In point of fact it went rather differently from anything we had in mind.

THREE

'Shut up!' I snapped suddenly. 'Shut up, both of you.' Matthew regarded me with unbelieving astonishment. Polly's eyes went wide, too. Then both of them turned to look at their mother. Mary kept her expression carefully non-committal. Her lips tightened slightly, and she shook ^i- head at them without speaking. Matthew silently finished the pudding still on his plate, and then got up and left the room, carrying himself stiffly, with the hurt of injustice. Polly choked on her final mouthful, and burst into tears. I was not feeling sympathetic.

'What have you to cry about?' I asked her. 'You started it again, as usual.'

'Come here, darling,' said Mary. She produced a handkerchief, dabbed at the wet cheeks, and then kissed her.

'There, that's better,' she said. 'Darling, Daddy didn't mean to be unkind I'm sure, but he has told you lots of times not to quarrel with Matthew — particularly at meals — you know he has, don't you?' Polly replied only with a sniff. She looked down at her fingers twisting a button on her dress. Mary went on: 'You really must try not to quarrel so much. Matthew doesn't want to quarrel with you, he hates it. It makes things very uncomfortable for us — and, I believe you hate it, too, really. So do try, it's so much nicer for everyone if you don't.'

Polly looked up from the button.

'But I do try, Mummy—only I can't help it. 'Her tears began to rise again. Mary gave her a hug.

'Well, you'll just have to try a little harder, darling, won't you?' she said.

Polly stood passively for a moment, then she broke away across the room, and fumbled with the door-knob.

I got up, and closed the door behind her.

'I'm sorry about that,' I said as I came back. 'In fact I'm ashamed of myself—but really ...! I don't believe we've had a meal in the last two weeks without this infernal quarrelling. And it's Polly who provokes it every time. She keeps on nagging and picking at him until he has to retaliate. I don't know what's come over her: they've always got on so well together ...'

'Certainly they have,' Mary agreed '—Until quite recently,' she added.

'Another phase, I suppose,' I said. "Children seem to be just one phase after another.'

'I suppose you could call this a phase — I hope it is,' Mary said thoughtfully. 'But it's not one confined to children.'

Her tone caused me to look at her inquiringly. She asked: 'My dear, don't you see what Polly's trouble is?'

I went on looking at, her blankly. She explained.

'It is just plain, ordinary jealousy — only jealousy, of course is never ordinary to the sufferer.'

'Jealousy...?' I repeated.

'Yes, jealousy.'

'But — of whom, of what? — I don't get it.' 'Surely that should be obvious enough. Of this Chocky, of course.'

I stared at her.

'But that's absurd. Chocky is only—well, I don't know what he, she, or it is, but it's not even real — doesn't even exist, I mean.'

'Whatever does that matter? Chocky's real enough to Matthew—and, consequently, to Polly. Polly and Matthew have always got on very well, as you said. She admires him tremendously. She's always been his confidante, and his aide, and it's meant a lot to her. But now he has a new confidante. This Chocky has displaced her. She's on the outside now. I'm not in the least surprised she's jealous.' I felt bewildered.

'Now you're beginning to talk as if Chocky were real.' Mary reached for a cigarette, and lit it. 'Reality is relative. Devils, evil spirits, witches and so on became real enough to the people who believed in them. Just as God is to people who believe in Him. When people live their lives by their beliefs objective reality is almost irrelevant.

'That's why I wonder if we are doing the right thing. By playing up to Matthew we are strengthening his belief, we are helping to establish the existence of this Chocky more firmly — until now we have Polly believing in her, too — to the point of a wretched jealousy... It's somehow getting beyond a game of make-believe—and I don't like it. I think we ought to get advice on it before it goes further.'

1 could see that this time she meant it seriously. 'All right,' I agreed. 'Perhaps it would be —' I was beginning when I was cut off by the sound of the door bell.

I went to answer it, and opened the door to find myself facing a man I knew I should have recognized. I was just beginning to remember him — that is, I had got as far as connecting him with the Parents' Association meeting — when he introduced himself.

"Good evening, Mrs. Gore. I don't expect you'll remember me. Trimble's my name. I take your Matthew for maths.' *

I led him into the sitting-room. Mary joined us, and greeted him, by name.

'Good evening, Mr. Trimble. Matthew's just upstairs, doing his homework, I think. Shall I call him?'

Trimble shook his head.

'Oh, no, Mrs. Gore. In fact, I'd rather you didn't.* It's really yourselves I wanted to see — about Matthew, of course.'

We sat him down. I produced a bottle of whisky. Trimble accepted his drink gratefully.

'Well, now, what's the trouble?' I asked.

Trimble shook his head. He said reassuringly:

'Oh, no trouble. Nothing of that kind.' He paused, and went on: 'I do hope you don't mind my calling on you like this. It's unofficial. To be honest, it's chiefly curiosity on my part —well, a bit more than that really. I'm puzzled.' He paused once more, and looked from me to Mary and back again. 'Is it you who is the mathematician of the family?' he asked.