Wilt smiled to himself happily. That was the old Eva talking in defiance of all logic. He went
up to the attic and stood in the doorway looking at her with open admiration. There was nothing
silly about Eva now. Sitting naked and unashamed she possessed a strength he would never
have.
'Darling,' he began incautiously before stopping. Eva was studying him with frank disgust.
'Don't you "darling" me, Henry Wilt,' she said. 'And how did you get in that filthy
state?'
Wilt looked down at his torso. Now that he came to examine it he was in a filthy state. A
piece of celery poked rather ambiguously from Mrs de Frackas' shawl.
'Well, as a matter of fact, I was in the compost heap with the children
'With the children?' shouted Eva furiously. 'In the compost heap?'
And before Wilt could explain she had risen from the chair. As it shot across the room Wilt
hurled himself at the rope, clung to it, was slammed against the opposite wall and finally
managed to wedge himself behind a wardrobe.
'For Christ's sake, help me pull her up,' he yelled, 'you can't let the bitch hang.'
Eva put her hands on her hips. 'That's your problem. I'm not doing anything to her. You're
holding the rope.'
'Only just. And I suppose you're going to tell me that if I really love you I'll let go. Well,
let me tell you...'
'Don't bother,' shouted Eva. 'I heard you in bed with her. I know what you got up to.'
'Up to?' yelled Wilt. 'The only way I got anything up was by pretending she was you. I know it
seems unlikely...'
'Henry Wilt, if you think I'm going to stand here and let you insult me...'
I'm not insulting you. I'm paying you the biggest bloody compliment you've ever received.
Without you I don't know what I would have done. And now for goodness sake '
'I know what you did without me,' shouted Eva, 'you made love to that horrible woman...'
'Love?' yelled Wilt. 'That wasn't love. That was war. The bitch battened on to me like a
sex-starved barnacle and...' But it was too late to explain. The wardrobe was shifting and the
next moment Wilt, still gripping the rope, rose slowly into the air and moved toward the hook.
Behind him came the chair and presently he was crouched up against the ceiling with his head
twisted at a curious angle. Eva looked up at him uncertainly. For a second she hesitated, but she
couldn't let him stay there and it was wrong to hang the German girl now that the quads were
safe.
Eva grabbed Wilt's legs and began to pull. Outside the police had reached Gudrun Schautz and
were cutting her down. As the rope broke Wilt fell from his perch and mingled with portions of
the chair.
'Oh my poor darling,' said Eva, her voice suddenly taking on a new and, to Wilt, thoroughly
alarming solicitude. It was typical of the bloody woman to practically turn him into a cripple
and then be conscience-stricken. As she took him in her arms Wilt groaned and decided the time
had come to put the boot in diplomatically. He passed out.
On the patio below Gudrun Schautz was unconscious too. Before she could be more than partially
strangled she had been lifted down and now the head of the Anti-Terrorist Squad was giving her
the kiss of life rather more passionately than was called for. Flint dragged himself away from
this unnatural relationship and cautiously entered the house. A hole in the kitchen floor
testified to the destructive force of a ruptured bio-loo. 'Out of their tiny minds,' he muttered
behind his handkerchief and slithered through into the hall before climbing the stairs to the
attic. The scene that greeted him there confirmed his opinion. The Wilts were clasped in one
another's arms. Flint shuddered. He would never understand what these two diabolical people saw
in one another. Come to think of it he didn't want to know. There were some mysteries better left
unprobed. He turned back towards his more orderly world where there were no such awful
ambiguities and was greeted on the landing by the quads. They were dressed in some clothes they
had found in Mrs de Frackas' chest of drawers and wearing hats that had been fashionable before
the First World War. As they tried to rush past him Flint stopped them.
'I don't think your mummy and daddy want to be disturbed,' he said, firmly holding to the view
that nice children should be spared the sight of their naked parents presumably making love. But
the Wilt quads had never been nice.
'What are they doing?' asked Samantha.
Flint swallowed. 'They're...er...engaged.'
'You mean they're not married?' asked Samantha gleefully adjusting her boa.
'I didn't say that...' began Flint
'Then we're bastards,' squealed Josephine. 'Michael's daddy says if mummies and daddies aren't
married their babies are called bastards.'
Flint stared down at the hideously precocious child 'You can say that again,' he muttered, and
went on downstairs. Above him the quads could be heard chanting something about daddies having
wigwags and mummies having... Flint hurried out of earshot and found the stench in the kitchen a
positive relief. Two ambulance men were carrying Mrs de Frackas out on a stretcher. Amazingly she
was still alive.
'Bullet lodged in her stays,' said one of the ambulance men. 'Tough old bird. Don't make them
like this any more.'
Mrs de Frackas opened a beady eye 'Are the children still alive?' she asked faintly.
Flint nodded 'It's all right. They're quite safe. You needn't worry about them.'
'Them?' moaned Mrs de Frackas 'You can't seriously suppose I'm worried about them. It's the
thought that I'll have to live next door to the little savages that...'
But the effort to express her horror was too much for her and she sank back on the pillow.
Flint followed her out to the ambulance.
'Take me off the drip,' she pleaded as they loaded her inside.
'Can't do that, mum,' said the ambulance man, 'it's against union rules.'
He shut the doors and turned to Flint. 'Suffering from shock, poor old dear. They get like
that sometimes. Don't know what they're saying.'
But Flint knew better, and as the ambulance drove away his heart went out to the courageous
old lady. He was thinking of asking for a transfer himself.
It was the end of term at the Tech. Wilt walked across the common with the frost on the grass,
ducks waddling by the river and the sun shining out of a cloudless sky. He had no committee
meetings to attend and no teaching to do. About the only cloud on the horizon was the possibility
that the Principal might congratulate the Wilt family on their remarkable escape from danger. To
avert it Wilt had already intimated to the Vice-Principal that such rank hypocrisy would be in
the worst of taste. If the Principal were to express his true feelings he would have to admit
that he wished to hell the terrorists had carried out their promises.
Dr Mayfield was certainly of this opinion. The Special Branch had been going through the
students in Advanced English For Foreigners with a fine-tooth comb and the Anti-Terrorist Squad
had detained two Iraqis for questioning. Even the curriculum had been under scrutiny and
Professor Maerlis, ably assisted by Dr Board, had submitted a report condemning the seminars on
Contemporary Theories of Revolution and Social Change as positively subversive and inciting to
violence. And Dr Board had helped to exonerate Wilt,
'Considering the political lunatics he has to cope with in his department it's a wonder Wilt
isn't a raving fascist. Take Bilger for example...' he had told the Special Branch officer in
charge of enquiries. The officer had taken Bilger. He had also screened the film and had viewed
it with incredulity.
'If this is the sort of filth you encourage your lecturers to produce it's no bloody wonder
the country is in the mess it is,' he told the Principal, who had promptly tried to shift the
blame to Wilt.
'I always considered the thing a disgrace.' said Wilt, 'and if you'll check the minutes of the
Education Committee meeting you'll see I wanted to make the issue public. I think parents have a
right to know when their children are being politically indoctrinated.'
And the minutes had proved him right. From that moment Wilt was given a clean ticket.
Officially
But on the domestic front suspicion still lurked. Eva had taken to waking him in the small
hours to demand proof that he loved her.
'Of course I do, damn it,' grunted Wilt. 'How many times do I have to tell you?'
'Actions speak louder than words,' retorted Eva snuggling up to him.
'Oh all right,' said Wilt. And the exercise had done him good. It was a leaner, healthier Wilt
who walked briskly to the Tech, and the knowledge that he would never have to take this path
again buoyed his spirits. They were moving from Willington Road. The removal van had already
arrived when he left and this afternoon the home he returned to would be 45 Oakhurst Avenue. The
choice of the new house had been Eva's. It was a several steps down the social ladder from
Willington Road, but the big house there had bad vibes for her. Wilt deplored the word but
agreed. He had always disliked the pretensions of the neighbourhood and Oakhurst Avenue was
nicely anonymous.
'At least we'll be away from haute academe and the relicts of Imperial arrogance,' he told
Peter Braintree as they sat in The Pig In The Poke after the Principal's pep talk. There had been
no mention of Wilt's ordeal and they were celebrating. 'And there's a quiet little pub round the
corner so I won't have to brew my own gutrot.'
'Thank heavens for that. But won't Eva pine for the compost heap and all that?'
Wilt drank his beer cheerfully. 'The educative effects of exploding septic tanks have to be
seen to be believed,' he said. To say that ours revealed the fundamental flaws in the Alternative
Society might be going too far but it certainly blew Eva's mind. I've noticed she's taken to
medicated toilet paper and it wouldn't surprise me to learn she's making tea with distilled
water.'
'But she'll have to find something to occupy her energy.'
Wilt nodded 'She has. The quads. She's determined to see they don't grow up in the image of
Gudrun Schautz. A losing battle, to my way of thinking, but at least I've managed to prise her
away from sending them to the Convent. It's remarkable how much better their language has become
of late. All in all I have an idea that life is going to be more peaceful from now on.'
But as with so many of Wilt's predictions this one was premature. When, having spent an hour
tidying his office, he sauntered contentedly up Oakhurst Avenue it was to find the new house
unlit and empty. There was no sign of Eva, the quads or the furniture van. He waited about for an
hour and then phoned from a call-box. Eva exploded at the other end.
'Don't blame me,' she shouted, 'the removal men have had to unload the van.'
'Unload the van? What on earth for?'
'Because Josephine hid in the wardrobe and they put that in first, that's why.'
'But they don't have to unload because of that,' said Wilt. 'She wouldn't suffocate and it
would teach her a lesson.'
'And what about Mrs de Frackas' cat and the Balls' poodle and Jennifer Willis' four pet
rabbits.'
'The what?' said Wilt.
'She was playing hostages,' shouted Eva, 'and...'
But the coin in the phone box ran out. Wilt didn't bother to put another in. He strolled out
along the street wondering what it was about his marriage with Eva that turned everyday events
into minor catastrophes. He couldn't bring himself to think what sort of time Josephine was
having in the wardrobe. Talk about trauma...Oh well, there was nothing like experience. As he
passed along Oakhurst Avenue towards the pub Wilt suddenly felt pity for his new neighbours. They
still had no idea what was going to hit them.
The End