Snow Angel

by JJ Marsh

  Frank was here. Funny to think of it now. He didn’t stay long at all. He didn’t have a clue what to say and I still wonder why he bothered. He never knew what to say to me on an ordinary day, never mind when I’d just been arrested for murder. Just sitting there, shaking his head, looking at me again and back to the floor, shaking his head.

  He hadn’t said a word when he first arrived.

  Well, just the one.

  Nancy.

  “Nancy,” he said, as he walked in. All formal, with a nod, like as if he was a neighbour and we happened to meet in the doctor’s surgery. Nancy. Same tone he would use with a distant nephew, one he didn’t like all that much.

  I think the silence and head-shaking was supposed to let me know that he couldn’t believe it. Not of me. Not his own flesh and blood. Not Nancy. But Frank was not one to let gestures speak louder than words.

  “I can’t believe this. I cannot believe I am here”.

  He looked at me, incredulous. I tried a weak smile and raised my eyebrows.

  “Oh, that’s right, you grin away, girl. You have yourself a laugh. They ain’t mucking about, Nancy, this ain’t a bit of a slip-up what will get you a slap on the wrist. This is Holloway, girl. You’re in the nick!”

  I blinked. Frank was telling me that I was in prison. Perhaps he thought I hadn’t twigged yet.

  “Good God Almighty, Nance, what the hell is this?”

  His face got redder then, which was reassuring. He was quite pale when they let him in and I thought he looked proper peaky. Mind, I was used to seeing him near puce most of the time.

  Always in a fury, is our Frank. They’re all out to get him. Everyone lies in wait to make our Frank’s life a misery. If you’re in the car with Frank and you pull up to a junction, a stream of cars comes round the bend and he has to wait for ages till he can pull out. He always says the same thing. ‘Those blighters were waiting for me, see! Just bloody marvellous, innit, as soon as I want to get out, they all bloody queue up to stop me getting where it is I want to go’. Poor old Frank. But he was off again.

  “They tell me you ain’t said a word, Nancy. Well, I’ll tell you what, my girl, you going to say a word or two to me. We’ll get to the bottom of this and sort it all out. Right? Right, Nance?”

  I met his eyes, but I could not think for the life of me what expression I should have, so I just didn’t. No expression. I looked away.

  “I don’t know what went on there and to tell the truth, I don’t want to know. But I know it can’t be what they’re saying. That weren’t you. I know that much, I ain’t daft. Thing is, Nance, you got yourself mixed up in something very nasty. You got to come clean, so we can sort it out, innit?”

  Pressure built behind my eyes. I rubbed my face with my hands. I wished he’d give over. But he was working up quite a head of steam. Thing with Frank is, he can’t half talk. Ooh, what? Our mother used to say he’d have the hind leg off a donkey. Charlie was quieter. He’d whisper to Frank and Frank would do the foghorn bit. Sitting there in the visiting cell, he shook his head and got himself into a right muck sweat. I could see why. He was out of his depth. In the normal course of events, if I’d spilt a pan full of greens or knocked over a basket of clean shirts or couldn’t open the coal house door, he’d barge me out the way and sort it out. All the while calling me a ‘daft cat’ or ‘great heifer’ or mostly ‘useless mare’. This time, he was stuck. I wanted to tell him not to bother himself, just to go on home. It ain’t going to work, Frank, and it don’t matter how many blood vessels you pop.

  “You shamed me, Nancy! Do you realise, have you got the foggiest of how shamed I am? Not just me, all of us! Can’t look anyone in the eye. You know what, you have taken away my pride in my family name, that’s what you’ve gone and done. Taken away my pride, one of the worst things you can do to a man. Thank God our Ma and Dad ain’t here to see this. Thank God Charlie is dead and gone. Never thought I’d hear myself say them words but as God is my witness … “

  He never thought he’d hear himself say them words. Thank God Charlie is dead and gone. Well, I been saying them ever since he died. The real queer part is that I never thought I’d hear Frank say that. Not the bit about Charlie. The bit about talking. All I can remember from when I was a nipper is being told to shut it.

  Quiet, girl, you’ll wake your father. Hush. Sssh. Will you put a sock in it? Can’t you shut her up, Mum? Hush now. Little girls should be seen and not heard. Shut up, Nancy. No-one’s interested. Don’t tell. Sssh. You better not open your mouth. If you say anything about this, we’ll call you a liar. And who’re they going to believe? Keep your trap shut, girl, if you know what’s good for you. Sssh, not a whisper. There’s only one thing your mouth is good for and it ain’t talking. Nancy, would you please shut your bleeding cake-hole! Hush, sweetheart, hush now.

  Seems Frank changed his mind. He wanted me to talk.

  “What the hell was it all about, eh? Why the hell Gerry Murray? That lad was only twenty-one. What the bloody hell was going on, Nan, what the firing bloody hell? All right, all right. You don’t like the language. I know, I can see it on your face. Thing is, I’m in the dark, see? I don’t know what to think. You’re in shock, your brief told me, but ain’t we all? Ain’t we all smacked sideways by this one? Nan, you saw what happened. I can’t believe it was you, don’t ask me to get that into me skull. Tell the coppers who done it or we ain’t never gonna know, innit?”

  He looked old, did Frank. Funny how you add up all the little changes and it comes to one great big one. He’d gone old. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t thinking that was anything to do with me and all of this business. He did look a bit drained and tired, but there could be a lot of wherefores as to that why. His suit was shiny, like it had been ironed too often. Not shiny all over, like Mr Harmsworth. He has his done in a shop up West and they’re supposed to be like that. Frank’s was shiny in patches. I could feel that old itch. I wanted to take it off of him, give it a decent hand wash, then press it while still damp, covering the suit with an old cloth. It’d come up lovely then. But I didn’t. Come to that, I couldn’t.

  “Gawd, I don’t know if I’m talking to a brick wall or what. You can’t just keep schtum, girl. You don’t want to talk to the Old Bill, and nor don’t I, but you got to say something. Innit? I’ll tell you something for nothing. What’s it been? Two days, well three, if you’re counting the Monday. People are singing a song about you. Famous, that’s what you are, girl. Do you want to hear it? No, I don’t expect you do. Well, I have to hear this, day in, day out, so it’s time you done too.

  Who’s sorry now, who’s sorry now

  Who took a gun to shoot poor Gerry down

  She heard him groan, she watched him moan

  ‘Cos she’s got a heart made of stone.”

  I hope I die before hearing my brother sing again. I’ve never heard him sing before and going by the sound of it, he didn’t practise much. It was the worst thing I ever heard in my life. His voice was weak and creaky, like an old man’s, and his embarrassment contagious. He sat opposite me, in that cold light, with the warder watching expressionless, opened his mouth and sang. It was ugly, painful and raw as a grazed knee. I was mortified and my face burned as if I’d opened the door to a furnace. I looked away, up and down, like a cornered creature, but there was no way to escape. I was so horrified by Frank’s singing I don’t think I paid all that much mind to the words. It lasted a few agonising, eternal seconds.

  Frank spoke. “See? Nice. Lovely. ‘Maid of Stone’. I just cannot wait to show my face in my place of work come next Monday. The reception will be royal. ROYAL! For crying out loud, you silly bitch, will you tell us what the hell happened?”

  I stared at my hands and waited till my face cooled.

  “I got sweet Fanny Adams to go on. The papers say it looks like you done it and you ain’t arguing. But it don’t add up, not to my mind, it don’t. What was he to you? Far as I know, you was just working with the bloke before, but he co
uld have been your weekend fancy man for all that I know. I just don’t know.

  “He wasn’t, was he? Was he, Nan? Nah, nah, he weren’t. Give me strength. What I do know is that you will get yourself nowhere by keeping your gob shut. What did he do, Nan? If he tried to hurt you, well, that’s self-defence. Your brief will be banging on about that one, but only if you help. She says you are ‘uncooperative’. Know what that means? It means you are a stubborn little cow, that’s what it means. I don’t think she likes you. Who can blame the woman, eh? If you won’t help yourself, why should anyone else?

  “RIGHT! I am sick to the back teeth of this! You will tell me what the bloody hell went on in that place or I swear on my lites, I will do for you!”

  The warder took a step towards us. “Mr Maidstone, would you take your seat, sir?”

  “All right, I got the point. I’m sitting, see? It’s enough to drive you round the bend, though. It would try the patience of a saint. She’s gone simple on me. Can’t get a word out of the dozy mare. Thank you, miss, I’ll keep seated now.

  “See? See what you are dragging me down to? Your level, that’s what. Have I ever had a brush with any area of the law before now? No, I have not. Not on my life. But no apology. No, sorry I am dragging you into all this, Frank. I am deeply ashamed of the disgrace I have brought on our entire family, Frank. No. Not a bleeding word. The silent treatment. Nancy, I don’t know if you thought this through or what, but I got to tell you, you could get the death penalty for this. They ain’t used it for a while, true, but that’s only ‘cos the soft soapers created such a three-ring circus over that last one. It’s still in place. You could face the noose, girl.”

  An electric shock charged through me. The second time Frank had shocked me, but this time with hope. They wouldn’t, would they? They wouldn’t actually let me go? That was the first time I dared to entertain the thought. Up to then, I’d been convinced that they’d punish me forever, by keeping me in that place, with those women, till I died of old age. Make me live with myself. I didn’t dare believe that they might let me leave early. I couldn’t think about it. If I did, it would never happen. I never got anything I wanted.

  “No, no. Don’t look like that. I’m only putting the wind up. Oi, Nance, it’s all right, I said. They ain’t going to do you in, girl. Honest to God, though, you got to talk. You can’t go all blank like that. Makes everyone a bit jumpy. Tell the truth and shame the devil, innit? If you can’t rely on your own family, who can you … are you yawning? Am I boring you? Oh, I do apologise. I shouldn’t keep you. After all, I am only trying to keep you from swinging from the bleeding gallows, you daft cow!”

  I blinked a few times, trying to concentrate. Frank got up, making a right show of biting his lip.

  “Goodbye, Nancy. I can’t wish you good luck because that would be stupid. About half as stupid as you are. All I can say is that from now on, I am an only child. I never had a sister and my name is not, at least no longer, Frank Maidstone. I’ll keep the Frank, but you have spoiled the rest of it. Who knows, I could always call myself Murray. Excuse me, miss? If you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now. Ta-ra, Nance.”

  The warder opened the door. His last glance was a mixture of puzzled, angry and hurt. As if I was a well-trained dog which had just bitten him. I wouldn’t see him again. My heart went out to him, it really did. Odd how personal it was. He really thought I was doing it to hurt him. Funny, in a way. If I’d known what it would take to make him care.

  Poor old Frank. I cared for him. He got in the firing line, did Frank, in a manner of speaking. Charlie, God rest his soul, started the fire, but Frank was the smoke. He was the one who got caught and copped it. Charlie would stand, wide-eyed and shocked, saying, ‘Oh, Frank!’, like he couldn’t believe it. His face was always pale, not like Frank, who used to flush beetroot when they got caught. No matter what the punishment, Frank never told on him. Never dobbed his brother in and just took the clip round the ear like a good ‘un. No wonder Frank thinks the world’s out to get him. He took the blame for them both. Charlie never copped it, not once. Tell a lie, he’s copped it now.

  How can you think things like that, eh? Your own brother, flesh and blood. God, just thinking about the funeral makes a lump in me throat. Mum’s face, cracked, wrecked, drained of all she had. Frank, white and lost without his navigator. Charlie’s girl, the glamorous Lana, powder, mascara, foundation, all gone to the dogs.

  Dearly beloved …

  Dearly beloved, my foot. He wasn’t, not by me, leastways. He might have been beloved by the rest of them, and judging by the floods of tears at the crem, he probably was. The golden boy. Tall, fair and handsome, if you go for thin lips, a beaky nose and the cruellest mouth you can imagine.

  Shakes are getting worse now. Calm yourself, girl, there’s no-one what can hear you. All right to tell the truth when it’s just between you and your Maker. You what? You can’t have it both ways! All right then, just between you and the mattress. That’ll do.

  Charlie was hateful, cruel and a master manipulator. There. Not just to me, mind, don’t get me wrong. This is not just a little sister’s old, cold resentment. He did it to Frank, too. The difference was Frank was grateful, just to be let in, to be talked to, included and overjoyed to do all Charlie’s dirty work. Don’t know how happy he was to take the rap for it all, but he never let out a whisper of complaint. Stupid bloody fool. Oh, good gracious, what is it with you today, Nan? May as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb? How to follow up getting charged with murder: not content with bad-mouthing your poor dead brother? Why not finish off with a bit of foul language?

  Charlie makes me think of foul language. I don’t care how big a war hero he was in Italy. At home, he was a coward, a sneaky little weasel and a bully. I hated every hair on his golden head. Funny enough, I didn’t hate Frank quite as much. More like a bit sorry for him. He was one of Charlie’s victims, just didn’t know he was.

  I knew I was. They would plant the seeds for days, even weeks before, sometimes. They would whisper together, mouths and ears towards each other, but eyes trained on me. I knew. Message received. They were planning how to get me. I could not escape. Never. I could try and tell Mum, but sobbing and crying and saying ‘They’re looking at me’ was never going to get me much sympathy. They always chose humiliation. Fear over pain. Showing me who was boss. There was never a serious mark, apart from the thing in the greenhouse. And that was explained away in no time. My role was the victim, they were going to get me and it was only a matter of time. I spent all my life until they left home in a state of fear. Never a happy-go-lucky moment, never blithe or gay, always waiting and watching. That way, they could hurt me for one day, but make sure they blighted my life for weeks.

  One of their favourite targets was my hair. I had lovely hair, the only thing about me that you could call pretty. I had a very plain face, with a big jaw like both the boys. It suited them. My eyes were the palest blue-grey, like dishwater, my Mum used to say. And ever since I can remember, I was big. Big face, big head, broad shoulders, wide hands, as clumsy and awkward a child as you ever met. Dad would call me a blunderbuss when I came pounding down the stairs or knocked into the table and set everything toppling. He used to smile and shake his head. So I didn’t mind. I minded a bit when the other kids at school called me sausage-fingers or moon-face, but soon learned to ignore it. My brothers called me Desperate Dan, even in front of my mother. She chided them for that, but even she used to say I should try to be a bit more feminine. Act a bit more like a lady.

  My hair was feminine, ladylike and beautiful. Thick as you like, in long ringlets down my back. Mum used to put it in rags for me. The boys laughed themselves soft when they saw me with my hair in rags. Scared the dog, too. He came wandering in, took one look and shot back out again with his tail between his legs. I didn’t give a fig for them or the dog. I loved the way my hair came out. Shiny fat curls, looping down my back. Mum never said too much, as she said people who thought a lot of t
hemselves were heading for a fall. Still, she’d comb it through for me, using her fingers very gently and you could see she was proud. When we brushed it at night; one hundred strokes, no more, no less; we were peaceful. We were happy then. Charlie knew I loved my hair and that’s why he kept telling me he’d destroy it.

  Cowboys and Indians. Tied up to a lamp-post, as trees were a bit thin on the ground. They showed me the matches, built a fire round my feet. Tipped a bottle of brown ale over the broken sticks and told me that pouring alcohol on the fire makes it burn all the wilder. Lit matches, held them to my face and behind my head. I could smell my hair singeing. My throat was hoarse for days after from the screaming.

  Scientists. Tied to the table in the greenhouse when Mum had gone on the bus to town. All kinds of chemicals in small jars. Planning to turn me into a peroxide blonde. Pouring liquids onto my skin with so much ceremony and glee that I shrieked fit to wake the dead whether I could feel anything or not. I still have scars on the back of my neck from some chemical or other and on my wrists from the twine holding me onto the Formica.

  Barbarian tribes. Sharpening knives, talking about cutting, scarring, scalping and watching my face. I tried pleading, appealing to their sweet sides, threatening to tell, asking, begging them to let me go. Screaming again. That was before they discovered gags.

  Then it was Doctors and Patients. Most children’s games include nurses, but I was only an ‘im-patient’. They found themselves very droll. I once saw Frank damp his shorts through laughing. They wanted to see what was different. They wanted to see how it all fitted together. Innocent enough, kids experimenting. Except I had no choice. They opened the door without knocking.

  Of course, they were left to themselves mostly, that was part of the problem. Mum was either out at work or in at work. The boys were her pride and joy. When we went shopping ‘I need an extra pair of hands’, she would tell people about them. Both sharp as tacks, oh, she had high hopes for those boys. They were clever, they were running rings round her; they were into everything, especially trouble. She would laugh with the ladies in the shop and shake her head fondly. Charlie and Frank were good looking and badly behaved. Just as a lad ought to be.