Free Boys and Girls Come Out to Play by Nigel Dennis

responded with a faint bleat; her smooth black eyebrows started to meet in a frown; then they drifted apart again, and with a little sigh Lily continued to sleep.
    For some seconds Divver remained still, his head bent, his eyes half-closed in discomfort. Then, with intense caution, and side-glances at his sleeping wife, he began to manœuvre his right arm, working it free of the covers inch by inch, wincing at the rustling, until the whole limb was exposed in its sleeve of maroon silk. The free hand advanced nervously on a package of cigarettes; Divver’s breathing became stertorous; cigarettes and matches came together with the noise of blown leaves; a match was struck after three or four vain strikes, each of which made the bed hop; the flame flared up with a hiss, and Lily bleated again and again returned to sleep.
    Silent as an Indian scout, Art appeared in the open doorway. He looked at his father with sharp interest and made a hopeful grimace. Divver responded with a fearful frown and expansion of the nostrils, jerking his head forcefully in the direction of Art’s mother. Art at once replied with a whole series of contortions, which any trained parent could interpretas suggesting that he might sit on Divver’s side of the bed without saying a single word or moving the least little muscle; to which Divver replied with his own series of facial twitches; which set the whole bed trembling. Art disappeared, giving the door jamb a loud slap as he passed.
    Phlegm made its way into Divver’s throat; after ignoring it for a moment he made two or three throaty ejaculations which emerged in a rattle. With great caution he scratched his right shin, which was suddenly ticklish. Again Art appeared in the doorway, this time holding up a box of some mechanical outfit, which jingled. Divver shook his head fiercely. Art disappeared again. In a few minutes, Home On The Range drifted back into the bedroom, sung this time with more expression. Better to get it out of the way for good and all, Divver decided, and cleared his throat raucously. Lily opened her eyes. “Go back to sleep, honey,” said Divver in a low voice, patting her shoulder: but Lily had already done so.
    Divver touched his ear again. Placing his index finger on the top of the ear and his thumb under the lobe he cautiously pinched the ends together until the ear resembled a sweet-pea. A loud drumming noise now rang in the cavity, accompanied by a high singing, and a nervous throbbing pain that appeared to be directed into the very heart of the brain. Divver hissed again, and nervously looked down at Lily: her morning face was so soft and full that he could scarcely believe that at the very instant of waking it would take on a whole complexion of lines. When he examined the flesh on either side of her lips, the two grooves that normally ran from her nostrils almost to her jawbone in such a frightening way were visible only as delicate tracings: she looked positively girlish in a smooth, pink way, and her flesh appeared to be as rich and sleek as a good leg of lamb. Divver felt, half-way down the bed, a stirring and knotting of his muscles and insides; he looked crossly at the centre of the quilt and pressed out his cigarette; soonhis boil gave him a sharp stab, and he was able to reflect with some pride that if at this moment Lily were to wake, and to hold out her arms to him, as she had often done years ago, he would be obliged to shake his head. “I am sorry, dear. I have a boil.” “You have a what ?” “I have a boil in my ear.” Divver hung his head dismally to one side; the boil throbbed louder than ever, and the bedside clock ticked away the minutes in its usual pointless way. About time she woke up, thought Divver crossly.
    Art reappeared. This time he carried a woolly animal which he held against his chest. Avoiding his father’s menacing eye as artlessly as a waiter avoids a patron’s, he stepped across the carpet and sat in a low chair beside the