2004

SHORT STORY COMPETITION

Second Prize

One Day In The Life Of An Ant

By Sally Zigmond

Cass is bored. She is lying on her stomach watching an ant scuttle across one of the concrete path slabs. She finds a pea-sized 'piece of gravel, a shrivelled leaf and a shred of paper. She puts them down in a line to create an obstacle course, scoops up the ant with her finger and plonks it down again.
"On your marks. Get set. Go!"
The ant won't play her game. It turns and scuttles back to the lawn. Stupid thing. She flicks it up and squidges it between her finger and thumb, then looks. All that's left is small brown stain. Is that all? Is that what life is? A small brown stain on the finger of God?
The brief philosophical moment dissolves. She stands up, shoves her hand in the pocket of her shorts, kicks a pebble. It cracks against the dining-room window and pings harmlessly away. She flops down on a sun-lounger. She pulls a grass-stalk from the lawn and holds it to her lips and takes the light offered by an invisible Ryan. Ryan, who is coming round to see her later that day. Her mother has gone shopping. Cass hopes she's remembered to buy pistachio ice-cream, and not Neapolitan. Although Ryan said he adored anything Neapolitan. Cass knew he was only being polite.
Dad is at work. He's older than Mum, who is his second wife. Dad's first wife is called Sorrel. Ryan is Sorrel's son by the man she was married to before Dad. It's all a bit complicated but the beauty of the arrangement is that she and Ryan are like a brother and a sister but aren't related at all. Her mother emerges from the back of the garage. "There you are, Caroline. Help me unload the boot."
Cass heaves herself to her feet and carries two bags from the car boot, dumps them on the kitchen floor then climbs up on a stool, making patterns with her finger in a pool of spilt milk. "When's Ryan getting here?"
Mother wipes her face with the back of her arm. "Put the ice-cream in the freezer, there's a love. He didn't say. But when he comes, don't hang around him like a love-sick puppy. Not that shelf The top one." Mum turns her back and kneels down to load tins and packets into the cupboard by the sink. Baked beans, tomato soup, rice, macaroni. Boring"What are we eating tonight?"
"Salad. It's too hot for a roast."
Mum's salads are slabs of cold meat and soggy leaves. It's embarrassing. She thumps up the stairs to her bedroom and hugs her old stuffed rabbit. The sooner Ryan takes her away from here the better. "When you're old enough," he once said, "I'll take you away from all this."
"Don't tease her, Ryan," Dad said and spoiled everything because Ryan changed the subject and never returned to it again. But no-one can stay cross with Ryan for long. Dad smiled after a while and said, "If I didn't know you better, I'd hide Cass away."
Over a sandwich lunch Cass says to her mother, "Ryan says peanut butter is ninety nine percent fat and bananas cause constipation."
"Ryan says a lot of things."
"What does that mean?" Her mother has her back to her, pulling on a pair of pink rubber gloves. She can't hear the question through the Niagara of the hot tap.
"Can't you find something to do?"
"No."
"You could give me a hand."
"No thanks." Cass decides she is never going to be like her mother and spend all day cooking and cleaning and deciding whether the curtains need dry-cleaning or the mattresses turning. She is going to be Ryan's wife and travel around the world. She'll wear big dark glasses and high heels without tripping up.
When the plates are draining, Cass follows her mother into the dining-room and watches her lay the dining room table. She has set five places. "Who's the extra one for? It's not for Sorrel, is it?"
"Don't be silly. He's bringing a friend. Don't you remember? He said so last time he was here."
"Did he?" She grabs an apple from the bowl and bites into it. All she remembers is the 'surprise' he promised her which made her fizz inside like when she's gulped down a whole can of Coke.
Just before he left he said, "I'll have a surprise for you next time."
"What?"
"Secret."
"Give me a clue. How big is it?"
Big"
"Can you eat it?"
"Yum, yum," he laughed. For some reason Dad looked cross. She didn't know why. She felt like when she forget she was at the deep end of the pool and tried to stand up. Ryan caught Dad's expression and put his hand in front of his mouth. "Whoops. Sorry. Must dash." And with a brief kiss on her cheek he was gone.
Later when Mum and Dad were doing the dishes in the kitchen, Cass overheard heard Dad say, "I wish you wouldn't encourage him. She's too young...."
Then Mum said something she couldn't hear and Dad slammed out.
Her mother has switched on the radio. The Archers. So boring. She escapes to the garden. It's hotter than ever and time is still refusing to budge. She sits down on the old swing in the shade of the lime tree and spins idly. Above her, the sun hangs in the canopy of leaves. It doesn't move.
She's soon bored with the swing. She goes back to the sun-lounger, tearing rags of white apple from the core before slinging it away, half-eaten, into the roses.
She and Ryan are on honeymoon. The wind stirring in the lime-tree becomes tropical waves lapping bleached sand. Mum clattering about in the kitchen and the buzz of Radio Four melt into a coconut thatched bar from where people drinking cocktails with those little paper umbrellas stuck in them ...
A sudden sound startles her. It can't be more than five minutes later and yet the sun-lounger is submerged in a pool of green shadow. The air is cool and a pigeon calls from the lime-tree. A darker shadow falls across her. She leaps up, only to find that it's Dad. "Is Ryan here yet?"
"Not yet. Listen. There's something I want to say." As he squats down beside her she sees a spot of a dried-on dribble of apple-juice on her T-shirt. "I can't let him see me like this! I must change," she walls.
"Hang on. About Ryan," he begins but doesn't get any further. "Can't let him see me like what?" and there stands Ryan, burnished in the low sunshine.
"Like this," she replies lamely, stretching her T-shirt like a hammock.
"You look gorgeous, as usual," he says and everything's fine again. But Dad is already dragging him away. "Come and look at my French beans. I've a bumper crop this year." And poor Ryan, polite Ryan allows himself to be led away. On her way to get changed she can hear her mother talking to someone. She pokes her head round the kitchen door. Her mother is leaning back against the sink and holding out an empty glass to a skinny man with a blonde pony-tail tied with string. He is holding a large 'jug filled to the brim with something pink, bobbing with fruit and chunks of ice. Her mother takes a large swig. "Bloody Hell!" she splutters and does that little girl giggle again.
"It's not called Scorpion's Kiss for nothing." Mum giggles again. Hideously embarrassing.
"What's in it?" her mother squeaks.
"Ask Rye. It's his recipe."
He then spots Cass. "Hi. You must be Cassie. Heard heaps about you. You're Rye's favourite little girl." Rye? Little girl? Her mum snorts as she takes another gulp of her drink. Traitor. "This is Sam," she says and giggles. "Ryan's friend." What is the matter with her?
"Something smells good," says Ryan walking in with Dad.
Mum giggles again. 'It's just a little something I rustled up."
Dad raises an eyebrow. "How much of that fuel oil have you drunk?"
But she's too busy ushering them all in the dining room to answer, flapping like a hen with her brood. "Old women shouldn't giggle," says Cass.
"Don't be rude," snaps Dad. "You're not too old to be sent to bed."
A tear stabs the back of her eyes. How could he be so horrid in front of Ryan? But Ryan doesn't seem to have noticed she's upset. He's too busy talking to Sam.
"Do you remember that dive in Bangkok?
"And that divine little Chinese waiter," Sam says. Mum snorts like a coffee percolator.
"Don't set her off again," says Dad leaning for-ward and topping up Ryan's glass.
"Can I try some, Dad?"
"When you're old enough."
"We're doing Bangkok in Geography," lies Cass. "What's it really like?"
"I don't think your teacher would be too impressed by my memories." "Fetch me a clean knife, Cass," says Dad, who is holding a knife as sharp as his words.
"Why can't Mum get it?"
"Do as you're told."
When she comes back the atmosphere has changed. Ryan and Sam have stopped Joshing and are concentrating studiously on their food. Mum looks dreamy and vacant. Dad be 'gins to talk to Ryan about boring, grown-up things like airport security and the future of air travel. Colour slips from the garden beyond the window, from sharp green, to moss, to grey.
They are finishing the ice-cream when Cass remembers Ryan's surprise. She knows it's rude to ask, but Ryan usually unloads his flight-bag the moment he comes in so perhaps he's forgotten. She reminds him.
'I don't think it's appropriate, Ryan. Cass..."
"Cass what?" She hates it when her parents are coy. Any minute now they'll start mouthing words to each other over her head.
Ryan stands up. "Leave it, Ryan," warns Dad and nods towards Cass.
Ryan remains standing. "I want Cass to hear. It's important to me that she's here. "
"I should think so, too," says Cass. She pulls a face at her Dad who shakes his head but says nothing. Mum is hiccupping quietly. Sam looks like a silly dog that's just been patted. Why did Ryan have to drag him along?
Ryan clears his throat. "I think you can all guess what I'm going to say." Mum nods so much it looks like she's trying to lose her head. Dad is subjecting his place mat to intense scrutiny.
Ryan picks up his glass. "You all know how hard it's been for me to find that one special person." And at once, it all makes sense. Cass understands. She beams at him and he beams back. "I propose a toast." Swaying ever so slightly like a slender palm on her honeymoon beach, he lifts his glass higher. Cass wonders whether she should stand up too. Does she fill her glass or does she sit graciously to await the moment? Her moment.
"To Sam."
"To Sam," return Mum and Dad. Sam beams.
It's awful. Gross. Cass is paralysed, forced to watch in impotent horror as her mother plants a red-wine kiss on Sam's tanned cheek. "Welcome to the family," she hics, then laughs. She circles his neck with her bare arms and they rock together. She grips more tightly. They wiggle some more, then slip to the floor as if their bones have melted together.
"For goodness' sake, Isabel," says Dad.
"My reputation is quite safe. Hic!" and off she goes again into peals of laughter which ends in a choking fit, at which point Sam helps her to her feet and they both return to their seats.
"I'll make some coffee," says Dad. "Strong and black, I think."
"Thanks, but we really must be going," says Sam. "I have enjoyed meeting you all, especially young Cassie, here. Sorry you can't be a bridesmaid - well not until the law catches up with reality." He comes over to her. Does he actually think she wants to kiss him? Him?
"Push off," she growls.
"Cass?" warns her mother.
"I told you something like this might happen," says Dad.
Ryan comes over. "Cass? Aren't you pleased for me?"
She turns her back on him. All of them. She stares resolutely at the black square of window that is now a mirror. Everything is in sudden sharp focus. They're all laughing at her. They all knew but no-one bothered to tell her. She hates them all, especially Ryan. "Do you know," she begins, her voice sounding thick and strange to her, "You are all as despicable as each other." She waits. No-one chides her or sends her to her room. "If I was to squidge you all, like that," and she copies the way she killed the ant, "you'd all be nothing but a brown stain on the finger of God."
And there is something heady and exhilarating in the way they stare at her, slack-mouthed, as if she's suddenly become someone else. Nobody laughs. Nobody says a word. Something tingles through her veins, lifting her feet off the ground. One day she will recognise it for what it is. But for now, the feeling is enough.