by Ann Troup
The girl winced as the flannel passed over a particularly tender spot. ‘I fell, doesn’t matter.’
Edie had heard it all before, she had walked into a fair few doorframes herself whilst married to Simon. ‘What, you fell into someone’s fist?’
The girl pulled her head away. ‘Doesn’t matter, anyway who the fuck are you and where’s Dolly?’
Edie sat back on her haunches as the girl hauled herself into a sitting position and leaned against the wall.
‘Shouldn’t it be me asking you that question? Who are you and what are you doing here?’ Edie said, less evenly than she would have liked to. The girl was clearly on her uppers, scruffy, dirty and smelling of unwashed flesh, neglect and sadness. Sadness had a smell all of its own and was too familiar to Edie for her to mistake it for anything else. It had the scent of misery and the tang of salt.
The girl attempted a scowl, but it clearly pained her. ‘Where’s Dolly?’
‘She died, three weeks ago. She was my aunt.’
The girl shook her head slowly and winced as the movement hit home. ‘Shit, poor Doll. I didn’t know she had family.’
It felt like an accusation and Edie herself wanted to wince away from it. ‘We weren’t close,’ she muttered. ‘How did you know her?’
The girl shrugged, her face crumpling in pain as a reaction to the movement. ‘Just did, she used to help me out a bit, you know.’
Edie didn’t, but could guess. The state of the girl told her everything she needed to know, at first she had suspected drugs but the thin arms showed no signs of needle marks, just the evidence of homelessness and malnutrition. ‘Is that why you broke in, because Dolly used to help you?’
‘I didn’t break in, the door was open.’ the girl said, cringing again.
‘Look, I’m going to go next door and get you some painkillers – don’t move, I won’t be long.’ It seemed pointless to do anything else, the girl was clearly suffering and Edie wasn’t going to get much further with her at this rate.
The ever organised Lena had painkillers in her kitchen cupboard, in the same plastic tub where Edie also found sticking plaster, dressings and antiseptic cream. She assumed that Lena wouldn’t mind and took what she needed, fully intending to replace it all when she could. While she rummaged she considered the good chance that the girl would have gone by the time she got back. If she had, she had, but on the off chance she also took a tin of soup and a few slices of bread.
To her surprise the girl had remained exactly where Edie had left her, looking pale and weak. ‘I thought you might have done a runner,’ she said.
‘Nowhere to run to.’ the girl answered blandly.
Edie dressed and taped the cut above her eye, fed her two analgesics and dampened the flannel with cold water so that the girl could hold it against her eye. ‘Reckon you can make it downstairs? I brought you some food.’
A faint flicker of enthusiasm wafted across the girl’s battered face. ‘Food would be good, I haven’t eaten since yesterday.’
When the girl was at the table, drinking down her soup with a vigour that belied her fragile state, Edie decided that it was time for answers. The girl’s plight had brought out her sympathies, but she wanted to know who this young woman was and why she had walked into Dolly’s house broken and bleeding. ‘So, now you are patched up, fed and watered – are you going to tell me what happened and why you came here?’
The girl mopped up the last trickle of soup with a crust of bread and swallowed it whole. ‘Got kicked out of my gaff, had nowhere else to go – I figured Dolly would bail me out for the night. She sometimes would, depended on what mood she was in.’
Edie nodded. ‘What happened to your face?’
The girl shrugged. ‘Got smacked by that bastard Johnno, reckoned I was losing him business.’
Edie didn’t say a word, just looked at the girl in confusion.
The girl sighed. ‘Not very streetwise, are you? One of the girls said I could kip on her sofa for a few nights, Johnno didn’t like it – I gobbed off at him and he gave me a smack. Best to get out of the way when he’s on the warpath.’
Edie’s mind did somersaults and the girl must have noticed the mixed bag of reactions flit across her face.
‘I’m not a tom if that’s what you’re thinking, I’ve had me moments but I don’t charge for it, and I’m not doing drugs either. Some of the girls are mates, they help out.’
‘So this Johnno is a pimp?’
The girl laughed ‘He’s a bastard, that’s what he is.’
Edie thought about the girls across the square and what their lives must be driven by, just a constant reel of unnamed men, drugs and money. ‘Where are your family, your parents?’
The girl snorted. ‘The woman who gave birth to me is currently shacked up with bloke number forty-two, and the bloke who donated the sperm is somewhere round here… so I’m told. I wish I knew who he was, I’d give the bastard a right piece of my mind!’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Sophie – do you?’
‘Edie.’
The girl laughed, ‘Jesus, your mum must have hated you more than mine did me! Edie, short for Edith – right?’
Edie felt herself begin to blush, then she saw the humour. ‘Something like that, yeah.’
‘So, Edie, what’s the deal with this place?’ Sophie looked around the kitchen. ‘I can see you’ve cleaned it up, you moving in?’
‘No, clearing it out before it’s sold.’
Sophie nodded and hiccupped. ‘Fair enough, I wouldn’t want to live here either if I had the choice. Reckon it’s worth much?’
Edie felt herself bristle. Being quizzed by this stranger with attitude didn’t sit well. ‘I’ve no idea, I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.’
Sophie held her hands up. ‘Sorry, none of my business eh?’
Edie folded her arms. ‘Not really, no.’
Sophie looked down at her empty bowl then gently touched the dressing on her forehead. ‘Guess that’s my cue to fuck off then. Cheers for the soup and stuff.’ She reached across the table to retrieve her pungent backpack.
‘Where will you go?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Dunno, best get off the square though, Johnno sees me again he’s going to give me worse than a black eye.’
Edie looked at her, she was thin, grubby, pale and devoid of anything that marked her out as a functional human being. On a whim she said, ‘You can stay here if you want, just for tonight anyway – just don’t steal anything and don’t let anyone else in.’
Sophie’s hand paused on the strap of her backpack. ‘I don’t nick – and besides, if you can find anything in this gaff worth my while you’re better than me. I’ll stay for tonight.’ she said it as though it was she doing Edie the favour. ‘Got any more of those tablets, me face is killing me.’
Edie found herself smiling as she tossed the rest of the paracetamol across the table. There was something about this tattered human that appealed to her on a fundamental level. ‘Here, don’t take too many and for Christ’s sake have a bath, you stink. I’ll be back in the morning.’ She stood to leave.
The girl picked up the pills and turned the pack in her hands. ‘You’re a gobby cow Edie, but you’re all right I reckon. I’ll kip on the sofa, them rooms upstairs give me the right creeps – funny fucker your aunt Dolly.’
Edie had to agree on both counts.
It was only as she slipped in to Lena’s kitchen, in a vain attempt to be quiet, that she began to question the wisdom of leaving a complete stranger of dubious origin and even more dubious morals alone in a house that she was responsible for. What harm could it do? There was nothing worth stealing and in her heart of hearts she felt sorry for the girl. Sophie couldn’t be much more than twenty by the looks of her, and even if she did steal something, good luck to her – it would be one less piece of junk that Edie had to deal with.
She put her hand against the teapot – it was hot and stung her fingers, which meant
that Lena had woken up. With a feeling of trepidation that she couldn’t really fathom, Edie stuck her head around the sitting room door and spied Lena wearing her nightdress and dressing gown and perched on the edge of her chair. ‘Hi Lena, would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Just made it, let it brew. Where’ve you been?’
Edie felt like a school kid caught out in the midst of some nefarious act. ‘Next door…’ she hesitated, ‘umm, a friend of Dolly’s turned up, I said she could stay the night.’
Lena turned and gave her the full benefit of her scrutiny. ‘Oh aye, who would this friend be then?’
‘A young girl called Sophie, she looked to be homeless and had been in some sort of accident.’ Edie didn’t feel like elaborating on the nature of Sophie’s ‘accident’.
Lena narrowed her eyes. ‘That skanky kid, always hanging around the square and cosying up with the prozzies? What do you think you’re doing, letting scum like that stay next door?’
Grateful as Edie was for Lena’s hospitality and kindness, this critique of her decision rankled. ‘She was in a mess and had nowhere else to go, I couldn’t just throw her out on the street.’
Lena pulled her dressing gown across her chest and pulled a face. ‘Huh! Street’s the best place for the likes of her! You’ll regret it, she’ll have that place stripped clean before you know it, mark my words.’
Edie thought that Sophie stripping the place clean might be rather helpful, but didn’t say so. ‘Well it’s done now and if she can find anything worth having she’s welcome to it. Shall I pour that tea?’
Lena looked horrified for a moment, then seemed to collect herself, huffed and waved an acquiescent hand. ‘I’ll have a drop of brandy in mine, always do before bedtime. It calms my nerves.’
For Edie, bedtime couldn’t come soon enough. Lena’s attitude towards her actions had been unsettling yet understandable. Meeting with anyone’s disapproval had always been difficult for Edie and she was distinctly uncomfortable at the thought that she’d met with Lena’s. Yet the woman had been kind and Edie wasn’t in a position to argue, she felt beholden enough because of Lena’s hospitality. Perhaps tomorrow she would buy some bedding and move back next door. Lena was right, letting the street girl stay had been an entirely irrational decision. She sloshed a large measure of brandy into Lena’s tea by way of reparation and took it to the woman who had been so kind. Lena took it and sipped in silence. Looking at Lena with rollers in her hair contained by a chiffon scarf and hunched in her dressing gown with a look of pinched concern clouding her face, Edie was reminded of Mrs Tiggywinkle. With Lena’s veiny feet protruding out from under her nightie, and the firmly wrinkled brow, Edie saw the version that Stephen King might have written, had he been struck to anthropomorphise a hedgehog. The thought of it made her want to snort with laughter and she had to bite her tongue to avoid the disrespect.
She took her own tea to bed, but didn’t drink it and instead lay awake thinking of the task ahead of her and trying not to dwell on the brooding presence of Matt Bastin, or the equally brooding disapproval of the woman downstairs. All she needed to do was clear the house, hand the keys to an agent and leave. Rose could take care of the rest. How hard could it be?
Chapter Five
Sophie lay stiff and aching on the lumpy sofa listening to the ticking of the mantle clock and contemplating the oppressive atmosphere of the house. The tablets that Edie had given to her had taken the edge off, but her ribs still grated where Johnno’s fist had bruised them and every now and then her face pulsed with pain.
She hadn’t taken Edie’s advice and had a bath, everything hurt too much for that, but she had salvaged the flannel and had a quick lick round with that. It would have to do for now, she hated being dirty but a quick wash was all she’d been able manage. Waves of nausea lapped like the tide and she could feel the soup and bread rolling and washing in her stomach. Throwing up wasn’t an option. In her situation food could be hard to come by; you had to hang on to it no matter what.
An attempt to shift position winded her and made her grit her teeth, for the first time in an age she felt as if she wanted to cry. Not because of the pain, though it wasn’t helping, but because of Dolly. The woman was gone and Sophie hadn’t known. That was the trouble when you shifted about the place sofa surfing (and sometimes settling for doorways) – you couldn’t keep in touch and you couldn’t keep an eye on people who mattered. She wasn’t quite sure why Dolly had mattered, she’d been a funny old duck, but she’d been kind in her way and good for a few quid from time to time. Sophie pondered whether what she was feeling might be grief – she had spent so many years being angry it was hard to recognise other emotions, but this hollow, empty feeling seemed to fit what she understood of the concept. Unless it was more hunger. Sophie was equally familiar with that sensation.
The house felt weird without Dolly, and the inroads into the mess that the woman Edie had made seemed to Sophie like something important ran the risk of being eradicated. Sophie was kind of glad she was nomadic, it would take thirty seconds for someone to dump her rucksack in a bin – thirty seconds, job done, all Sophie Hedley’s worldly goods, all she stood for, eliminated in an instant. No one would experience grief, or even hunger, at her demise. In fact she would be surprised if anyone would even notice. Probably better that way, no legacy, no ripples, no homeless people spending the night on your uncomfortable sofa. What was with this sofa? It felt like she was lying on a sack of rocks, and it wasn’t just the bruised ribs that were making her feel it. She shoved a hand beneath her and felt around. Sure enough there was a lump in the foam. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep with that digging into her back, and she was a girl who could sleep anywhere – doorways, park benches, you name it.
With some effort she slid off, grunting as her ribs grated and sang with pain. A zip in the back of the cushion allowed access to the foam inside. The zip was stiff, had probably rarely been opened, and it took a moment of careful and gentle persuasion before the teeth parted and allowed her to slip in a hand and feel about for the object that had been causing so much discomfort. The foam was old, had started to disintegrate and left a grainy and unpleasant residue on her hands. The texture of it made her grimace as she groped about, her fingers finally finding the item that she sought. It felt like a book, a book that someone had wedged between the layers of ancient foam. Weird. She tugged at it, but it had been there a long time and resisted her efforts. The foam had become tacky and had adhered to the cover, Sophie tugged and worked her fingers under and around the book until finally it came free and she could pull it out. The light in the room was dim, the bulbs as old and weak as Dolly had been, and Sophie couldn’t really make out much from the pages of the notebook that had faded, foxed and stuck together in the passage of time. It seemed to be some kind of copybook, lists, money, boring stuff. She wasn’t much bothered about what the pages held, only that the bloody thing would no longer be preventing her from sleep. With irritation she wiped the cover on the carpet and threw the book into her backpack, then she wiped her hands down her jeans and reassembled the cushion. With mounting exhaustion she put it back, climbed onto the sofa and attempted to sleep.
Edie found her there the next day, curled up, hair tousled, mouth slack and with her T-shirt ridden up and revealing the ugly, mottled bruise that had bloomed on her torso overnight. As she observed the sleeping, broken girl, sorrow clutched at her heart. Lena’s disapproval had inclined her to think that she should ask the girl to leave, but this sight changed everything. Edie knew what it was to feel lonely, vulnerable and without hope. She had never been homeless but had sold her soul to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. If being married to Simon hadn’t been a deal with the Devil, she didn’t know what was.
For a moment she contemplated taking the girl’s bag and washing the clothes that were inside, the whole thing stank and so did the girl, but who was she to intrude on the girl’s possessions? Instead she wandered through to the kit
chen, filled the kettle and began to cook the bacon and eggs she had brought with her. As she fiddled with the food a plan began to form in her mind.
The smell of cooking must have woken the girl as she came sidling into the kitchen, yawning and shuffling and rubbing the back of her neck. ‘I smell bacon, is there coffee? I could murder coffee,’ she said blearily as she slumped into a chair next to the faded Formica table.
‘There is coffee.’ Edie said, pouring boiling water into a mug of instant. ‘It’s not great but it’s wet and it’s warm. Oh, and I’ve sorted you some clean clothes out – some of mine, I’ll wash yours if you like.’
Sophie took the drink and frowned. ‘Why are you being so nice to me? Food, shelter, clothes, offers of washing, what’s the catch?’
Edie paused, the grill pan in one oven-gloved hand, a piece of bacon dangling from a fork in the other, and examined the girl’s look of suspicion. She wasn’t sure she liked a world where kindness and compassion had to be explained and justified.
‘No catch, but an offer. You need a place to stay, I need some help. This place won’t clear itself and I can’t face it on my own. I don’t know how long it will take, but you can stay here and help me until I hand over the keys. I’ll feed you and sort out a bed for you to sleep in, I’ll even buy you a bar of soap and some shampoo…’ she added as she passed a plate of food across the table.
Sophie scowled at the perceived insult and took the food, inhaling the aroma and letting the nectar of it relax her features. ‘No skin off my nose.’ she said, shrugging and dipping a folded slice of bread into her egg. ‘As long as you’ve got rubber gloves, I’m not touching anything without gloves. This place is minging!’
Edie looked at the grim state of the girl and smiled as pots and kettles came to mind. She sat down in front of her own breakfast. ‘OK, and yes, I have gloves. I figured you could start by clearing one of the bedrooms. I’m going out in a bit to buy some bedding so at least we’ll have something clean and dry to sleep on.’