by C. J. Skuse
As we’re finishing our castle and looking for shells to decorate it with, I see blood on my foot. It’s only a little spatter but it still shouldn’t be there. I must have cut myself, I think – Chelle has bought us new buckets and spades and one of the spades has a jagged edge. But there isn’t a scratch anywhere. I follow the trail to see it’s coming from me. Down my leg. From there.
A horrible thought descends and my heart quickens. I think back to the one biology lesson we had about periods. And I realise it’s very definitely here, sitting in my knickers. No warning or fanfare. Just there, aged ten and eight months, ricocheting off the rubber ring around my shaking ankles. I quickly wrap myself in my beach towel and race across the beach and up towards the restaurant and adjoining toilets in the car park before anyone notices I’ve gone.
The toilets are dark and grimy and the tiled floor is covered in globules of wet sand and shreds of paper. I sneak into a cubicle and lock the door. The blood’s patched on the gusset of my costume, inside and out. So undeniable, so red. I wind up a thick coil of clean toilet paper and wad it against myself, pulling my costume back up. My sickness comes upon me in great waves. I remember the biology lesson. Once you’ve got your period, you’re a woman, the teacher announced. But this is so wrong. I’m not a woman. I’m a little girl. I’m Elly Belly Cinderelly. I’m Squish. I watch the trickle on my leg dry to a crispy streak.
Outside the cubicle, groups of screaming, sandy children slap about on the tiles, washing hands, calling for their mothers to help them pull up their costumes. A little girl peeks under the door at one point but quickly disappears. My cheeks burn with shame, my tummy aches. I don’t ever want to come out.
I stare at the cold breeze blocks as another large piece of my embarrassingly female jigsaw slots into place. First there were the small fleshy lumps on my chest. Now this. ‘It’s not fair.’
A while later I hear my name being called. A boy’s voice – Paddy.
‘Ellis? Are you in there? Ellis? Excuse me, have you seen a little girl with red hair come in here? She’s ten years old, blue eyes, smiley face?’
‘No, sorry love.’
I hitch my feet up so he can’t see them under the door.
‘Ellis? Are you there?’ Bang bang bang.
‘Go away.’
‘Oh thank god.’ I hear him calling for Auntie Chelle. ‘Mum, she’s here. She’s in here. Ellis, everyone’s been looking for you. Dad nearly had the coastguard out. What is it? Has something happened?’
‘Yes.’ I have to say it. I have to spit it out of my mouth where it’s burning a hole. ‘I’ve got some blood.’
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. That blood?’
I can’t hold back my tears. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘It’s alright, don’t worry. We’ll look after you. I’ll go get Mum.’
‘Dad’ll be cross.’
‘Why would he be cross?’
‘We can’t afford it.’
‘You can’t afford to have a… period?’
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me.
‘Please open the door, Ellis. Nobody’s angry with you, I swear.’
By the time I come out, they’re all standing there. Paddy, Isaac, Uncle Stu, Auntie Chelle and Foy. And I feel like a fool. A stupid clown-sized fool like the one we saw at the circus who got covered in custard pies then tripped and fell head-first into the mound of feathers. But Auntie Chelle immediately folds me into the softest hug ever and the humiliation falls away like the shell pieces of a broken egg. Foy hugs my back so that between them I’m completely enclosed. I feel someone else stroke my hair.
‘Am I going to die?’
‘Course you’re not,’ says Uncle Stu, rubbing the top of my head. ‘Isaac dived off the rocks cos he thought you were drowning.’
‘Right,’ says Chelle. ‘Boys – I think it’s time for some ice cream, don’t you? And me and Ellis will go up the town and find a chemist.’
‘And me! And me!’ says Foy.
Chelle looks at me. ‘Is that alright?’ I nod. She strokes my hair away from my face. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, my darling. Nothing at all.’
And that makes me cry again. They’re all being too nice. She clears everyone away but Foy, who refuses to leave my side and we go back to the car and drive into St Agnes to find a pharmacy. I’m walking like a duck cos the sanitary towel Auntie Chelle’s given me to wear in my knickers feels so big. Foy copies my walk which makes me laugh. Chelle parks on double yellow lines.
‘Let them give me a ticket, this is more important than parking.’
Chelle buys a pack of wet wipes and two boxes of pads and all the while Foy is very quiet. Even though she holds my hand around the shop, she’s looking at me like she’s wondering who I am now. Chelle shows me what to do back in the car park toilets, when all the others have gone back down to the beach. It’s like I have a small mattress between my legs when I walk and everything’s wrong. The world is spinning a different way now. This wasn’t in the plan for summer.
I don’t feel like playing castles after that.
I sit on Chelle’s beach towel in Foy’s spare costume – I don’t know where mine went. Foy sits next to me, itching to go and play on the boogie board because it’s her turn. She draws pictures in the wet sand and I have to guess what they are.
‘Mum?’ says Foy. ‘Can I start my period now too?’
Chelle laughs. ‘Well you can’t actually choose when it comes, baby girl, it just comes. You’ll get yours when Mother Nature says it’s time.’
‘But I want a period, too.’
‘You really don’t,’ I tell her. ‘It makes my tummy hurt.’
Chelle hugs me close to her. ‘It’s really not that big a deal, honestly. The stomach ache disappears and you’ll have the blood for a few days and then it’ll go.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘No, it’ll come again next month. You’ll have to keep track.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘I’ll get you a diary. You do get used to it. You have to remember when it’s due and get some pads in and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘I don’t have any money for pads.’
‘Your dad’ll give you some, don’t worry about that. I’ll have a word with him.’
‘He doesn’t have any money either.’
‘He’ll have money for that, I’m sure,’ she says on an out-breath.
Foy draws me a picture in the sand of a cat. ‘That’s Princess Tabitha,’ she announces. ‘And she’s the castle cat and she makes sure none of the evil sewer rats get in and steal the cheese. Shall I go and get some shells and we can carry on decorating the outside?’ I nod. When she’s run off, her heels kicking up the sand behind her, I ask Chelle the question that’s been nudging me since the train station.
‘Can we stay with you, Auntie Chelle?’
‘You are staying with us, sweetheart. All summer.’
‘No, I mean me and Dad?’
‘Well your dad’s got to work, hon.’
‘He lost his job again.’
She strokes my hair out of my eyes where the wind has blown it. She smells lemony – Verbena and fresh cotton – and her curls are soft on my nose. All the sunshine has gone from her face. ‘What was it this time?’
‘I dunno. He came back to the hotel one afternoon and said the manager was a witch who kept trying to poison him with bad apples.’
‘Typical,’ she says. Then she turns to me. ‘Did you say hotel? What hotel?’
‘The New Moon. It’s more of a pub really but not as nice as your pub. There’s too many motorbikes at night.’
‘Why were you staying there? Did he have to stay overnight with work?’
‘No, we live there now.’
‘A pub? Since when?’
‘They’ve got rooms. And tropical fish. The landlord lets me feed them. And their cat sleeps on my bed sometimes. He’s called
Jasper.’
‘How long have you lived there, Ellis?’
‘Since the fire.’
It’s like I’ve jabbed her in the side with a needle. She jolts away from me. ‘What fire?’ It’s like she’s getting angry. And my answers are making her angrier so I don’t answer. She cuddles me close again. ‘Darling, what fire?’
‘Our house. It caught on fire when I was at school.’
Then she sort of laughs. ‘Your dad didn’t tell me about this. So… when can you move back?’
I shrug. ‘Dad says we can’t.’
‘And you’re both living in a B&B until the insurance money comes through, that’s the game, is it?’
‘Don’t think Dad had any insurance. I heard him shouting on the phone.’
‘Of course he didn’t,’ she sighs as Isaac comes padding up the beach with a pair of broken goggles. She mends them without even looking and hands them back to him. ‘Tell Daddy I want a word,’ she tells him, and he pads off back to the sea.
Foy returns with half a bucket full of white shells and we decorate the castle. She only asks me once about the P word – ‘can you feel it coming out?’ For the rest of the afternoon there’s a lot of quiet talking going on between Chelle and Uncle Stuart. The boys play football and me and Foy decorate the castle and play that Alanis Morrissette song over and over on Isaac’s Walkman. We’re planning a new routine.
In the car on the way home, it’s quiet. Paddy’s asleep before we hit the motorway and Isaac’s in a mush with Foy because we’ve drained his batteries.
Me and Foy lie down in the boot, our heads together so we can read each other’s thoughts. She’s murmuring Alanis in my ear, purposely getting all the lyrics wrong.
‘It’s like Wayne on your wedding day…’
‘Shut up,’ I giggle.
‘No. Shan’t.’
So I join in. ‘And isn’t it moronic… dontcha think?’
And she laughs as much as I hoped she would. Even though I don’t know what moronic means – I’ve just heard Isaac use it a few times today.
‘I hope you’re not singing rude words back there,’ Auntie Chelle calls back.
‘No we’re not,’ we both sing and snuggle down again. And it’s like nothing happened. We’ve had a normal, nice day at the beach. And I’m not a woman, I’m still a girl. And Auntie Chelle’s not cross with Dad, she’s chatting and laughing with Uncle Stu. And Foy is by my side.
‘I hope you can come and live with us,’ Foy whispers. ‘You can stay in my room on the zed-bed and your dad can have the back bedroom. That’s what Mum said.’
‘Did she?’
‘Yeah. Then you can go to my school. You can be my sister.’
And she tucks herself in beside me in the boot under the check blanket and I have my Miss Whiskers Cat and she has Thread Bear and we fall asleep, heads together so we can share our dreams.
9
Still Wednesday, 30th October
Scants isn’t answering his mobile so I try his work number. It connects on the third ring but it’s an answerphone. Someone picks up halfway through the message but it’s not Scants’s voice – it’s some woman’s.
‘Gina Hewer.’
‘I’d like to speak to Neil Scantlebury please?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘This is Joanne Haynes.’
‘Oh hello Joanne. I’m Neil’s colleague. Sorry he’s still off on sabbatical. Will be until further notice.’
‘Sabbatical? Why?’
‘He’s been off about four months. Did he not say? Can I help you at all?’
‘Never mind.’
I click off and slump against the wire fencing, my face still aching all over from being thumped by Alfie’s mum. I’ve only just noticed how much pain I’m in. It’s like a permanent ice cream headache. I step outside the phone box. Where do I go? Scants is ignoring me. My would-be husband Kaden has got another woman. And I’m being followed by between one and three bad men who all want to kill me.
What hellish direction do I go in first? Times like these (well, not exactly like these) I would dash home and sit on the bed cuddling Emily for a while to calm my nerves. But she doesn’t smell right anymore. I’ve put her in the wardrobe now.
I want to talk to Scants.
And as if by magic, my phone starts ringing in my pocket. It’s him.
‘Scants? Thank god, thank god you called!’
‘Why are you ringing my work phone?’
‘I really need to speak to you.’
‘You always “really need to speak to me.” Do not call my work phone, alright? Use my mobile.’
‘You never answer your mobile.’
‘What do you want, Joanne?’
‘I don’t know where to start. I’ve been attacked, in the street. By a woman. The woman from the newsagent’s.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘Well her son delivers my paper and she doesn’t like the fact that I’ve been leaving sweets out for him. And a board game I thought he’d like—’
I hear a muttered Fuck’s sake. ‘I warned you it could look like grooming.’
‘I WASN’T GROOMING HIM! I was just being his friend.’
‘Like you’re “just being” a bestselling novelist, or “just being” a mother of five and “just being” an old school friend of Meghan Markle—’
‘The girl looked like Meghan Markle, I said—’
‘—and like you’re “just being” a mother to a five-week-old baby who never eats, cries or ages. Anything else to add to the list?’
‘Stop it, Scants.’
‘The truth really hurts you, doesn’t it? You even made the papers in Manchester claiming you were in that tram smash.’
‘I was nearby.’
‘Exactly. Nearby. Not in it. Not badly injured. Nearby. Seventeen streets away at the time, in fact, but don’t let a little thing like fact get in the way now, will you?’
‘Scants, please…’
‘You befriend kids who aren’t yours, you go to funerals for people you don’t know, don’t even vaguely know. You try wedding dresses on even though you’ve got no intention of getting married. And you go about with a doll pretending it’s a new-born baby. I have told you to stop and you won’t listen. I can’t deal with this anymore.’
‘You have to.’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t have to, actually. You bring me more headaches and more paperwork than anyone else I have to deal with. I’m supposed to be off work at the moment. I’m gonna transfer your case officially to a colleague. Any problems you have from now on, you’ll have to go through Gina.’
‘No! No, I don’t want anyone else. You’ve been on this case since I was ten. You’re like a dad to me.’
‘Yeah, well I’m not your dad. Don’t make this any more difficult, alright? It’s too much for me right now.’
‘Why? Why is it too much? What’s happening to you?’
He laughs. He laughs for longer than is comfortable. That’s because it’s not funny. ‘My wife died. About a year ago. Thanks for finally asking.’
‘You said she got better.’
‘She did. Then she got worse. Then she was hospitalised. And then she died.’
‘You never said anything.’
‘You never asked. You’re so wrapped up in your own little world, you don’t notice anything else happening around you. Your paranoia, your fake baby, your kiddy friends. Your lies. That’s all y’are. Lies.’
I can’t hold back the tears any longer. ‘You can’t come off my case.’
‘Oh, is that it for the sympathy, is it? Back to you now?’
‘Scants, I’m sorry about your wife, I really am.’
‘No you’re not. You’re sorry you finally pushed me over the edge. So I’ll renege and go back to how things were and then in a few weeks’ time, you’ll call me saying you’ve cut yourself or you’re gonna jump off the pier there and I’ll jump in the car and pootle up the M5, M6, and then you’ll say W
hat were you so worried about?’
‘Scants—’
‘There are people whose folders I put to the bottom of the pile so I can deal with your crap first. I did your shopping last week as a final act to see how you were. And I think, actually, aside from the constant lying and paranoia, you’re doing okay. So I refuse to feel bad about this. I’m passing you over to Gina next week – she’s always found your case fascinating, so she can have you.’
He’s about the hang the phone up. He’s about to say goodbye and leave me forever. So I have to do it. I have to say it.
‘If you leave me, I’ll tell your boss you’re drinking again. I’ll tell him you were drunk when you visited me last.’
Silence. He’s still there. I can hear his breaths.
‘You think he doesn’t know that? You think he would blame me, after six years of nursing my wife, for hitting the bottle again?’
‘I need you, Scants, please. Please tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.’
‘I need you to leave me the fuck alone,’ he snarls. ‘How about you do that?’
And then the dialling tone goes dead.
Scants has never spoken to me like that. Never ever. He’s laughed at me, called me an idiot, and he’s done the whole Don’t you dare ask me about finding your family thing many times. But he’s never blown up at me like that. I don’t like it.
And I don’t like it when he says I’m grooming those kids – I’m so not! I just like kids. I like being around them cos they’re not adults. And being around adults only reminds me that I’m not a kid anymore. That’s why people have children, isn’t it? To relive their childhoods again and again, and then again through their grandchildren. Because being an adult isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. And there’s no going back.
I don’t want to go back to the flat – Kaden will be there. Probably humping that hussy from the gym. I could go into work but they’ll all be there, whispering in corners, judging me and laughing if I trip over that wrinkle in the hallway carpet.
It’s getting dark. Where do I go? I feel like my nose is about to bleed but nothing else comes. I sniff and sniff so anything that was thinking about dripping out goes back up inside my head. I fish my beanie hat out of my bag and go towards a warm welcome. Towards safety – Mr Zhang’s Chinese Supermarket.