by Moira Murphy
“Well one of you should back down, Arnie. It’s poor Leo who’s in the middle of it. Did she mention anything about having to get rid of Tigger before she comes back?”
“No, not a dickey bird about, Tigger.”
Leo heard his dad’s voice and he came downstairs followed by Lucy.
“What-the-hell! Leo! ”
“Don’t say anything Dad, it’s my life.”
“But you’ve got nail varnish on, son! Black bloody nail varnish! And eyeliner for God’s sake!”
“So?”
“Actually Arnie, it’s Guy-liner, lots of guys wear it these days,” Lucy said, Arnie being Neanderthal Man.
“Oooo, guy-liner is it! Well you’ve got some bottle, kidda, I’ll give you that.” Arnie rolled his eyes shook his head and handed Leo his crash hat. “Here spook, put that on and get on the back of that bike. See you, Jo. Bye, kids.”
We watched from the kitchen window as they mounted Arnie’s motorbike. Bulky Arnie, with his tattooed neck and his knee-high laced-up boots and worn leathers and his gentle, lanky, long-haired, eye-linered son, clinging onto his waist; secure.
“I might become a Goth,” said Josh, seeming to be thinking out loud.
“Oh! Pleeese!” chimed in Lucy, “you’d be the most pathetic looking Goth. Leo looks awesome but you would just look too ri-dic-ul-ous!”
“Like you, you mean?”
And they were off.
31
PROXY INTRODUCTIONS
“Have you seen the other in-mates, Joanne?” Bella chuckled, “Aren’t they a gorgeous lot!? Especially that Blanche in Room 3, she could be a film star with a face like that. If they were filming the Siege of Stalingrad they could do worse than use Blanche for a peasant and then there’s Greta Garbot who sits staring out of the window all day and who just ‘vants to be alone’. I thought I was skin and bone but Greta’s like a bag of sticks. She reckons she was a victim of domestic violence because she was given a three-year stretch for attacking her old man with a poker. You have to laugh. Then there’s the two Susan’s. The one with the orange hair and the long, black cat earrings is Spooky Susan – who, they reckon, dabbles a bit in the occult and I wouldn’t put it past her, and the other one is Snooty Susan; more edge than a broken bottle, Lady Muck from Cowshit Hall, you know the type. And there’s knitting Nora, just follow the clackety clack of the needles and you’ll come across her. No conversation mind, she just mumbles under her breath, knit one, purl one, pass the slip stitch over. Oh, and if you value your sanity steer clear of little Rose with the glass eye, she can talk the hind legs off a donkey and it’s all rubbish.”
“You forgot to mention Flash Gordon, Bella,” said Ruth.
“Oh, so I did,” said Bella. “Well, Flash hangs out – so to speak – wherever he thinks he’ll get the most exposure, if you see what I mean,” she said, tapping the side of her nose and winking at Ruth.
Did she mean what I thought she meant?
“While you’re here, Joanne, you couldn’t just get my other slipper from under the bed, could you? It went a bit too far under, and what with me having had my insides depleted and my bad back…”
While I was crawling out from under the bed, she said, “What do you think of The Body in the Morgue by Mort Tician?”
“Or, Painting and Decorating by Matt Emulsion and Making Plant Pots by Terry Cotta,” I said, handing her the slipper.
She put her hand on her chest. “Oh, a girl after my own heart!”
“Right that’s it! I’m outta here,” said Ruth, grabbing her cardigan and making for the door.
“Partners in crime, those two, Joanne,” whispered my mother. “A man wandered in last night after you’d gone, slippers, no socks, jumper over his pyjamas and with a checked cap on his head. Said he was waiting for the number eleven bus to take him home – poor soul. Bella told him he’d just missed it, but if he waited a few minutes more the number twelve was due and he’d be able to get on that one. He must have stood, staring at the wall and not moving a muscle for some twenty minutes before one of the nurses came looking for him and took him back to his room. Those two just laughed their heads off when he’d gone. I said to Bella, that wasn’t very nice, Bella, ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you have to get your kicks where you can in here, Gwen, else you’d die of boredom.’”
“They might be like a couple of naughty schoolgirls, Mam, but at least they’re cheerful enough.”
Nell was sitting quietly looking at some photos.
“I’ll just say hello to Nell, Mam, I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I went over, “Hi, Nell,” she looked up. I nodded in the direction of Bella and Ruth, “I expect there’s never a dull moment in here with those two.”
“Oh they don’t mean any harm,” she smiled.
“Do you mind if I sit down?”
“No, not at all. I’ll pretend you’re my visitor.”
She had the sort of smile that lit up her face. “Is that your husband?”
She handed me the photo. “Yes, that’s Joe. He passed away last August, nearly a year ago now and I miss him so much. We didn’t have any family, there was always just the two of us. That’s why I’m here really. You see, when I was feeling better from my last bout of pneumonia I was able to go home as Joe was there to look after me. This time though I haven’t anybody at home so they suggested I spend some time in here.”
Joe was standing on a pier with the sun behind him, holding a dog in his arms and smiling at the camera.
“She’s gone as well, our Penny – the dog. She only lived for a few weeks after Joe. Broken heart I expect although she was getting on a bit, poor thing. I miss her almost as much as I miss Joe, they’re a bit of company, dogs. Have you ever had a dog, Joanne?”
I told her about Millie, well the good bits, so it didn’t take long.
“Do you have any photos of Millie?”
“Dozens, she manages to get on every one I take. Would you like me to bring some in?”
“That would be nice. Of course it’s not like the real thing, is it? It’s the enthusiasm of dogs I like. People who haven’t kept a dog don’t know what I mean by that, but I’m sure you do.”
Yup. If there was one thing Millie had more than her share of it was enthusiasm.
Then Bella’s voice rang out, “Oh, here he comes. Well you haven’t had to wait long, Gwen. Meet, Mr Hedley-Smythe.”
And in strode a man with a handlebar moustache, hair plastered down in the style of the great Gatsby and wearing a sports jacket, a shirt with cufflinks and a bow tie, albeit with pyjama bottoms and slippers.
“Well who’s first today then, wenches?” he said, in a lecherous ‘Lord-of-the-Manor’ voice, while twiddling his moustache then pulling at his cuffs.
“Oh let it me be, sir,” said, Bella.
“Now, Bella, don’t be a greedy girl, you had a good pull of it last time. What about that pretty little wench over there. What’s your name, wench?” he said, striding over to my mother in her easy chair.
My mother, slightly bewildered, not being used to such behaviour from a doctor, said feebly, “Gwen.”
“Not a prude, are you, wench?”
“Not that I know of,” she said.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
And he stretched his neck out, putting his elasticated bow-tie into my mother’s hand whereupon she took it as if it was obligatory.
“That’s the way, now give it a good yank. Oh I think you must have done this before, Gwen. Oh! Gwen you naughty, naughty girl.”
I was just about to rescue my mother, when Nurse Khamal came in.
“Mr Hedley-Smythe, I might have known I’d find you in here tormenting these poor ladies. Back to your own quarters. Now, please, if you don’t mind.”
“Now, nurse, t
he gels were only pulling my little dickie. No harm done.” He bowed low, “G’day ladies, until we meet again.”
I stood up. “I’d better get back to my mother, Nell, she looks a bit shocked.”
“Well dear me, Joanne, that’s an odd way for a doctor to go on,” my mother said.
32
EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY
When I got home, the kids had written another song. My lucky day!
“We’d like your opinion on this song, Mam. We want to know if you think it sounds like a Gothic type song,” said Josh.
They over estimated me, my children. It was my own fault, the result of my over-the-top enthusiasm. What on earth did a Gothic type song sound like? And anyway, Emmerdale was on in ten minutes.
They weren’t sure who should sing it. Perhaps Leo should as he had made up most of the lyrics. Leo said a definite no, Lucy couldn’t sing it because it was about a boy singing to a girl but she could join in the chorus. But Lucy wasn’t sure if she wanted to join in the chorus. She was to be the backing beat and she might miss a beat if she had to sing the chorus as well.
Five minutes to Emmerdale.
“Take it in turns?” I suggested, “Josh could start by singing the first verse, then Leo could come in with the second verse and so on and all three of you could sing the chorus.”
“Leo won’t want to do that, Mam, he can’t rely on his voice, it’s all over the place, innit, sometimes it’s just a squeak,” said Josh, innocently.
“Josh!” shrilled Leo.
“Sorry,” said Josh, affably.
I sloshed some dishes about in the sink, pretending I hadn’t heard in order to save Leo’s blushes while hoping I’d had the foresight to pre-record Emmerdale.
Lucy was being given directions from Leo as to how she should perform the backing beat. She looked at him adoringly. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, but he blushed all the same.
Eventually Josh started. He was still in Eminem mode, so I wasn’t sure he had taken the concept of Goth on board.
Didn’t want no complications
Didn’t want no serious relations
Just wanted someone to take to bed
Didn’t want to live inside her head
But you waited till my back was turned
It was a lesson I should have learned
When I saw you there was no compromise
You must be Harry Potter in disguise
Chorus: You put a spell on me
Yeah, yeah, you put a spell on me.
Didn’t want no ball and chain
Didn’t want to have to explain
Just wanted to be free,
To live my life for only me
But you waved a magic wand over me
You gave me witches brew and you said it was tea
You look so beautiful standing there
But you must have a toad and a cloak somewhere.
Chorus: You put a spell on me
Yeah, yeah you put a spell on me.
You stirred up a love potion
It set my feelings into love motion
Hubble, bubble toil and trouble
If this is love, don’t burst the bubble
Hocus Pocus, Ali Kazam
I’m so spell bound I don’t know who I am.
Chorus: You put a spell on me
Yeah, yeah, you put a spell on me.
They looked at me expectantly and I clapped enthusiastically.
“Well what can I say? That sounds like a really good type of Goth song to me. Of course I’m no expert, but yes, that sounded really good,” I said, convinced I’d missed my calling, which was obviously the stage.
But, they were pleased with my praise which was all that mattered. The children had already eaten so I heated up some Cottage pie and green beans in the microwave, poured a glass of Chardonnay and checked the recorded list. Emmerdale had recorded.
I finished eating, drained my glass, lolled in the chair and thought, tomorrow I will have to tackle the bombsite that is this house. It can’t be put it off any longer.
But where to start. An insurance claim was out of the question. If the insurers were to come out to check, it wouldn’t take much for them to realise the damage had been self induced and that would void the claim and even if they didn’t, where would I find the money to cover the £250 excess? Anyway, did I want anybody else to see that mirror? No I did not!
Then it dawned. Silly me. The problem of the mirror was down to George. After all, he had it installed and he had a building business. And that building business had expanded with the amalgamation of Fran and was doing very nicely, thank you, according to the grapevine. Well what was I waiting for? I’d lie. I’d tell George the mirror and half the ceiling had come crashing down – on its own, out of the blue – and if I’d been in bed instead of sitting in the corner at the dressing table, it’s likely I could have been seriously hurt or even killed, and not just covered in plaster dust, which was how the bath came to be involved. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, my poor mother had been desperately ill and would be coming out of hospital in a couple of weeks and would need home care and how was I expected to bring her here with the house in this mess?
George was still sunning himself in Florida when I rang his mobile.
“Whaa,” he said, in disbelief.
“And, I need to know what you intend to do about it?” I demanded.
“Bloody hell, Jo. You sure you weren’t hurt? God that’s terrible. I feel like shit now. I’ll ring the yard and get somebody over there pronto to survey the damage and rest assured, everything will be repaired – like new – better than new. Write down a list of the damage, give it to Dale when he comes round and he’ll sort it all out. Just one thing, don’t mention my name. You know what lads are like, I’d be a laughing stock if they found out. I’ll send some of the new lads. Say your name is Henderson or something and that you inherited the mirror with the house, use your imagination. I’ll sort out the receipts and invoices and stuff when I get back, in about a week or two. Sorry to hear about your mother. My love to her and the kids.”
Well now, that worked a treat. What was it my mother used to say about every dog having its day?
O-kay. I’d need a new bed, that’s for sure and a new mattress and new bedding. The carpet will need to be replaced by waxed oak planks and a rug. A nice rug, perhaps that cream, fringed one I’d seen in the window of John Lewis. The curtains will have to be replaced with wooden louvered blinds and the walls will need to be skimmed and painted, perhaps a pale Wedgwood blue with white paintwork. And Laura Ashley have just the light fitting, table lamps, bedding and French style bedroom furniture to compliment all of that very nicely, thank you. The bath will have to come out and be replaced with a new roll-top, complete with futuristic taps and showerhead and the floor and wall tiles re-done. White and slate grey might be nice. And of course the cistern which is hanging off the wall will need to be fixed back. Erm, silly me. The cistern will be included in the complete new bathroom suite. Course it will. Then, when all is complete and to my satisfaction, Fran’s cleaning personnel, suspect though their status in the country may be, will, nevertheless, be gainfully employed cleaning my house from top to bottom.
There now, that’s that sorted.
I had to hand it to George, he didn’t hang about because within about thirty minutes of my phone call, dishy Dale knocked. The dog recognised him immediately, first by going slightly berserk then by lying on her back with her legs in the air in a ‘take me now’ fashion which was something I could empathise with. We went upstairs.
“So this is the reason you were covered in plaster dust when you came to collect the dog from the school on Sycamore Street? You were lucky not to have been hurt.”
Then he mused, almost to hims
elf, “I wouldn’t have thought it possible for a bit of glass to have brought half a ceiling crashing down, the noggins seem sound enough. But hey, mine is not to reason why. Just as well I gave you the company card, isn’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll have this lot cracked in no time,” He smiled his Ronan Keating smile before pulling out and extending his measure.
Dale did what he needed to do then off he went promising to be back first thing in the morning, then I hit the shops.
33
GRAB A GRANNY
“I had a visitor today, Joanne,” my mother said, “came swishing in in a cloak type thing, said he was a priest. I thought, well he can’t be a Roman Catholic priest, not in that get up, too flashy by half; must be a Mormon or some such thing. Well, he gushed over to me with his arms outstretched, ‘Ah, Gwendoline’, he said, as if I was some long-lost relation and I thought for a minute he was about to hug me. Call me old fashioned Joanne, but give me Father McCaffrey any day of the week. You know where you are with him. He might a bit threadbare and his glasses might be held together with Elastoplast, but his shoes are always nicely polished. Bella said the one before this flashy one was the image of Jack Palance. She said she expected him to pull out a gun instead of a prayer book. We laughed at that.”
“Jack Palance, Mam?”
“Oh, I don’t suppose you know Jack Palance, Joanne. He usually played the baddie in the pictures, or else a Red Indian, he had that sort of face. Nothing stays the same, if they don’t go about looking like Jack Palance they wear earrings and those stripey running shoes and put their hands in the air and say high five.”
“That wasn’t the only visitor you had today though, was it, Gwen?” said Bella. “Sam-the-Sailor-Man came in bearing gifts. You couldn’t have got a pinhead between them, Joanne, canoodling they were.”
“We certainly were not, Bella! Take no notice, Joanne. Bella goes a bit far sometimes.”
“Can’t say I blame you though, Gwen, a good-looking fella like that. I’d shiver his timbers any day of the week.”