My Name Is Echo

by Marguerite Valentine

  She comes back in and says, ‘How you doing?’ and hands me a mug of coffee. She’s still in her pyjamas. She’s sitting opposite me with her legs curled underneath her.

  I look around. ‘I’m fine,’ I said, ‘But where is everyone?’

  ‘Gone to see my gran. I didn’t want to go. I saw her recently. They’re going to Brick Lane for a curry this lunchtime.’

  ‘Bit early to be out and about on a Saturday.’

  ‘That’s how they are. My dad’s working late tonight so he wanted to sleep later.’

  Maddy was looking at me. She says, ‘You’re upset. Quarrel with your mum?’

  ‘Yeah, nothing’s new.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘What do you think? The usual. Everything, anything and nothing.’

  Maddy sighed. ‘The trouble is, the two of you are so different.’

  ‘That’s the problem. We’re different. But she wants me to be her. To think like her. To have the same opinions as her. To do what she wants, and, by the way, she’ll choose my friends. As if we’re Tweedledum and Tweedledee and I’m a clone. She gets on my bleeding nerves.’

  Maddy was silent and continued drinking her coffee. She looked thoughtful. ‘It’s not going to get any better, is it, not until you move out.’

  ‘Don’t say that. It’s depressing. That’s years off. I’ll need a job first. I’ve got no money.’

  Maddy looked at me, then she said, ‘You haven’t told me about Ifan this time. Did you see him? What did you do? Was it enjoyable?’

  ‘Well. I wouldn’t say so. Not this year. It’s been different. I’ve grown up. Things happened. It’s been hard. I did want to tell you, but now I don’t. I don’t want to spoil your day. Besides. You’re too nice.’

  ‘Don’t talk bollocks, Annie. I’m your best mate and you know I’m not nice. Go on. Tell me.’

  I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. For a long time I just sit and then bits come to my mind but they were all jumbled up. Images, feelings, words, nothing made sense, and nothing joined up. Words come out but everything was muddled.

  ‘It’s weird. I don’t know where he is. Is he dead? Maybe. Yes. Hiding? Maybe I imagined it. She said that. The river. I, I liked it. And the dancing. The two of them. That’s odd… with me standing there. They didn’t know. That’s how it was and you can never be sure. They’re having an affair. I do know that. I have proof. I’ve made a decision. About sex. Have you had sex, Maddy? You will say, won’t you?’

  That bit came out loud and I was looking at her but her face was making me laugh. It was like a clown’s face and her mouth was in the shape of a big O.

  ‘Annie, stop it.’

  Her voice came through my confusion. I stared at her.

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘You’re strange. You’ve never been like this before. You’re frightening me.’

  She was looking straight into my eyes. ‘Shall I make you some camomile tea?’

  That made me laugh too. I switched to a cockney accent.

  ‘What! Camomile tea. Why camomile tea? Is it ’erbs man, ’erbs. I don’t smoke ’erbs, nah never, I drink ’erbs, and I don’t eat ’em eiver so doncha give me ’erb cake neiver – cos I don’t do it, I’m a gal who ain’t ’ad sex but after me birfday, I’m gonna get me a man and ’ave it off wiv ’im. Hey, wacha staring at me for? I’m yer best mate. Nah. Coffee will do, coffee will do fine, just fine, just fine, coffee will do.’

  Then I laughed. Maddy was staring at me. She was wide eyed. She wasn’t smiling. I looked at her. I’d scared her. She got up and put some music on. She didn’t say anything and neither did I. We sat and listened. It was a woman singing and playing the guitar with a soothing and gentle voice.

  I said, ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Souad Massi. She’s Algerian.’

  ‘She has a beautiful voice.’

  ‘Yes. I thought you’d like her.’

  The music brought me back from the dark place I had been in a few minutes ago. I felt bad that I’d frightened her. I said, ‘I’m sorry, Maddy. Just joking. I didn’t mean to scare you but it’s too much, you know to talk about. I will tell you, one day. I want to find out about sex. Do you mind telling me, have you ever, you know, had it?’

  She looked amazed, ‘What’s this about? What’s going on for you? I have, but it’s private. Why do you want to know?’

  That put me on the spot. I felt embarrassed and Maddy could see that. She said, ‘Come on. Nothing you say will shock me. Have you met a guy? Is that what it’s all about?’

  ‘Not exactly. Let’s put it this way. Something did happen. With Ifan. But I’m not going to talk about it. It’s strange because almost straight after, I saw…and I’d thought of him in a kind of fatherly way, and he was with this beautiful woman, but he’s having an affair because he’s married, and I was watching them dancing at night in the forest, then he screwed her. I didn’t watch though. How pervy would that have been?’

  Maddy had an expression of disbelief on her face. I carried on.

  ‘Well it happens. You walk in the woods and all kinds of things are going on. It’s not about just the birds and the bees, anyway they were about to have it away, I thought…time to go. Maybe it was a turn on, but Ifan, you know my friend, he’s gone, who knows where, so after seeing that, I decided I wanted to have sex with him. The other one, the rescuer. Gareth’s his name. I fancy him.’

  ‘But Ifan, what’s happened to him?’

  ‘I’m not talking about him. I told you.’

  ‘Annie. You look as if you’re going to burst into tears.’

  ‘I’m talking about Gareth now, that’s who I want to tell you about.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Dunno, thirties, forties. I don’t care how old he is.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why him? Why not a guy your own age? How old’s Ifan?’

  ‘Ifan’s disappeared. I keep telling you, I’m not talking about him.’

  Maddy looked at me as if she didn’t know what was going on but she knew me well enough not to press me further, so she said again, ‘Okay, so why not someone younger?’

  ‘Boring. I want someone exciting, like him.’

  ‘Exciting! How is he exciting?’

  ‘He’s a poet. He likes John Donne.’

  ‘Who the fuck is John Donne?’

  I sighed. ‘Another poet, dead now, but that’s what he was into. Fucking women.’

  ‘John Donne?’

  ‘Yeah. He wrote all about it, who he fancied and what he did and how he did it and I want a bit of it.’

  Maddy was still looking at me as if she couldn’t believe what I was saying. Then she laughed. I asked what was so funny but she just said, ‘You, you make me laugh. It’s the way you talk. You don’t read or watch porn. It’s poetry that turns you on… Tell me about Gareth and how you think you’re going to come on to him. You’ll have to look different.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’ll have to look different? What’s wrong with the way I look? I’m not fat and I’m not skinny. Do you think I’m ugly? I’m not that bad, am I? Anyways, how come you’ve already had sex and I haven’t? Come on, tell me. What’s it like?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘How it happened? So I know what to expect.’

  ‘That’s the point. It’s unpredictable. It just happens.’

  I looked at her in disbelief. ‘You mean, like,’ and I was thinking then about Ifan asking me to remove my clothes, ‘a guy is overcome with passion and the girl wants it too, and they just make out? That’s not chance, is it? Is it? They must think about it, want it, you know, before it happens, what it might feel like and what you do and what he might do.’

  I could see I was making Maddy uncomfortable, but I could als
o see she wasn’t going to tell me. She was looking at me as if she was deciding what to say.

  She said, ‘The difference between you and me, is I know him well. He’s my age. I trusted him and it was good. I don’t regret it. Whereas,’ she paused, ‘whereas with you, Annie, what you’re thinking of is you’ll have it away with an older man who’s married and who’s already having an affair. Not exactly a recipe for happiness is it? More of a disaster waiting to happen, I’d say. I know you, Annie. You’ll fall in love with him, or think you have. He’ll have sex with you and then dump you. Older men like to be the first ones. It’s a national pastime with a certain type.’

  ‘The first ones. What do you mean?’

  ‘To have sex with a girl who hasn’t had it before.’

  ‘It was Theo, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does your mum know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What she say?’

  ‘Not to get pregnant and not to get hurt.’

  ‘I wish I had a mum like yours.’

  ‘I’m saying the same to you, Annie. When she said to me, “Don’t get pregnant and don’t get hurt,” it means, choose your guy, choose your own age, not an older married man, because sure as hell, it won’t work out.’

  She was getting through. I stood up and idly walked across to look at a framed photo of her dad playing the drums with her brother on guitar. I picked it up. I said, ‘This is a nice piccie. Tony and Berto. I wish I had a dad.’ Maddy wasn’t saying anything. ‘I met a guy in the mountains in Wales. I want him to help me find my dad. A researcher, researching slate quarries.’

  ‘Weird thing to study.’

  ‘It’s not. It’s interesting. He was interesting.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Twenties – early.’

  ‘More your age. Why don’t you go for him?’

  ‘No spark.’

  ‘I suppose not. You prefer wild Welsh men who’re married, who write poetry and have sex in the woods with beautiful women.’

  ‘Woman. Maddy, not women. There was only one. She’s not a random woman.’

  ‘As far as you know. Anyway you want to add yourself to his list. “Women I have screwed.”’

  I gave her a filthy look.

  She said, ‘Listen to me, won’t you. Don’t do it. Keep away from him.’

  I said I would but I had no intention of following her advice. I listened. I ignored it. I had to find out in my own way.

  ‘I’m going to get dressed, I won’t be long,’ she said, and disappeared into her bedroom.

  When she returned she asked whether I’d like to go to Camden Market with her and I said I would, so we caught a bus to Camden Town. We planned to meet our mates in our usual coffee bar and check out what was new but when we got there, no one was there. Maybe we were too early so we decided to go straight to the market.

  We walked up Camden High Street. It was packed. Full of tourists, cars and buses nose to tail. We could hear the noise and smell the different street foods way before we got there. The place buzzed. The music jammed. Camden Market. Shoppers of the world unite. A feeding and buying frenzy. Something for everybody. By the time we got there it was already teeming with people but we knew our way around and where to go. It was always worse Saturday afternoons but we were earlier than that, so it was just about bearable although we still had to push and shove to make our way through.

  We both had our favourite stalls. Maddy always made a bee line for the one selling Latin music. The guy running that stall loved his music. He’d rigged up a sound system. Each side of his stall was flanked with huge amplifiers and cables running from them. They looped and ran all along the back and the top of his brightly lit stall. You could hear his music a mile away. He didn’t do restraint. He did noise. He did rhythm. He believed in hitting his customers with the music of the world. Samba, bossa nova, mambo, salsa, tango, calypso, music from Cuba, music from Brazil, music from Africa, music from the Caribbean, music from South America; he had them all. He was like his music, exuberant and extravert, and when particular tracks came on that he found irresistible, he’d just take off and dance in front of his stall.

  Tourists loved him and he loved them, especially the young, petite and pretty Japanese. If they made the mistake of hesitating as they passed his stall, he shouted out a greeting as if they were his long-lost best mates. Then he’d ask if they’d like to dance but before they could answer, he’d grabbed them. He’d stand in front of them clicking his fingers in time to the music, gyrating his hips, spinning round, begging them to dance. Mostly they giggled but one took up his offer. She must have been a professional dancer, she was so good. He couldn’t believe his luck. Together they were crowd stoppers. Her friends and passersby took photos of them, and afterwards clustered round his stall like locusts. He was totally uninhibited and had to be seen to be believed. I found him embarrassing and tried to avoid catching his eye but Maddy didn’t care because she was always on the lookout for music for her dad and brother. She told me to ignore him.

  The stall I liked specialised in vintage-style clothing. I’d been there so often that Jen, the woman who ran it, recognised me. She knew what I liked and as soon as she saw me she told me she’d got in a new line. Fifties style tops, in loads of different colours. She looked at me, picked out a red one and held it against me. It had three-quarter length sleeves and was made out of some sort of stretchy material and I could see even before trying it that it was tight and cut low. I turned to Maddy and asked what she thought, and she said, ‘Go for it.’ Jen asked if I wanted to try it on but I didn’t because there was no proper place for trying on clothes and I’d either have to queue to get in the public toilets or use a makeshift place at the back of her stall. There was a mirror propped against some boxes but you couldn’t see yourself properly. Jen said if I bought it, I could try it on at home and if it didn’t fit, I could bring it back.

  I kept looking at it. It wasn’t the kind of top I usually wore but I did like it. Finally I decided against it, basically because I didn’t have enough money but then Maddy offered to lend me some. At first I wouldn’t accept her offer, but she went on at me for so long, in the end I agreed. She said if her family wasn’t back I could try the top on at her place. She wanted to see me in it and she was determined.

  When we got back to her flat, she put on her new CD, a funky compilation of Brazilian music. She insisted I try on the new top, so I went to her bedroom and pulled it on. It was really tight. I looked critically at myself in her full-length mirror and I couldn’t decide whether it was me or not so I walked into the lounge to see what she’d say. As soon as she saw me she said, ‘Wow,’ and asked me to turn round.

  ‘Annie, your figure is fab.’

  ‘Fab? How do you mean?’

  ‘You look hot and guys are going to fancy you if you wear that.’

  ‘Why would they?’

  ‘Don’t be dumb. Look at yourself. Go on. There’s a mirror there, have a look-see.’

  She pointed to a mirror over the sideboard, I walked over. I could see her reflection, she was sitting behind me and smiling. I switched my attention to myself. I still wasn’t sure. Maddy came over, stood in front of me and pulled the top down even lower than it was already. The material was stretchy, but because it was cheap it was cut small and in a deep v, front and back. You could see my boobs.

  I said, ‘Don’t do that. It’s too revealing.’

  ‘That’s the point, Annie. You want it, so you said, so give ’em it, the green light.’

  ‘You’re taking the “p”, Maddy. Give me a break. It’s too much, what about my mum?’ I was feeling apprehensive about what she’d say and I knew she’d be horrible if she saw me in this. She was the mistress of the put down.

  ‘It’s not for your mum, it’s for you, stupid. Are you going to live your life for your mum? She’s ol
der than you, she’s your mum and she’s had it.’

  I said, ‘You’re right.’

  I looked at my reflection. I was always critical of myself but this time I could see what Maddy meant and why Jen at the market had picked out this top. It reminded me of glamorous stars in fifties’ films. It was almost off my shoulders and the deep ‘v’ swooped down and drew attention to my breasts. The red was a good contrast with my dark blonde colouring.

  But in my mind I was back in Ffridd to the time when I hadn’t known what to wear, and how, when I’d seen myself in the mirror, I wasn’t sure whether I was looking at an adolescent girl or a young woman. I turned to Maddy and asked, ‘What shall I wear with it?’

  ‘Skinnies and wedge heels. I can see you in them.’

  I could see myself in them as well. ‘Mmmm,’ I said, ‘but.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘What colour?’

  ‘Orange, pink?’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘You can carry it off. You know I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true.’

  I looked at her doubtfully and then I said, ‘I’m gonna have to save up.’

  The next time I went to Camden Market I bought some pink skinnies and some wedgies. They were about as high as you can get without getting altitude sickness. When I tried them on and looked at myself in the mirror I could see I’d changed, not just physically, but emotionally. I was a little more selfconfident so I could wear jeans that were so tight I had to lie on the floor to pull the zip up. The wedge heels made my legs look long. My breasts had got bigger. All of a sudden. Weird or what? Maybe that was because of a push-up bra that Maddy recommended.

  I began cutting my own hair. Maddy did too. Her mum said our hair looked like we’d just rolled out of bed and the rats had been at it while we slept. That was the point. We did cool, the urchin look was in and going to a hairdresser wasn’t cool.

  Looking like this I attracted attention from the guys.

  Lots. They found me a turn-on and I liked that but I remained aloof from them. They were too young. I was still set on Gareth. I never showed my mum my new outfit because I knew she’d go crazy if she saw how I was dressed. I’d leave my clothes with Maddy and when we went out I’d get ready at her place.