Born Free

by Laura Hird

  It’s hard to keep the grin off my face. I’m practically peeing myself. I’ve finally got an excuse to go round and see John on my own. The most brilliant excuse ever.

  ‘Of course, pal. No problem.’

  Yes, yes, yes. She’s so grateful she even agrees to come looking for Antonio with me. Fuck him, though, he’s just a laddie.

  I practically dance along to John’s in Dalry. My breathing’s dead fast and I can hear my heart beating in my head. I find myself smiling at strangers because it’s a shame their lives aren’t as exciting as mine. I’m completely hyper when I get into his street, knowing he could come out at any moment. He’ll like me so much for having taken such a risk. Also, if he’s not allowed near Rosie, he’ll be absolutely bursting for it.

  Shit, the nameplates on the intercom have all been burnt with cigarettes so I can’t tell which one is his. I squint at the two bottom buzzers as I know his flat is in the basement. The door opens as I lean against it. It must be a sign.

  There’s an odd smell in the stair, not pissy like the stairs in Gorgie but a sort of damp, dirty smell. The lights down to the basement have all been smashed so I have to go by the tiny chink of light from the stair door. I count the steps down, taking about four deeps breaths for each one. When I get down to the two flats at the bottom there’s a scary sort of buzzing silence. It feels like I’m miles from civilisation and, if anything happened to me now, nobody would ever find me. Then I see his name on the door – J. Goodfellow, a big red door. Please God make him be in. Rubbing my mouth on the back of my wrist, so my lips go all inflamed, I give the doorbell three short rasps. Still just the silence. I wait a minute, with my ear against the door. I’m sure I can hear a television whispering away in there. I ring again, four times, each longer than the last. I can hear someone moving around. Crouching down, I peer through the letterbox. I’ve only just made out the pair of legs on the other side of the door when it opens, and John’s standing there, naked from the waist up, scowling down at me. He seems about two foot taller than I remember.

  ‘What are you playing at?’ he snaps, then seems to recognise me.

  My voice comes out all funny.

  ‘I’m Rosie’s pal. She made me come.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Grabbing my arm, he checks there’s nobody outside, pulls me into the house and shuts the door.

  ‘Go through there,’ he orders, pushing me towards a room at the top of the hall. It’s roasting in there. The heating must be on full belt, but the curtains are drawn and the only light in the room is from the television screen. There’s racing on.

  ‘Did anyone see you come here?’

  The telly’s casting all different sorts of light and shadows on his face, each one making him look sexier than the last.

  ‘I was careful, honest,’ I lie. Really though, there could have been a bloody parade in the street and I wouldn’t have noticed.

  His body is completely hairless, like a little boy’s, but his shoulders are broad and he has a slight paunch where his jeans meet his body. It’s identical to what I’ve always imagined Richard Madeley’s body to be like.

  ‘Fucksake, if anyone catches you, I’ve had it. What’s Rosie said? She’s no outside, is she?’

  ‘Naw, naw, she just wants to know you’re alright. Why are they saying that stuff about you?’

  ‘What stuff?’ He leans so close to me, I can feel his words on my face.

  ‘Y’know … what the police said. Has Rosie’s mum mentioned the video?’

  ‘Fucking hell. See that fucking lassie. Tell me, tell me what she’s said.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘TELL ME!’

  Why is he shouting at me? I’m trying to save him.

  ‘The video … y’know … her mum found it. Did you say it was yours?’

  ‘Did I fuck. And you two better not either.’

  I just keep talking now I’ve started. What have I got to lose, apart from the obvious?

  ‘Why’s Emma saying these things? What’s going to happen? Will Rosie have to go to court? She says she winnae.’

  Folding his arms, he smiles for the first time since I arrived. I immediately feel in with a chance, just the look he’s giving me.

  ‘It’s aw shite. Emma’s mum made her say it ’cause she owes me money. Disgusting, eh? Using a lassie like that to get back at me. She’s the sick one. As long as Rosie keeps her mouth shut, though, they can’t make Emma speak in court. I swear, I’ve done nothing wrong. Sorry, what was your name again?’

  ‘Joni.’

  ‘Joni … Joni … that’s a nice name. Did I no meet you at Rosie’s last Hogmanay. I remember your eyes. Lovely eyes.’

  He slowly looks me up and down as I stare at the horses on the telly. I’m so glad it’s dark. My face is burning up.

  ‘So what else has Rosie said, eh? Come on, give me all the gory details.’

  I feel like I’m standing in the middle of Princes Street, naked.

  ‘Och … y’know.’

  He shrugs. ‘Know what?’

  ‘Oh dinnae … I cannae say.’

  He touches my chin and makes me look up at him.

  ‘D’you cream your knickers when she tells you about it?’

  Oh no, I just want to go now. I’ve never been so embarrassed. I can’t believe he’s just come out and said that. Is it so obvious?

  ‘… eh? Do you like watching dirty videos, too?’

  He’s speaking in throaty whispers, like Jarvis Cocker. I feel scared but don’t know why.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I mouth, but no sound comes out.

  ‘You suppose so?’

  It’s happening. This is what I wanted. Why am I shitting myself?

  ‘Um … erm … I dinnae ken.’

  He puts his face right up to mine, like he’s going to kiss me, then makes a clicking noise with his lips on his teeth and starts walking towards the door.

  ‘Look, you better go. I shouldnae’ve even let you in. How old are you anyway?’

  ‘Sixteen next week. My birthday’s on Good Friday.’ My voice is working again but it’s too late.

  He lets out a long groan as I follow him up the dark hall. I keep waiting for him to turn round and grab me but he opens the door and I walk out into the stair. Shit, I can’t believe I’m leaving. He fancies me, he really does. Why is he letting me go? I want to beg him to do it to me before my birthday, before it’s legal. But he just stands with his thumbs in his belt loops, giving me his stare. I want him so much.

  ‘So what should I tell Rosie?’

  He puts his index finger to his lips and says, ‘Ssh,’ that’s all, ‘ssh,’ then blows me a kiss and shuts the door. What a waste. He fancies me and he’s stuck in there on his own. I’d die just to go in and spend an hour with him.

  I’m too stunned to move. I want to ring the bell again and offer myself to him. Threaten to spill the beans if he doesn’t shag me. That’d just make him hate me, though. A door slams on one of the other landings. Scared it might be the police, I bolt up the stairs and out the main door. I don’t want to get him into any more trouble. I think I’m in love with him.

  The brightness outside is like a cold shower. I’d lost any sense that it was still daylight. It was like a secret underworld place. John’s street suddenly seems so familiar, like I belong here in some way. I’m sure it’s a sign.

  As I get on the bus, all sorts of emotions are swimming round my head. I wish Rosie wasn’t back at my house. I’m feeling dead jealous and I just want to X2 myself silly. When I get back and see her, I want to tear her hair out for not taking me round there when we had the chance. She was just trying to keep him for herself, selfish bitch.

  ‘You fancy him, don’t you?’ she suddenly says after I’ve raved on about what a cow Emma’s mum is for about ten minutes.

  ‘Do I fuck.’

  ‘Yes, you fucking do. Did he try anything on with you?’

  ‘Did he fuck,’ I say, trying to look disgusted by such an idea.

>   She smirks. ‘I didn’t think he would.’

  At this moment I make it my ultimate mission in life to steal John away from her. Nothing will get in the way. If I devote all my energy to getting him, I will. I must.

  Chapter Eighteen

  VIC

  THIS BEING MY only day off this week, I’m determined to spend it with fishing rod in hand. To prevent Angie issuing a list of chores to take up my day, I feign sleep till she’s left for work, then accidentally put the Yellow Pages on top of her subsequent note of instructions. As a token gesture, I stick her stinky bed-clothes in the machine.

  The sky’s clear at the moment, but this doesn’t count for much with the weird weather recently. Blizzards that last three minutes then disappear without trace, the temperature like a bloody lift. I’m sure it usually stops snowing before April. April the second? Why is that date so familiar? What have I forgotten now?

  Snapping the Scotsman from the letter-box, I squint in dismay at the back page. Rangers can’t get ten in a row. It’s always good to see Hibs get beat but not by Rangers when they’re vying with Hearts for top of the league. The fact that I sired a Rangers supporter is a constant source of shame and ridicule to me. I tried to bring Jake up as a Jambo but Angie’s father brainwashed him with all his Orange shit. Bollocks, that’s why the date’s so familiar. It’s the anniversary of her dad’s death. What was it, 1993? Shit, the fifth anniversary as well.

  Angie’s dad died on Kingsknowe golf course. One minute he was whistling the Sash as he teed up on the eighth hole, the next he was turning blue. Angie lost her licence whizzing up to the hospital, at 11 in the morning, three times over the limit. She remembers nothing about it now – the hospital, the funeral, nothing. Just one day, about two years later, she finally sobered up and realised her dad was gone.

  To cheer her up, I dutifully decide to pop into her work and take her for lunch. She’s laughing with a colleague when I go in. It’s weird seeing her with a smile on her face. I stand, waving like a prick, but she serves two punters before noticing me. God, what sort of a look was that? A mix of terror and loathing. My sense of well-being pisses out of me as she over-rings the next customer. As I walk up to the counter, she scowls and mutters something. Pardon me for breathing.

  ‘What’re you playing at? What’s wrong?’

  God, is it so long since I’ve taken my wife for lunch she assumes I’m the bearer of tragic news.

  ‘I just realised what the date was, sorry. Have you had your break?’

  Staring at the calendar on the wall does nothing to allay her apparent confusion.

  ‘… your dad. It’s been five years.’

  Her mouth drops open.

  ‘Oh, shit, of course.’ She stands awkwardly, then whispers something to the laddie at the desk. He gives me the thumbs-up as she gets her coat. God, why did I bother? I could be down the Water of Leith with a bucket of maggots by now. She blusters out into the street with me in tow.

  ‘I can’t be long. The relief cashier didn’t turn up.’

  ‘Remind me never to be spontaneous again, will you?’

  ‘I’m only saying.’

  I suggest the pub next door. A jumbo sausage and chips would just go down a treat, but she seems to take this as an affront.

  ‘Not a pub, eh? How about an Indian? Or I think the Chinese does business lunches. I’m not even hungry, to tell the truth.’

  ‘What’s the point in going for a meal then? Come on, dinnae be silly.’

  Taking her arm, I try to pull her in but she stands rigid, like some sullen child.

  ‘Fuck off, I don’t want to. You can’t turn up at my work and drag me to the pub.’

  ‘C’mon, restaurants take ages. I thought you didn’t have much time.’

  ‘Don’t do this to me, Vic.’

  ‘Do what? I thought you’d be upset about your dad.’

  She flutters her eyelashes helplessly, then yells, ‘OK, OK, do it your way, as usual. I’m sorry, you know, I’m sorry I’m such a bitch and you’re such a fucking saint.’

  I start to walk away but she grabs my jacket.

  ‘Come on. You want to go in, so let’s fucking go in.’

  Ordering a Diet Coke and bowl of soup, she goes to the back of the pub and sits in the corner. The barmaids are smirking at us, no doubt having heard the carry-on outside. It’s put me right off my jumbo sausage, so I just have a fresh orange.

  When I take the drinks over, she’s mellowed slightly.

  ‘Sorry, Vic. The dad thing has been preying on my mind. I don’t want them asking about it at work. It’s private.’

  Lighting two fags, I hand her one.

  ‘D’you want to talk about it? Five years, eh? I could hardly believe it.’

  Inhaling deeply, she blows smoke rings at me. She’s actually looking quite attractive. Perhaps I just haven’t looked for a while.

  ‘I’d rather try and block it out. I don’t have time to think about it.’

  ‘I went through it with Mum. It comes to the surface when you least expect it.’

  She lets out a smoky sigh.

  ‘Please, Vic, don’t get all deep on me, eh? I’ve got opening day at Aintree this afternoon.’

  A marital silence descends upon us. I find myself struggling to think of things to say that can’t possibly offend her. I tell her what Joni said about Friday.

  ‘Bullshit. It was me suggested we go out somewhere as a family.’

  ‘She said you wanted to buy drink for all her pals.’

  ‘Oh c’mon, she’s taking the piss. Y’know how she plays us against each other.’

  Is this a puzzle I’m supposed to solve?

  ‘So you do want to go for a meal?’

  She says yes, but her face says no. I give up. I will never try to understand women again.

  The barmaid brings her lunch. I’m grateful for the interruption. A look of utter displeasure returns to Angie’s face. God knows what I’m supposed to have done now. I tell her about the woman getting gang-banged up the back of the bus, but she’s too busy trying to get soup to her mouth before she trembles it down her front.

  ‘God, it’s so long since I’ve eaten at a table. It’s much easier on the settee with the bowl under your chin,’ she laughs, before giving up. ‘What you doing tonight?’

  I shrug. ‘What do I do every night?’

  ‘Go and see your dad while you’ve still got one.’

  ‘I saw him at the weekend.’

  ‘So? He’s not got anyone else.’

  Tell me about it.

  ‘Come with me then? He was sorry he missed you the other day.’

  ‘I’m going late-night shopping with Vicki, to get something for Joni. Anyway, I’ll have to make a move. First race is at two.’

  I finish my drink as she puts her coat on.

  ‘So how many work in that shop? Just the pair of you?’

  She doesn’t speak till we get out onto the street.

  ‘So are you going to your dad’s tonight?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘So you’ll be in all evening?’

  ‘I was going to go fishing. Why? Do you want me to get something for the tea?’

  ‘What’s the point. Nobody’s ever in to eat it. I’ll probably just grab something with Vicki. Anyway, I must go.’ She’s really champing at the bit to get back to work.

  ‘Isn’t there another cashier? You’re entitled to more than 20 minutes, surely.’

  ‘I’ve told you. The relief cashier didn’t turn up. The usual lassie’s off with stress after that fucking nutter the other day.’

  She does look good – younger somehow, slimmer. When I peck her on the cheek, she looks at me as if I’m some over-zealous dirty old uncle.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘See you later, Angie,’ I mutter as she hurries away.

  When I get back to the flat, Joni shoots into the corner of the living room, like a disturbed mouse.

  ‘Erm …
hi, Dad … I’ve to hand in an essay. I forgot it this morning.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Got it now anyway. My next lesson’s not till half-two. I’m meeting Rosie.’

  I follow her into the hall.

  ‘I just had lunch with Mum. She’s fine about going for a meal. She said it was her idea in the first place.’

  ‘What’s she on about? Honest, Dad, she was dead against it. Fucking hell, lying about her own daughter. She needs a shrink.’

  That’s it. I’ll just have to stop trying to work this one out or it’ll do my head in.

  ‘So that’s it then? Meal on Friday?’

  She shrugs. ‘Actually, I’m not that bothered any more. I don’t know what I’m doing yet.’

  ‘Fine.’

  They’re trying to make me go insane. That’s it, they’re going to get me sectioned and sell the house.

  ‘Da-ad.’

  ‘Yeah, how much?’

  ‘What?’ she scowls.

  ‘Well, usually when you look at me like that it means you want to borrow money you don’t intend paying back.’

  ‘Fuck off. You’re wrong actually. Don’t be so sarcastic.’

  ‘Sarcasm and stating a fact are not the same thing, dearest.’

  ‘Don’t call me that. Naw, Dad, but seriously, d’you know how old you have to be to give evidence in court? Y’know, can kids be made to do it?’

  God. What now?

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not me. I’m doing a story for English and I don’t want my 16-year-old giving evidence if it wouldn’t happen in real life. D’you know anything about it?’

  ‘What’s he supposed to have done?’

  ‘Nothing. I meant, could he give evidence against someone else?’

  Typical, she finally asks me a normal daughter-type question and I can’t answer.

  ‘I dunno. I’d think you’d have to be 18. You couldnae serve on a jury if you weren’t old enough to give evidence. I’ll find out. Can I read it when it’s finished?’

  ‘I suppose, but I’ve still got a lot to do. It’s not to be in till next term.’ She echoes, running down the stairs.