by Liza Cody
‘What about them?’
‘Take it easy, Eva,’ she said. ‘It can’t be helped. You know it wasn’t down to us. We were just kids. You know we had to go where we were put.’
‘You didn’t have to get yourself adopted,’ I said. ‘You didn’t have to make it fucking permanent. No one forced you.’
‘There’s force and there’s force.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, Eva,’ she said. ‘Don’t shout. Please don’t shout. I hate it when you shout.’
True. She cried when she got shouted at. That’s why she never got the strap half as much as me. They only had to shout and she cried.
‘You didn’t have to make it permanent,’ I said.
‘They had carpets on the floor,’ she said. ‘And central heating. They gave me my own room. They wanted me. They gave me a home, Eva.’
‘I wanted you,’ I said. ‘You had a home.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘You did,’ I said.
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘And nor did you. Be honest. And don’t shout at me. If you shout at me I’m leaving.’
‘We had each other,’ I whispered. It had been enough for me. Why wasn’t it enough for her? I didn’t need fitted carpets when I had her.
‘We were always in trouble, always on the run.’
‘But we was together. It was OK when we was together.’
‘Shshsh!’ she said. ‘You were tougher than me.’
‘Yeah, an’ who looked after you?’
‘You’re shouting again.’
‘Not shouting!’
‘I’m leaving,’ she said. And she left.
Chapter 7
I couldn’t believe it. One minute she was there, and then she wasn’t. Blink, I had a sister. Blink, she was gone. Just like that.
I stood up.
The landlord came over. He said, ‘Pick that bloody chair up, Eva. You can’t just waltz in here and throw the bloody furniture around.’
‘Tell you what,’ I said, ‘you find a dog and get dog-knotted.’
I’m not quite sure what happened after that, but I found myself outside in the rain, in the gutter. Come to think of it, I’d spent a lot of the last couple of days on my arse. There was a bunch of blokes by the Fir Tree door and they was all cackling.
I got up and went home.
I couldn’t believe it – she blew. Just blew without leaving no forwarding address.
I didn’t shout at her. Did I shout at her? Well, maybe just a tiny rant, but that ain’t shouting. What’d she want – blowing out like that?
There was no Renault Clio sitting by the kerb. It was like I’d made it all up in my head.
But I didn’t. Simone was here. She was.
The dogs were going crazy, and I remembered I forgot them. So I let them out.
Ramses was so disgusted he took a lump out of my padded jacket. I had to keep him off with my boot or he’d of had a lump out of me too. Lineker just sneered.
‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘You don’t understand. I don’t know where to find her. You’re just bloody hounds, you don’t know what it’s like.’
‘Herf?’ said Milo.
‘Shurrup,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you neither.’ And I didn’t. I didn’t want no half-grown pup. I wanted Simone.
‘Hip,’ said Milo, and Ramses took a lump out of him too.
‘She’s too sensitive,’ I said. ‘She always was too sensitive.’
‘Hip?’
‘I gotta find her. She’s too sensitive – she can’t look out for herself.’
‘Hip-herf?’
‘Shurrup,’ I said. ‘Stop interrupting. I never shouted. She just thought I shouted.’
Milo ran away.
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘You blow too. All of you. See if I care.’
I was holding Ramses off with a broom handle. He had his back up and his head down. He looked mean enough to spike kittens and then start a world war for dessert.
‘You want my throat,’ I said, prodding him back. ‘You always want my throat. Well, you ain’t having it tonight. Hear me?’
He heard. He backed off and then lunged away, bloodhounding over to the gate. He was restless and frustrated and hungry. So was I.
I went to the Static and rummaged but I couldn’t lay my hands on any food. Maybe I forgot to buy any or maybe I mislaid it when I was turning the place over looking for my toothbrush.
I sat on the bunk and wrapped the sleeping bag round my shoulders. I couldn’t find anything – not my food, not my toothbrush, not my sister. A lesser woman would of wept.
Next thing I knew the dogs were barking hard enough to give themselves sore throats and there were cars honking and hooting outside the gate.
It was bloody morning. And it really was a bloody morning. I penned the dogs and then opened the gate for the men. But were they grateful? They were about as grateful as school kids with homework.
‘You stupid cow,’ the foreman said. ‘We’ve been out here yelling and hooting for half a fuckin’ hour.’
‘I got the flu,’ I said. ‘I’m a sick woman.’
‘Oh you’re sick all right,’ he said. ‘You been “sick” for weeks and it’s the sick you find in a bottle. You want to buck your ideas up or I’ll report you.’
‘Report your own haemorrhoids,’ I said, and I went to feed the dogs.
At least they had some food left. But it turned my guts over, dolloping it out for them, so maybe I really did have the flu. I had the sweats too and someone was driving a nine-inch nail through my skull. I went back to bed for five minutes.
Well it seemed like five minutes. And then someone knocked on my door. Now, maybe I told you, maybe I ain’t, but a knock on my door is a major event, and it usually means bother. I get visitors like a super-model gets spots, and that’s hardly ever, but when it happens there’s trouble.
So I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and lay doggo.
But after a while the rat-a-tat turned to whump-a-thump. I thought, Simone! She’s come back to ‘pologise. I went to the door and squinted through one of the spyholes.
It wasn’t Simone. All I could see was a tobacco-coloured eye squinting back at me and I thought, Harsh! He’s come back to ‘pologise.
So I opened the door. But it wasn’t Harsh. I didn’t know who it was but he looked familiar.
‘Yo,’ he said. ‘Remember me?’
‘No,’ I said, and tried to close the door.
‘Keif,’ he said. ‘Yesterday.’
‘What about yesterday?’
‘We met yesterday. With Phil Julio. You said you was looking for a personal trainer.’
‘Yeah?’
‘So here I am. Yours for the asking.’
‘Wha’?’
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Do you or do you not want a sodding personal trainer? Or am I getting wet in a fuckin’ junk-yard for sod-all?’
‘I din’t ask you – I asked Harsh.’
‘Harsh ain’t available,’ he said. Raindrops were sliding helter-skelter down his corkscrew hair. ‘Do you want what’s on offer or not?’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘But not today. I got flu. An’ I ain’t had no breakfast.’
‘Breakfast?’ he said. ‘It’s teatime. And you’ve got flu like I’ve got lace undies.’
‘Teatime?’ I peered past him and, too true, it was getting dark. The men were beginning to pack up and go home. I felt queasy and I didn’t have the beans to keep him out no longer so he came in.
‘Well, blow in my ear and call me Mary,’ he said, looking around. ‘Have you had burglars or what?’
‘Burglars?’ I looked around too. I couldn’t think how I’d made such a mess and not noticed. Then I remembered the toothbrush. ‘I was looking for something,’ I said. But the more I looked the messier it seemed and I suddenly thought about going out with Simone to the Fir Tree. I forgot the dogs, din’t I? And if the dogs weren’t out protecting the yard, anyone could of walk
ed in and pinched my wad.
I rushed outside into the rain. I was in a panic. My wad was mine. I didn’t want to be poor again before I’d had a chance to get used to being rich. But the dogs were all snarly from being woken up too early and there, nailed to the wall, was the Puma bag – all safe and sound. I goosed it and unzipped it just to make sure.
And then I thought, who the fuck cares if someone got in last night? If the dogs were penned up they were penned with my pennies. So I hadn’t been a doodle for forgetting them, had I? I’d been smart. So suck on that. Which made me pretty mellow walking back to the Static.
‘Why you always so vex?’ Keif said. ‘I never knew a girl so scratchy.’
‘I ain’t vex,’ I said, ‘cos I wasn’t. ‘If you can’t take the heat …’
‘Oh I can take the heat,’ he said. ‘Question is, can you?’
‘Forged in the furnace, me,’ I said, ‘cos I was.
‘You really want to get fit?’ he said. ‘For true?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but I got …’
‘Bollocks,’ he said, ‘you’re hung over. Don’t look at me like that – ‘s true.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘I didn’t come all this way for you to chat me down.’
‘Then you can bloody go away again,’ I said. ‘Why did you come?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I like a burly girly an’ they don’t come burlier than you. You got potential. ‘Sides, you said you’d pay.’
‘Now that bit’s for true,’ I said. ‘That bit I believe. You’re after my wedge.’
‘Which d’you think I am?’ Keif said. ‘Cheap or free?’
‘I don’t care what you are,’ I said. ‘I told Harsh I’d pay him. Not you.’
‘We been there already,’ he said.
‘Well, I know Harsh is worth a bundle,’ I said. ‘What do I know about you?’ Crafty, see – stone crafty.
‘Pedigree? OK. My dad was a boxer. When he retired he trained the youth section at the Ring O’Bells gym. You heard of that, encha?’
‘S’pose so,’ I said. Everyone’s heard of that – it’s where loads of London fighters hang out.
‘Well, he trained me too.’
‘For a boxer. Big deal.’
‘What d’you care what for? You want to be a wrestler?’
‘I am a fuckin’ wrestler. Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?’ I was really narked. ‘I’m the fucking London Lassassin.’
He ducked. ‘Too slow,’ he said. ‘Listen, stupidy. You want to get back in the ring you got to get back to basics. Basics is what it says – like what everyone has to do – from the ground up.’
‘You can take your basics and shove ‘em up your base,’ I said, ‘from the ground up.’ He backed off. ‘Who the fuck you think you calling “stupidy”? I ain’t stupid.’
I could of mashed him against the door – I was that roiled up. But I kept remembering the rent man – I took a shot and he decked me. S’pose I took another shot at Keif and instead of dodging he decked me? S’pose that’s what happened? I could of mashed him. I should of mashed him. But my brain got in the way.
‘I got a headache,’ I said.
‘What?’ he said. ‘I can’t hear if you don’t shout.’
‘Deaf as well as dumb,’ I said. And then someone else knocked on my door. Jeez, what a day.
Keif was backed up against the door. I was going to tell him not to open it, but he opened it before I could get the words out. And a good job he did, ‘cos there in her long slick raincoat was Simone again. She came back. She came back. She came back.
She said, ‘I came to see if you’d like a drink. I didn’t know you had company.’
‘He ain’t company,’ I said. ‘He’s my personal trainer. Like I said. Remember? You din’t believe me. But here he is.’
‘We was just going out for a run,’ Keif said. Can you believe the nerve of the man?
‘Tomorrow,’ I said.
‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry for walking off last night,’ Simone said. ‘I thought we could have a drink and talk.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. She was back and I was thirsty.
‘Run first,’ said Keif.
‘Cock off,’ I said.
‘’Cos if you don’t I’m quitting,’ Keif said. ‘I mean, it’s been a long, interesting association an’ all that, but I got me limits – like I only work with professionals.’
‘Bog-dollops!’ I said.
‘Oh please don’t start shouting again, Eva,’ Simone said. ‘I’ll wait till you get back.’
‘I’m gonna marmelise you,’ I said to Keif.
‘You gotta catch me first,’ he said, and went jogging out my door and across the yard.
‘Go on,’ said Simone. So I went. Oh, serious fuck.
Chapter 8
Thud-thud-thud, pound-pound-pound went my feet. And hey-diddle-diddle went my heart. I thought it was going to jump out through my ribs and lie like a dying fish flopping around under my trainers. I felt sick.
‘Who’s the slusher?’ Keif said.
‘Who … you … calling … a slusher?’ I said. I could hardly speak I was so angry. ‘That’s my sister you’re calling down.’
‘That’s right,’ Keif said. ‘Little more pace, little more pace – we don’t want no sweet old grannies hooting to pass.’
I was soaked to the skin. Rain bounced off my nose and into my eyes. My feet were bruised.
‘C’mon,’ Keif said. ‘We ain’t hardly done a quarter of a mile yet.’
Thud-thud-thud, and then more thud.
‘Get a move on,’ said Keif. ‘You want to talk big in front of your sister you’ll have to do better than the forty-minute mile.’
Pound-pound-pound. What do they put in training shoes these days? Lead soles?
‘Pick it up,’ said Keif. ‘I seen an ox with mad cow disease run better’n you.’
‘I … hate … running.’ I couldn’t breathe enough air to puff.
Thud, pound, stumble.
‘OK,’ said Keif. ‘You can walk now. You done ‘bout a mile and a half. All you needed was a little encouragement.’
‘Call … that … encouragement?’
‘Walk, I said. Don’t hang off the wall. Brisk walk.’
‘You can brisk walk down a drain and not come up.’
‘Atta girl!’ said Keif. ‘Now you know what a marvel I am, what’s the wages?’
I told him what the wages were and where he could stick them. But while he was laughing I thought, oh shit, now Simone’s met him so I’ll have to keep him. At least for a week. I wished she could’ve met Harsh. With Harsh as my personal trainer she would’ve taken me more serious. What the pooping hell would she make of this joker? Could anyone look up to me with a personal trainer like Keif?
So we haggled and the rain came down. And I didn’t know what was rain and what was sweat but it didn’t matter ‘cos whatever it was I was drenched through to the marrow.
In the end, he said, ‘OK, man, safe.’ And we was agreed. Spit on my hand and call me a berk if you like, but I told Simone about a personal trainer and he was the nearest thing on sale.
But when we got back to the Static Simone was gone.
‘She don’t hang about, your sister,’ Keif said, ‘but at least she cleared up.’
She had. The Static was all neat and tidy, but I was so gut-whacked that she hadn’t waited I went and locked myself in the bathroom cubicle where Keif couldn’t see me. I’d went to all the trouble of hiring me a personal trainer and she couldn’t stop around long enough to ‘preciate it.
I washed in cold water ‘cos I’d forgot to put any on to heat, and the water was as cold as my heart.
Still, when I got out Keif had found a couple of teabags and boiled some water.
‘No milk,’ he said.
‘Milk’s for wimps,’ I said.
‘No food,’ he said. ‘That for wimps too? You get out of your body what you put in. What do you eat? Chainsaws?
Battery acid?’
‘Personal trainers,’ I said. I was thinking of dropping him off the payroll now Simone wasn’t there.
‘Serious, man,’ he said. ‘What’s the plan? You get fit – is Mr Deeds gonna let you back in?’
‘Mr Dirty Deeds ain’t the only game in town.’
‘You got other connections?’
‘I could go up North. They take wrestling more serious up North.’
‘Ever thought of the novelty circuit? Gladiators? Oil? Mud?’
‘That ain’t fighting,’ I said. ‘That’s showbiz.’
‘Sport is showbiz,’ he said. ‘Fighting’s showbiz. Boxing’s showbiz. Ever thought of boxing? You got the physique for it.’
‘Nah,’ I said. Boxers just stand there and hit each other. They don’t throw each other around and get down dirty on the mat. I like getting down on the mat. I like the pins and moves where weight and speed count. I’m good at it.
But I didn’t say anything. I was too low-down blue. Mr Deeds wouldn’t let me back in, and anyway, if he did what’s the point? My sister couldn’t even stop around while I went out on a training run. I’d been searching for her, hoping for her, wanting her for years, but when I found her she didn’t want to stick with me like I wanted to stick with her. She couldn’t wait five minutes. She just upped and left me with a joke personal trainer.
‘What’s up?’ said Keif.
‘Nothing’s fucking up,’ I said. ‘I need a drink.’
‘Finish yer tea.’
‘Stuff yer tea.’
‘My arse ain’t a satchel,’ he said. ‘All what you told me to stuff this evening wouldn’t fit into a warehouse.’
‘Listen, satchel-bum,’ I said, ‘you ain’t my gaoler – get off my case.’
‘Safe,’ he said, getting up. ‘Stew in it.’
See? He didn’t give a toss neither. And I was paying him.
At which point Simone walked back into the Static.
‘Where you been?’ I said.
‘Just down the shops,’ she said. ‘I saw you didn’t have anything to eat. Don’t yell. You didn’t think I wouldn’t wait, did you?’
I should never of doubted her. She unloaded a carrier bag, and pulled out a lovely big bottle of Jamaican rum. Now that’s what I call a sister.