Free The Possession of Mr Cave by Matt Haig Page A

can do so at a civilised
volume.
    5. You will not inform me of an imminent departure when
I am with customers in the shop. You will give me prior
warning, and details of where you are going, and then
I will consider if I approve.
    6. You will not leave the house for longer than one hour
at a time without a significant reason. Such as when
you are at school, the stables or the music college.
    7. You will not walk home from school. When term begins
you will be picked up by myself every day, without
complaint.
    8. You will help in the shop on Saturdays.
    9. You will not watch television of a corrupting nature, or
communicate with strangers or males of any kind via
your computer.
    10. You will not drink alcohol.
    11. You will not spend mine or your grandmother's pocket
money on magazines or other corruptive forms of literature.
    12. You will not travel in motor vehicles unless they are
driven by myself or a driver approved by me.
    13. You will not enter into a physical relationship with a
member of the opposite gender until I am satisfied
that you have reached the requisite level of emotional
maturity.

A few days later Mrs Weeks came into the shop to buy the
Arabian dancer. In all honesty I was sad to see it go, as it was
by far the oldest item we had on sale.
    'Is this an authentic Franz Bergman?' she asked me.
    'Yes,' I told her, through her nods. 'The Dancing Arab Girl.
Late 1880s. An amazing period for the decorative arts in Austria.
The detail is quite exceptional.'
    Her pretty mouth twitched in a manner that reminded me
of an inquisitive mouse. She raised the small bronze beauty
to eye level.
    'I have a Barrias from around the same period,' she said.
'Winged Victory. Not quite as vulgar as many of his others.
This might complement it rather well, I feel.'
    I can see her standing there, with her neat blonde bob and
wicker basket, as she contemplated the purchase.
    I remember feeling a kind of savagery inside me, knowing
that I was about to trouble this proud golden fieldmouse
with some truths about her son. Yet Mrs Weeks had to be
told. I owed it to her, you see, as a fellow parent. As a trusted
ally against the unseen forces that were corrupting our children.
Oh, it was horrible though, the actual act of telling.
To watch her face as she stood there at the counter, struggling
as it tried to keep its pretty dignity in place. I felt such
a vandal.
    'I'm sorry, Mrs Weeks. I just thought I had to tell
you.'
    'George? . . . George? . . .' Her eyes, normally so precise,
slipped away to stare at some vague point behind me. 'Mr
Cave, I must apologise for my son's behaviour. I admit he
has been acting strangely recently. The separation between
his father and myself has not been particularly pleasant.
George has suffered a great deal. I will talk to him, be sure
of that.' This was delivered as if in a kind of trance, as though
I were a hypnotist prying for details of her childhood.
'Goodbye, Mr Cave.'
    She placed the brown paper parcel delicately in her basket
and walked – or, as it seemed, floated – out of the shop. I
saw her face through the glass as she stood on the pavement.
She sniffed the air and seemed to give a tiny shake of the
head, a gesture that made me think of Higgins flicking away
water.
    And then she was gone.

You obeyed my rules, but you still found ways to punish me.
Silence, that was your first weapon during those early days.
You would sit opposite me at the dining table, pushing your
carrots around, and speak only when you saw fit.
    I looked at you, my child, and wanted you to understand
what I was trying to do. All I wanted, all I ever wanted, was
to protect you from changing, from losing all that made you
special. To protect you, in short, from turning into me.
    'So then, how are your cello lessons coming along?'
Blank stare.
    'Turpin seemed a little stubborn today, when I picked you
up. Was he difficult to ride?'
    Indifferent sigh.
    'Are you going to finish the rest of that?'
    Poisoned glance.
    And if you