering on.

‘No, Amparo,’ he said, turning on her, ‘leave me alone!’

‘I can’t leave you, darling. You have to have an adult with you.’

‘No! I!’ said Thomas. ‘You are frustrating me!’

Amparo bent double with laughter. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘You know so many words.’

‘I have to talk, otherwise my mouth gets clogged up with bits and pieces of words,’ said Thomas.

‘How old are you now, darling?’

‘I’m three,’ said Thomas. ‘How old did you think I was?’

‘I thought you were at least five, you’re such a grown-up boy.’

‘Hum,’ said Thomas.

He saw that there was no prospect of shaking her off and so he decided to treat her the way his parents treated him when they wanted to bring him under control.

‘Shall I tell you an Alabala story?’ he said.

They were back in the drawing room. He sat Amparo down on an armchair and climbed into his cushion cave.

‘Once upon a time,’ he began, ‘Alabala was in California and he was driving along with his mummy and there was an earthquake!’

‘I hope this story has a happy ending,’ said Amparo.

‘No!’ said Thomas. ‘You don’t interrupt me!’ He sighed and began again. ‘And the ground opened up and California fell into the sea, which was not very convenient, as you can imagine. And there was a huge tidal wave, and Alabala said to his mummy, “We can surf to Australia!” And so they did, and Alabala was allowed to drive the car.’ He searched the ceiling for inspiration and then added with all the naturalness of suddenly remembering. ‘When they arrived on the beach in Australia, Alan Razor was there giving a concert!’

‘Who is Alan Razor?’ asked Amparo, completely lost.

‘He’s a composer,’ said Thomas. ‘He has helicopters and violins and trumpets and drills, and Alabala played in the concert.’

‘What did he play?’

‘Well, he played a hoover, actually.’

When Kettle returned from her lunch, she found Amparo clutching her sides, thinking she was helpless with laughter at the thought of a hoover being played at a concert, but in fact hysterical at having her idea of what children should be like disrupted by being with Thomas.

‘Oh, dear,’ she panted, ‘he’s really an amazing little boy.’

While the two women struggled not to look after him, Thomas was at last able to have some time to himself. He decided that he never wanted to be an adult. He didn’t like the look of adults. Anyway, if he became an adult what would happen to his parents? They would become old, like Eleanor and Kettle.

The intercom buzzed and Thomas leapt to his feet.

‘I’ll answer it!’ he said.

‘It’s too high up,’ said Kettle.

‘But I want to!’

Kettle ignored him and pressed the intercom to let the others into the building. Thomas screamed in the background.

‘What was that screaming about?’ asked Mary when she arrived in the flat.

‘Granny wouldn’t let me press the button,’ said Thomas.

‘It’s not a child’s toy,’ said Kettle.

‘No, but he’s a child playing,’ said Mary. ‘Why not let him play with the intercom?’

Kettle thought of rising above her daughter’s argumentative style, but decided against it.

‘I can’t do anything right,’ she said, ‘so we might as well assume I’m wrong – then there won’t be any need to point it out. I’ve only just come in, so I’m afraid tea isn’t ready. I rushed home from a lunch that I couldn’t get out of.’

‘Yes,’ laughed Mary. ‘We saw you gazing through the shop windows when we were trying to park the car. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to help with the children again.’

‘I’ll make the tea, if you like,’ said Amparo, offering Kettle the opportunity to stay with her family.

‘It’s all right,’ snapped Kettle. ‘I’m still capable of making a pot of tea.’

‘Am I being childish?’ said Thomas, approaching his father.

‘No,’ said Patrick. ‘You’re being a child. Only grownups can be childish, and my God, we take advantage of the fact.’