It’s   probably no   accident that they look like grandmothers. Grandmothers in power-suits. Briefcases full of knitting, alongside the casefiles. They’re not allowed to discriminate of course—the law’s so strict these days—so there’s no reason why the Officers couldn’t be six foot body builders, but they never were. Tasha’s friend Caitlin down the road reckoned it was part of the Inspection, a salt in the wound deal. Caitlin had failed her own Inspection about eight months ago.

“Miss Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“I’m from the Department of Family Control? I’ve come for your Inspection.”

Behind the door, Tasha’s hand tightened involuntarily on the grimy net curtain. “Oh—yeah—god, you know I’d totally forgotten. Come on in.” She ushered the woman in.

The Inspector wiped her feet on the mat, and nudged aside one of Jason’s muddy work boots.

“Sorry for the mess,” Tasha said. She could feel the accent thickening the words. Careful, she thought, don’t lay it on too thick. “’Ere, let me move them for you. Bloody Jason, always leaving his stuff lying around.” She flung the boot into a corner, where it ricocheted off an open box of power tools.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” the Inspector clucked cheerily. “Don’t need to go to any special effort for me.”

Tasha laughed. The Inspector   smiled   benignly. They both resolutely ignored the lie.

“Tea?” Tasha asked, leading the woman into the kitchen.

“That would be lovely dear,” the Inspector said, casting an appraising look around the house. Grubby skirting boards, can of paint in the doorway, bottle of bleach by the stove, empty beer cans in a row—Tasha could see the Inspector mentally noting each one. The grip on the clipboard tightened momentarily. “My my, paint, already—confident are we?”

Tasha gritted her teeth. “We’ve tried to stay hopeful.” She switched on the kettle. There were two empty whiskey bottles on the counter. Tasha turned their labels away, clinking them together loudly.

“Of course you are, dear. I’ll just pop myself down here and get all the paperwork sorted, shall I?” said the Inspector, and toddled into the living room. Tasha took a deep breath, and followed her. It was going well so far, she told herself. In the living room, the Inspector was introducing herself to Jason. He grunted an acknowledgment, and took his hands out from the crotch of his tracksuit bottoms for long enough to politely mute the TV. Tasha couldn’t see from the doorway what was onscreen. When the bell had rung he was still deciding between his two favourite DVDs, Dykes With Drills 4 or Licking Lucy’s Lips. The Inspector looked everywhere but at the screen and shuffled her clipboard.

Tasha caught Jason’s eyes, and made a furious head gesture at the open can of lager in his other hand. He grimaced, and took an exaggerated swig. Tasha rolled her eyes and stomped back to the kitchen. Bloody idiot, he was going to ruin this for her.

“Two sugars,” called the Inspector. “I like it extra sweet.”

The kettle steamed and clicked off. Tasha poured the water into mugs and dunked a teabag into one. She heard the Inspector introduce herself—Inspector Lucy Stowe, but she prefers Miss Stowe, if that’s alright, and you must be the husband—no, pardon me, boyfriend?–and Jason respond with a loud belch. If she knew Jason, he’d have accompanied it with a good rummage in his boxers. She transferred the teabag briefly to the second cup, then threw in some milk.

“Here you are,” she said, setting the cups down perilously close to the edge of the table. “One sugar, wasn’t it?”

“It was two, love, but don’t you worry yourself about it.” Miss Stowe beamed at both of them. “Let’s get down to business shall we.” She flipped to her first page. “Now, I’ve got to do this bit, it’s the law. It’s a bit like ‘you have the right to remain silent’ that our boys n blue love so much—mind, I’m sure neither of you have ever had call to have come across it in real life.”

Jason shifted in his seat. “No,” he said, and swigged.

“Of course not, lovely couple like you two,” Miss Stowe said, ploughing happily onwards. “Now, let me stress this bit is nothing to worry about. Where was I—righty-ho, yes: ‘this Inspection will establish your eligibility under the Family Control Act, Section 24, Part 2b. You have the right to withdraw from the procedure at any time you wish. If your inspection is successful then you will be issued with the necessaries immediately upon completion.’” The Inspector adjusted her glasses. “Now, I understand one of our counsellors has spoken to you on the telephone and you fully understand both stages of the procedure?”

Tasha looked at Jason for support, but he continued to stare pointedly at the jumble of breasts on the screen. Based on the level of gadgetry, Tasha reckoned it was probably the first DVD. She looked back at Miss Stowe, who was smiling at her with the look of a confused stork that had been walloped on the head with a brick.

“Well—I was sort of hoping we wouldn’t have to get past the first stage, like?”

The Inspector patted her knee. “Well, of course dear. Most couples feel the same. And there’s certainly a possibility, but we at the Department have to make sure we’re thorough.”

Tasha swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“Right then, well, as I’m sure you know, we’ll just start with a brief interview. Nothing to worry about.” The Inspector produced what appeared to be a key-ring of white plastic note cards. “As you’ve confirmed, you’re familiar with the process. This is just a few questions designed to give me an indication of whether you’d be likely to be unfit or not. Nothing to worry about, and no decision is final at this stage. The selection is random, but please answer as honestly as you can. Don’t be trying to think of what you should say. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe the amount of couples that fall into that trap. Understand?”

Tasha nodded again. Jason was firmly not catching her eye.

“Right, number one—ooh, one of my favourites this question. What are your feelings about physical discipline of a child?”

Tasha took a mouthful of her tea—still too hot, but it gave her time to think of the right answer. “Well—I dunno. I mean, it never did me no harm. My mam used to give me a smack if I wasn’t doing what I was meant to. At the end of the day, it teaches you, doesn’t it?” Miss Stowe scribbled something on her clipboard and Tasha continued in a panic. “I mean, I’m not saying you should beat your child black and blue or anything, but–” she tailed off hopelessly. “Well, I guess it’s easy to get it wrong, isn’t it. So I say don’t lay a finger on them. Best way.”

She nodded, pleased with her final answer. Miss Stowe made another note. Jason caught her eye and frowned. Tasha glared at the remote but he still wasn’t getting the picture.

“Right-o, Miss Jackson, second question?” The keyring was spun and another card selected at random. “What are your feelings on a child doing chores in exchange for pocket money?”

Tasha practically gulped. What was she supposed to answer to that? “Well,” she ventured, “I suppose it could be… good? Like, it could teach them responsibility and value of money, and that.” Miss Stowe stared at her as if she was expected more. Tasha winced. Was that the right answer. It had almost sounded parental and responsible, hadn’t it? ‘Teach them responsibility’ and ‘value of money’ sounded quite convincing. She pasted a smile onto her face.

Miss Stowe sighed and put down her ring of questions.

“Look, Miss Jackson—“ “Tasha,” she said, desperately.

“—Tasha, I’m going to be frank with you. Put my cards on the table, as it were.” The bumbling cheerfulness had vanished, and Tasha wondered if the whole thing so far had been an act. The Inspector’s face and voice had become unreadable. “I see countless people like you every week—on their own, in couples, whichever. And it’s clear that you’ve gone to… some… effort. But I’m afraid I’m going to need a little bit more than that.” Miss Stowe leaned forward. “I’m going to need to see some further evidence that you’re absolutely committed to this.”

The tea had cooled now. Tasha took a sip. The Inspector’s sat untouched.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take this straight to the second stage,” Miss Stowe said. She sounded kind again, but Tasha wasn’t sure she trusted it. “Would you care to lead the way? Mr… Jason? Will you be accompanying us?”

“I can speak for both of us,” Tasha said, standing, clutching the mug of tea for support.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Jason,” Miss Stowe said without

even a ghost of insincerity in her voice. “We’ll leave you to your film, shall we?”

“This way,” Tasha said, and led the Inspector upstairs. Jason— bloody Jason—had left the door to their bedroom open. He’d been tidying this morning, putting on fresh laundered sheets. She quickly closed the door and hurried to the next. “This one,” she said, and led the Inspector in.

“Well, it’s lovely,” said Miss Stowe, looking around appreciatively. Tasha nodded dumbly. “A boy, I take it?”

Tasha leaned against the curved corner of the bookcase, ran a hand over the spines of the books. Miss Stowe circled the room, clucking delightedly. “Did you know, blue used to be for girls and the boys’ colour was pink? Strange how these   thing change. That was centuries ago, of course. I absolutely love the moon and stars.”

“Jason painted them.”

“They really are beautiful. And they match the curtains, how wonderful.” She paused in the middle of the room. “Well well, I must say—this is one of the nicest cribs I’ve seen. Will you be donating it to the Department when you’re finished with it?”

Tasha shook her head, looking down at the floor. “No—it was mine. We had to get it out of my mam’s garage. She wants it back, eventually.” She felt self-conscious, still referring to her mother as ‘mam’.

“Oh, well that’s a shame,” Miss Stowe said. “Never mind, we’re not short on them. And The Wind in the Willows—yours too?”

Tasha looked up in surprise, and met her eyes. She hadn’t even realised she’d been stroking the spine of the book. She smiled and nodded. “Yes—that was mine too.”

“I see. Well—it certainly looks like you’ve made the necessary arrangements.” The Inspector ticked off something on her clipboard. “Now—a few more questions, if you don’t mind. Name?”

“Robert.”

“Oh that’s lovely. What school?”

“St Matthews. It’s down the road.” “Christened?”

“No. We don’t believe in it.”

“His favourite subject?”

“Science.”

“Best friend?”

“Bridget O’Brien. My friend Caitlin’s daughter. She’s due any day.”

“First kiss?”

“Bridget again. In the treehouse that Jason’s going to build.”

Miss Stowe opened her mouth to ask another question, but Tasha cut across her. “When the treehouse blows down in a storm he’ll feel sad because it’s the first time he realises that things from when he was young will disappear. He’ll date Bridget for a bit, until she tells him she’s a lesbian. They’ll stay good friends and introduce each other to women. He’ll go to college, and plan to go to university. He’ll mess up one of his exams and we’ll think he can’t go to the university he wants to, but then he’ll get an offer from Edinburgh instead. He’ll go there and study Physics and he’ll get drunk and have sex and think he’s grown-up. He’ll get a job in a laboratory researching things he doesn’t care about, but it won’t matter because he’ll meet a girl that he falls in love with. She’ll be called Rebecca, and she’ll dream of travelling around the world. He’ll bring her home, and I’ll disapprove, and so will Bridget, probably, but his Dad and Auntie Caitlin will love her. They’ll get married, and I’ll cry when Robert makes a speech. At the party, I’m going to catch him alone in the dark garden and I’ll remind him that when he was a baby we painted his walls blue, and put moons and stars on his ceiling and curtains, and that I used to read him The Wind in the Willows.” Tasha took a long calming breath. “Your department says we have to think this through, every detail, heck, we have to paint the fucking nursery, so that we can say we’re sure. Well, I can tell you right now, Miss Stowe, I’m sure. Or do we need any ‘further evidence’?”

She took another breath. Her cheeks felt wet. She leaned heavily against the bookcase.

The Inspector regarded her coolly, then ticked off a few more things on her clipboard. Tasha ran a hand over her face and waited. After a moment, Miss Stowe spoke simply. “Perhaps you’d like to sit down, dear.”

Nodding—she was beginning to feel like nodding was the only thing she’d done well so far—Tasha sat down on one of the ridiculously tiny children’s chairs. Her knees were practically level with her face but she didn’t care. Miss Stowe looked fleetingly as if she was going to remain standing, but then she lowered herself carefully into the other.

“Miss Jackson,” she said, “I’ll be frank with you once again. I’ve seen a lot of couples, as you know. Don’t be under any illusion that I haven’t seen the same things you tried here a thousand times. No couple likes to be seen as they really are, they always put on such a show. But I mean, really—whiskey bottles, power tools, good god, even porn. You really went for it, didn’t you? Your boyfriend was really quite spectacular. Do you really think any of that stuff makes any difference?”

Tasha smiled sadly. Miss Stowe patted her leg.

“It’s all down to the nursery, I’m afraid. Nothing quite like the nursery for proving your commitment.” She flipped through her clipboard. “So I have to ask—are you still willing to go through with it?”

Tasha nodded.

Miss Stowe laughed. “My dear, you’re like a nodding dog. I’d like you to say it out loud, if you would.”

Tasha met her eyes. “I’m committed,” she said, and believed it.

“And your signature just here… and here… fantastic.”

The Inspector patted her leg, a flash of the grandmother routine before reverting to businesslike. She rummaged in the briefcase and produced a foil packet stamped with the Department logo. “Here you are dear. Now, I must warn you, there will be bleeding. It’s going to be like the worst period you’ve ever had. Understandable really, it can’t just vanish into thin air, can it? My advice—pop yourself on the loo for a couple of hours, take a good book and put everything out of your head. Then it’ll be all over and you can get to repainting this room. Before you know it’ll be all gone and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Tasha took the wrapper and tore it open. It contained a pill. She inspected it.

“A smiley face… really?”

“Don’t blame me, dear, I don’t make the drugs. I’m just an Inspector.” Miss Stowe handed her untouched mug of tea to Tasha. “I’ll let myself out, shall I?”

“Yep.”

“Any questions, give me a ring, okay dear?”

“Yep.”

“Bye then.”

“Bye.”

In the wake of her departure, Tasha sat on her tiny child’s chair, in a room with blue walls, and moons and stars on the curtains, and The Wind in the Willows in the bookcase. She put the pill in her mouth, rolled it around her tongue. It felt small and hard and simple.

Nothing to worry about, she thought, and swallowed a large mouthful of tea.

 

 Matthew Bright's short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in the magazines *Queers Destroy Horror, Icarus, PIYE Magazine, Hearing Voices*, *Southpaw Journal* and *Iris: New Fiction*, and the anthologies *Shenanigans: Gay Men Mess WIth Genre* and *Clockwork Iris Wildthyme*. In addition, he is also the editor of LGBT lit mag *Glitterwolf*.