‘I wouldn’t be talking to myself.’
Then I’ll tell you,’ said the man, ‘I’ve seen one like yours before. Once.’
‘Once is about right,’ said Sally. ‘Where?’
‘On an old cow as had just dropped her calf,’ said the man and spat into a neat bed of geraniums.
In the cabin Eva sat and wondered what they were talking about. She listened to the lapping of the water and the throb of the engine and thought about Henry. It wasn’t like him to do a thing like that. It really wasn’t. And in front of all those people. He must have been drunk. It was so humiliating. Well, he could suffer. Sally said men ought to be made to suffer. It was part of the process of liberating yourself from them. You had to show them that you didn’t need them and violence was the only thing the male psyche understood. That was why she was so harsh with Gaskell. Men were like animals. You had to show them who was master.
Eva went through to the galley and polished the stainless steel sink. Henry would have to learn how important she was by missing her and doing the housework and cooking for himself and when she got back she would give him such a telling-off about that doll. I mean, it wasn’t natural. Perhaps Henry ought to go and see a psychiatrist. Sally said that he had made the most horrible suggestion to her too. It only went to show that you couldn’t trust anyone. And Henry of all people. She would never have imagined Henry would think of doing anything like that. But Sally had been so sweet and understanding. She knew how women felt and she hadn’t even been, angry with Henry.
‘It’s just that he’s a sphincter baby,’ she had said. ‘It’s symptomatic of a male dominated chauvinist pig society. I’ve never known an MCP who didn’t say “Bugger you” and mean it.’
‘Henry’s always saying bugger,’ Eva had admitted. ‘It’s bugger this, and bugger that.’
‘There you are, Eva baby. What did I tell you? It’s semantic degradation analwise.’
‘It’s bloody disgusting,’ said Eva and so it was.
She went on polishing and cleaning until they were clear of the lock and steering downriver towards the open water of the Broads. Then she went up on deck and sat looking out over the flat empty landscape at the sunset. It was all so romantic and exciting, so different from everything she had known before. This was life as she had always dreamt it might be, rich and gay and fulfilling. Eva Wilt sighed. In spite of everything she was at peace with the world.
In the car, park at the back of the Tech Henry Wilt wasn’t at peace with anything. On the contrary, he was at war with Eva’s replica. As he stumbled drunkenly round the car and struggled with Judy he was conscious that even an inflatable doll had a will of its own when it came to being dragged out of small cars. Judy’s arms and legs got caught in things. If Eva behaved in the same way on the night of her disposal he would have the devil’s own job getting her out of the car. He would have to tie her up in a neat bundle. That would be the best thing to do. Finally, by tugging at the doll’s legs, he hauled her out and laid her on the ground. Then he got back into the car to look for her wig. He found it under the seat and after rearranging Judy’s skirt so that it wasn’t quite so revealing, he put the wig on her head. He looked round the car park at the terrapin huts and the main building but there was no one to be seen. All clear. He picked the doll up and carrying it under his arm set off towards the building site. Halfway there he realised that he wasn’t doing it properly. Eva drugged and sleeping would be far too heavy to carry under his arm. He would have to use a fireman’s lift. Wilt stopped and hoisted the doll on to his back, and set off again weaving erratically, partly because, thanks to the gin, he couldn’t help it, and
