Open Writing

That evening they sat in deck chairs on the lawn. They smoked their pipes and cigars and sipped their drinks. When one of them told a joke the others laughed.

The sky had red splashes on a gold background.

Young Peter came running across the lawn. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing ‘there’s an alien, by the trees.’

‘Don’t be silly, boy,’ said his father, ‘there aren’t any aliens around here.’

‘No, wait,’ said one of the guests, Greedle, a headmaster, ‘what exactly did you see, Peter?’

‘It was an alien,’ replied Peter, ‘in a silver suit.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t a silver birch?’ asked Smailes, a solicitor, smirking.

‘Surely the boy knows an alien when he sees one,’ snapped Jimson, the family doctor, ‘he’s very bright.’

Then Peter’s dark-haired mother came out. She was wearing a white dress with a gold-coloured sash. All eyes were on her.

‘Time for bed now, darling,’ she said to the boy.

‘But what about the alien?’ he cried.

‘What about it?’ asked his father.

‘Can’t you send it away?’ pleaded Peter.

‘All right, we will,’ said his father, ‘but you must go to bed first.’

The boy went indoors with his mother, who put her arm round him. Her soothing voice, warmth and perfume made him feel dreamy.

‘More drinks, chaps?’ asked Peter’s father.

A little later Peter looked out of his bedroom window. Nobody had moved. They were still there drinking and talking. The smoke from their pipes and cigars drifted up in the fading light.

Peter went slowly down the stairs. His mother was talking on the telephone in a strange voice. He listened intently but couldn’t make out what she was saying - it sounded like another language.