White Trash

by John King

  He craved peace above all else. It was a different way of life, he admitted that, and did not wish to appear arrogant or snobbish. Of course, the dive-bombers were lovable little rogues. Innocent enough, but badly disciplined. Some people expressed themselves in a physical manner while he was more of an intellectual. He imagined the bouncers and dive-bombers as patients in his hospital, saw these men and boys attached to monitors. Rows of shaved heads and pale faces. He felt the beat of a child’s heart, blood-sugar levels running wild, the gentle prick of a sedating needle giving him the rest he needed. His mood cheered. He saw these men and boys being reunited with loved ones. Wives and sisters. Weeping mothers. They would have welcome-home dinners. Eat peas and chips and hamburgers. They would add ketchup and brown sauce. Vinegar would soak the chips. That was the best thing about his work. He was able to help everyone, his life dedicated to their well-being. It sounded a grand statement but was not intended as such. It was thanks to people such as Mr Jeffreys that the dive-bombers were able to dive-bomb, the waves they created a minor irritant.

  Light filled the windscreen and they were passing more stone blocks. Then a busy supermarket. Trolleys lay on their side. In a place where nothing ever happened the supermarket was a focal point. He saw children waiting by the side of the dual carriageway, preparing to cross. They breathed exhaust fumes. Lead accumulated within their brains. They had little hope for the future. Lacked self-belief. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, shut down completely.

  He imagined that he was on holiday. Sitting on a beach in the Maldives. He would go fishing and return home with dinner, then sit in a jacuzzi with a refreshing cocktail. Follow the walkways and feel the sun on his back. At night enjoy the deepest of sleeps, his room cool and comfortable. During the day he would read classic literature and chat with his fellow guests. He would forget the sorrows of mankind for a short while. Make love to a beautiful woman. Sip champagne. Recharge his batteries. Escape his responsibilities for a short while and revel in silence.

  The skinhead’s voice ripped into this idyllic vision. They had arrived at the hospital. Mr Jeffreys tipped the man generously, and this brought an embarrassed smile to the driver’s face. Good relations were restored. Bad feelings could not be allowed to fester. Misunderstandings only existed to be smoothed out. It was a basic rule of his.

  Mr Jeffreys passed through the first set of glass doors to enter the hospital and was struck by the ferocious, trapped smell of old books. There were two shops to his right. The first sold newspapers, pads of paper and envelopes, carbonated drinks and heavily sugared candies. This was closed. The second was empty bar two rows of collapsible tables. These were heavy under stacks of used CDs, videos and books. This shop was open, its stock donated in order to raise funds for the hospital. Acting on a whim, he went inside. The CDs were easy listening, country and western, Irish ballads and movie soundtracks, plus a small number of pop singers whose names he did not recognise. The books were a mixture of crumbling war stories and cheap romances. He scanned a pile of videos. Suntanned musclemen fired automatic weapons at him. He smiled at the volunteer who was preparing to close for the night. Mr Jeffreys was surprised by the quantity of goods donated but not by the quality.

  He left the shop and went into the main reception area, through a second set of doors. He said hello to the woman on the desk and weaved through the last visitors of the day, noticed a skinny girl sitting on one of the benches arguing with an older man who could have been her father. She looked like a drug addict. He did not mean that in a moralistic way of course. Heroin addiction was an illness and its sufferers deserved sympathy rather than condemnation. Nevertheless, this disease was a clear example of personal weakness affecting the majority of hard-working, decent folk. He smiled at her as he passed and she smiled back.

  The cafeteria was closed. It was a place where he often sat and observed those who came to visit family and friends. This was an important element of his work. Knowing the rhythm of day-to-day life. The hospital’s human side was so much more than just the staff. The cafeteria revealed a good cross-section of locals. Here he saw healthy versions of his patients. In all their glory.

  Different hospitals had different needs. Prior to this assignment he had worked on the south coast where the hospital served a very different clientele. The population was far more elderly and this was reflected in the nature of the illnesses with which the hospital dealt. His first winter had seen an influenza epidemic sweep the country and this had hit the elderly hard. A great strain on resources was the inevitable result. Staff had come under unbearable pressure. In the short term it had been necessary to control the situation as best they could. In the longer term, contingency plans were required. There were other illnesses associated with old age and he had studied the effect that the outbreak had had on efficiency. His expertise had proved invaluable. Resources had been maximised. Money saved and redirected.

  As he walked to his office, Mr Jeffreys felt a surge of pride. He made a difference. The corridors around him were dull and devoid of life, but his office offered sanctuary, somewhere he could work undisturbed. An intellectual haven in a material world. He unlocked the door and went inside. The room was small but adequate. The knockers could say what they liked about the NHS, but it worked. Against the odds. It was a balancing act of course, and a rethink was long overdue, yet for the moment the state coped.

  He switched on his lamp and stopped for a moment to admire the image of the Acropolis decorating his calendar. He had touched those columns with his own hands. He thought of the Hippocratic oath and recalled the fumes of Athens. The air-conditioned cool of the Hilton. He fired up his computer and settled down to work.

  It had been a hard day and Ruby was exhausted when she got home. With just a few hours of sleep the night before she should’ve been staying in with the remote in one hand and a mug of cocoa in the other, patrolling the mean streets of Britain with a TV crew, spying on herself from a helicopter gunship, firing into a shopping-centre pub, flushing out the hooligan element, but she wasn’t bothered about the ratings war, had tomorrow off and was going out. She had a shower and washed her hair, painted her fingers and toes, dressed in front of the mirror. When her lift pulled up outside she ran down, the tiredness gone, tingling by the time she jumped in the back seat next to Paula.

  Des was driving, his twin brother Don in the passenger seat, radio turned right up as they pulled away. Don was the perky one, always making plans, fiddling with a pack of cards, shuffling kings and queens, hearts and diamonds, training for this new life as an international card shark. He’d soon be on his way to Monte Carlo to relieve those chinless jet-setters of their excess millions, once his moves were perfect. Last week it was gun running, next it would be gold prospecting. He always had a dream, an adventure waiting to happen. And because Don was always perky, it meant Des was Pinky. For Ruby and Paula the twins were a couple of easy-going guys who liked a laugh.

  Ruby couldn’t hear Paula talk the music was so loud, but they nodded and shook their heads, knowing exactly what was being said. It happened like that, in a pub or club, talking for hours and not hearing a word, reading minds instead. Pinky and Perky should’ve been good at ESP, but they came from different eggs, so even though they looked similar there was no way you’d get them mixed up. It wasn’t like they were identical and you could go out with Des, say, then end up having it off with Don by mistake. Not that Ruby fancied either of them, they were her friends, but she’d heard about that happening, when she was at school and her best friend at the time, Viv, was going out with a boy for three months before she found out he was sharing her with his twin brother. That was nasty, not far off rape, but Viv got them back with bells on, first by taking it in her stride so it looked like the joke was on the twins, laughing in her boyfriend’s face after she’d done it with his brother, pretending she knew all the time and preferred it with the other boy, and the funny thing was, he got jealous and started slagging her off, couldn’t handle the
tables being turned, and then she went and told her brother about what had happened, made up some extra stuff about them going around calling her a slag and trying to sell her smack.

  Viv’s brother Bobby was the sort of nutter who had lots of nutty mates so she must’ve have had some idea of what was going to happen. Bobby found the twins and sliced them up badly with a Stanley knife. Ruby never saw it happen but had been around enough cut faces since to know it was a horrible thing to do to another human being, never mind the shock and trauma involved. She hated violence. It was wrong what the twins did to Viv, but there was no excuse for slashing someone and scarring them for life.

  Bobby was handsome and she’d had a crush on him, at least till he hurt the twins. She saw one of them a month later in the street and the marks on his face made her feel sick. Nowadays she wouldn’t think it was ugly, but was fifteen at the time and had a different view. Nursing changed the way you saw things. Now a scar was the leftovers of a successful mending process, something magical, like a miracle. Thing was, Viv wasn’t that upset about what had happened to her. She almost saw the twins as one person anyway. It was more her pride. But the vicious stuff, the knives and glasses, were rare when you compared it to the good that went on, the way people socialised and helped each other out.

  Violence wasn’t just physical either, it was mental as well, and she might’ve believed in love and peace but that didn’t mean she was thick. You learnt early that sticks and stones could break your bones, but they would mend, that it was the words that really hurt you. Words stuck in your mind same as a cancer, lumps of rotten thought that seeped into your blood and spread, ruining everything. There was the scorn of someone you knew, words that were bitter and twisted but somehow wrapped up with love, like her mum when she got sick, the rage unplanned and confused. Then there was calculated cruelty, the poison of strangers, snobs who looked down their noses at you. That was to do with power. Some people used their fists, others their tongues. She wondered where the twins were, if people felt sick seeing their scars. At least you could improve your manners, make yourself a better person. That’s what she tried to do, did her best not to dislike anyone, to see the good in them and the reasons for their actions.

  Des and Don were nothing like those other twins, she couldn’t even remember their names now, and she reckoned she was a good judge of character, most of the time. Desmond and Donald were old-fashioned names and maybe they’d been in the family for generations, and she was imagining what she’d call her kids, if she had them one day, if she met the love of her life, and Paula was leaning over and asking if she was all right, Ruby nodding, she felt brilliant, honest, and the two of them grinned great big massive smiles at each other and it was a shame she hadn’t brought a CD with her, she wasn’t mad about the stuff on the radio, it was harder music than she listened to, but she wasn’t moaning, no chance of that, she wasn’t one of these women who put on airs and graces and gave the boys a hard time when they were doing her a favour giving her a lift. She believed in equal opportunities, the colour around Paula’s eyes wobbling same as a bubble you blew through a hoop, washing-up liquid in a fancy container, rings coming off her eyes and filling with air, tumbling out of the window, and Paula was salt of the earth, it was a struggle for her to get by in life, but she never complained, made the most of things.

  Des was busy nodding his head to the music, acting more confident than usual and Ruby guessed he was covering up his shyness for Paula’s benefit. There was a smell and cherry air-freshener in the car, and she just knew Des had gone out and bought it specially for tonight, for Paula.

  They were going for a drink first, an hour in the pub then on to Detroit’s. She hadn’t been there for months and was looking forward to it.

  —Fucking hell, Don said, Des slowing down as the traffic in front backed up. Look at that.

  Over the other side of the central reservation was a king-size Tesco’s, and in the car park something was burning, big puffs of smoke rolling into the sky, a smell of ash and petrol heavy in the air, a fire engine coming up fast. Des pulled into a bus stop and they got out, the police blocking the road at the roundabout. Flames were starting to rise up, pushing the smoke higher into the atmosphere, the fire getting a proper hold, a bang thudding out as the fuel tank exploded.

  Ruby could see it was a car, and knew she had to go and find out if anyone was hurt. There was no ambulance on the scene yet, so she didn’t waste time, back to being a nurse and crossing over, cutting through the shrubs next to the service station, worried about what she was going to find. The fire wasn’t that far from the petrol pumps either. She hoped no one was burnt, those were horrible injuries to treat let alone have, and there was another car right next to the one that was burning, and it was starting to smoulder where the flames had reached over and dug into the upholstery. Ruby went over to one of the policemen, but he was too busy talking into his radio about car thieves and arson, so she checked for herself and couldn’t see anyone who was injured, and the car was empty so she walked over to the front of the supermarket in case they’d been dragged out, but there were no casualties there and the weight really did lift off her, she could feel it going.

  She could also feel the heat of the fire on her body and smoke in her nose, so glad nobody was screaming out for their mothers, the fire was beautiful but it was a stupid place to torch a car, there were people shopping and it was near the pumps, but she couldn’t help looking on the bright side, there was no real danger, the fire was going nowhere, just up into the sky, and the smell was fantastic, the colours exotic, like Bonfire Night had come early, Guy Fawkes out joyriding, loading up the boot with gunpowder thieved from B&Q, putting on a show, celebrating life, long licks of orange dancing in front of her, and there should’ve been fireworks as well, and a hot-dog van.

  A crowd had quickly gathered, people coming from the pub over the road to have a look, post office workers from the sorting office, shoppers with bags and trolleys, passers-by, gangs of kids who hung around the car park doing wheelies, and it was turning into a spectacle all right, Ruby feeling the same excitement as when she was a kid, remember the fifth of November, the only thing missing was the cold air, the drizzle and dampness of a dark night, bundled up in her coat and scarf holding Mum’s hand, toes frozen and a sparkler in her hand, the white fizz of powder, and it was like she was looking into the head of the sparkler right now, something on the car sizzling white for a few seconds, shooting stars and sparkling dreams, and she was so happy she almost wanted to cry, all these years later she was warm and the sky wasn’t pitch black, another fire engine arriving as the first hose blew water into the flames, the smouldering car bursting alight at the same time, the police telling everyone to move back in case it blew up same as the other one, and everyone was just watching the fire, really enjoying themselves, and she bet they were thinking the same thing as her, Guy Fawkes with his straw heart inside a jumblesale body stitched together by Frankenstein, a smiling face topped with an old hat, a happy dummy glad to burn and make people smile, she heard someone shout out PENNY FOR THE GUY, everyone laughed and she was right, they were all thinking the same thing, similar memories, Ruby half expected someone to come out of the store with a trolley full of potatoes to wrap up in foil and stick in the fire, but the hoses were strong and she couldn’t help feeling disappointed when the first fire was put out, standing next to three boys who’d taken advantage of the distraction and nicked some beer from inside, frothing it up and spraying each other with foam, they cheered when the second car exploded and everyone shifted back oohing and aahing, but a policeman came and pushed one of the boys with his truncheon so Ruby moved away as the argument started, more police arriving in a van and going over, the first car soon soaked and just a heap of bones, its black frame steaming, the second fire quickly going down, and the focus of everyone was moving from the fire to the police and youths, a mob forming out of nothing, more youths and men from the pub getting involved, it wasn’t necessary, she hoped
there wasn’t going to be any trouble, things always had to spill over, and then as quick as it all flared up people drifted off and the police seemed to lose interest, the excitement over as the second fire was doused.

  Ruby waited for five minutes, watching the police and fire brigade left behind to clear up the mess, an ambulance by the pumps that she hadn’t even seen arrive, a few people lingering in ones and twos. She felt sad suddenly, walked back over to the car, the road clear again, traffic moving.

  —You took your time, Don said. What did you go running over for?

  —I thought someone might’ve been hurt. I couldn’t stand here watching.

  He nodded.

  —Where’s Paula? she asked.

  —She went to find you. Didn’t you see her?

  —No.

  —Maybe I should go look for her, Des said.

  —She’ll be back in a minute. Come on, we’ll wait here. Then we can get going.

  Des sat on the bonnet while Don juggled his cards. Ruby watched and had to admit he wasn’t bad. Ten minutes passed, and then Paula appeared carrying a plastic bag packed with tins of spaghetti shapes.

  —They had a special offer on. The kids love them. Some of the girls on the till went out to watch the fire, so it took me longer than I thought. Sorry.

  They didn’t bother with the pub now, went straight to Detroit’s. Des parked and they walked over, the twins well impressed when Ruby waved to one of the bouncers and was called over, a long queue watching them, keeping quiet. There were four men on the door, and Ruby’s bouncer was a vintage forty-odd-year-old with a gold-coin ring on his middle finger and shoulder-length hair, a big collar and a crucifix dripping off his left ear, a face that had seen and done it all, a throwback to a tougher time, an old-school hard man who took no lip off anyone but went soft when he saw Ruby coming, seeing as she’d been on his ward for the two days the doctors kept him in after he was admitted at one in the morning, glassed during a lock-in, when he was socialising, off duty, a sliver of glass wedged near his eyeball, luckily working its way free.