Chocky

  Gradually I began to get a feeling that he was away ahead of me; that while I was still in the stage of reluctantly conceding Chocky’s existence as an unavoidable hypothesis, he had passed me, and was treating it as an established fact. It was rather, I thought, as if he had applied Sherlock Holmes’ dictum: ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’; and had thorough confidence in the finding that the formula had produced. For some reason that I couldn’t quite determine, it had the effect of slightly increasing my disquiet.

  After dinner, over coffee and brandy, Landis said:

  ‘As I expect you’ll have gathered, I’ve been giving the problem considerable thought, and in my opinion Thorbe is your man. Sir William Thorbe. He’s a very sound fellow with great experience – and not bigoted, which is something in our profession. I mean, he’s not an out and out psycho-analyst, for instance. He treats his cases on their merits – if he decides analysis will help, then he’ll use it; if he thinks it calls for one of the new drugs, then he’ll use that. He has a large number of quite remarkable successes to his credit. I don’t think you could do better than to get his opinion, if he’s willing to take Matthew on. I’m certain that if anyone can help it’s Thorbe.’

  I did not greatly care for that’ if anyone’, but let it pass. I said:

  ‘I seem to remember that the last time we met you were doubtful whether Matthew needed help.’

  ‘My dear fellow, I still am. But your wife does, you know. And you yourself could do with some definite assurance, couldn’t you?’

  And, of course, he was right. Mary and I were a lot more worried about Matthew than Matthew was about himself. Just the knowledge that we were doing our best for him by taking competent advice would relieve our minds.

  In the end I agreed that, subject to Mary’s consent, I would be glad to have Sir William Thorbe’s opinion.

  ‘Good,’ said Landis. ‘I’ll have a word with him. I’m pretty sure that in the circumstances he’ll be keen to see Matthew. If he will, I’m sure you’ll get as good a diagnosis as anyone can give you. I’ll be able to let you know – in a few days, I hope.’

  And on that, we parted.

  I arrived home to find Mary erupting with indignation. I gathered she had seen the Evening Standard.

  ‘It’s outrageous!’ she announced, as if my arrival had pressed a siphon lever. ‘What right had she to send the thing in without even consulting us? The least she could have done was to ask us. To enter it like that without your even knowing! – It’s sort of – what do they call it? – invasion of privacy.… She didn’t even ask Matthew. Just sent it off without telling anybody. I shouldn’t have thought she’d have dared do such a thing without getting somebody’s consent. I don’t know what some of these teachers are coming to. They seem to think they have all the rights over the children’s lives, and the parents have none. Really, the kind of people these Teachers’ Training Colleges turn out these days.… You’d have thought that out of ordinary courtesy and consideration for a child’s parents’ point of view.… No manners at all.… How can you expect a child to learn decent behaviour when he’s taught by people who don’t know how to behave…? It’s quite disgraceful. I want you to write a really stiff letter to the headmaster tomorrow telling him just what we think of her behaviour, and demanding an apology.… No, do it now, tonight. You won’t have time in the morning…’

  I’d had a tiring day.

  ‘She wouldn’t apologize. Why on earth should she?’ I said.

  Mary stared at me, took a breath and started off again. I cut it short.

  ‘She was doing her job. One of her pupils produced a picture that she thought good enough to submit for this exhibition. She wanted him to have the credit for it. Naturally, she thought we’d be delighted, and so we should have been – but for this Chocky business.’

  ‘She ought to have asked our consent…’

  ‘So that you could explain to her about Chocky, and tell her why we didn’t want it shown? And, anyway, it was right at the end of the term. She probably had just time to send it in before she went away. I wouldn’t mind betting at this very moment she’s expecting to receive a letter of thanks and congratulation from us.’

  Mary made an angry sound regrettably like a snort.

  ‘All right, ‘I told her. ‘You go ahead and write the headmaster that letter. You won’t get your apology. What are you going to do then, make a row? Local newspapers love rows between parents and schoolteachers. So do the national ones. If you want more publicity for the picture than they’ve already printed you’ll certainly get it. And somebody’s going to point out that the Matthew Gore who painted the picture is the same one who is the guardian angel hero. – Someone’s going to do that anyway, but do we want it done on a national scale? How long will it take before Chocky is right out of the bag?’

  Mary’s look of dismay made me sorry for the way I’d put it. She went on staring at me for several seconds, then her face suddenly crumpled. I picked her up and carried her over to the armchair…

  After a time she pulled the handkerchief out of my breast-pocket. Gradually I felt her relax. One hand sought, and found, mine.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so silly,’ she said.

  I hugged her.

  ‘It’s all right, darling. You’re not silly, you’re anxious – and I don’t wonder.’

  ‘But I was silly. I didn’t see what making a row might lead to.’ She paused, kneading the handkerchief in her clenched right hand. ‘I’m so afraid for Matthew,’ she said unsteadily. She raised herself a little, and looked into my face. ‘David, tell me something honestly.… They-they won’t think he – he’s mad, will they, David…?’

  ‘Of course not, darling. How could they possibly? You couldn’t find a saner boy anywhere than Matthew, you know that.’

  ‘But if they find out about Chocky? If they get to know that he thinks he hears her speaking…? I mean, hearing voices in your head… that’s.…’ She let it tail away.

  ‘Darling,’ I told her.’ You’re being afraid of the wrong thing. Put that right away. There is nothing – nothing at all – wrong with Matthew himself. He’s as sane and sensible a boy as one could wish to meet. Please, please get it into your head quite firmly that this Chocky, whatever it is, is not subjective – it is objective. It does not come from Matthew, it is something outside that comes to him. I know it’s hard to believe, because one doesn’t understand how it can happen. But I’m quite convinced it is so, and so is Landis. He’s an expert on mental disorders, and he’s thoroughly satisfied that Matthew is not suffering from any aberration. You must believe that.’

  ‘I do try, but… I don’t understand. What is Chocky…? The swimming… the painting… all the questions…?’

  ‘That’s what we don’t know – yet. My own idea is that Matthew is – well, sort of haunted. I know that’s an unfortunate word, it carries ideas of fear and malevolence, but I don’t mean that at all. It’s just that there isn’t another word for it. What I am thinking of is a kindly sort of haunting.… It quite clearly doesn’t mean Matthew any harm. It’s only alarming to us because we don’t understand it. Doing my best to think of it objectively it seems to me we’re being a bit ungrateful. After all, remember, Matthew thinks it saved both their lives.… And if it didn’t, we don’t know what did.

  ‘Whatever it is, I think we’d be wrong to regard it as a threat. It seems intrusive and inquisitive, but basically well disposed – essentially a benign kind of – er – presence.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Mary. ‘In fact you’re trying to tell me it is a guardian angel?’

  ‘No – er – well, I suppose I mean – er – yes, in a way… I said.

  Nine

  I bought a copy of the Hindmere & District Courier at the station bookstall the next morning. As I expected, it was there; in the fourth column on the front page under the heading ‘GUARDIAN ANGEL’ SAVES CHILDREN. The quotes around ‘guardian ang
el’ to show that the editor wasn’t committing himself caused me an initial misgiving, but it subsided considerably as I read on. Local papers, wisely perhaps, are not in the habit of taking the mickey out of local residents, other than certain well-established figures of fun who enjoy it. I had to admit that the piece was skilfully done, objective in tone, though with unmistakable reservations on the writer’s part, and yet with a trace of genuine puzzlement showing through here and there; rather as if he had decided to treat this evidence of the crackpot fringe with kindness, and had then become uncertain what the evidence was showing. The guardian angel angle was left almost entirely to the headline; the whole account gave the impression that something quite unusual had certainly happened when Matthew found himself in the water, but nobody knew quite what. There was no doubt, however, that Matthew had bravely rescued Polly.

  And in all, since the young man had had to do his job, it was fair enough, and a lot better than I had feared. Apart from the headline, indeed, there was little to complain of. But unfortunately people notice headlines; after all, that’s what they’re there for.

  Alan rang up in the morning and suggested lunch, so I joined him.

  ‘Saw the photograph of Matthew’s picture in the paper yesterday,’ he said. ‘After what you’d told us about the pictures I thought I’d look in at the exhibition. It’s only a few doors from our office. Most of it’s the usual crummy stuff. I don’t wonder they picked out Matthew’s. Rummy sort of vision though, all kind of elongated – and yet it’s got something, you know.’ He paused, and looked at me curiously. ‘After all you and Mary have said about Chocky I wonder you sent it in.’

  ‘We didn’t,’ I told him, and explained.

  ‘Oh, I see. Bit unfortunate, coming on top of the other,’ he said. ‘By the way, I had a visit from one of the Swimming Society people on Wednesday. Just checking up on Colonel Summers’ recommendation for a medal, he said. Apparently the Society had heard from somewhere that Matthew had never swum before. That seemed to them to cast a doubt on the whole story – and no wonder, either. So I told him what I knew about it. Then he wanted to know if it was true about the non-swimming. I had to say yes. Damn it, I was trying to teach him to swim only a couple of days before. I think he believed me, but the poor fellow went away more puzzled than ever.’ He paused again, and went on:

  ‘You know, with all this, David, Chocky’s right in the wings. She’ll be taking her call any moment now. What are you going to do about it?’

  I shrugged. ‘About it what can I do except try to deal with things as they crop up? About Matthew, though, Landis has come up with a recommendation.’ I told him what Landis had said.

  ‘Thorbe – Thorbe, with a handle,’ Alan muttered, frowning. ‘I heard something about him just the other day – Oh, yes. I know. He’s recently got an appointment as a sort of advisory industrial psychologist to one of the big groups. Can’t remember which, but one of the really big boys. Fellow who told me was wondering what whacking retainer he gets for that – on top of a thumping good practice.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘At thumping good fees?’

  Alan shook his head.

  ‘Can’t tell you about that, but he won’t be cheap. I should have a word with Landis about it before you commit yourself.’

  ‘Thanks, I will. One hears such things. I don’t want to be landed with a thumping good fee that goes on for months and months, if it can be helped.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think you’re likely to be let in for that. After all, nobody has suggested that there’s anything wrong with Matthew, nothing that needs treatment. All you really want is an explanation to set your minds at rest – and advice on the best way to cope with things, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I told him. ‘I admit that this Chocky hasn’t done him any harm…’

  ‘And has, in fact, saved his and Polly’s lives, don’t forget.’

  ‘Yes. But it’s Mary I’m worried about now. She’s not going to be easy in her mind until she’s satisfied that Ghocky has been driven right away, abolished, exorcized, or somehow finished with…”

  Alan considered, and nodded.

  ‘Security.… In mediocritate solus.… Normality above rubies.… Instinct overriding mind.… Well, we’re not all made alike – men and women particularly…. But get her to wait for Thorbe’s verdict, old man. I’ve a feeling it might lead to trouble if she tries to smoke out this Chocky off her own bat – if you’ll excuse the expression.’

  ‘She won’t do that,’ I told him. ‘She knows it would antagonize Matthew. She’s a bit like Polly in a way, both of them feel they’ve been alienated. She’s afraid of making it worse, and afraid for Matthew, too. The devil of it is there doesn’t seem to be anything one can do to help her.’

  Alan shook his head.

  ‘Not until you know more, old boy. And for that I think you’ll have to pin your faith on Thorbe.’

  I arrived home to find the atmosphere a trifle gloomy, perhaps, but certainly not critical. My spirits lifted. Mary must have read the Courier, and I judged, reacted to it much as I had. I asked about the day.

  ‘I thought I’d keep clear of the town,’ she told me,’so I did the ordering by phone. About eleven o’clock a nice but dotty old clergyman called. He was disappointed to hear that Matthew was out because he had wanted to explain an error to him, but he decided to explain it to me instead. He was sorry to read, he said, that Matthew has been misled into attributing his survival to the intervention of a guardian angel, because the idea of a guardian angel was not a truly Christian conception. It was one of those pagan beliefs which the early church had neglected to suppress so that it, along with a number of other erroneous beliefs, had mistakenly and temporarily become incorporated in the true faith. A great many of the errors had been expelled by the true doctrine. This one, however, had been remarkably hardy, and it was the duty of all Christians to see to it that it was not perpetuated. So would I please do my part to fortify the faith by telling Matthew that his Maker did not depute these matters to amanuenses. It was He, and He alone, who could confer upon Matthew the ability to save himself, and the gift of courage to save his little sister. He considered it his duty to clear up this misunderstanding.

  ‘So, of course, I told him I would, and just after he had gone Janet rang up.’

  ‘Oh, no…!’

  ‘Yes. She was thrilled about Matthew’s success with the picture…’

  ‘And wants to come over tomorrow to discuss it?’

  ‘Well, actually, she said Sunday. It’s Patience who rang up in the afternoon and said could she come tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope,’ I told her, without much hope,’that you put them both off, firmly.’

  She hesitated. ‘Well, Janet’s always so difficult and insistent…’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, and picked up the telephone.

  ‘No, wait a minute,’ she protested.

  ‘I’m damned if we’re going to sit here all the week-end listening to your sisters taking Matthew to pieces in a gloating orgy of dissection. You know just the line they’ll take – gushing, inquisitive, self-congratulatory, phoney commiseration for their unfortunate sister who would have the ill-luck to have a peculiar child if any one did. To hell with it!’ I put my finger on the dial.

  ‘No,’ said Mary. ‘I’d better do it.’

  I surrendered the handset.

  ‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘Tell them they can’t come. That I’ve fixed up for us to go out with friends tomorrow and Sunday – And next week-end, too, or they’ll switch it to that if you give them the chance.’

  She did, quite efficiently, and looked at me, as she put the phone down, with an air of relief that cheered me immensely.

  ‘Thank you, David…’ she began. Then the phone rang. I picked it up and listened.

  ‘No,’ I said.’ He’s in bed and asleep now…. No, he’ll be out all day tomorrow,’ and put it down again.

  ‘What was that?’ Mary asked.

  ‘The
Sunday Dawn, wanting an interview with Matthew.’ I thought it over a moment. ‘At a guess I’d say they’ve just tied up Matthew the life-saver with Matthew the artist. There’ll probably be more of them.’

  There were. The Sunday Voice followed by the Report.

  ‘That settles it,’ I told Mary. ‘We’ll have to go out tomorrow. And we’ll have to start early, before they come camping in the front garden. I tell you what, we’ll stay away over night. Let’s go and pack.’

  We started upstairs, and the phone went again. I hesitated.

  ‘Oh, leave the thing,’ said Mary.

  So we did – and the next time.

  We managed to get away by seven o’clock, unimpeded by interviewers, and set course for the coast.

  ‘I hope they won’t break in while we’re away,’ said Mary, ‘I feel like a refugee.’

  We all began to feel like refugees a couple of hours later as we neared the sea. The roads grew thick with cars, our speed was little better than a crawl. Mysterious hold-ups occurred, immobilizing everything for miles. The children began to get bored.

  ‘It’s all Matthew’s fault,’ Polly complained.

  ‘It isn’t,’ Matthew denied. ‘I didn’t want any of it to happen. It just happened.’

  ‘Then it’s all Chocky’s fault.’

  ‘You ought to be jolly grateful to Chocky,’ Matthew pointed out.

  ‘I know, but I’m not. She spoils everything,’ said Polly.

  ‘The last time we came this way we had Piff with us. She was a bit of a nuisance,’ I observed.

  ‘Piff was just a silly. She didn’t tell me things, I had to tell her. I bet Chocky’s telling Matthew things now, or asking him her stupid questions.’

  ‘As a matter of fact she’s not. She’s not been here since Tuesday. I think she’s gone home,’ Matthew retorted.

  ‘Where’s her home?’ asked Polly.

  ‘I don’t know, but she was a bit worried. So I think she’s gone home to ask about things.’