by Paul Magrs
He gripped the steering wheel with a faraway look in his eyes. Eventually he said, ‘I was never sure that what I was going to be would ever really be me.’ He shrugged and laughed. ‘Does that make sense?’
it sounds straightforward enough. Straightforwarder than what I’ve got.’
‘Go to bed.’ He smiled gently. ‘Second Coming or not, you still have to get to school tomorrow.’
At the end of the morning Penny was there with her head in her locker once more, putting books and files away and wondering where to go for lunch. Today was a good day because she had a fiver and she was thinking about going into town. Maybe she could even ask around and see if anyone in the common room was up for a walk and a laugh.
They were a pretty uninspiring bunch in there. Boy scientists and girls in dark skirts who did history. She didn’t have many friends yet. Someone was playing Ice-T on the crappy old tape deck. Some of the more interesting lads were ranged around that end of the room, and she saw them look up sharply when the door beside them flew open and Mr Northspoon came swishing in with a stack of photocopying. He pulled a face at the music and then sought out each member of his English group, thrusting handouts at them. They were pages Xeroxed from other Forster novels, from articles on him. ‘I forgot to give them out before,’ he repeated as he went round. When he got to Penny he said, ‘How can you bear to stay in here with Ice fucking T?’
She thrilled at the word as she hadn’t since she was eight. ‘Ooops,’ went Vince. ‘Can’t you get them to change the music?’ He whirled round. ‘Here, boys,’ he called and went up to them. They were taller than him, all in dark cardigans. ‘Can I put something on?’ Bemused, they stood back and let him flip through the records and tapes. Here there were things left by generations of sixth-formers. It was a tradition scrupulously kept up, this donation of successive eras’ favourite music. Vince found a faded copy of David Bowie’s Hunky Dory album and turned it on with a triumphant grin.
One of the boys in cardigans nodded. ‘That’s meant to be smart, that is.’
Vince looked at him. ‘It’s just wonderful.’
Penny watched him walk back towards her. ‘I was thinking of going into town for lunch,’ he said. ‘Do you want to come? I can’t sit watching them boring bastards in the staff room eating coleslaw sandwiches again.’
Penny was nodding, aglow and — she suddenly realised — tingling madly. ‘We can go to the Copper Kettle. It’s all there.
They escaped as the dinner bell rang, ahead of the rush, through the technical department where the machines in the workshops clanged and buzzed laboriously and the smell of oil hung about like an abattoir smell.
Over the fields it was drizzling. Penny waded uncertainly while Vince plodged ahead. They kept up a companionable silence for a while.
Behind them the school was warmly lit, each classroom giving off its separate yellow glow. From here it seemed peaceful, but they knew that inside it would be full of noise and the tang of sweat and paper and smoke. Penny was lagging behind, looking at it. She heard the squelch of mud as Vince came back to stand by her. She stared at the orange brick building in the middle of school, the circular deaf unit they all called the Magic Roundabout, because it seemed the whole school revolved around the deaf kids in there. Sometimes the kids who could hear chased the deaf kids just for the fun of it. They got jealous because the Magic Roundabout had better carpets and double glazing and two videos. There was one belligerent kid who had no ears at all, only two frail wires coming out of the holes in his head.
‘You haven’t got long to stay here,’ Vince said.
‘I’ve only just got here.’
‘I know. But, really, this is just time in between. Enjoy it, but you’ll like it more when you get away. Wherever you go.’
‘I haven’t thought about afterwards yet,’ she said, with a shiver.
‘Afterwards it will all be better.’
The precinct was a five-minute walk across the field, through the old houses and across the car parks. Vince started telling Penny about the Queen visiting, about the time of her silver jubilee. She’d come down in a helicopter on to the car park where Kwiksave was now. His infant school had trooped all the kids out to stand at the railings and wave crayoned Union Jacks. ‘My teacher, the immortal and terrible Miss Kinsey, had us terrified in case we acted out of turn. Death to anyone who made a show of her in front of the Queen. I wouldn’t care, but the Queen was only coming to open up the borstal. It wasn’t to see me.’
No one had quite reckoned on the gale-force winds brought down by the Queen’s helicopter in such restricted space. Kids were blown over, the home-made flags shot off somewhere and Miss Kinsey herself dashed backwards, screaming helplessly, into the cordoned-off road. Vince had felt sorry for her, wanting so much to greet the Queen and looking, once the wind had stopped and the mayor and the royal party came past nodding, like an insane woman.
Since then and since he had last lived here, the town centre precinct had had all-sorts added to it. Whole new shops with rent so dear they stayed empty. The indoor bit for the Christians and gamblers. A gym, up on the ramp, above Kwiksave. The precinct had arrived at this state through a gradual accretion. In the fifties it had been a high street, paved over in the seventies, built up in the eighties, and taken over by the cheap shops in the nineties. The cheap shops like Boyes and Winners and Bill’s Bargain Basement had become Vince’s favourites, with all their tat and tawdry cheeriness.
They were walking past Winners now as Penny pointed out that she hated seeing all these women in ski pants and anoraks. ‘They may as well come out in what they sleep in. And they don’t look like they wash their hair.’
‘Don’t be so snobby and picky.’
‘It depresses me, all this, though.’
‘Aye, but think of them looking at you,’ he said, ‘thinking, look at young Lady Shite over there, in her trendy black jacket and her PVC rucksack. Thinking she’s smart because she’s about to piss off to college.’
This chastened her for a moment. ‘I never said I was going anywhere. I could just end up on this town like any of the other lasses. With a double pushchair and toddlers piled four deep. I’m not setting myself above no one. I know where I’m from.’
‘Good,’ he said. They were held up then by a couple in their twenties, sailing complacently out of Woollies and cutting across their path.
‘I bloody hate that,’ Penny said, ‘when the bloke has hold of the woman by her waist or shoulders. Like she can’t keep herself upright.’
Vince rolled his eyes and said in a singsong voice, ‘I thought it looked quite gallant.’
They were walking in the wake of the happy couple.
‘He’s got his hand cupped right on her arse,’ Penny said. ‘Like he’s scared she’s going to shit.’
‘Touching cloth.’ Vince grinned. ‘My mam used to say that, I remember. Horrible thing to say.’
‘Have you got a nice mam?’ Penny asked. She felt they were roving all over the place in this conversation and it exhilarated her.
‘She’s gone now,’ he told her. ‘It’s just Dad at home.’
‘The teddy boy.’
‘That’s him. Look, is this the place? I’m actually dying for the bog now.’
This is the one, Penny thought, gazing at the great steamy window of the Copper Kettle and its dried flowers on the windowsill.
‘Could you order me some quiche?’ Vince asked her as they shoved inside. He shot off through the crowded tables and Penny was met by a young waiter in a frayed black waistcoat. He was small, girlishly featured and his hair was greased back, but not quite properly: there was a dry calf-lick sticking out of his crown. He looked at her and she saw he had a twitch.
‘Is there room for two?’ she asked, amazed he could hear her over all the noise. It was intense. They seemed to have walked in on the most animated points in all the conversations in the room. But that was what it was like in the Copper Kettle. They even got people her
e who came in by themselves and shouted loudly to no one in particular. That was mostly Saturday afternoons, when they let the people in the hospital up the road out for a wander.
The waiter was in a bad mood. He glanced round, led the way and flicked his tea towel at an empty table. It was pressed between the backs of women clustered around their own tables. From one came piercing laughter in waves as someone held court and everyone indulged them. Penny was intent on the dirtiness of the table the waiter had brought her to. There was a layering of tablecloths, crusted with stains and crumbs.
She jumped when, as she was sitting down, somebody! grabbed her elbow from behind.
‘Mam!’ she gasped, looking round.
Liz gave her a shrewd look, her face red with laughing. ] There were three others sitting with her. Penny recognised ] two women from Phoenix Court and someone who was surely one of the bus drivers. Her instant reaction was pleasure, that her mam had found a place here so soon. She could have a cackle with someone.
‘Have you had the same idea?’ asked Liz loudly. At this point Vince had found his way to their table and was settling into a place of his own. Liz raked her beautifully painted eyes over him. ‘I mean, about having lunch here?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She hesitated, caught between Vince and Liz. She hated formal introductions. ‘This is my English teacher, one of my English teachers.’
‘Vincent Northspoon,’ he said, raising himself and offering his hand. When Liz took it she jangled her bracelets and announced to the others, ‘Penny is doing A-level English. And this nice young man is going to teach her. She’s going far, this one.’
Vince fell back into his seat.
‘Do you often go to lunch with your students, Vincent?’ Liz fixed him with a stare.
‘Not often, no,’ he said, faltering slightly. ‘But I don’t believe in keeping different people and things separate. I can’t compartmentalise my life. We’re having a laugh.’
Obviously, for Liz, this reply had seen him through some kind of test. ‘And so are we,’ she said graciously.
The others were greeting Penny. From under her dark bob Fran gave a friendly smile. Jane went ‘hi-ya’ somewhat grudgingly, Penny thought, and the bus driver seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. Liz winked.
‘I’ll leave you to order your lunch in peace,’ she said. ‘We’re discussing serious things here. We’re planning a big night out.’
As her mother turned away, Penny sighed.
‘Your mam looks young,’ said Vince, flicking the menu. ‘Ugh, God! Look at this. Mince on toast.’
‘They’ve got quiche on, anyway.’
‘And is there a dad at home?’
She shook her head.
‘Maybe we should introduce my dad to your mam,’ Vince said. ‘We could be like the bloody Brady Bunch.’
‘Great,’ she said distractedly. Vince’s novelty value had already worn off. ‘What are we having?’
The small waiter was back beside them. He looked on the verge of a stinking migraine. With their order taken, he slipped crossly away.
‘He’s sweet,’ Penny said. ‘Makes me feel all protective.’
‘I bet he’d be furious to hear you say that.’
‘1 don’t care.’
‘He wants to wash his hair.’ Vince peered over heads to see him.
‘I’d take him home and run him a bath and strip him.’ Penny was looking wistful.
‘Well,’ Vince said smiling, ‘maybe I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crisps.’
Penny’s eyes went wide.
There was a great peal of laughter from her mother. Liz swung round in her chair and broke in as the giggles at her own table were subsiding. ‘Oh, I’ve just told them the most awful joke. I’d forgotten I knew it. It just came out and I’m so ashamed of myself.’
‘Go on,’ Penny told her with lips pursed.
‘Have you heard about the new Tupperware girdle?’ She raised an eyebrow and tittered at Vince. She’s still testing me, he thought. ‘It does nothing for your figure, but it keeps your fanny fresh.’
That said, she returned to her original audience, snorting. Penny was horrified to see Vince helpless with that infectious laugh of his. It reminded her of that nice first lesson, when he made them all laugh. This seemed to diminish that lesson. Worse, his giggles threatened to set her off.
‘Don’t encourage her,’ she hissed. ‘She’s getting worse.’ Vince made a very teacherly effort at composure. But his eyes, Penny thought; the unspoken stuff, just lurking there… ‘I wish that little waiter would hurry up.’ He said it with eyes cast down, and they waited for their quiche now in quiet.
They said goodbye to Liz’s party outside Boots. The others were heading off to catch the Road Ranger back to Phoenix Court, the bus driver was going back to the depot, and Penny supposed she ought to return to school.
Vince had turned thoughtful. As farewells were said he was staring at the market stalls, their tarpaulins heaving in the wind.
‘Is something the matter?’ she asked him.
‘I’m off for the afternoon,’ he said. ‘And I’ve got some business I’ve been putting off ever since I came back home.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Is it nice business?’
‘I’m not sure any more.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s in Darlington. Someone I have to see. Look.’ He glanced around almost furtively. ‘Why don’t you come on the bus to Dario with me this afternoon?’
She had maths. A resit lesson. She couldn’t bear it. ‘All right. Where are we going?’
‘I want to have a nice afternoon round the shops and I want a couple of pints first. And then I want to see… the person I’ve got business with.’
Her interest was roused by now. ‘And I’ll be your moral support?’
He smirked. ‘Aye. What time do the buses go?’
‘Twenty-five to and twenty past.’ She knew exactly: those buses were one of the few routes out of Aycliffe for her. ‘Round the back of Kwiksave.’
They sat on a bench to wait. Penny stared thoughtfully at the rest of the bus queue. She recognised a couple of faces from her new street. There you go, she thought, fitting in already. That bloke with the tattoos from the flats. He was there with a bairn in a pushchair. An ugly-looking baby with an old look about it. He stood with an old woman in a fur-collared coat. Her eyebrows were drawn on too heavily. They were arguing about who was going to spend the coming Christmas with whom. Without even looking at the blue-tattooed man, the older woman muttered, ‘I just want a nice quiet do, after all the fuss last year. You’ve all got to come to me and Iris. All of you.’
The man with the tattoos looked doubtful. And then the bus came. As Penny and Vince took their place in the queue, Vince said, ‘I adore eavesdropping. It makes you feel so glad to be alive.’
Penny thought he was staring at the blue man. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Is it him you’ve got business with?’
‘God, no.’
Penny was offered half fare by the driver. ‘But I’m seventeen!’
‘Sorry,’ said the bus driver. She frowned and pushed a button, doubling the fare.
‘Honestly,’ Penny sighed as Vince led them up the grey spiral staircase. ‘First I couldn’t get served in a pub, then they wouldn’t give me fags, and now this!’
Vince sat heavily on the front seat at the top. His favourite place. ‘Hark at Peter Pan,’ he said.
Behind them the old woman was breaking some news to the man with tattoos and they listened in on this as the bus lurched into the grey wind. The rain started up again.
‘Mark, I’ve got to tell you. She asked me to tell you. Sam’s pregnant again.’
A pause. ‘Oh. By him? By that copper?’
‘Who else? She’s been worrying how to tell you…’
There was a longer pause as the bus wound its way through Aycliffe Industrial Estate, where all the buildings were squat and grey and had gleaming silver log
os on their fronts. Penny was watching the slag heaps and miles of metal piping glide by and Vince found he was staring at her fingernails as they fiddled with her bus ticket.
‘Do you always paint your nails black?’ he asked. Immediately she curled her fingers round to hide them. ‘They aren’t painted,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re natural.’
He felt a roll of sympathy in the pit of his stomach. ‘Did they get crushed?’
Penny gave a sigh, preparing to give something away. ‘When I was tiny, when I was first born, my dad took me out of the incubator and out of the hospital, into the car park. He held me out to the moon and shouted and cried… and we j were struck by lightning.’
‘Oh .. .’ Vince fell quiet.
Now they were on the outskirts of the industrial estate, coming down Fujitsu Lane.
Behind them the man with the tattoos said to the old woman, ‘Tell Sam I’m pleased for her, Peggy. If another bairn is what she wants.’
Vince rolled his eyes. ‘It’s babies everywhere you turn, some days.’
Then their bus met the motorway, bringing them to the flat stretches of yellow, drizzly fields that stretched out the distance to Darlington.
FOUR
She stared fiercely at herself. The lights on board the bus at night were blue like a butcher’s freezer. They made her reflection turquoise, hollowed out. It slid through the glossy dark all the way home and kept her company. At one point Penny thought miserably, I am my own best company. Then she put a stop to that. Look, she told herself, I’ve had a nice day, a nice time with lovely and interesting people. Now it’s time to go home. This is the last bus home. It’s midnight almost. There’s nothing more to be had out of this night. So why was it she felt so let down? She wasn’t even sure what was making her glare at her own reflection. She felt that someone had got her all stirred up, only to let her drop.
Buses at night made her nervous. Penny bided her time until home and consoled herself that at least the 213 went right to the stop outside her house. At least she wouldn’t need to go traipsing round the streets, still unsure of her own estate’s geography. But if that was the best she could salvage from this evening, then to hell with it. Was that the most she could expect from life — to get home safely?