Once I’d cooled off a bit I went and sat back down beside Tony, Eck and Alfonso. They were still discussing the incident, but had moved along some and were generally agreeing amongst themselves as to what a woman’s place should be. They didn’t even have the decency to change the topic of the conversation as I joined them, which made me feel a sinking gloom. I was no longer angry, just depressed. I interrupted them to tell them that I was feeling ill and was going home. A look of concern flickered across Tony’s face. I quickly told him it was my time of the month as that would ensure no further questions. I wasn’t lying really, but I wasn’t exactly telling the truth either.
Before leaving, I went off to find Antonio, Tony and Eck’s father and our boss. I went into the kitchen and was told that Antonio was last seen checking in a consignment of pinto beans. So I went down the back stair into the gloomy cellar and made my way between piles of netted vegetables and stacks of cans towards the delivery door, all the while being careful not to trip or bang my head on the ceiling. Antonio was standing outside, under a ragged awning, smoking a cigarette and looking thoughtfully up at the grey Glasgow sky. The downpour was over, but it was still drizzling.
‘D’you know?’ he said to me. ‘I still think the rain is beautiful, even after thirty-five years in this country.’ He took my hand in his, as he often did; and gave it a little squeeze. I always liked it when he did that. He had big, stubby baker’s hands; and holding them made me feel like a little girl again. I liked Antonio a lot. He was like an eccentric, Italian version of my own dad. He had the same kind of turn of phrase. With my dad it was the football. With Antonio it was Italy. Whenever he talked about that magical, far off country he would hold my heart in thrall. He made it sound so romantic and old-time I was just dying to visit it. I’d made Tony promise me that we’d spend our honeymoon there: that he’d take me out on a gondola in Venice and sing me a love song from the opera; and then we’d go and stay in a room with a view in Florence.
‘You know something?’ said Antonio. ‘I used to go out and walk in the rain when I lived in the old country. It didn’t rain much in Naples, but when it did I would go out walking until I got soaked to the skin.’ He laughed gently to himself. ‘You couldn’t do that here though, you’d get pneumonia or some such. The old girl, God bless her, she hated the rain. She was always pining for the sun, so she was.’ Antonio’s eyes got that misty, faraway look as they always did when he talked about his departed wife. Then he gave a wee start, like he’d suddenly come to his senses; and he asked me what it was I wanted. I told him that I was not feeling well; and he told me I should go home and get into bed with a hot-water bottle. He told me that that was what the old girl did when she had her moontime. I was surprised at what he called it. It sounded so otherworldly.
After I got home I went to bed, even though I didn’t really feel ill. I took a hot-water bottle as Antonio recommended. Its warmth made me feel good in the half-light of the room. I looked out the window at the driech autumn weather and thought about Antonio standing in the yard, looking at it and loving it; and remembering all about Italy. It made me feel better, just thinking about Antonio. Then I thought some about how Tony was like Antonio in so many ways. I remembered all the romantic things that he’s done for me; and I imagined us getting old together and how he’d be just like his father. Then I didn’t feel so bad anymore about all the stupid things he’d said.
Later that evening though, while we watched the football match on the telly, the doubts surfaced again.
Breaking For the Border
Mandy MacFarlane
He’ll probably call you up half an hour after you’ve just met on Boar Lane suggesting a variety of activities for you both to do on your second date. If you’re not in, he’ll leave a number of messages on your machine with a list of his ideas, which you may at first find a little overpowering.
When you phone him back he will be delighted to hear from you and thank you for calling. He’ll sound genuinely enthusiastic when you agree to one of his suggestions. He’ll want to come and get you and you will be impressed that the man you are dating has transport and will go to the trouble of picking you up. You’ll agree to go jogging in Hyde Park and even though you’re not very fit you are very keen to try something different.
He’ll come and call for you and then drive you up to the park where you’ll spend the next hour in a kind of breathless torture. Afterwards he’ll take you back to his house where he’ll rustle up some guacamole with lemon and garlic, which no doubt you will be very impressed by. He’ll tell you about his trips to Latin America which will suck you in further and then he’ll open a bottle of your favourite red wine and you’ll think you’re in heaven.
His flat which he describes as bijou will have recently been Hoovered and the toilet cleaned. His ornaments, pinecones and shell collection will strike a chord in your subconscious and you will feel strangely at home. His music collection which will coincidentally mimic your own will soften your defences and make you feel foolishly that he is some kind of soulmate.
He will ask you a lot of questions about yourself and in turn will feel compelled to tell you his own life story in one evening. This will be a detailed account of how his marriage broke down and about the numerous games his ex-wife played. He will explain how he was a victim of her instability and her failure to express emotions. You will mistake his confession as a desire to communicate and be understood, but it will actually be part of a greater self-obsession which is nothing to do with you whatsoever.
At this point your best friend Debra will be over the moon for you. She will be relieved that at last you have met a man who is showing you some kind of interest and not afraid to open up like so many others of his ilk, who proved to be vague and elusive. So she’ll egg you on and fill your head with all sorts of girlish nonsense which you’ll swallow wholeheartedly.
The next time you see each other you will go out in his Citroen 2CV and he will take you to a beautiful part of the North Yorkshire coast. He will have got up early and gone to some trouble to buy another bottle of your favourite Chilean red, French bread and camembert. You will walk hand-in-hand along the shore and he will let slip that this is not the first time he has walked here. You will not be alarmed as you are having such a nice time and you are grateful to him for getting you out of the city. You will confidently think that it won’t turn sour for you like it has with how many others?
You will go back to his car and he will make tea on a gas stove and roll you a cigarette. You will sit back in the sunshine and count your lucky stars.
On the road home he will suggest stopping for a drink which you will agree to. He will down a couple of pints in the quarter-of-an-hour before last orders. You will be slightly taken aback at this, as everything else during the day will have been so leisurely. But you’ll both laugh and joke and the urgency of his drinking will fade.
He’ll invite you to his house for coffee but you will demurely decline as remarkably you still have some common sense left.
You’ll plan to spend the next evening with some female friends in Cuban Heels just in case you’re getting too carried away with all the attention. At the eleventh hour he will phone you and tell you that something life shattering has happened to him that day, but the phone just isn’t the same and he would really like to talk to you face-to-face. You’ll give in and put up very little resistance, after all you can have a girls’ night another time. This will be the beginning of your demise, but you won’t realise it.
He will come round to your house and suggest you go out for a drink at the Elbow Rooms. His mood will have altered slightly from the phone conversation and he will seem almost morose. You will ask him how he got on that day which was the purpose of his visit, but he will have lost interest. He will suggest you both play pool and while you rub chalk on your cue he will down a couple of pints of lager. The look on his face will change and he will appear almost mean. He will not be so attentive to your needs, but instead will pass you his empty glas
s when he’s finished. At this stage you should say goodbye and at least wait three days till you see him again and have analysed his moodiness.
At this point Debra will ask you why you are seeing him every day and not making him wait. Whatever you do, don’t mention the fact that you’ve agreed to meet him the next day for lunch.
You will spend every evening at his house because it’s more private than yours. But as you are allergic to the hamsters he keeps in a cage you will sleep with the window open, which will be cold. And you will have to be up and out by 8 am every day before his ex-wife brings their twins round. He will tell you the last thing he needs right now is some kind of confrontation.
In the evening you will potter about his flat as if you’ve known him all his life. You’ll be impressed by his array of plants and that he grows his own herbs. Later you will discover that some of the plants are marijuana and that he dries what he grows before he smokes and he smokes six times a day.
Several days later when you are out for an evening drive to Temple Newsam he will be so stoned that he will leave the keys in the car and lock them inside while you both take a leisurely stroll in the grounds.
You will then feel the heat of his temper as he shouts and curses at you for rushing him and making him forget. All sorts of reasoning on your part will not reduce his rancour. He will not think that maybe after three beers and two large joints he may be partially responsible.
You will phone a friend to drive him home so he can pick up a spare set of keys. He will finally manage to get into his car and drive you home, but he will not thank you.
The next morning when he is frying the bacon he will mumble away to himself that he must remember and not let you get the better of him. Although you will have saved his backside the day before, the whole episode will be entirely your fault.
If you’re sensible you will take time out and think about the kind of man you are getting involved with.
Although it’s your birthday you tell him you don’t want to see him and that you have no plans. You hope that other friends will remember and you will go out with them for a change. If you are very unlucky, they will forget and have nothing planned. You will lay in your bed depressed and not know how to get out of it. You will succumb to phoning him and suggest he comes over as you could really do with some company. Debra will pop in on her way home from work and be delighted that you have invited him over. There won’t be much food in the house and so what you throw together won’t be very tasty. You will wish you had gone to Morrisons and bought something halfway decent. You and Debra will set the table and she will ask you if you want to invite anyone else round to make more of a party. You will agree as you will have to concede that desperate measures are required.
He will turn up late in his Citroen, two-and-a-half hours after you phoned him in fact. He will have parked it at the gate but you will be waiting on eggshells for him to come inside.
At this point Debra will be excited for you and encourage you to go outside and see what’s keeping him.
You will be relieved to see him and will say hello and ask him what he’s doing. The mean look will be back on his face and he will slam the door, only to realise that yet again he has locked himself out. Again he will be angry and blame you for distracting him with your hellos. He will thump the side of his car in frustration and you will instinctively move out of the firing-line.
You will go into the kitchen and tell Debra that he is really angry and that you’re not quite sure what to do. She will not have seen the meanness on his face and will think you are over-reacting. At this stage remember how mean he looked.
You will all sit out in the street of your back-to-back until he manages to sort himself out and you can relax. He will have bought you an expensive bottle of wine and a handmade card, which will warm your heart and make you glad you invited him. He will join the little party and after a few drinks he will soften and your other two friends will be laughing at his anecdotes. You will not enjoy the wine he brought you. It will taste bitter, but you will say that you do.
After this you will follow a pattern. Every time you try to gather some space he will cry and tell you he is so depressed and still bruised from his last relationship that you will cave in and offer your shoulder. Then when he has toughened up, the meanness will spread across his face and he will try to blame you for all his insecurities. If you’re very strong you’ll break for the border but if you are in anyway sentimental you will stay and try to cure him.
You’ll become more and more run down until the day comes, when Debra goes away on holiday and he will come round one evening. He will be tired and worn out and will have been in heavy discussions with his ex-partner who wants to make another go of it. The meanness on his face, which appeared when he was talking about her, will now appear when he is talking to you.
He will now blame you for the wrong turn his life has taken and how little old you will be the reason he hasn’t achieved, how many goals?
He’ll let rip that you are why he hasn’t been taking care of himself recently and going to the gym as often as he used to. He won’t hold back when he tells you that under no circumstances are you going to wrap him round your little finger.
His ranting will sound so absurd that you will not know how to react. You will think he’s joking but you will not believe it when he turns round all six foot of him and punches you in the face for smiling at him in what he describes as a strange way. Your face will sting but you will ignore the stinging and use all your wits to calm him down so that he doesn’t hit you again.
At this point you will have no alternative but to leave. He will cry and say he is sorry but you will realise that it’s too late for sorrys.
A year later when you’ve just about forgotten him, you will see him driving his Citroen up the York Road. You will wave at him without thinking but then you will see the mean look in his eye, his unkempt beard and large teeth and you will stop waving.
Fortunately he will not see you, but you will wonder who he is blaming now for losing his keys and smiling.
Submarium
Lee J Harrison
Throughout the summer of 2001, Sarah felt the coming of The Deep to almost biblical proportion, and wondered if it really could change her life. Its angular structure jutted out from the banks of the Humber and Hull like a shard of outer space, the tip of an iceberg from the future. The Deep was a gigantic angular thing of steel and glass, building itself over the months and erupting from the land where disused docks had long since dried up. The Deep was the world’s only submarium. No one knew what that meant, but never mind; it had the deepest aquarium exhibits in all of Europe. It would house marine life from across the globe, from the cold and brackish estuaries of the North Sea to the reaches of the Pacific; old world cod and new world creatures and colours, sand tiger sharks, rays and anemone. It would form links with business, education and research, it would be a place for men in suits to come and see, and it would all be in ’ull.
Sarah spent weeks at home, pretending she didn’t suspect that Dean had lost his job again, whilst he was out pretending he was at the job he’d lost again, and the funny thing was, she could hear it, the bubbles, the sound of the waves. She stared blankly around the house and drifted on a current towards the window, as if she might see aquaria out there. But there, as ever, was Woodcock Street.
There were some kids, seemingly ever present, interchangeable scruffs in tracksuits lingering at the end of the block where the corner house had been demolished. They cowled over their bottles of Hooch, taking dares to throw a bent bicycle frame out in front of passing cars. You could still make out the stairs in the wall of the last house standing, and see the kitchen tiles still in place on the outside. Beyond that, a crumbling wall slouched to reveal the blackened eyeholes of the most recent empty house to be set fire to.
The corner shop had just recently closed, having been abused, broken into and worn down to ruin. The council had the whole street earmarked f
or demolition but did nothing, left it standing. For the people who still lived here, in between the abandoned wrecking houses, the street sometimes felt as if it was on death row. The wind blew cold off the Humber, but somehow didn’t seem as loud or as nasty as the wind that blew through the disembowelled houses.
Sarah had been to see The Deep throughout its construction, especially at night, when it was lit up and beautiful, reflected in symmetry by the inky river. It scared her. She knew instantly, as much as she’d ever known anything, that she wanted to be a part of it, but opportunity seemed somehow alien and threatening. The day the phrase ‘a job at The Deep’ found purchase in her mind had made her mad and joyful, afraid and resentful. And Dean was easily irritated and resentful of all talk of ‘that’ The Deep. He never said so explicitly, but Sarah could tell by the way he made sure to refer to it always as ‘that’ The Deep; as if it wasn’t real, as if it was something he didn’t understand or acknowledge. That Deep. That Father Christmas shit. She knew that this was something she wanted, this impossible thing, to be a part of the educational, international, seven-seas-and-five-continents phenomena, never known before in these forgotten parts. And so Sarah had bucked up her ideas. She pulled out her old CV. She put herself on the mailing list and collected newspaper clippings and flyers. She went to a careers fair and spent nearly two hours talking to the staff there.
The Deep was frightening in another way. The visionaries claimed that this would put Hull on the map, would aid Hull’s bid to be a top ten city. But when she thought about it, where had we been all these years? Hull was on the map as some place that used to be, used to be fishing and all that, fish trade, blah-blah-blah. But now, Sarah couldn’t ever remember what there actually was in Hull before this Deep Millennial Age. Some vague, before-her-time mental image of fishing boats and the Town Docks Museum was all there was. After the bombs of 1941, nothing.
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