And then Mother had come up to him with one of the gentlemen and said, ‘This is my little man—the real love of my life,’ and Matthew had felt embarrassed because he knew she did not mean what she said.
‘Gran,’ he said later, ‘there were so many gentlemen around Mother and they all looked the same. Do you suppose they have names?’
‘How about Gentleman 1, 2 and 3, Matthew? Would that do? Unless we also have to say Gentleman 5, 6 and 7 …’
Matthew giggled. ‘There were lots of them and none as nice as Edward.’
‘That’s for sure. It would take a lot of that sort of gentleman to make an Edward.’
Matthew envisaged a set of his dressed puppets standing on each other’s heads or lumped together hand to hand. ‘On top of each other or sideways, Gran?’
‘Both and then there still wouldn’t be enough. Of course, we’d have to boil down their hearts and brains and bake new ones for Edward. But I doubt if we’d have enough. What do you think?’
Matthew shook his head. ‘Not enough, Gran. Even if you put them all together they wouldn’t make Edward. Edward is different. He’s made of other things.’
‘So he is,’ Gran said.
‘When we went in the door, Gran, the light from the coloured windows made squares and diamonds on the floor. It twisted about my legs and when I put my hand in it, it turned purple and gold and red and green. It was real and beautiful but I could not catch it. There were little pictures on the glass all stiff and dead and I think Mother’s gentlemen are like the little pictures and Edward is like the coloured light.’
Gran smiled as she often did when he tried to explain something. She and Edward had the same sort of smile. It enfolded him, not like the smiles of the gentlemen that whisked over him like a feather duster, or the smile of the man in the brown suit that poised ready to pounce.
‘There were lots of gentlemen there but not the man who wears that very tight brown suit.’
‘Which man is that, Matthew?’
‘You know, Gran, we met him at The Stump and you said his collar was too tight.’
‘That man. Where do you see him, Matthew?’
‘He was at the March Past at Rundles. Mother talked to him but he was horrible to Mr Werther. He called him names and wouldn’t let him sit down and eat a piece of cake and then Edward came in and he disappeared. Do you think he’s afraid of Edward?’
‘I don’t know, darling. I don’t know. Does he ask you about Edward?’
‘Sometimes, and he says things about Mother. He’s not a kind man. Edward is kind. I love Edward and I wish he were my father.’
Gran popped a hand over his mouth. ‘Ssh. Your Mother might hear, darling.’
‘Why? She wouldn’t mind. She likes Edward.’ He remembered her hand next to Edward’s on the watering can. He tasted the smile which bounded from Edward’s mouth to hers and he knew, suddenly he understood, who the ghosts had been.
‘I saw them, Gran, in the garden.’
‘Ssh, darling.’
‘But, Gran …’
‘No, Matthew!’
‘But I did. I thought they were ghosts. Were they ghosts?’
‘It’s possible, darling. It’s possible. Now quiet, please.’
Matthew was silent.
‘The man in the cigar-brown suit,’ said Gran.
‘Yes?’
‘Next time you see him, tell me.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like to know.’
‘But Mother knows.’
‘No. She doesn’t. At least I don’t think she does. Just do as I ask, Matthew. It’s important.’
‘Shouldn’t Mother speak with him because of Edward?’
Gran looked worried. ‘I don’t know and I wish I did.’
Matthew felt the familiar world of the kitchen tilt towards the unfamiliar. Gran was afraid and she was not telling him something. Was it about the ghosts? But she had her keys to the shades. What sort of ghosts would frighten Gran? And his Edward, now he smiled like all the other gentlemen when he was with Mother.
At the soiree he had felt alone and longed for home. Now at home he felt uncertain. What had seemed immutable had changed. Like light on the floor the familiar had dispersed, leaving memory and a sense of loss.
Matthew dreamed. A shadow climbed through the window, balanced on the window sill with careful anxiety and then toppled on to the floor spreading darkness. The darkness crawled up his bed and as it advanced it coughed. He reached a hand to stop it and heard it choke. He knew he was killing the shadow but his hand, suddenly and brilliantly white in the black room, was empty.
He screamed and woke, but it was not his scream echoing in the room but his mother’s.
‘Gran! Gran, quickly … Victor … blood … I can’t stop it … Quickly!’
Then there were running steps and Gran’s voice quieter, calmer.
‘Matthew … ssh … Don’t wake … manage … the doctor … take the old bike.’
‘I haven’t ridden a bike for years!’
‘Stay here then. I’ll go.’
‘Oh, dear! Great heavens! You can’t! All that blood, look at my gown!’ Her voice rose hysterically.
‘Margaret, calm. We knew this … come now. You go. I’ll stay.’
‘Matthew. He could go.’
‘A little boy? This time of night? Certainly not. Better Victor die than risk Matthew being hurt.’
‘Yes, yes. I can’t think, so awful …’
‘Quick now,’ said Gran. ‘Take the lantern. If you can’t get the doctor get the priest.’
‘Priest! He’s not been to church … None of us …’
‘None of us but Victor will want to die in the church. You know that, Margaret. He said it several times.’
‘Yes, I know. But I can’t bear those black-gowned doomsday figures, all “Thou Shalt Not”.’
‘Victor has a lot of Shalt Nots on his soul. It’s his peace, Margaret, not yours. It’s kind to give him this.’
‘Kind! When has he ever? Round my neck, an albatross. All my youth … Our poverty … go to hell as far
