THOSE PEOPLE

Amy turned the air conditioning up in her brand new SUV, she checked the children were belted in and drove home through the summer heat.  On the motorway the traffic was crawling and warning signs showed that there were people on the carriage way.
“What’s happening Mummy?” demanded Aurora.
“Just a traffic jam,” Amy could see ahead.  People were walking along the hard shoulder with the traffic crawling past them.  They were painfully thin and unwashed, their clothes ragged, they carried what looked like the last of their possessions on their shoulders.
“Aurora, Elliot, don’t look out of the window darlings,” Amy ordered, “just play on your Ipads, we’ll soon be home.”
Aurora obeyed, but Elliot took a tentative peek.  His eyes met with those of a child his age, she looked frightened and hungry, her hair was matted, her dress torn.
“Mummy, who are those people?” he demanded in a tone he’d heard Daddy use.
“They’re nothing to do with us,” she replied, “we’re nearly passed them.”

At home, Amy left the children playing in the conservatory and turned on the news.

“Those people need our help.  They’re not here because they want to be, they’ve been forced to leave their homes and they’ve paid all of their money to come where it’s safe.”
Amy tutted and turned the channel over.  The front door slammed, James was home.  “Did you see those people?” Amy asked.
“Yeah, it’s getting bad isn’t it?” he replied putting down his laptop bag, “they said it wouldn’t be long before they came here.  Did the children see them?”
“I told them not to look, but Elliot didn’t do what he was told.”
James sighed; “We’ll put curtains on the back windows of the SUV, just for now, while the crisis is going on.”

 

Amy was glad about the curtains on the SUV the next day, the people were no longer on the motorway, but camped in the field opposite her house.  They could be seen from the garden.  After she took the children to school she called the Police.

“We’re doing what we can,” came the response, “give us time to process them.”
She went out into the garden and saw her neighbour coming up the path.
“Dreadful isn’t it?” Julie said, “our house prices are going to drop.  I wish the Police would do something about those people.”
The two women watched as two of the children in the field shared a tiny piece of bread between them, splitting it exactly in two.
“Is that gluten free?” wondered Amy.
“Irresponsible to give children bread and nothing else,” tutted Julie.
They felt unable to stay in the garden and despite the lovely weather went inside to drink tea.  When the children came back, Amy pulled all the curtains closed and told them they could not play outside.
“But Mum, the summer holidays have just started!” complained Elliot.
“It won’t be forever,” said Amy, “go and play in the conservatory.”  She had drawn all the electric blinds in the conservatory so the children couldn’t see out and neither could she or James.
James arrived home, his face was dark with anger; “One of those people jumped in front of my Audi and begged for food!” he exclaimed.
“That’s horrifying!  What did you do?” Amy cried.
“What could I do?  I swerved round her, nearly hit her, she could have been killed.”
“Those people  are crazy,” Amy said, “and they’re saying on the news that we should welcome them, it’s ludicrous!  Julie says house prices are going to be affected …”
“She’s right,” James said grimly, “I guess we’ll be stuck indoors all summer.”
“Mummy!” cried Elliot.
James and Amy ran into the conservatory.
“Someone tapped on the window!” cried Aurora, tears in her eyes.
James raised the electric blind a little; “They’re in the garden,” he said.
 Elliot gasped.  Outside they heard a chant growing in volume; “Help us, please help us!”
Amy went into the house and returned with three sets of headphones, she connected two pairs to the children’s Ipads and put them over their heads, she kept the third set for herself. “They can’t get in,” she said, “we’re safe in here.  Children, listen to music, Daddy’s going to call the Police again.”

MISS HOPKINS GARDEN

Angela despaired of her mother, she was always over-reacting.  When they were driving to Miss Hopkins’ house she shrieked at Dad for breaking the speed limit.  He only went one mile an hour over, but she shouted at him about losing his licence and worse what if he ran someone over and even worse what if that someone was a child?  They arrived at an old Victorian house to help a crazy old lady with her gardening.  Mother led the way round the side, through a yard and a gate into an untidy garden which they were going to weed.

 

Despite the fact they’d only be gardening, Mother had insisted that Angela wear a dress and she herself wore some fussy tweed trousers and blazer.  “Miss Hopkins likes people to look smart,” she’d explained.  Dad wasn’t having any of it; he was gardening and so wore jeans and an old shirt.

While Mother and Dad got their gardening tools ready, Angela looked towards the house, it was huge on three storeys with big windows.  The old lady was watching them from upstairs, her white hair straight and short, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose.  She was in a black dress buttoned to the neck.  She did not wave and she did not smile.  Angela looked away uneasily; “Can I go and play?”

Mother looked up from the border she was getting started on; “Won’t you help?”
“I’m wearing a dress!”
“Go and play then, but don’t go into the greenhouse.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Mother lowered her voice, “Miss Hopkins is a bit doolally in her old age.  She saw mice in there and started to leave cheese for them.  Unfortunately this attracted rats and they got really big from eating the cheese, giant even.  You don’t want to be eaten by a giant rat, do you?”
Angela laughed scornfully and glanced at her Dad who rolled his eyes. 

 

Angela skipped up the shrub bounded path, her parents’ voices becoming fainter with distance.  The greenhouse was at the very end of the garden, old, shabby and neglected full of pots with dead plants in them.  There was no way there were giant rats though, Mother was exaggerating like she always did.  However, something slowed Angela’s approach and made her creep to the door; she told herself it was because she was doing something she shouldn’t.  She peered through the glass door.  The cutest brown mouse ever was nibbling cheese from a saucer.  Angela wanted to hold the mouse like she held her hamster.  She pushed open the door and crept into the still heat that smelt of decay.  The mouse didn’t run, Angela moved closer to it and heard the door bang shut in the wind behind her.  She reached out her hand and the mouse suddenly quailed and uttering a high pitched squeak it scurried away.  Angela straightened, a prickling sense of dread overcoming her.  Very slowly she turned, behind her was a rat as tall as her father, standing on its hind legs, teeth bared.  She screamed for Mother, but the sound was muffled by the heat and the glass.

 

Mother and Dad came up the garden to look for her; “I told her not to go into that greenhouse,” Mother said, “I bet she went straight to it.”

They peered through the glass door.  All that remained were Angela’s red shoes.
Mother sighed; “I don’t know how we’re going to explain this to the Police.  They’re going to think it was us, aren’t they?  They’re going to arrest us and the Court will find us guilty and we’ll end our days in prison.  I told her, didn’t I?  No-one ever listens to me.”