The Wasp Factory Page 0,82

little squares of paper inside. I had no spare capacity for trying to work out what any of that other stuff was, though; my mind was racing with an awful idea it had just formed. I sat there, staring, mouth open, and I thought. I didn’t look up at the jar.

I thought of that delicate face, those lightly haired arms. I tried to think of one time I had seen my father naked to the waist, but for the life of me I couldn’t. The secret. It couldn’t be. I shook my head, but I couldn’t let go of the idea. Angus. Agnes. I only had his word for anything that had happened. I had no idea at all how much Mrs Clamp could be trusted, no idea what sort of hold either of them might have over the other. But it couldn’t be! It was just so monstrous, so appalling! I stood up quickly, letting the chair fall back and whack on the wood of the uncovered boards. I grabbed the box of tampons and the hormones, took the keys, unlocked the door and charged out, upstairs, stuffing the keys into one pocket and drawing my knife from its sheath. ‘Frank’ll get you,’ I hissed to myself.

I stormed into my father’s room and switched on the light. He was lying on the bed with his clothes on. One shoe was off; it lay on the floor under his foot, which dangled over the side of the bed. He was on his back, snoring. He stirred and flung one arm over his face, turning away from the light. I went over to him, took the arm away and slapped his face twice, hard. His head shook, and he cried out. One eye, then the other, opened. I put the knife up to his eyes, watching them focus on it with drunken imprecision. The smell of drink off him was foul.

‘Frang?’ he said weakly. I jabbed the knife at him, just stopping short of the bridge of his nose.

‘You bastard,’ I spat at him. ‘What the hell are these?’ I brandished the tampons and the hormones box in front of him with my other hand. He groaned and closed his eyes. ‘Tell me!’ I screamed, and slapped him again, using the back of the hand holding the knife. He tried to roll away from me, across the bed under the open window, but I pulled him back from the hot, still night.

‘No, Frang, no,’ he said, shaking his head and trying to push my hands away. I let the boxes go and got hold of him by one arm, tightly. I drew him near to me, pointed the knife at his throat.

‘You’re going to tell me, or by God . . .’ I let the words hang. I let go of his arm and moved my hand down to his trousers. I slipped his belt out of the little guides round the waist. He tried to stop me in a fumbling way, but I slapped his hands back and prodded him in the throat with the knife. I undid the belt and pulled the zip down, watching him all the time, trying not to imagine what I might find, what I might not find. I undid the button at the top of the zip. I pulled his trousers open, pulled his shirt up and out. He looked at me, lying on the bed with his eyes red and gleaming, and he shook his head.

‘Wha’ you goin’ t’do, Frangie? Am sorry, am really really sorry. Was an experimen, sall. Juss an experimen . . . Don’ do anything’ t’me, please, Frangie . . . Please . . .’

‘You bitch, you bitch!’ I said, feeling my eyes start to blur and my voice shake. I pulled his/her underpants down with a vicious tug.

Something screamed outside, in the night beyond the window. I stood staring at my father’s dark-haired, large, rather greasy-looking cock and balls, and something animal, out there on the landscape of the island, screamed. My father’s legs were quivering. Then came a light, orange and wavering, where no light should be, out there, over the dunes, and more screams, bleatings and baas and screams; everywhere screams.

‘Jesus Christ, what’s that?’ my father breathed, turning a shaking head towards the window. I stood back, then went past the bottom of the bed, looking out of the window. The awful noises and the light on the far side of the dunes seemed to be