Arent you going to make a wish? I said.
She said she couldnt make any more wishes. She was too old. I told her that at my last birthday when I blew out my candles all in one go I had thought about my wish for a long time, and I was going to wish that mummy and Daddy wouldn’t argue any more in the night. But in the end I wished for a shetland pony but it never come.
The lady gave me a cuddle and said I was so cute that she could just eat me all up, bones and hair and everything. She smelled like sweet dried milk.
Then Daisydaisy started to cry with all her might and mane, and the lady putted me down.
I shouted and called for the unicorn, but I didnt see him. Sometimes I thought I could hear a trumpet, and sometimes I thought it was just the noise in my ears.
Then we came back to the table. Whats after the end of the world I said to my dad. Nothing he said. Nothing at all. Thats why its called the end.
Then Daisy was sick over Daddys shoes, and we cleaned it up.
I sat by the table. We ate potato salad, which I gave you the recipe for all ready, you should make it its really good, and we drank orange juice and potato sticks and squishy egg and cress sandwiches. We drank our Coca-cola.
Then Mummy said something to Daddy I didnt hear and he just hit her in the face with a big hit with his hand, and mummy started to cry.
Daddy told me to take Daisy and walk about while they talked.
I took Daisy and I said come on Daisydaisy, come on old daisybell because she was crying too, but Im too old to cry.
I couldnt hear what they were saying. I looked up at the cat face man and I tried to see if he was moving very very slowly, and I heard the trumpet at the end of the world in my head going dah dah dah.
We sat by a rock and I sang songs to Daisy lah lah lah lah lah to the sound of the trumpet in my head dah dah dah.
Lah lah lah lah lah lah lah lah.
Lah lah lah.
Then mummy and daddy came over to me and they said we were going home. But that everything was really all right. Mummys eye was all purple. She looked funny, like a lady on the television.
Daisy said owie. I told her yes, it was an owie. We got back in the car.
On the way home, nobody said anything. The baby sleeped.
There was a dead animal by the side of the road somebody had hit with a car. Daddy said it was a white deer. I thought it was the unicorn, but mummy told me that you cant kill unicorns but I think she was lying like grownups do again.
When we got to Twilight I said, if you told someone your wish, did that mean it wouldnt come true?
What wish, said Daddy?
Your birthday wish. When you blow out the candles.
He said, Wishes dont come true whether you tell them or not. Wishes, he said. He said you cant trust wishes.
I asked Mummy, and she said, whatever your father says, she said in her cold voice, which is the one she uses when she tells me off with my whole name.
Then I sleeped too.
And then we were home, and it was morning, and I dont want to see the end of the world again. And before I got out of the car, while mummy was carrying in Daisydaisy to the house, I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see anything at all, and I wished and I wished and I wished and I wished. I wished wed gone to Ponydale. I wished wed never gone anywhere at all. I wished I was somebody else.
And I wished.
The Facts in the Case of the Departure of Miss Finch
1998
TO BEGIN AT the end: I arranged the thin slice of pickled ginger, pink and translucent, on top of the pale yellowtail flesh, and dipped the whole arrangement—ginger, fish, and vinegared rice—into the soy sauce, flesh-side down; then I devoured it in a couple of bites.
“I think we ought to go to the police,” I said.
“And tell them what, exactly?” asked Jane.
“Well, we could file a missing persons report, or something. I don’t know.”
“And where did you last see the young lady?” asked Jonathan, in his most policemanlike tones. “Ah, I see. Did you know that wasting police time is normally considered an offense, sir?”
“But the whole circus . . .”
“These are transient persons, sir, of legal age. They come and go. If you have their names, I suppose I can take a report . . .”
I gloomily ate a salmon skin roll. “Well, then,” I said, “why don’t we go to the papers?”
“Brilliant idea,” said Jonathan, in the sort of tone of voice which indicates that the person talking doesn’t think it’s a brilliant idea at all.
“Jonathan’s right,” said Jane. “They won’t listen to us.”
“Why wouldn’t they believe us? We’re reliable. Honest citizens. All that.”
“You’re a fantasy writer,” she said. “You make up stuff like this for a living. No one’s going to believe you.”
“But you two saw it all as well. You’d back me up.”
“Jonathan’s got a new series on cult horror movies coming out in the autumn. They’ll say he’s just trying to get cheap publicity for the show. And I’ve got another book coming out. Same thing.”
“So you’re saying that we can’t tell anyone?” I sipped my green tea.
“No,” Jane said, reasonably, “we can tell anyone we want. It’s making them believe us that’s problematic. Or, if you ask me, impossible.”
The pickled ginger
