Anywhere's Better Than Here

by Zöe Venditozzi

  ‘‘I suppose I don’t have much stuff. Rolling stones and all that.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘I’ve travelled a lot. I haven’t gathered much moss.’’ He glanced at her.

  This should have been a further cue to just shut it, but Laurie couldn’t stop.

  ‘‘But don’t you have any pictures of your family or anyone?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ He paused then seemed to force himself on. ‘‘I’m not massively in touch with my family.’’ He opened the fridge and took out the milk. ‘‘I see them sometimes but not with any regularity.’’

  Laurie frowned.

  ‘‘Gerry, do your family know you’re here?’’

  Gerry poured boiling water into the mugs. ‘‘No. They don’t.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ She scanned his face but could read nothing in it. ‘‘Can I ask why?’’

  He shrugged. ‘‘Oh, various things.’’ He poured milk into the mugs. ‘‘We had some difficulties when I first joined up and it’s never improved much.’’ He turned round, holding a mug out.

  She reached forward and clasped her hands around Gerry’s. They stared at each other.

  ‘‘Anyway,’’ Laurie said.

  ‘‘Anyway,’’ Gerry repeated, smiling.

  Laurie sat down and took a noisy slurp of her tea. ‘‘You going to sit down?’’ She nodded at the sofa next to her.

  ‘‘I suppose so,’’ said Gerry looking down at her.

  ‘‘Hey! You’d better not be looking down my top!’’ said Laurie in an attempt to sound saucy.

  Gerry smiled but walked over to the window.

  Well, I’ve managed to ruin that moment, thought Laurie, gulping down her tea even though it was much too hot. Her eyes watered and she wiped at them as she watched Gerry who was looking out into the street.

  He was actually much nicer looking than he appeared at first. She admired the breadth of his shoulders and the height of him. He was very manly, but not a man’s man. He was quite tender and quiet but there was that distance in him. He was polite and kind, but he wasn’t really telling Laurie much. But then, Laurie was very deliberately not telling him much and there was clearly a lot to tell. At what point would they start to tell each other things? Would they have to go through all the horror of the nakedness and the awkwardness before there was more biographical detail?

  Gerry turned to Laurie. If this was a film there’d be a rise in the intensity of the soundtrack or the background would blur bringing Gerry’s face into sharp focus. There’d be an extreme close up of Gerry looking intense and then one of Laurie looking unsure but interested, possibly biting her lip. Then it all started to go wonky and spaghetti-westernish. She could hear quite distinctly that lonesome whistling that preceded the gun fight. She made an effort to focus. Gerry was still looking at her. The time was now.

  He advanced towards her, putting his mug down on the coffee table then taking hers from her hands and doing the same with it. He reached forward guided her to her feet. He stood for a second with his hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes.

  ‘‘Something is happening here, isn’t it?’’

  His face was so serious that Laurie felt like laughing, but she knew that would probably be the end of things if she did. Why was he so serious about this? She was the one breaking the rules.

  The walls were magnolia painted woodchip. The carpet was a rough cord type, that someone had covered in front of the sofa with a sludgy coloured Indian rug. The furniture was mismatched charity shop stuff; a tiled coffee table, a teak coloured empty bookcase, a formica table by the window with two pine farmhouse style chairs neatly tucked underneath. She wondered if Gerry owned any of it, but knew he wouldn’t. She pictured her flat and made a mental pile of all the furniture she owned. She had a red rocking chair that someone had given her when they’d moved away and a coffee table that she’d painted black and white to resemble cow hide. It was a horrible looking table, but because Ed had laughed when she’d seen it, she kept it.

  If there was a fire in her flat she knew there was very little she’d have the slightest interest in keeping. She could picture herself calmly walking away from the burning building thinking how glad she was of the opportunity to get rid of everything without having to go through it.

  She sighed.

  ‘‘Are you okay Laurie?’’ Gerry turned her face towards him.

  She smiled half-heartedly. ‘‘Do you ever think …’’ She sighed again. She didn’t really know how to explain herself. She knew she was a bit of a spoilt brat really. Things could be so much worse.

  ‘‘What?’’ asked Gerry.

  She shrugged. ‘‘I dunno. I can’t explain it.’’

  ‘‘Try.’’

  ‘‘Well,’’ she took a deep breath. ‘‘I look around here and at first you think, ‘‘God, he’s got nothing. Not a thing. That’s kind of sad’’, you know?’’

  ‘‘No. Not really.’’ He was frowning, somewhere between trying to understand and trying not to take offence.

  ‘‘Oh, I don’t mean anything by that.’’ She thought for a second. ‘‘I mean that …’’ She paused. ‘‘Right. I mean that you’ve no stuff. You seem a bit like you’re like a hobo, sort of.’’

  He laughed but he was annoyed.

  ‘‘Oh don’t take offence. I’m not explaining myself well.’’ She tried again. ‘‘At first I thought that was a bit weird or sad or something.’’ She smiled encouragingly at him. ‘‘Now I look around and I think, ‘‘how sensible. He doesn’t have all the crap around him – the meaningless, just collected, nonsense, crap – that I have floating around in my place.’’ She smiled, but she wasn’t convincing him. ‘‘Don’t you see how sensible that is? Of course you do, that’s why you’re doing it, eh?’’

  He wasn’t frowning now, just looking steadily at her.

  ‘‘I’m thinking that’s what I need to do. Get rid of everything. Travel light.’’

  Gerry’s eyes looked wet all of a sudden but Laurie decided to ignore this and make a joke of things. ‘‘Travelling light is where it’s at – it’s the new black. Travelling light is the new 40.’’

  Gerry gripped Laurie’s shoulders more firmly. ‘‘We’re all God’s travelling children? We’re all the littlest hobo?’’

  Clearly, he wasn’t getting her drift.

  ‘‘I’m probably not explaining myself very well. Am I?’’

  Gerry seemed to have managed to avert the tears that had appeared.

  ‘‘No, you are. I just hadn’t really thought about it properly. I hadn’t done it on purpose.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ Laurie was surprised. ‘‘I thought it was your army training.’’

  ‘‘Well, maybe a bit.’’ He nodded. ‘‘But other soldiers that did the same things I’ve done have stuff and families and so on.’’

  ‘‘M-hm,’’ said Laurie. ‘‘But maybe they are the ones who’ve got it wrong.’’

  Gerry gave a queer little laugh. ‘‘Do you think?’’ Laurie forced herself to carry on.

  ‘‘If you’re free of stuff, you’re free! Millions of Buddhists can’t be wrong.’’

  There was a pause then Gerry laughed properly. ‘‘God Laurie, you’re something else, aren’t you?’’

  She smiled, not quite sure if that was a good thing.

  ‘‘We should celebrate,’’ said Gerry.

  ‘‘What?’’ said Laurie.

  ‘‘We should celebrate our new philosophy, our plan for life.’’

  He was grinning from ear to ear. Laurie hadn’t seen this look before.

  ‘‘Ok. What will we do?’’

  ‘‘We’ll go out tonight – the cinema then dinner.’’

  ‘‘Really?’’ asked Laurie. This didn’t seem a very Gerry sort of plan. ‘‘We’ve got work.’’

  ‘‘Come on, we can phone in sick.’’ Gerry said pulling her towards him. ‘‘We deserve a night off. It’ll be fun!’’ He pulled back a little. ‘‘I’ll take you
somewhere fancy. My treat. An old fashioned date. ‘‘That doesn’t break the hobo rule, does it?’’

  ‘‘No. I suppose not. As long as we don’t accumulate any stuff,’’ she smiled, ‘‘but, actually, I don’t have anything nice to wear out to somewhere fancy.’’

  He thought for a second. ‘‘Then you should go and buy something.’’ He took his wallet out and handed her a twenty pound note. ‘‘Here. My treat.’’

  ‘‘Your treat? What is this, the fifties?’’

  ‘‘Oh, don’t be like that,’’ he said, hugging her. ‘‘I’d really like to buy you something. You don’t have to owe me.’’

  Laurie pulled away.

  ‘‘Really. I mean it. You won’t owe me anything. It will be payment enough to be seen with such a beautiful woman on my arm.’’ He bowed.

  ‘‘Okay then.’’ She took the note and put it in her back pocket. She’d have to be careful, she didn’t want to be too beholden to him.

  ‘‘What time?’’ Gerry looked at his watch. ‘‘It’s nearly half past two now. Shall we say half seven?’’

  Laurie nodded. ‘‘Where? Not outside my flat. Obviously.’’

  ‘‘No, obviously.’’ He thought for a moment. ‘‘How about outside the Art Centre cinema.’’

  ‘‘What’s on?’’

  ‘‘Who knows, there’ll be something though. Something arty that’ll fit in with our wandering notions.’’

  ‘‘Cool.’’ She turned towards the door. ‘‘I’d better get going then and buy something to wear.’’ What she’d actually manage to get for twenty quid was beyond her, but she wasn’t about to ask Gerry for more.

  ‘‘Of course.’’

  He took her coat out of the hall cupboard and helped her into it. He smoothed his hands across her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her. Laurie collapsed into him as he pulled her in and kissed her. Her closed eyes saw nothing but a velvet purple. Pleasant moments passed then she disengaged herself and took a deep breath.

  ‘‘Nice,’’ she said as she turned the snib on the lock and stepped out into the stairway. She paused for a second and nodded in the direction of downstairs.

  ‘‘Cheerio Gerry,’’ she said in loud voice. ‘‘That was amazing. I’ll see you later.’’ She winked at him and he shut the door, grinning.

  3pm

  Calm but Wind Picking Up Later

  It was still teeth shatteringly cold when Laurie walked out into the street but she wasn’t bothered much by it. The heat in her body was radiating outwards nicely. She set off for a second hand clothes shop she’d sometimes been into when she was a student. The thought of raking through rack after rack of slightly smelly nylon items didn’t fill her with joy, but she felt like wearing a dress tonight and knew she wouldn’t be able to afford one from the shopping centre.

  The streets were quiet; presumably most people were working or sensibly staying in the warm. She knew she should be grateful to Gerry for the money and for the evening out, but she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for the actual act of shopping.

  She passed a shop window covered with handwritten ads for all sorts of services and places to rent. She stopped short and reversed. How much could she realistically afford for a place to live? She couldn’t go on living with Ed after Christmas – even in the event of him suggesting she stay on as a flatmate. She could see it happening; the two of them living in exactly the same manner as they did at the moment. Although now, she supposed, Ed had started college and was getting a life of his own. Perhaps Ed might be glad if she left, there might not be a scene at all. For all she knew he was sitting somewhere right now, with some girl that Laurie had never met, eating pizza silently. He would be much happier without her and she was foolish to think he didn’t know that. She started to brighten up. Everything would be fine, he’d be relieved, he wouldn’t cry or beg or offer to change in small or huge ways. She wouldn’t feel like a heartless murderer.

  She looked more closely at the signs. She really would need to get something, somewhere, sorted out pronto. It wasn’t like she was going to move in with Gerry. Although maybe something could develop there. At the very least she could stay with Gerry for a few nights, maybe even weeks, until she got a new place organised. But still, better to get the ball rolling.

  Studio apartment. No pets, DSS, students, smokers, children. Byrecroft Road.

  Call 07973786534 after 6. £500 pcm.

  Sounded good, but way too expensive. Maybe she’d have to think about a flat share. She groaned. It would be like living as a student again and it wasn’t as if she could bully or harass flatmates to clean the kitchen and there’d be nobody bringing her a cup of tea again. Maybe ever again. Maybe she’d die alone choking on dog food while children pissed on her front door.

  Lovely sunny room available in gorgeous West End flat. Potential flat mate must be vegan or at least vegetarian. £300 pcm would be great, but could be negotiated with the right person.

  Sounded nice, but possibly very tedious. She leaned forward and looked more closely at the decorated card. It had flowers drawn all around the borders and a squiggly vine woven through the flowers. She scrutinised the vine which actually seemed to be lettering. What did it say? It was hard to read because of being done in a faint green colour and also because it seemed to have been designed that way. Suddenly it came together. It read:

  the Great Perfection within me honours the Great Perfection within you.

  ‘‘Eugh!’’ Laurie exclaimed, stepping back in shock and startling an old lady walking past. The look on Laurie’s face must have piqued the woman’s interest as she stepped forward and scanned the window for what had shocked Laurie. Seeing nothing she turned to Laurie puzzled.

  ‘‘What is it, Hen?’’

  ‘‘Oh,’’ Laurie shook her head. ‘‘I saw something I wasn’t expecting in the window.’’

  ‘‘Oh, whit was it?’’ The woman looked concerned. ‘‘Ah’ve seen some fair dodgy things in shop windies in ma time, ah’ll tell ye.’’

  ‘‘It wasn’t exactly dodgy.’’ Laurie knew she’d sound ridiculous. ‘‘It was sort of …’’ she pointed at the window. ‘‘Like, religious.’’

  She expected the woman to shake her head at her in disgust, but the woman wrinkled her nose and said, ‘‘Ah’ve seen adverts in there for,’’ she sniffed and looked around herself, ‘‘sexual services.’’ She drew out the the ex in sexual for longer than it really needed. Laurie thought of snakes.

  Laurie and the woman shook their heads at each other.

  ‘‘What’s the world coming to, eh?’’ said Laurie.

  ‘‘Ah ken.’’ The woman kept shaking her head. It was starting to look like she had a tic or something.

  ‘‘Where is it?’’

  Laurie pointed at the card in the window. The woman moved up to the glass and peered in.

  ‘‘Mmmh,’’ she tapped her finger on the glass. ‘‘Hippies.’’

  Laurie nodded.

  The woman turned to her. ‘‘Hippies and Prozzies. Bloody Hell.’’ She smiled brightly. ‘‘Anyway. Happy Christmas, love.’’

  The woman waved and sped off along the street. She should stop underestimating the elderly, some of them were faster than you’d expect.

  Laurie couldn’t be bothered looking at any other signs. She set off again.

  ***

  The shop was a dark little place down an alley. It smelled of patchouli, inevitably, and also something earthier: damp and fertile, like compost or school classrooms. Laurie wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t into fashion foraging and hated the self-satisfied looks that bin-rakers gave each other when they ferreted out a designer vintage piece. Piece! Ridiculous, describing clothes as if they were art. Piece of nonsense more like. It was over priced when it was new, and certainly over-priced now that it was second hand. Wankers.

  What Laurie really needed was a little dress, a cocktail dress. Maybe black. Definitely black. Not too short, but she did want to look more sexy and sophisticated th
an Gerry had so far seen her. The problem was that Laurie had no idea what her look was. She wasn’t trendy or classic or anything. When she went shopping she always tried to get things she’d get use out of but she never managed to get anything that worked with anything else.

  Carole, her friend from school, was a great shopper. She always looked immaculate and put together. Once, at the end of a drunken night out, Carole had tried to impart some advice to Laurie. She told her to always buy a complete outfit and then you’d know what went with what. But Laurie had laughed at Carole’s serious face and her grown up approach to shopping, even going so far as drawing other people’s attention to Carole saying, ‘‘Have you met my granny? She thinks she’s Coco fucking Chanel.’’

  Carole had laughed, but they hadn’t seen much of each other afterwards.

  Anyway, that had nothing to do with getting something for her date. Date! How American!

  She braced herself taking one last clean breath of air, and entered the shop.

  It reminded her of the shop in the kids’ programme Mr Benn. All sorts of costumes hung over the sides of the garment rails that were stuffed with the usual mixture of unpleasant plastic blouses and flares and dresses that didn’t fit Laurie, or probably anyone else, since the Seventies. Shapes had definitely changed since the olden days.

  Laurie didn’t make eye contact with any of the other customers, the last thing she needed was someone waxing lyrical about some faux Biba crap or asking her if she’d like her chakras read or some other hippy shit. She could see out of the corner of her eye that there were only two other customers and the woman that was working the till. From what she could make out with furtive glances, the shop assistant was not someone she’d be asking for style guidance from.

  She was a big girl wearing a short puffball skirt over what appeared to be a leopard print catsuit. To top it off she was wearing golden gladiator sandals. She must have been frigging freezing. Mind you, most likely the catsuit was polyester and she was sweating up nicely.

  Laurie flicked through the rack in front of her. Nothing. There wasn’t even anything black. She moved over to the next rack where there was an over abundance of leisure suits but no little black dress. She could feel the assistant coming closer and desperately grabbed three items from the end of the rack.