COLETTE: But she did disappear?
ALISON: Not from our house, she didn’t. Yes Gloria, no, Gloria, have a cuppa Gloria.
COLETTE: I’m quite interested in this because it suggests your mum was mad or something—but let’s just keep to the point about the disappearance—was anything reported?
ALISON: I was eight. I didn’t know what was reported.
COLETTE: Nothing on TV?
ALISON: I’m not sure we had a TV. Well, yes, we did. Several. I mean the men used to bring them in under their arms. Just, we never had an aerial. That was us. Two bathtubs, no TV aerial.
COLETTE: Al, why do you make such silly jokes all the time? You do it when you’re on the platform. It’s not appropriate.
ALISON: Personally I think the use of humour’s very important when you’re dealing with the public. It puts them at their ease. Because they’re scared, when they come in.
COLETTE: I was never scared. Why do they come if they’re scared?
ALISON: Most people have a very low fright threshold. But it doesn’t stop them being curious.
COLETTE: They should toughen up.
ALISON: I suppose we all should. (
COLETTE: So what are you saying?
ALISON: People went missing all the time, round our way. There was wasteland. There was army land, there was miles of it. There was heath land and just generally these acres where anything … could have … .
COLETTE: Did the police ever come round?
ALISON: The police came round regularly, I mean there was no surprise in that.
COLETTE: So what did you do?
ALISON: My mother would say, down on the floor. The police would flap the letter box. They’d shout through, is that Mrs. Emmeline Cheetham?
COLETTE: Was that her name?
ALISON: Yes, Emmeline. It’s nice, isn’t it?
COLETTE: I mean Cheetham, that’s not your name.
ALISON: I changed it. Think about it.
COLETTE: Oh, yes … . Al, does this mean you might have previous identities?
ALISON: Past lives?
COLETTE: No … For God’s sake, I’m just talking about other names, other names by which you may have been known to the Revenue. I mean you must have worked before you became self-employed, so you must have tax records in the name of Cheetham, with some other district. I wish you’d mentioned this before!
ALISON: I want to go to the loo.
COLETTE: Because I don’t think you have any idea how embattled I am. About your tax. And I can do without any complication of this nature.
ALISON: So could you turn the tape off?
COLETTE: Oh, cross your legs, you can hang on for two minutes. Just to get us back on track—we are concluding our conversation about the mysterious boxes Alison saw when she was eight—
ALISON: Or maybe nine, or ten.
COLETTE:—and these boxes were being carried by people she didn’t know, men, and towards the back of her house, yes?
ALISON: Yes, towards the back, that’s right. Down towards the fields. The open ground. And no, I don’t know what was in them. Oh God, Colette, can you switch off? I really need the loo. And Morris is making such a racket. I don’t know what was in those boxes, but sometimes I feel as if it’s me. Does that make sense to you?
COLETTE: I think the big question is, will it make sense to our readers?
(
When Alison was at school, she had to keep My Diary. She was allowed to crayon what she did every day, as well as put words. She put about Keith and his face getting mashed. About the dog Blighto and the drag of his claws in the mud.
“Do we really want to know about this, Alison?” her teacher said.
Her mother was invited in to see the headmaster, but when she lit up he tapped the NO SMOKING sign perched on top of the typewriter on his desk.
“Yes, I can read,” Emmeline said proudly, as she puffed away.
“I really think—” said he, and her mother said, “Look, you asked me here, so you’ve got to put up with it, is that right?” She tapped her ash into his wire in-tray. “You got a complaint about Alison, is that it?”
“It’s not a question of complaint,” the headmaster said.
