David Mitchell - Slade House

Whatever Mums sayings drowned out by the grimy roar of the bus pulling away, revealing a pub called The Fox and Hounds. The sign shows three beagles cornering a fox. Theyre about to pounce and rip it apart. A street sign underneath says WESTWOOD ROAD. Mum said that lords and ladies are rich, so I was expecting swimming pools and Lamborghinis, but Westwood Road looks pretty normal to me. Normal brick houses, detached or semi-detached, with little front gardens and normal cars. The damp skys the color of old hankies. Seven magpies fly by. Sevens good. Mums face is inches away from mine, though Im not sure if thats an angry face or a worried one. Nathan? Are you even listening? Mums wearing make-up today. That shade of lipsticks called Morning Lilac but it smells more like Pritt Stick than lilacs. Mums face hasnt gone away, so I say, What?

Its Pardon or Excuse me. Not What?

Okay, I say, which often does the trick.

Not today. Did you hear what I told you?

Its Pardon or Excuse me. Not What?

Before that! I said, if anyone at Lady Grayers asks how we came here, youre to tell them we arrived by taxi.

I thought lying was wrong.

Theres lying, says Mum, fishing out the envelope she wrote the directions on from her handbag, which is wrong, and theres creating the right impression, which is necessary. If your father paid what hes supposed to pay, we really would have arrived by taxi. Now Mum squints at her writing. Slade Alley leads off Westwood Road, about halfway down She checks her watch. Right, its ten to three, and were due at three. Chop chop. Dont dawdle. Off Mum walks.

I follow, not stepping on any of the cracks. Sometimes I have to guess where the cracks are because the pavements mushy with fallen leaves. At one point I had to step out of the way of a man with huge fists jogging by in a black and orange tracksuit. Wolverhampton Wanderers play Shining. Berries hang from a mountain ash. Id like to count them, but the clip-clop-clip-clop of Mums heels pulls me on. She bought the shoes at John Lewiss sale with the last of the money the Royal College of Music paid her, even though British Telecom sent a final reminder to pay the telephone bill. Shes wearing her dark blue concert outfit and her hair up with the silver fox-head hairpin. Her dad brought it back from Hong Kong after World War Two. When Mums teaching a student and I have to make myself scarce, I sometimes go to Mums dressing table and get the fox out. Hes got jade eyes and on some days he smiles, on others he doesnt. I dont feel well knitted today, but the Valium should kick in soon. Valiums great. I took two pills. Ill have to miss a few next week, so Mum wont notice her supplys going down. My tweed jackets scratchy. Mum got it from Oxfam specially for today, and the bow-ties from Oxfam, too. Mum volunteers there on Mondays so she can get the best of the stuff people bring in on Saturdays. If Gaz Ingram or anyone in his gang sees me in this bow-tie, Ill find a poo in my locker, guaranteed. Mum says I have to learn how to Blend In more, but there arent any classes for Blending In, not even on the town library noticeboard. Theres a Dungeons & Dragons club advertised there, and I always want to go, but Mum says I cant because Dungeons & Dragons is playing with dark forces. Through one front window I see horse racing. Thats Grandstand on BBC1. The next three windows have net curtains, but then I see a TV with wrestling on it. Thats Giant Haystacks the hairy baddie fighting Big Daddy the bald goodie on ITV. Eight houses later I see Godzilla on BBC2. He knocks down a pylon just by blundering into it and a Japanese fireman with a sweaty face is shouting into a radio. Now Godzillas picked up a train, which makes no sense because amphibians dont have thumbs. Maybe Godzillas thumbs like a pandas so-called thumb, which is really an evolved claw. Maybe

Nathan! Mums got my wrist. What did I say about dawdling?

I check back. Chop chop!; Dont dawdle.

So what are you doing now?

Thinking about Godzillas thumbs.

Mum shuts her eyes. Lady Grayer has invited me us to a musical gathering. A soire. Therell be people who care about music there. People from the Arts Council, people who award jobs, grants. Mums eyes have tiny red veins like rivers photographed from very high up. Id rather you were at home playing with your Battle of the Boers landscape too, but Lady Grayer insisted you come along, so you have to act normal. Can you do that? Please? Think of the most normal boy in your class, and do what hed do.

Acting Normals like Blending In. Ill try. But its not the Battle of the Boers, its the Boer War. Your rings digging into my wrist.

Mum lets go of my wrist. Thats better.

I dont know what her face is saying.

Slade Alleys the narrowest alley Ive ever seen. It slices between two houses, then vanishes left after thirty paces or so. I can imagine a tramp living there in a cardboard box, but not a lord and lady.

No doubt therell be a proper entrance on the far side, says Mum. Slade House is only the Grayers town residence. Their proper homes in Cambridgeshire.

If I had 50p for every time Mums told me that, Id now have 3:50. Its cold and clammy in the alley like White Scar Cave in the Yorkshire Dales. Dad took me when I was ten. I find a dead cat lying on the ground at the first corner. Its gray like dust on the moon. I know its dead because its as still as a dropped bag, and because big flies are drinking from its eyes. How did it die? Theres no bullet wound or fang marks, though its heads at a slumped angle so maybe it was strangled by a cat-strangler. It goes straight into the Top 5 of the Most Beautiful Things Ive Ever Seen. Maybe theres a tribe in Papua New Guinea who think the droning of flies is music. Maybe Id fit in with them. Come along, Nathan. Mums tugging my sleeve.

I ask, Shouldnt it have a funeral? Like Gran did?

No. Cats arent human beings. Come along.

Shouldnt we tell its owner it wont be coming home?

How? Pick it up and go along Westwood Road knocking on all the doors saying, Excuse me, is this your cat?

Mum sometimes has good ideas. Itd take a bit of time, but

Forget it, Nathan were due at Lady Grayers right now.

But if we dont bury it, crowsll peck out its eyes.

We dont have a spade or a garden round here.

Lady Grayer should have a spade and a garden.

Mum closes her eyes again. Maybe shes got a headache. This conversation is over. She pulls me away and we go down the middle section of Slade Alley. Its about five houses long, Id guess, but hemmed in by brick walls so high you cant see anything. Just sky. Keep your eyes peeled for a small black iron door, says Mum, set into the right-hand wall. But we walk all the way to the next corner, and its ninety-six paces exactly, and thistles and dandelions grow out of cracks, but theres no door. After the right turn we go another twenty paces until were out on the street parallel to Westwood Road. A sign says CRANBURY AVENUE. Parked opposites a St. Johns ambulance. Someones written CLEAN ME in the dirt above the back wheel. The drivers got a broken nose and hes speaking into a radio. A mod drives past on a scooter like off Quadrophenia, riding without a helmet. Riding without a helmets against the law, I say.

Makes no sense, says Mum, staring at the envelope.

Unless youre a Sikh with a turban. Then the policell

A small black iron door: I mean how did we miss it?

I know. For me, Valiums like Asterixs magic potion, but it makes Mum dopey. She called me Frank yesterday Dads name and didnt notice. She gets two prescriptions for Valium from two doctors because ones not enough, but