7.
First Night
IT is dark in the COZEE NOOK. That is because it is 02.30 in the morning. All the lights are out and everyone is asleep, everyone, that is, except Yo-yo who was woken by his bladder at 02.28. Too much orange juice at Drake's is nagging annoyingly for release. He gropes beneath the sheets for his little torch, feels it warm and hard against his fingers and fiddles with the switch till the light spills out. The room really is as gloomy and shadowy as he first thought. The furnishings are somewhat overwhelming. The vast double-bed is swamped by a lumpy, musty patchwork quilt in pinks and purples, soft goose-down pillows in which one can lose one's head, dusty-fringed purple shades on chunky bedside lamps and a towering, dark-wooded double-wardrobe glowering in the corner.
Yo-yo remembers his little room at Gillworthy. It has zoo animal wallpaper (Doctor Molasses thinks he's still seven years old, or should be, and seems determined to keep him seven, one way or another…. though Yo-yo does like the giraffes….., and the tigers ……..oh, and the zebras, don't forget the zebras, they're pretty cool) and a low, single bed with crisp, white sheets and a fluffy, brown bedspread and bars that they sometimes raise to stop him falling out onto the often-cold linoleum floor. One night, when he'd had too much medication, his nocturnal flailings had tumbled him out of his bed and on to the lino where he had lain insensible for something approaching five hours. As a result of this mishap, he had caught a chill and spent the next three nights in the uninviting infirmary with Matron Majeiskii taking his temperature rectally every two hours, an experience he had been so careful not to repeat he often put the cot's bars up himself.
He fights his way out of quilt, blankets and sheets and swings his bare feet on to the threadbare bedside rug. He can feel each ropey strand digging into his sole. The once-polished wooden floorboards are cold. He shoves his feet into his slippers. They are massive, furry representations of a lion's paws complete with fluffy claws. He had trouble fitting them in his bag along with the kitchen sink but it was worth it. Firstly, they were very warm, secondly they were insanely unfashionable and thirdly they drove Doctor Molasses to distraction.
''Lion's paws do not resemble slippers,'' he would declare, ''And should not be represented as such.''
Yo-yo pads towards the bathroom in his knee-length white nightshirt and giant lion's-paw slippers. The corridor carpet is equally bare of threads. The bathroom is stark and cold, furnished in white porcelain with stained, silvered taps. He pees with a satisfied sigh then becomes slowly aware of a small boy squatting on the cistern. The dribble seems to freeze, especially when he realises he can see white tiles through the transparent body.
''Come on, Eli,'' says Yo-yo, ''I'm having a piss here. Can't I have any privacy?''
''Sorry,'' says Eleazar Glenn. ''I didn't mean to embarrass you.''
''I'm not embarrassed,'' says Yo-yo, embarrassed. ''What do you want? It's half past two in the morning.''
''Nothing really,'' says Eleazar Glenn. ''You spoke up back there for Ellen and Sister Theresa. They wanted me to tell you how much they appreciated it. The Ghost-walkers misrepresent most of us most of the time.''
''Maybe you should sue,'' says Yo-yo, flushing the toilet.
''Steady on,'' says Eleazar. ''It's like sitting on an earthquake.'' Yo-yo apologies. ''If we do sue these people,'' Eleazar continues, ''Would you represent us?''
''Maybe,'' says Yo-yo. ''I gotta go. I'll see you later.''
''If there's anything we can do for you …'' calls the ghost, ''Just let us know. You gave me water. Most people just scream.''
''Right-o,'' says Yo-yo. Ghosts today have become very litigious. It's all about risk assessment and health and safety, haunting rights and working conditions. He knows they'll insist on a No-Win, No-Fee deal. On his way back, he spots light under the first door on the left. The keyhole is at eye-level. At least it is when he stoops.
Katze
the cab driver, blue suit
crumpled from a hard day's work,
sleeves rolled up and over his elbows,
white shirt grubby, sweat-stained from driving,
tie tugged down from his unbuttoned collar
cap shoved back on his greasy black hair
cigarette glued to his dry lower lip
chin unshaven
eyes red-rimmed
and tired through overwork
leaning against a chest of drawers
with all the world weariness of a man who
has been on the road for most of the day and not
stopped to draw breath or drink tea or pause for even a moment
in the endless quest to fuel his tank.
Yo-yo feels sorry for Katze. He knows the cab driver has 'feelings' for Mrs Lollipop. Everyone knows Katze has 'feelings' for Mrs Lollipop, except, of course, Mrs Lollipop. She is almost certainly the only person in the COZEE NOOK who hasn't received a rehearsed rendition of Katze's wonderful wooing speech, his 'courting card'. Lily Gusset, in fact, was so overcome that s/he immediately proposed to Katze and even went so far as to buy a wide-brimmed, lace-lined pink hat for the wedding despite Aunty Latch's accusation that s/he was using the notional nuptials as a simple and not very good excuse for buying a very large hat.
Katze's courting card goes like this -
Roses are red, violets are blue,
Stay in your bed and I'll marry you.
Grass is green and daisies are white,
Let's have lots of children tonight.
''Oh yesssss,'' squealed Lily Gusset. ''Children! Lots and lots of children!''
''I'm not sure that's biologically possible,'' Yo-yo interrupted, ''Unless we keep the foetus in a box under the sink.''
''I'm talking about Lolly,'' said Katze impatiently, ''Not Lily.''
Who sobbed ''Oh, another heartless rejection! Ohhhhh! [Dramatic sniff] How could you do this to me? Men! You're all bastards!'' S/he put her head on her arms and cried loudly.
''Now see what you've done!'' Yo-yo glared at Katze. ''You thoughtless bastard.'' He stroked Lily Gusset's hair tenderly. ''Come on, Lil. Don't take it to heart. There's plenty more leaves on the tree.''
''Waaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!'' howled Lily. ''And to think I wasted the best years of my youth on him!''
''Men!'' Yo-yo said feelingly. ''All chocolates and roses before they get what they want and then, when they've had their wicked way with you, VOOM, they're off, like a bat from an oven. Especially if you're up the stick. Then they're away like a parrot off a pylon. And it's all your fault, Lil. 'You should've been more careful, love. Got yourself protection. Taken the pill, worn a Dutch cap, whatever. You can't expect me to remember everything. I have enough trouble tying my laces 'cos I'm a man and I'm dense'. God, we've heard it all.'' Yo-yo growled. ''Bloody men. Should have their nuts crushed. You bastard. You selfish, thoughtless bastard.'' He glared at Katze again. He shrugged in surprise and pushed his cap further back on his head. ''Now then, Lil,'' said Yo-yo, ''Dry your eyes. Come on now. Your mascara's running. Don't worry. There's plenty more seeds in the pod.''
''Waaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!'' wailed Lily. ''And to think I asked him to marry me. Ohhhhhhhh. I'll never trust another man. I'll never love again. Ohhhh, my poor heart's broken in pieces. Fancy misleading a poor young girl like that, just to get his leg over. Men! They're sooooo selfish. You let this be a lesson to you, Yo-yo. Don't let them lead you on like they did me. Or you'll be heart-broken too. Or worse. You'll be up the duff and then where will you be?. They'll get you pregnant then leave you standing at the altar with a bun in your oven and.. WAAAAAHHHH!''
''You should have your bollocks cut off,'' Yo-yo told Katze.
Katze frowned, perplexed by it all.
''Did you get her pregnant?'' Yo-yo shielded Lily's shoulders protectively. ''Did you get her in the pudding club? You did! You great, big, stinking sack of manure. And now you want to abandon her. No wonder the country's in a state, feckless single mothers all over the shop claiming benefits and cheating the ta
xpayer. You unfeeling, chauvinist pig. You should have your bollocks crushed, you cheating swine. That'd learn you.'' Yo-yo clenched his fists. ''I'll do time, I swear, I'll do time.''
Katze mumbled a muted apology.
''And that's all you have to say for yourself?'' raged Yo-yo, trying to comfort Lily. ''There, there, Lil. Don't take on so. We'll get the bastard to pay up for maintenance. Do you wanna press rape charges?'' He glared at Katze. ''Yeah, rape charges. That'd show you, you selfish pig. Justice 4 Kiddies…'' His rage became incoherent, his clenched fists flailed, his face went purple and spittle flecked his lips.
Katze was confused when he went to bed, but the true object of his affections is now
snortling gently
her several chins
quaking and shaking
her fat sausage fingers
clutching the edge
of the bed sheet
whilst her pet
bird
on his perch
golden beak tucked
beneath his black wing
mutters in his
sleep
Yo-yo presses his ear to the keyhole but cannot really hear any words, just an indistinct
milly
milly milly
milly milly milly
milly milly
milly
milly milly
milly milly milly
It is not clear what Baby is talking about. Either he is hungry and referring to bird seed (millet) or he is dreaming about Mrs Lollipop's husband (Mildew). Yo-yo cannot remember much about Mildew. He decides to ask Aunty Latch in the morning.
Aunty Latch is next door, sharing the big double bed with Uncle Reefer. Yo-yo eschews the key hole, opens the door softly and peers through the crack.
Reefer is further from
the door, lying on his
back, moustache gently
stirred by the breath which
seeps through half-open
lips, one hand on his
heart, beating quietly
inside his pyjamas.
Latch is nearer the door,
hair dressed in nets,
trussed up in curlers,
the crimpled collar of a
flannelette nightgown
bunched under her chin
and her yellowing teeth
grinning out of a glass
by the side of the bed.
Yo-yo is fond of his uncle and aunt but Doctor Molasses and Matron Majeiskii don't trust them. ''Anyone who breeds sea slugs for a hobby has got to be a loony,'' is Molasses' psychiatrical, doctorial verdict on Uncle Reefer. Doctor Molasses is never happy when Yo-yo is 'disturbed' by his relatives.
Yo-yo remembers a time when Uncle Reefer and Aunty Latch visited him at Gillworthy. He had been unwell. His uncle and aunt had looked worried by his bedside, his aunt saying how 'peaky' he looked, his uncle shuffling his feet awkwardly and fiddling with his moustache, Doctor Molasses consulting a clipboard and 'humming and hawing' quite unconvincingly, and Matron Majeiskii saying he needed a syrup-of-figs-and-castor-oil diet to 'sort out his bowels'. Yo-yo had contributed to the diagnostic decision-making by suggesting weakly that after a syrup-of-figs-and-castor-oil diet he'd have no bowels left. Doctor Molasses had agreed somewhat reluctantly to allow Yo-yo to get some fresh air. Uncle Reefer had lowered the bedside bars and lifted Yo-yo out of the cot into a wheelchair. Yo-yo had been wearing the pale blue pyjamas that were as much a Gillworthy badge as the round-the-neck variety Molasses and Majeiskii wore on a daily basis and Yo-yo wore when visitors came. His bare feet had looked palely frail on the foot rest. Uncle Reefer had pushed him round the garden in a silence broken only by the winnowing of his pipe and Aunty Latch's occasional snippets of gossip. The neat, green lawns had been particularly immaculate that day, the scent of the roses strongly sweet whilst the water, sparkling like crystal caught in the sunshine, had plashed playfully into the fountains.
''It's a beautiful place,'' Aunty Latch had remarked.
''Oh, aye,'' said Uncle Reefer.
''And the doctor seems nice.''
''He's a donkey,'' said Yo-yo, feeling his chest tighten as he struggled to breathe.
''Do you need oxygen?'' Uncle Reefer enquired.
''Sssssss,'' Yo-yo gulped down a lungful. ''No .. I'm .... OK.'' His knuckles stood out white on the grips of the chair. ''Molasses .. thinks ... I'm ... an ... invalid. Majeiskii thinks ... I'm ... constipated, and they both think I'm mad.'' Yo-yo lets out a shallow breath. ''What a place.''
After they had wheeled him round the garden several times, Matron Majeiskii had appeared in the doorway to wave them indoors saying it was time for the boy's medication, a thick, white syrup which tasted of toothpaste and made him feel sick.
Uncle Reefer had brushed Yo-yo's face with his moustache and muttered ''Come and stay soon.'' Yo-yo had grinned. That was as good as it got from his uncle. He'd been positively gushing that day. Which is what Yo-yo had been after the syrup- of-figs-and-castor-oil diet.
He blows them a kiss, closes their door gently and treads carefully, stealthily down the stairs. In the hall, outside the living room, is a bear in a pram. The bear is wearing a nappy and a baby's bonnet. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
''All right?'' says Yo-yo.
''Aye,'' says the bear, ''Can't complain.''
In the living room, shrouded in almost total darkness but for the tiny glow of a miniature china lantern, two figures are dancing. One is a blue-bonneted girl carrying a basket. Her pale blue dress is bound at the waist with a pink sash. She is a milkmaid by trade. Her name is Aureole. Her partner is a small farmer's boy wearing raggedy knee-length shorts and a battered straw hat. His bare feet are dirty. A satchel is slung over one shoulder. A fishing rod rests on the other. His name is Sylvain. A third figurine, a grizzled old man in green trousers and a dirty cream-coloured smock, is playing a slow waltz on an accordion. The lantern rests at his feet. He is a miller. His name is Chrétien. They all come from Le Loire Valley.
Sylvain draws Aureole closer. His fingers press against her waist, against the strings of her corset. Sylvain sighs.
''Oh, mon garon,'' breathes Aureole, the pinky blush painted on her cheeks deepening a little as her own fingers find the string holding up Sylvain's shorts, ''Mon garon.''
''Do you see ze moon, ma chérie?'' Sylvain says. ''Your skin is paler zan ze pale moonlight.''
''Oh, Sylvain …'' Aureole flutters.
''You see ze stars, ma chérie? Your eyes sparkle more zan ze stars in ze sky.''
''Oh Sylvain…,'' Aureole twitters.
''Do you see ze black night sky? Your hair is blacker zan ze black night sky.''
''Oh Sylvain…,'' Aureole witters. The milkmaid is melting into Sylvain's arms, heart soaring, hopes rising, wooed by his words and a winning French accent. She is reaching ze point when a major indiscretion will be committed. ''Oh, mon Sylvain ...'' she whispers moistly.
''Oh, ma Aureole, je t'aime…,'' breathes Sylvain huskily, ''Je t'aime, mon amour..…''
''Where the bloody buggering hell is the map?'' The living room door blasts open. Yo-yo thunders in, tossing papers around as he searches for the York A to Z. Light floods through the portal. The figurines hurriedly scurry for cover. Yo-yo rages round the room for a minute or two. Why he wants an A to Z at three in the morning is beyond the comprehension of the three figurines concealed in the folds of the thick velvet curtain.
''Oh, my back eez keeling me,'' comments Chrétien.
''Shut up, you old fool,'' says Sylvain.
''Don't speak to my grandpapa like zat,'' says Aureole, pushing her basket against his rod. '' 'E's very uncomfortable. An' so am I.''
''Oh,'' says Sylvain, ''Zen take off your corset, ma chérie …''
''Where the bollocks is the map?'' Yo-yo rifles through the stack of leaflets on the coffee table. A black and white flyer floats to the floor. ''Ah, Ghost Walks centred on Inns and Pubs,'' he exclaims. ''Sounds merry.'
' He shoves it into his nightshirt's breast-pocket then spots what he is looking for, the A to Z. He needs it to plan tomorrow's expedition into the city. He picks it up and whirls out of the room, flicking the switch and plunging everything back into darkness.
''Oh, ma chérie, where were we?'' murmurs Sylvain.
''Oh, Sylvain, you were about to kiss me, kiss me, kiss me …..''
As the painted china lips of Sylvain and Aureole meet, Yo-yo creeps upstairs, pausing only to peep into Lily's hole and recoil, surprised, from -
Blu-tak or plasticine or even a rag. Whatever, Lily's hole is well and truly stuffed.
Yo-yo's Weekend Page 8