Agnes Owens

by Agnes Owens

  ‘I’m short of a fiver,’ I explained to the tall man in the black suit.

  His eyes glowed with regret. ‘I’m sorry. Two hundred is the price. I can’t accept less.’

  ‘Will it be too late after Thursday?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ He could not have been more sympathetic.

  ‘What should I do – steal?’

  ‘I can give you no advice.’

  He closed the door gently in my face and left me staring at the peeling paint. A cat leapt on to the step and wound itself round my legs. I picked it up and forced it to look at my face. ‘Stupid animal,’ I said as it purred its pleasure. I threw it away from me and returned home.

  I walked into the bedroom and grabbed Ingrid by her sparse hair as she lay splayed over Jimmy Font, identifiable by his dirty boots.

  ‘Out!’ I shouted.

  She pulled on her grey vest screaming, ‘I’ll kill you!’

  Jimmy thrashed about like a tortoise on its back clutching his privates as if they were gold.

  I towered above him. ‘Hurry!’ He gained his feet, made the sign of the cross, grabbed his trousers and ran.

  ‘May you burn in hell,’ moaned Ingrid, rubbing a bald patch on her head.

  I tossed over a handful of hair. ‘Before you go, take that filth with you.’

  ‘Where can I go?’ she sobbed.

  ‘The gutter, the river, the madhouse. Take your choice.’

  She pulled on her dress. ‘I don’t feel well.’ I didn’t answer. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘if you had let Jimmy stay I might have earned a fiver to lend you.’

  I was not swayed by her logic. A drink from Jimmy’s bottle would have been the price. I walked out of the room to escape from her staleness.

  At one time they had told me in the hospital plastic surgery could eventually work wonders. I did not like the word ‘eventually’. Civilly I had requested that they terminate my breath, but they merely pointed out how lucky I was to be given the opportunity. Suspecting they would only transform me into a different kind of monster I had left them studying diagrams. That happened a long time ago, but I still had my dreams of strolling along an avenue of trees holding up a perfect profile to the sun.

  ‘Are you listening?’ said Ingrid, breaking through my thoughts with some outrageous arrangement she would fix for me to get five pounds. She backed away when I headed towards her. As she ran through the door and down the stairs I threw out her flea-ridden fur coat, which landed on her shoulders like the mottled skin of a hyena.

  The Salvation Army Band on the street corner blared out its brassy music of hope. I settled down on the bench beside Teddy the tramp and spun thoughts of fine wire in my head.

  ‘Nice?’ commented Teddy from the depths of an abandoned army coat. He offered me a pale-green sandwich from a bread paper, which I declined.

  ‘We have much to be thankful for,’ he said as he bit into the piece.

  A body of people gathered on the far side. The music stopped. Everyone applauded. I joined the group, who courteously stood their ground when I brushed close. My eyes were on the Sally Ann coming towards us with trusting goodwill and the collection box in her hand. I slipped my hand beneath the other hands holding out donations, then tugged the string loosely held by the good lady, and ran.

  Six pounds and forty-seven pence lay strewn over my bed in pence and silver. I blessed the kindness of the common people and the compassion of the Salvation Army who would never persecute or prosecute a sorry person like me. Tomorrow was Thursday and I had the two hundred pounds, with one pound forty-seven to the good. With a mixture of joy and fear I poured five pounds into the briefcase. Then I studied a single sheet of parchment, the words on which I knew by heart. The message was direct and unfanciful, and unaccountably I believed it, perhaps because of its simplicity, and also the power which emanated from the black handwriting. Even the mercenary demand for two hundred pounds strengthened my belief in a force much deeper than plastic surgery. I calculated there must always be a price to pay, which for effort’s sake should go beyond one’s means, to accomplish results.

  All evening Ingrid did not return. I wasn’t surprised or sorry. In my mind’s eye I could see her tossing against dank alley walls in drunken confusion – her wispy hair falling like damp thistledown over her forehead, her eyes rolling around like those of an old mare about to be serviced. Not that I wished her to be any different. Her degradation had afforded me stature, though after tomorrow I hoped never to see her again. Fancying a bout of self-torture to pass the time, I began searching for a mirror, suspecting it would be useless since I had forbidden them in the flat. I peered at my reflection in the window. Like a creature from outer space it stared back without pity. Satisfactorily sickened I raised two fingers, then turned away.

  ‘See your pal Ingrid,’ declared Maidy Storr when I passed her stall of old hats, shoes and rusty brooches.

  ‘Not recently.’

  ‘She stole a bundle of money from Dan Riley when he dozed off in Maitland’s bar last night.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Well she did. I sat on one side of him and she was on the other. I remember she left quickly without finishing her drink. Next thing he woke up shouting he’d been robbed.’

  ‘How much?’ I asked.

  ‘Fifty quid, he said. Mind you I was surprised he had that much.’ She added winking, ‘You’ll be all right for a tap.’

  ‘Haven’t seen her since yesterday morning.’

  ‘Done a bunk has she?’

  ‘Couldn’t say.’

  ‘Well she would, wouldn’t she. The law will be out for her.’

  ‘For stealing from a pickpocket. I don’t see Dan complaining.’

  Maidy frowned. ‘I see what you mean. It makes you sick to think she’ll get away with it.’

  ‘Couldn’t care less whether she gets away with it or not.’ I picked up a single earring. ‘Have you many one-eared customers?’

  ‘Leave that stuff and get going.’

  I walked away quickly when Maidy threw a shoe at me, and headed towards Joe’s for breakfast.

  ‘I think I’d like something special today,’ I informed him.

  ‘How about some weedkiller?’ he suggested.

  ‘I said something special, not the usual.’ I considered his confined choices.

  ‘Be quick and move to your seat before the joint gets busy.’ Being a liberal-minded fellow Joe allowed me in his place when it was quiet, provided I sat in the alcove behind the huge spider plant. I chose a pizza and a glass of tomato juice.

  ‘Living it up,’ he sneered.

  ‘Might as well. Anyway I’m tired of the little creatures in your meat pies.’

  I could see Joe looking anxiously at a neatly dressed old lady approaching. Hastily I moved to the alcove with my pizza and tomato juice. The old lady was having an intense conversation with Joe. I suspected she was complaining about me. I finished my pizza and deliberately took my tomato juice over to a centre table. At a table nearby a couple with a child looked at me, aghast. The child wailed. I smiled at them, or in my case, grimaced. The child’s wails increased in volume. Joe charged over and signalled for me to get out. The neat old lady appeared out of the steam.

  ‘Don’t you know this is a friend of mine,’ she said, looking hard at Joe then bestowing a loving smile on me. Joe looked unconvinced, but he was stumped.

  ‘If you say so.’ He moved the couple and the child behind the spider plant.

  The old lady sat down beside me and said, ‘I’m sorry you have to put up with this sort of thing.’

  I shrugged. ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘Such a lack of kindness is terrible,’ she continued.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Can I get you something?’ she asked.

  ‘A pizza, if you don’t mind.’

  She attended to me smartly. I could feel her eyes boring through me as I ate. She cleared her throat and asked, ‘Are you often exposed to such er – abuse?�
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  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘You’ll only upset yourself.’ Her eyes were brimming over by this time and I couldn’t concentrate on eating.

  ‘Is there nothing that can be done?’ she asked just as I had the fork halfway up to my mouth.

  ‘About what?’ I was really fed up with her. I find it impossible to talk and eat at the same time.

  ‘I mean, my dear – what about plastic surgery – or something.’

  I threw down my fork. ‘Listen, if you don’t like the way I look, bugger off.’ I paid her no further attention when she left.

  ‘That’s another customer you’ve lost me,’ Joe called over. I told him to bugger off too, then hastily departed.

  For the remainder of the day I kept checking on the time, which meant I had to keep searching for the odd clock in shop windows. I half expected to bump into Ingrid. In a way I would have been glad to see her, because even if she was completely uninteresting, in her vapid manner she used to converse with me. She was still out when I returned home, no doubt holed up somewhere, frightened to stir in case she met Riley. I washed my face, combed my hair, put on a fresh jumper, and looked no better than before, but at least it was a gesture. Then I checked the money in the briefcase and left without a backward glance. I headed slowly to my destination so that I would arrive on the exact minute of the hour of my appointment. Normally I don’t get excited easily, for seldom is there anything to get excited about, but I must admit my heart was pounding when I stood on the steps of the shabby mansion. The tall man in the black suit received my briefcase solemnly. He bowed, then beckoned me to follow him.

  ‘Are you not going to count the money?’ I asked.

  His sepulchral voice resounded down the corridor. ‘If you have faith in me I know the money will be correct.’

  I wanted to ask questions but I could scarcely keep pace as he passed smoothly ahead of me. Abruptly he stopped outside a door and turned. The questions died on my lips as I met his opaque glance. It was too late to have doubts so I allowed him to usher me into the room. I can give no explanation for what followed because once inside I was dazzled by a translucent orange glow so powerful that all my senses ceased to function. I knew nothing until I woke up outside the corridor holding on to the tall man. Even in that state of mesmerism I knew I was different. My lips felt rubbery and my eyes larger. Tears were running down my cheeks, which in itself was a strange thing, since I had not cried for years. The man carefully escorted me into another room and placed me before a mirror, saying, ‘Don’t be afraid. You will be pleased.’

  I breathed deep, and looked. I didn’t say anything for a time because the image that faced me was that of Ingrid. I leaned forward to touch her, but it was only the glass of a mirror.

  ‘You are much nicer now?’ the man asked in an ingratiating manner.

  What could I say? I didn’t want to complain, but I had been definitely altered to be the double of Ingrid. Certainly the face was the same, and we had been of similar build anyway.

  ‘Very nice,’ I croaked. ‘Thank you very much.’

  His lips curled into what could have been a smile, then he tapped me on the shoulder to get going. I shook hands with him when I stood on the step outside, clutching my empty briefcase.

  ‘It’s a funny thing –’ I began to say, but he had vanished behind the closed door.

  It might have been a coincidence but Ingrid never showed up. This was convenient because everyone assumed I was Ingrid, so I settled into her way of life and discovered it wasn’t too bad. Certainly it has its ups and downs but I get a lot of laughs with her clients and its doesn’t hurt my face either. The only snag is, now and again I worry about bumping into Dan Riley. Sometimes I consider saving up for a different face, but that might be tempting fate. Who knows what face I would get. Besides, I have acquired a taste for the good things in life, like cigarettes and vodka. So I take my chances and confront the world professionally equipped in a fur jacket and high black boots, trailing my boa feathers behind me.

  PEOPLE LIKE THAT

  The Lighthouse

  ‘Let’s go somewhere else,’ said Megan to her brother Bobby playing on the beach with his pail and spade. ‘Let’s go to the lighthouse.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, without looking up. At three and a half years he had the face of an angel, but his appearance belied a strong determination to have everything his own way. So thought Megan, aged ten.

  ‘You can stay if you like,’ she said, ‘but I’m going and I just hope a monster doesn’t get you.’

  At the mention of the word ‘monster’ he began to look over his shoulder. It was only recently she’d been telling him about monsters and how they ate children. She’d even shown him a picture of one in an animal book, which was actually that of a gorilla, but it had been enough to make him refuse to sleep with the light off and even with it on he would waken up screaming.

  ‘I don’t want to go to the lighthouse,’ he said, running over and butting her in the stomach with his head.

  ‘But I do,’ she said, skipping off lightly over the sand.

  ‘Wait for me,’ he called, picking up his pail and spade and trailing after her.

  Together they walked along in a friendly way, going at a pace that suited them both. The day was warm but with a bit of wind. Megan almost felt happy. They came to a part of the shore that was deserted except for a woman walking her dog in the distance. Bobby stopped to gather shells.

  ‘Throw them away,’ said Megan. ‘You’ll get better ones at the lighthouse.’

  He emptied his pail then asked if the lighthouse was over there, pointing to the sea wall.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. The lighthouse is miles away.’

  He said emphatically, ‘Then I don’t want to go.’

  Megan lost her temper. ‘If you don’t start moving I’ll slap your face.’

  At that moment the woman with the dog passed by. ‘Is that big girl hitting you?’ she asked him.

  Before he could speak, Megan had burst out, ‘He’s my brother and I’ll hit him if I want.’

  The woman studied them through thoughtful, narrowed eyes. ‘Do your parents know you’re out here in this lonely place?’

  When Megan said they did the woman walked on with the dog, muttering something under her breath which Megan suspected was some kind of threat aimed at her. She hissed to Bobby, ‘See what you’ve done. For all we know she could be going to report us to the police and you know what that means?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mummy and Daddy will be put in jail for neglecting us and I’ll have to watch you for ever.’

  At that he let out a howl so loud she was forced to put her hand over his mouth.

  ‘Be quiet, you fool. Do you want that woman back?’ He quietened down when she promised to get him an ice-cream.

  ‘Where’s the van?’ he asked, looking around.

  ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing in the direction of the lighthouse. At first he believed this, running beside her eagerly, but when they went on for a considerable length without any signs of an ice-cream van he began to lag behind.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘or we’ll miss it.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Don’t ask me stupid questions,’ she snapped, thinking how it wasn’t fair that she had to be saddled with him all the time. ‘You’re a silly bugger anyway.’

  ‘I’m telling you swore.’

  ‘Tell if you want,’ said Megan, thinking her parents couldn’t say much considering the way they swore.

  ‘If you don’t come –’ she began, when he started walking again, and just when she thought he was going to act reasonably for once he stopped in front of a rock.

  ‘Look! There are fish in there,’ he said.

  Grumbling, she went back to investigate. It was true. There were tiny fish darting about a pool of water within a crevice in the rock.

  ‘Aren’t they pretty?’ she said, just as he threw a stone into the pool cau
sing them to disappear. She shook him by the shoulders.

  ‘You have to spoil everything, don’t you?’ she said, letting him go suddenly so that he sat down with a thud. But he was up on his feet quick enough when she said, walking backwards, ‘A monster’s going to get you one of these days, the way you carry on.’

  After a good deal of tramping over dry sand that got into their shoes and made their feet sore, Megan suggested they climb up over the dunes on their right-hand side to see if there was a better and quicker path that would take them to the lighthouse. He didn’t answer. She suspected he was still brooding about the ice-cream, but he followed her, which was the main thing.

  Climbing the sand dunes wasn’t easy. They kept sliding back down. Bobby did it deliberately thinking it was funny. Megan was glad to see him in a better mood. When they got to the top they found they were on a golf course stretching for miles with nobody on it but a man in a grey track suit. He saw them, came over and said, ‘Better watch out you don’t get hit with a golf ball. It’s not safe up here.’

  Megan asked him if he was a golfer – she noticed he wasn’t carrying any clubs. When he told her he was just out for the day collecting golf balls, she began to wonder if he might be one of those strangers they’d been warned not to speak to.

  ‘Bobby,’ she said loudly, ‘we’d better go back. Mummy and Daddy will be looking for us.’

  ‘But I thought –’ he began and was cut off by Megan pulling him back down the sandy slope. When he got to the bottom he said that he’d wanted to stay up there.

  ‘It’s not safe,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’ Then, as if it had nothing to do with anything, he let out a tremendous wail.

  ‘In the name of God, what is it now?’ she said, in the same tone her mother used when totally exasperated.

  ‘I’ve left my pail and spade,’ he said, pointing up at the sand dunes.

  She felt like strangling him. ‘Well, I’m not going for them,’ but when he began to wail loud enough to split the rocks, she said she would go if he came with her to the lighthouse.