Extract from the diary of Elizabeth Thomson

['ARKING MAD

Geoff 'Noah' Kiddling, the former insurance broker from Oxford, was put
in a home for the mentally ill last night after it was discovered that
he had built a full sized ark in his own back garden.

The discovery also solved the mystery of the town's missing animals,
who were found on the ark arranged into pairs.

The ark was reported to the council by Mr and Mrs Smit, who had
complained that the ark blocked their midday sunshine.

"It was horrible," said horrified Mrs Smit, a 57 year old grandmother.
"You'd go out and there it would be, casting a shadow over our lovely
garden."

"It wasn't even a very elegant construction," complained retired
architect Mr. Smit (59) "It looked like a throwback from the 60s
concrete era. Only with wood."

Over 70 animals were found, including dogs, rabbits, rodents, and even
a pair of pigmy elephants.

"The animals were well looked after, considering they had only one
carer," said RSPCA inspector, Dave Ward. "But it was so cramped that it
was deemed to be cruel."

The council has now dismantled the ark, but several animals escaped,
including two otters, who are thought to still be at large. ]

31st July

I spent most of the day digging up weeds. They were everywhere this
year, especially down the back of the garden. It's just a nest of
nettles now.

I've found my gardening even harder work than usual. The empty space
that presides over my little beech hedge... I try not to look at it, to
keep on at the weeds.

There is nothing left to do apart from to keep at it, to push through
to the raspberry canes. Whatever motivated him?

I wonder if I'll go crazy now I've retired.

1st August

Sarah came round today for tea. Not only that, but she had brought me a
present! I couldn't believe it, the cheek of her. She had brought me a
cat! It seems I am to become the archetypal spinster after all.

He is such a nice cat, though, ever so sweet. His fur is a soft ebony.
He's only a year old, the darling thing, so full of life! I wouldn't be
surprised at all if he outlived me (mind you it is hard to be surprised
if you are dead!)

I've decided to call him Benjamin, after the little angel who made me
the glittering card I have on my mantlepiece. That has a cat on it,
only the cat is a shimmering silver and wears a witches hat.

Sarah even brought round cat food, a little tray, a scratching post; I
tried to give her some money, but she refused. She wouldn't even have a
second cup of tea, but at least I know that wasn't altruism. She just
doesn't like my Earl Grey. Honestly, at times I am sure she would
prefer of a cup of hot water with milk and sugar. Unsurprisingly, she
had her share of biscuits. I will have to get another packet of Rich
Teas.

I hope this wasn't too expensive for her. She's also invited me to 'a
small gathering' round her house on Wednesday, she's even going to be
cooking everyone dinner. I will have to find a way to make it up to
her.

2nd August

I couldn't bear the thought of gardening today, so I decided to go out
to the shops instead. I've made it my task to avoid the numerous chain
stores in the city centre. For one, it would mean travelling down the
beautiful cobbled backstreets, properly exploring the city. Secondly,
it would mean I wouldn't go near the hideous Cornmarket Street. It is
in a terrible state. Half the length of the road is tiled, done in an
attempt by the council to improve the area following the road's
pedestranisation. The other half is tarred, left as it was after an
attempt to sue the council by an unfortunate who tripped on the tiling.
Walking down that street, you would never have guessed you were in a
city famed for its beautiful architecture.

I didn't actually manage to find much. I had hoped I would come across
a quaint little pet store, where I could find treats for Benjamin. Come
to think of it, it would have been a strange shop to find on a
backstreet.

What I did find was a second-hand bookshop, one I had never heard of
before. It didn't have a sign that I could tell, but I was easy to
recognise what it was from the windows full of tomes. I walked inside,
and I was immediately struck by the age of the books inside. There was
nothing there published this decade, for sure. There was a certain
smell to the place as well, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The
shopkeeper sat behind an old oak bureau, his attention captured
completely by the book in front of him. He had wavy dark hair and
glasses perched on the end of his nose. He must have been in his later
thirties or early forties, the very model of a scholarly stereotype,
light brown blazer and all. From the pictures I could see, his book
appeared to be on the tower of London.

There was a wonderfully narrow spiral staircase, so quaint. I squeezed
my way up it, and at the top was the shopkeeper, with his wavy dark
hair and glasses perched on the end of his nose. It gave me quite a
start. I stared at him, eyes wide, but it took him a minute before he
even noticed me.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Oh yes," I replied. "I was looking for..." I hesitated. "For a
book."

He smiled, and told me I had come to the right place. It occurred to me
that it might be an opportunity to get Sarah a little thank you
present. He asked what kind of book she likes. I replied Realism, and
with that his eye-brows rose. I then remembered the age of the books on
the shelf. "Nineteenth century realism," I said. "George Eliot,
Dickens, you know." The smile sunk from his face. The mention of
Dickens tended to do the same to me, but only because he had been on
our syllabus for far too many years.

He told me they didn't stock much of that sort of thing. I was quite
taken aback by this. I could see from the shelves that this wasn't
merely a non-fiction bookshop, indeed right next to me was a book of
tales from the Grimm brothers, next to it one by Poe. My the books were
disorganised.

He returned to gazing other the books. I started to feel distinctly
uncomfortable. I went down the stairs, walked pass the bureau and
strode straight out the door.
They must have been twins.

4th August

Oh my, last night didn't go very well at all. The meal that Sarah
cooked us all was lovely, of course, Spaghetti Bolognese. What was less
than lovely was the lump of it I slopped down my white blouse. I must
have looked quite the fool.

It was not only that though. The gaffs I made, they were worthy of the
Duke of Edinburgh. I cannot believe myself, asking Shaun about his
children so soon after the funeral! Sarah had mentioned the accident a
fortnight a go. I should have remembered. My head must be up in the
clouds, to say the very least. He left the room. I hope I haven't made
his suffering any worse.

Sarah probably thinks I have a proverbial screw loose. I spoke to her
for a whole five minutes about the bookshop. I was a little drunk at
that point, what had happened with Shaun meant I was a little over keen
with my wine drinking. She just stared at me in disbelief as I rambled
on about spiral staircases and magical twins. I think I may have even
made a comment about her weight.

Still, she couldn't have been too offended, as she gave me a call this
afternoon to see that I had got home safely. I asked her whether Shaun
was ok, and she told me he was as well as could be expected. She
assured me he was not offended, though that wasn't what had been
worrying me. I may be feeling slightly paranoid, but I think I detected
a hint of condescension in her voice.

Maybe she truly believes I am going crazy. No matter. I will see her in
a few days, when we are to go out shopping. Perhaps then I can offer
her some reassurance that my mind is in order.

5th August

I spent today indoors, looking through the pile of old newspapers Sarah
had given me to line Benjamin's litter tray. It was out of habit
really. I would find an amusing article in the paper, photocopy it and
use it as a basis for an exercise for my year eights. I'm actually
starting to miss the little terrors now (my I am going soft.) Perhaps I
will do a little work as a supply teacher after I have settle a little
more. At the very least it would bring in extra money, which I am in
some need of.

I am getting side-tracked. Is that a sign of old age? Careful,
Elizabeth!

The first newspaper I opened, the first page I opened, there was this
article. It was so strange. I think this one related to Geoff as well,
but of course in this case they wouldn't have known that at the time of
writing.

[KID-NAPPED!

Two Goats were stolen from a local farmer yesterday, the latest in a
series of animal thefts that have plagued the local area.

Other missing animals include two horses, a variety of monkeys from
Monkey World and a pair of prize winning badgers.

Former goat owner Charlie Peterson was distraught at his lost.

"He was called Billy," the farmer told the Oxford Star.
Repeatedly.

Police found a trail of hoof-prints belonging to the goat. They led to
an abandoned farmhouse, and then ended.

Alongside them were a single set of human footprints, though police
haven't ruled out the possibility of someone riding one of the goats or
that one of the kidnappers could have tread in the footsteps of the
other.]

I read it over several times before placing it on one side to stick in
here. I found little else of interest. A lot of them were badly written
articles celebrating local triumphs, such as Mr. Pumpkin's famous
turnips winning a national prize, mixed with indignant rants about
local banks closing or vandals ruining local playgrounds. I can see why
Sarah was keen to get rid of them. I am surprised she didn't put them
out to recycle straight away.

6th August

The nettles are like the heads of the hydra. I cannot stand them any
longer. They have spread into Geoff's garden, now there is no one to
tend to it. I've decided to give in to the nettles. They can have the
garden for all I care. Who knows, next year they may sprout flowers.
They can share it with Benjamin, who I am sure will love it whatever
state it is in.

The problem with the garden being like this is that it's a indecisive
mess. If it was tidy and clean, one could appreciate it, and one could
enjoy it even more if it descended so much further into a free
wildness, if it became in effect a forest. The trouble is it will never
become a forest if left, just a messy pit of weeds that neighbours like
the Smits would despise. To people like the Smits though, even a forest
would be a pile of rancid

It has just occurred to me. The smell in the bookshop! It was
dung.

7th August

Never have I been on a shopping trip with such intent, not even
Christmas shopping. I insisted to Sarah that we would find that
bookshop I spoke of. I would prove to her I was perfectly sane, that I
hadn't made it up. Of course I didn't tell her that, rather I presented
it to her as a kind of adventure, like Maggie Tulliver running away to
the Gypsies. This well placed Eliot reference did not have the intended
effect, and she suggested we just go to Waterstones instead. I refused,
not only because it would mean walking down Cornmarket Street. For I
had yet another motive for wanting to return to that bookshop.

Eventually she relented, and we started down the Oxford backstreets.
They weren't as picturesque as I had remembered them, I don't know if
it was Sarah's company, or just that I had idealised them since my
first visit.
I retraced my steps. Despite the streets twisting off in all sorts of
directions, I could remember my way and remember it well. What's more,
I could recall the street name, it was quite memorable because of it's
oddity: Bha Lane.

We reached the shop, and I pointed to it with glee, I felt redeemed. We
walked up to it, looked through the window, and there was nothing.
Nothing. Not only was the shop empty, its dimensions were different,
the walls were white and there was a plastic chair in the corner. There
was no spiral staircase, only a door leading to the back of the
shop.
Sarah's eye-brows rose, and her cheeks pulled her mouth unwillingly
into a smile. I could tell what she was thinking.

"So," she said, "Waterstones?"

I took a piece of paper out of my purse, and wrote on it "What did you
do to Geoff?" I slid it under the door, and then we left.

8th August

I am either mad, or I am mad.

I got up early this morning, about seven o'clock. I went straight down
in my nightie for breakfast, a bowl of muesli. I sat there, chewing my
oats until I noticed it. The door.

It was on the wall, the wall leading to Geoff's house. It was made of a
deep brown wood, and was chipped slightly at the edges. I sat for five
minutes just staring at it, before I had the nerve to get up and try
it.

It opened easily, and inside was the bookshop. I wasn't surprised. The
door was a shock, but once I realised the door was real, there was only
one place it could lead. I crept inside. Out of the window I could see
Geoff's garden, with the large gash where the ark once was.

The shopkeeper was sat behind his bureau. I opened my mouth the
speak.

"Answers are upstairs," he said before I had chance to utter a word. I
stared at him, and he looked up from his book. "The answers section is
upstairs," he said, placing great emphasis on every syllable. In
something of a daze, I stumbled up the spiral staircase, at the top of
which was the shop keeper, sorting through his books.

I can remember his words almost exactly. "You were to be Mrs. Noah," he
said. "But now we have something much grander planned for you." He
pulled a book from the shelf, opened it and read aloud. "'tis our fast
intent to shake all cares and business from our age, conferring them on
younger strengths while we unburdened crawl towards death."

"Lear," I said.

"Indeed, but it is more true today than in was in Shakespeare's. That
is what old age has become, a crawl towards death."

"Well, I prefer to think of it more as a leisurely stroll," I
interjected.

"There are three stages to life. The first is youth, to prepare one for
adulthood. Adulthood has its own ends, work and family. Then there is
old age. Old age has no end. Retirement in an empty nest, waiting for
death's hand."

"I really think you are being rather negative."

"Until us. We give people purpose, this brings them happiness,
well-being. People should have that all their lives. A swallow doesn't
make a summer."

"I suppose," I said in the tone I reserve for especially naughty
children, "that you think Geoff's life had far more purpose to it
now."

"Geoff was," he paused here. "Geoff was unfortunate," he continued.
"Before he was taken away though, he was having the happiest time of
his life. And don't worry, the same won't happen to you." He held up a
letter. "This time we've got planning permission."

I asked what my project would be..

"Planning is downstairs."

I stared at him for a moment.

"The planning section is downstairs."

I went downstairs, I saw the plans.... and I actually accepted. I
accepted the project. Either way, I am mad.

9th August

They came. They are twins, after all. One brought pile of large cut
stones, the other brought the designs. They seemed unaware of each
other's existence.

I asked them whether they thought the ground in my garden was firm
enough, and they nodded in unison. They went out of the backdoor into
the garden, and started ripping out the nettles. I felt a slight pang
on seeing them destroyed. I stood at the end of the garden, and started
to understand how Geoff had ever managed his project. Why had I never
seen the twins before?

"Come," said one, "we must lay the foundations." He pointed to three
spades. I took hold of them, and handed one to both of the twins. We
started digging, not just nettles, but through the grass.

"The foundations will have to be very strong," said the other. "It will
be very tall."

"This is all rather silly," I said. "I don't even believe in
God."

"Don't think of it," said one. His tone was insistent, but I couldn't
obey.

"I mean, if there was, then all this wouldn't be necessary..."

"Silence!" cried the other. "You need dedication, you need..." His
voice trailed off I think, he might have said more, no matter. Benjamin
was sat at the edge of the garden. He was grooming himself, purring.
The other grimaced. "That does not belong here."

"What?" I said, confused.

"Can you not see," said one. "That creature... belongs elsewhere. Not
here. He is ruining the narrative unity."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Of your life," said the one.

"But he could bring meaning," said the other. " He is a symbol, of what
you would have been without us. You must before a rite." I started to
tremble at this point. Why did they not like poor Benjamin?

"Kill it," said one.

"Kill it," said the other.

"You're life will have no meaning if you don't," said one.

"No meaning," said the other.

I approached the cat, crept towards him. He looked up, meowed. And then
- I picked him up, ran my hand down his neck. He purred.

"I'll leave you to your work," I said icily. "Feel free to come in if
you want a cup of tea." I went inside. I haven't been back out since.
They can have their tower, for all I care.

10th August

I looked out the back window. The garden is just a nest of nettles.