Mr
and Mrs Privet, of number twenty-three Antediluvian Gardens, were anything
but normal. They had been normal only a few weeks earlier, but they were
now as crazy as anyone fortunate enough to have been incarcerated in the
local loony bin.
On
the outside, Mr Privet, a tall, bald and incredibly thin man, appeared
quite normal, but just beneath the surface, barely hidden, he was a seething
mass of nervous ticks, idiosyncratic behaviour, peptic ulcers and, above
all, just plain looniness.
As
well as suffering from the same mad ways as her loopy husband, the extraordinarily
fat Mrs Privet was also suffering from the dreadful infliction of hearing
voices in her head. She might hear them at any time of the day or night,
and would oftentimes jump up in bed screaming in a most alarming way,
giving her husband such a fright he’d begin shaking uncontrollably.
It was a most dreadful state of affairs altogether. Despite suffering
from these awful conditions, Mr and Mrs Privet tried to continue living
as normal a life as was possible, but hardly a day went by without one
of them experiencing a mad interlude that would make most normal people
simply roll over and die.
Before
I continue on with my story I must also tell you about their son Box,
Box Privet. This child (the veritable apple of their eyes) was, like his
father, of a tall and incredibly thin physique. At times this trait would
cause him to be the butt of jokes and jibes by his classmates and acquaintances.
However, he paid little or no attention to these, because his mind was
always set firmly on the love, the passion of his life – electronics.
Upstairs, in his small bedroom, Box would work for hours on end with his
soldering iron, long nose pliers and tweezers creating, crafting bringing
his new ideas to life. It was a lonely existence, but he loved it.
I
have already told you how Mr and Mrs Privet had been quite normal only
a few weeks earlier. In all truthfulness the Privet’s had been one
of the happiest families in their entire estate of mock Elizabethan detached
houses. But now they were mad, living in fear for their lives, the happy
and contented existence they had so enjoyed in tatters, a shambles, and
a shadow of what it had once been.
You
see, the Privet’s had been hiding a secret, a big secret. And while
it had been contained and suppressed, as they felt is should still be,
they had been enjoying that happy and contented life, but from the moment,
the very instant this secret, this terrible secret had escaped from its
place of incarceration, a private boarding school going by the name of
Bedlam, it had come to an abrupt end.
This
secret, this big dark secret was in reality a young girl, an orphan, the
Privet’s only niece, going by the of Geri Novél. She had
actually been baptised Geraldine, but from an early age had insisted that
everyone call her Geri.
Let
me tell you about Geraldine – Geri... She was the boldest, cruellest,
nastiest child you could ever be unfortunate enough to meet. To look as
her, with her flowing locks of golden hair and a face that appeared so
innocent, so angelic, one might easily be fooled into believing that butter
could last forever in her mouth without melting. But she wasn’t
an angel, no, the unfortunate truth, the terrible truth was she was an
out and out scoundrel, a bully who had no respect for anyone but herself.
Bullies can and so very often do make the lives of those living around
them as miserable as hell – Geri proved to be no exception to this
rule.
While
Geraldine – Geri – had been safely tucked away in her school
everything had been just fine, and the Privet’s had been able to
forgot about their troublesome niece, but from the moment she broke out,
escaped from that high security ‘special’ boarding school,
and found her way to the home of her only living relations, the Privets,
their lives changed forever.
“Excuse
me, please,” said Geri ever so mannerly, when Mrs Privet opened
the front door, “I am your only niece – will you please put
me up for a few days?”
“Its
young Geraldine Novél , isn’t it?” said Mrs Privet,
patting her on the head. “Are you on your end of term break?”
Ignoring
the question and resisting the urge to kick the condescending woman in
the shins, Geri smiled, and said, “I prefer to be called Geri, if
it all right with you?”
“Yes,
yes, that’s fine,” said Mrs Privet as she ushered Geri through
the doorway, and looked up and down the road to see if anyone had been
following. The road, however, was deserted.
“Please
go into the front room,” said Mrs Privet. The cat made a mad dash
out from the house just as the door closed.
Geri
entered the room. It reminded her of Bedlam – far too much stained
glass and wood panelling for her liking. “Sit down, sit down, Geri,
and make yourself comfortable,” said Mrs Privet. “I will go
fetch you some lemonade, you must be so thirsty after all your travelling.
Then I will go tell your uncle the good news.”
Leaving
Geri alone in the room, Mrs Privet returned to the hallway where she opened
the small door under the stairs that led down to the cellar. Calling her
husband, she said, “Dear…. we have a visitor…”
“Who
is it?” a voice called up from below.
“It’s
your niece.”
BANG.
There was a sound like a baldhead striking a beam in the low ceiling,
and then there was silence.
“Did
you hear me, darling?”
Mumbles
from below.
“Darling?”
Mr
Privet began speaking, and in a hushed voice, he said, “I'm busy...
Are you sure it’s our niece – THAT niece?”
“Yes,
dear, it’s young Geraldine – I mean Geri, Geri Novél.”
“Geraldine
or Gerry – you should know what sex they are.”
“He,
she’s a girl, she just likes the name Geri – with an ‘i’,
shortened, you know.”
“I
don’t know if I know anything anymore,” Mr Privet grumbled
as he began making his way up the narrow staircase, “having to deal
with your ‘unusual’ relations. Puffing and panting, Mr Privet
emerged from the cellar. “Where is she, then?” he barked,
looking up and down the hallway.
“I
put her in the front room.”
“Our
best china’s in there!” he hollered, storming down the hallway
and bursting into the room like an elephant was chasing after him. Inside,
he found Geri carefully inspecting a piece of their hand-painted fine
bone china.
“That’s
an heirloom – but it’s not worth anything,” he muttered,
eying Geri’s canvas shoulder bag with some suspicion, while also
trying, but unsuccessfully, to close the battered door.
“Not
worth anything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,
not a penny…”
“Can
I have it, then, as a keepsake?”
Almost
choking on his words, Mr Privet fumbled to find others that might save
his prized china.
“Mr
Privet?”
“I,
we, we can’t give it away… we promised your Granny, on her
death bed, that we would always treasure it…”
Studying
his face, particularly the sweat beading upon it, Geri searched for signs
of deceit. “Okay,” she said, “it was just a thought.”
Then scanning the room, she added, “There must be loads of things
amongst all this old rubbish that you don’t want.”
“No,
no, everything’s spoken for,” Mr Privet squeaked in reply.
Then changing the subject from their prized personal possessions, he asked
Geri the reason for her visit.
“Oh,
I have already told your wife,” she said, “I will be staying
with you for a few days…”
This
time Mr Privet almost choked on Geri’s words.
Just
then Mrs Privet, carrying a tray with a tall glass of lemonade upon it,
entered the room, “Everything all right?” she asked, smiling
innocently.
