Mikey's Birthday

Little Mikey was seven and three-quarters. He had been seven and three-quarters for as long as he could remember and he was very proud of it. It was his age. The only thing better than being seven and three-quarters was being eight and he looked forward to that very much. But how did you know when it happened? Grown-ups could tell, then they told you, but there were no grown-ups any more. Or you had a party with games and jelly and that made you eight. But Mikey couldn’t have a party because nobody came and you needed friends for a party. So he remained seven and three-quarters, and while he still had crayons he had written it down.

Mikey had not slept well. His teeth had kept him awake most of the night. Once he had had proper teeth, but they had fallen out and new ones had come. The new ones worked for a while but then they started to hurt. These days the pain was so bad that he could think of little else. “Cheap foreign rubbish,” he mumbled. “Made in Shiner. Child labour.” It didn’t make him feel any better. It hadn’t made Gramps feel better either, but at least he had teeth you could take out when they hurt you too much. Mikey’s only came out one at a time and they wouldn’t go back in. Maybe, when he was eight, some better ones would come.

Mikey began his morning prayers. “Once free is free, two freezer six, free freezer mine,” he chanted. “Apples are in pounds and Romans are in hist’ry. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, goodnight and God bless, Amen.” Then he did a hymn. “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, looker ponner little child; pity mycim, pliss-it-ee, stuff a meat-hook, come to thee.” Come to the what? Sometimes he wondered about the words, they didn’t seem to mean anything, but with school and prayers they didn’t have to. You said what grown-ups told you and if they were satisfied, you were a good boy. And if you were a good boy you would one day be eight, and then everything would be better. You’d have new teeth, joints that didn’t ache, a head that didn’t feel tired and dizzy all the time, and a good doggy to play with. This was his faith.

Chanting his capitlovs to ward off the bogeymen, Mikey shuffled across the cellar floor, avoiding the places where water collected, to the shrine. “London is capitlov England, Paris is capitlov France, London is capitlov England, Paris is…” There, in an alcove in the driest part of the cellar, carefully placed between a pair of luminous dinosaurs, was the Book, the one Gramps had given him. Mikey took it reverently from its niche and opened it at the pages that foretold his future. The left-hand page showed a boy’s birthday party. Surrounded by happy friends and a beaming mummy and daddy, the boy was blowing out the candles on his cake. Mikey ran his finger along the caption - that was called ‘reading’ - and recited, “Mikey is a good boy for putting the cake fire out so today he can be eight.”

The right-hand page showed John and his sister Janet playing in the park with the new puppy. Mummy sat on the bench and watched indulgently. Daddy was presumably at work, a big place like school where all daddies went during the day. “Mikey is playing with his doggy. A girl is trying to get it, but it’s Mikey’s. It only Mikey’s friend and it bites girls.” He moved his finger slowly so as not to reach the end of the line before the words ran out. If you went off the edge of the page you had to go round and round the cellar doing your capitlovs or… He didn’t like to think about the ‘or’.

Despite the book’s warning, he spent a long time looking at the girl. In the eerie dinosaur glow her dress could have been any colour, but he remembered it as red. The girl stirred something inside him, something he couldn’t fathom. What did he want from her? To look after her? To play with her? That couldn’t be right, girls couldn’t play properly, they just spoiled everything. Maybe she would raise her dress and show her knickers, but knickers were rude and Mikey was a good boy. In a fever of longing, fear and guilt he closed the book and replaced it. To be safe he should do a tour of the cellar, but he was too stiff and tired. If the monsters were going to get him, they would just have to come.

Mikey had had a mummy and daddy once, but that was before the shaking that had made all the houses fall down. Gramps said something meatier had come out of the sky. Then everything had gone dark and nothing worked any more. At first there had been lots of people left, but that didn’t last long. Everybody got ill, even Gramps and Mikey. Mikey got better again but Gramps didn’t. After that there was hardly anybody. Then came the time of Bad Men, and then the Bad Dogs, who would eat you if they could. Now everything was quiet and there was nobody.

Mikey was hungry, but couldn’t face the journey to the broken supermarket to get more tins. Not only was the journey physically demanding - you had to step carefully across the slippery rubble in the dim light and constant drizzle, hardly able to see where you were going - but there were the rituals that had to be carried out at every stage of the journey. Up the cellar stairs you had to do ‘Monday Sunday Runday Bunday’, and that was before you even got outside. But they had kept him safe so far and…

Mikey froze. There was a noise from above. Something was outside the door. Trembling, he internally recited his capitlovs, knowing it was too late now. The cellar door was pulled violently open, and there, silhouetted against the green and orange sky, was the monster. It peered down into the gloom, then began to descend the stairs. He sank to his knees. Strangely, the monster didn’t seem aware of his presence. It was talking to itself, and Mikey could even make out the words: “We’ll find something nice here, won’t we my dear, oh yes, something lovely here.” Mikey knew very well what that lovely thing was, it was him. He began to mumble his capitlovs out loud, hailing his Mary, ouring his Father, faster and faster. The monster stopped. It had heard him.

Instead of rushing down to eat him, the monster turned and retreated a little way back up the stairs. Mikey felt a moment of hope. Perhaps the capitlovs had saved him after all? Then the creature turned and peered down into the cellar again, silent, listening. Mikey stopped chanting and was silent too, confused by this inexplicable behaviour. “One two free four,” said the monster. “My name is Susan. I live at… I live at… How do you do and pardon me for…” Both were silent. If this was a monster, maybe they weren’t so bad after all. “I’m Mikey,” said Mikey after a while. “I’m seven and three quarters.” The monster cackled and started back down the stairs again. “It won’t hurt us, dear, oh no, it’s only a silly boy.” Mikey could see now that it was addressing its commentary to a stick wound with a scrap of cloth.

“I’m a good boy,” said Mikey indignantly. “I’m seven and three-quarters.” The monster, now at the bottom of the stairs, stared at him curiously. “Is this your house?” it said. “It stinks in here.” It thrust the stick towards him. “Say hello to Rachel.” Mikey stood up. “What are you?” he said. “Ooooh, the smelly boy doesn’t know what we are. I’m a girl. My name is Susan. I live at… Pleased to meet you, begging your parding.” She extended a hand. Mikey looked at it suspiciously. “If you’re a girl, where’s your dress?” he demanded. Susan cackled again. “Where’s your trousers?” she countered. “Are you going to shake my hand? You should say ‘how do you do?’” Mikey had begun to recover his composure and now he was indignant. He knew exactly what should be said under all circumstances, and that wasn’t right at all. Trust a girl to get it wrong. “Once free is free,” he said, “two freezer six, free freezer mine!” The girl looked startled, then thoughtful. “Ten freezer furty,” she said at last. “Liar! Liar!” shrieked Mikey, “that’s not in it!” She’d only just arrived and already she was spoiling everything. She shrugged and turned away.

“What’s this?” she asked, picking up one of his precious doggy bones. “Is it for a skellingtron? Have you got anything to eat?” Mikey was confused. Everything was going too fast. Why did she care what he had to eat? She wasn’t his mummy. And now she’d put the doggy bone down in the wrong place. He tried to think of something to say, but all that came to mind were the capitlovs and they didn’t seem to fit. He had no words for situations like this. “The smelly boy doesn’t want to talk to us, oh no. We’ll just look around and then we’ll go.” Susan held the stick she was clutching up to her ear. “Good idea Rachel, that’s what we’ll do.” She looked around. “What’s this?” she asked, picking up one of his dinosaurs. “A light! How does it work?” She turned it over, shook it. “Can I have it? You’ve got two. That’s greedy.” “Go away,” yelled Mikey, holding his hands over his ears. “Go away, go away, go away!” Susan put the dinosaur back and – surely she wouldn’t, she couldn’t – but she did. She picked up the Book.

Mikey howled and rushed at her. Susan bared her teeth and stepped backwards. Mikey collided with her and Susan, already off balance, was thrown against the wall where her head cracked against a corner of the alcove. She slid to the floor, leaving a smear of blood down the wall. Mikey fell on top of her. He reached for the Book, then grasped the dinosaur instead and held it above her face. She was the ugliest creature he had ever seen - most of her hair had come out, one of her eyes was missing, the empty socket scabbed over, her teeth were black. Yet the fear, relief and anger combined and multiplied and, on touching the warmth of her body, became something else entirely. Instinct took over and something inside him knew it was time for a party game. After he had played it he slept.

When he awoke, Susan had stopped going and was cold and stiff. Something had leaked out of her head. Mikey put a finger in it and, as he suspected, it was jelly. He reviewed the situation. There had been friends, Susan the girl and Rachel the stick, there had been jelly, and there had been a party game. There was only one conclusion – he was eight! As soon as he was strong enough he would get up and find his doggy. But for now he was tired and wanted only to sleep. He put his head down and in no time he was dressed in clean clothes, was in the park playing with his good doggy, while his new mummy watched from the park bench. A friendly policeman patted him and a shopkeeper gave him an apple. In the distance a big, red fire engine was putting out a fire and the man from the RAC saluted a passing motor car. The world was just as it should be and Mikey was happy at last. It had taken twenty-three years to reach his eighth birthday, but it was worth the wait. Meanwhile, the earth also waited, patiently and long it waited, to discover what species its new masters would be.