White Trash

by John King

  Now, eight hours later, he felt groggy at first, then refreshed as he recalled the amount of work completed. There was nothing better than an arduous task achieved to set a man up for the coming day. It was the same in any walk of life, he was not blowing his own trumpet. Not at all. It was similar with, for instance, a commando unit sent out on a difficult mission. Success hung in the balance. Nerves were taut. Yet the sense of achievement once the task had been completed was immense. Of course, he was a man of peace rather than war, and, if he cared to admit the fact, perhaps a little too sensitive at times. That encounter with the raving lunatic in the corridors of the hospital had disturbed him, but with the work he had done and the good relations he had enjoyed since, from the nurses to his hotel employees via the jazz-friendly taxi driver, he felt very much back to his old self. Normal service had been resumed.

  He hopped out of bed and strolled into the bathroom where he urinated, defecated, washed his hands, brushed his teeth and then took a shower. He dried and put on his swimming trunks. Did some stretching exercises in front of the mirror, loosening various muscles in his arms and legs. He moved his head in a slow circle, easing the vertebrae in his neck. He tidied certain of his personal belongings and removed a video from the VCR. Added this to his collection of television documentaries. He had several hours’ worth of material but was in no great rush to view these programmes. It was work-related and not urgent, although he never allowed more than six hours’ worth of footage to accumulate at one time. He preferred well-informed, socially aware documentaries to garish movies and soap operas. This programme was educational and would further help him to understand the world. He wanted to know everything there was to know and above all keep pace with the changes taking place within society.

  He dressed and gathered his sports bag, put the sign on his door requesting urgent maid service, and strode purposefully to the lift. The elevator arrived in seconds and he took it to the ground floor. He skirted reception with a cheery wave to the girls who were busy with a crowd of newly arrived Japanese tourists, passed along the hall leading to the sports centre, his destinations the swimming pool and gymnasium. There were two squash courts available, and although he enjoyed the sport he was short of a regular partner. On occasion he knocked up alone on one of the courts, while at other times, having fallen into conversation with a fellow guest and broached the subject, he had arranged a game. It was a fun sport, not particularly good for the knees, but a game now and then would not hurt. The facilities within the hotel were, naturally, first class, and he made the most of the pool, weights machines and sauna.

  The man at the desk returned Mr Jeffrey’s smile and they exchanged pleasantries as he collected his towel. He proceeded to the changing room nearest the pool. Sunlight shone through large windows. He walked to the pool and lowered himself beneath the surface. Put on and adjusted his goggles. Began to swim. He was soon lost in the steady motion of his strokes, working the heart and lungs. He stuck to crawl which was, he felt, more beneficial to his metabolism than the more leisurely breaststroke. He swam well, always had done, appearing in galas for his school. He would swim for half an hour today. No more. Swimming was an aerobic exercise and very good for his health. Most professionals were aware that a sedentary working environment demanded they make an effort to stay fit. The brain was forever being pushed and challenged to achieve greater and greater feats, but the body was not. It was ignored at the peril of the person concerned. Without a certain level of physical fitness Jeffreys knew that he could not function at maximum capacity. His keen mind would be brought down by lethargy and illness. He might even make mistakes. Compromise his professionalism.

  He thought briefly of the community swimming pool and those lovable dive-bombers he had encountered on his one and only visit. He almost laughed and swallowed water. Found his rhythm again. What amazed him most about these boys was the anaemic whiteness of their skin. It was as if they had been drained of blood and colour. Never had a suntan in their lives. He knew that as soon as the sun shone the masses would strip off their shirts and burn, unaware that sunblock and a moisturising cream were essential. Not only for a lasting tan but for the good of their skin. With the ozone depleted they were at risk as never before. The dive-bombers would turn red, then strip off their skin to reveal the white of their bones. He saw their blond, ginger and black hair cut to the skull. Gap-toothed grins and brittle ribs. Trying to be tough in front of their chums, they larked around and took chances on the diving board. Until the lifeguards gruffly warned them to behave. Fat boys strolled by the pool without shame. The guts of huge men wobbled under the lights. It was the same with the women. Rolls of fat appalled him. The thinner women smacked of anorexia. It was a question of education and self-discipline. He was looking at this from a professional viewpoint of course. The sort of man who could never leave his work at the office. The heart was a muscle that had to work for its supper. So to speak. It had a job to do and had to be maintained. Nourished and respected.

  His visit to the local pool had been an experience in itself. He had to admit that he had been left shell-shocked. He had no problem with the people, but the sports centre embodied the sort of machismo the British had to abandon if they were ever to successfully integrate with the more cultivated cultures of the European continent. The weights room played loud music while men lifted enormous weights and whistled at any unfortunate young woman who wandered into their view. These men displayed their muscles and tattoos through a full-length window opening on to the pool. There, water spilt on to the tiles and the screams of children and teenagers reverberated under a brightly illuminated roof. People ran about with no thought for their safety. Or that of others. There had been a powerful smell of frying food coming from the front of the building. In the changing rooms, lockers had been vandalised and graffiti scratched into relatively new walls. Youths pushed each other and swore, their language crude and often sexual in nature. Chaos reigned. He had left with his head spinning. It was very different to the calm of the hotel pool. Here he was not disturbed. His physical health and mental well-being were maintained with a steady completion of dive-bomber-free lengths.

  When his time was up he showered and lathered his body. Washed his hair with an anti-chlorine shampoo. He did not mind the smell in the least. There was nobody else in the pool, and he doubted whether the sort of people who constituted the hotel’s clientele would ever urinate in the water, yet the chlorine was vital to stop any chance of infection. There was something reassuring about the odour of cleansing chemicals, be they chlorine, bleach or the various solutions used at the hospital. He hated to imagine what the dive-bombers added to the pool they used, never mind the dirt and disease that accumulated within the sports centre itself. He remained in the shower for ten minutes. The shower gel was easy on his body and the water hot. He was washing away any sins he might have inadvertently committed. He laughed at this idea. Imagined Pontius Pilate showering after a cleansing swim. He dried himself and quickly dressed.

  Mr Jeffreys had booked a massage and arrived a minute early. The woman who ran the health suite was glamorous but with a rough accent that she tried, without success, to modify. She was very informal, but he did not find this offensive in the least. The hotel offered a wide range of services for both its male and female guests. There was a beauty parlour to one side and he noticed a plump woman having her nails manicured. His masseuse was slightly late, which while an irritation was not worth making a fuss over. She was a friendly enough young woman from southern Spain, the daughter of a fairly well-known painter who had moved to London and set up as a freelance. He sat down and found nothing worth reading on the table before him. The woman at the desk offered to make a cup of coffee but he declined. Smiled to show it was not her fault his masseuse was late. He waited. Checked the clock on the wall. Then his watch. Marking each minute. He hated it when people were not punctual. But he controlled himself. Nine minutes after his massage was due to commence the woman concerned appeared, o
ut of breath. A traffic jam no less. He smiled and told her not to worry.

  Mr Jeffreys went into the room and stripped down to his boxer shorts. Lay face down on the table, his head staring through the gap in the head rest at the carpet below. He noticed a long strand of blonde hair. Whoever vacuumed the room had missed this hair, unless of course the table had already been used today. That was the probable explanation. He thought of the dead cells that would have fallen from whoever was here earlier. The hair was that of a woman. She would be clean and healthy. Of that there could be no doubt. Otherwise she would not be staying at the hotel. He wondered from which country the woman originated. The purpose of her visit. Scandinavian perhaps. A photojournalist for an upmarket fashion magazine? Or American. The wife of a high-ranking financier? Or even a Brazilian. The wife of a vacationing politician? It was all conjecture and he pushed the gentle image of a glossy, naked blonde away, conscious that his penis was beginning to swell. Certain low-class men might go to a massage parlour for sexual favours but he found the idea repugnant, not to mention disrespectful to his own masseuse and the skill she had spent so many years acquiring. It was a pity that so many things in society had to be degraded by the selfish few. He allowed his arms to hang down and surrendered to the professional fingers of the Spaniard. She was an excellent masseuse.

  They generally talked for a few minutes at the beginning and a few minutes at the end of each session. More when he had first met her, but then less as they were easy in each other’s company. The bulk of each session was now conducted in relaxed silence. She was a professional who did not witter on about minor matters. She understood the true benefit of a good massage. He was now able to escape the world for a short time. The swimming pool permitted something similar, yet he had to work hard to become lost in the movement, the mind forever wandering. With a good massage he did not have to do a thing. This was in welcome contrast to the hectic schedule of his everyday working life, where the pressures were enormous. There was so much to do and so many variables to consider. The lives of human beings rested in his hands. His masseuse worked on his muscles, finally turned and stretched his limbs. She sprinkled oil on his skin and worked it in. At the end of his half-hour Mr Jeffreys was completely relaxed. He dressed and paid, and gave her a tip.

  He returned to his room and quickly changed, took the elevator back to the ground floor and proceeded to the hotel coffee shop. He ordered a cappuccino. It arrived with a flourish and he savoured the coffee. Truly superb. He looked around the tables with appreciation. Men and women sat in couples and alone. The mood was sedate. The pleasant aroma of coffee beans prevailed. The chair he sat on was wicker, the table a fashionable design of wrought iron and glass. In with the distinctly Italian atmosphere the hotel had cleverly mixed a sharp Japanese element. It was there in the lampshades and ornaments. Very subtle, but impressive.

  With his coffee consumed, Mr Jeffreys moved next door to the restaurant. It was rather early to eat, but he was on a treadmill, returning to the hospital this evening. He requested a seat by the window and settled down to study the menu. The lobster took his fancy. This he ordered with a starter of sun-dried tomatoes on bruschetta. A bottle of Perrier would quench his thirst. There were other people in the restaurant, but it was quiet. He could hear organ music in the distance, and looking towards the Piano Bar was not surprised to see the lid of the baby grand firmly shut. He could see people in the bar but the pianist would not strike up until later. His tomatoes arrived and he settled down to a well-earned meal.

  By the time Mr Jeffreys returned to his room, he was as content as any man could wish. His breathing was steady and his muscles tingled. He went to the bathroom and reluctantly brushed away the lingering taste of the lobster. It had been beautifully cooked. A fine meal in a fine hotel. It was a fine life that he enjoyed. He was very fortunate. He undressed and stretched out on the bed. Set the alarm for four hours’ time.

  Steve was a family man who worked hard for everything he owned … from the car he drove for a living to the house he lived in with his wife and little girl … and with Steve his home really was his castle … his wife a queen … his daughter a princess … they were the only things that mattered … the house a place where his family was safe … and warm … and happy … and it used to make him feel good inside when he was out at night … driving … dealing with drunks … who didn’t want to pay their fare … or were looking for a fight … he carried a cosh for self-protection … after he was robbed and beaten up one night … when he first started minicabbing … he wasn’t going to get caught out again … but it was okay … he could look after himself … he was no fool … and people liked him … he had plenty of friends … a gentle giant … and the thing you noticed most was how content he was … all he ever wanted out of life was to marry Carole and live happily ever after … that was his only ambition … he didn’t mind admitting it either … and even though they’d been going out with each other since they were fifteen … he was still shaking when he proposed … six years later … scared in case she said no … he looked the part so you wouldn’t think he’d get nervous about something like that … and he took Carole to the pictures … asked her to marry him in the pub after … the ring more than he could afford … but he wasn’t bothered about the debt … Carole was worth every penny … and what he did was wrap the ring up and slip it in the packet when she offered him a crisp … then sat there waiting for her to find it … she was a slow drinker … he always ended up having two pints to every one of her drinks … she only drank shorts as well … and Carole was the same with the crisps … took them out one by one … she was a lady … you wouldn’t catch her scoffing her food down … or chewing with her mouth open … and when she found the ring he leant over … waited till she’d unwrapped it … then asked her … his dream come true when she said yes … Carole loved telling the story … and Steve would look embarrassed … at the same time … pleased … the ring and the crisps … it was so romantic … and the look on his face … she’d never forget the look on his face when she said yes … she would marry him … and he’d always treated her special … nothing was ever too much trouble … he held doors open for her … listened to every single thing she had to say … felt what she felt … and the first time they’d ever gone out together it was to the same cinema … so it was nice he proposed like that … six years later … to the day … he’d only ever been out with her … and it worked both ways … she loved Steve like nothing else … he was everything to her … her life … it was one of those marriages made in heaven … true love … they never argued … were meant for each other … it was perfect … and Steve was even happier when she fell pregnant … he couldn’t believe it was happening to him … that he was going to be a dad … put his hand on her belly and left it there for ages as they ran through all sorts of names … tiny legs kicking inside … tossing and turning … he could tell the baby wanted to hurry up and be born … and his hands were massive so he could feel everything … and now their lives were even better than before … till the water started building up and Carole was in and out of hospital … complications during the delivery that could have killed them both … Carole needed blood transfusions and Steve spent as much time as he could in the hospital … waiting … only going home to wash and sleep … he stopped going to work … and if he didn’t work he didn’t get paid … they needed the money for when the baby came but he didn’t want to be away from Carole in case something happened … and he was scared … one night stretching his legs … walking through the corridors … he passed a chapel … went inside and sat down … started to pray … it happened just like that … he didn’t even think about it … he was the only one there … sat forward in his chair … looked up at the bloody thorns digging into the plastic head of Jesus … red rivers flowing out of matted hair … down over pure white skin … the plastic looked more like china … porcelain … something you’d find in a junk shop … a lost heirloom … the light catching it … a spoo
ky glow coming off the ribcage … and Steve never went to church … he couldn’t remember praying before … but things came back to him from his religious-education class at school … he was thinking of the ribs of man … the rib woman grew from … the Garden of Eden and the forbidden fruit … and he thought of the thieves next to Jesus … their legs broken by soldiers so their weight crushed down on their hearts and lungs … a slow torture for the sadists to enjoy … he didn’t understand why people were cruel like that … their hate and perversion was beyond him … and Jesus was calling to God and having his faith tested … wanted to know why he was being forsaken …Jesus didn’t condemn prostitutes and criminals … he loved everyone … saw the good in everybody … after all … they were all made by God … how could God let a baby die before it had a chance to breathe in air … Jesus laid his hands on the lame and made them walk … made the blind see … he performed all sorts of miracles …Jesus didn’t turn his back on lepers … he steamed into the synagogue and turned their tables over …for charging an entrance fee … it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God … he remembered that one all right … you had to think about it … and it all came back to Steve as he sat in the chapel … Jesus was having a dig at the system … big time … putting people first … nowadays they’d shut him up in a loony bin … say he was mad … Jesus screaming in the night waiting for God to come and carry him home … you had to have a heaven to look forward to … Steve knew that much … and Jesus was saved … rewarded … he was right and the hypocrites and judges were wrong … simple as that … and that’s why they built churches … the chapel a warm place to go … there was a reassuring atmosphere that made Steve strong for Carole and their baby … and he prayed hard …for an hour … glad there was no one around … but fuck it anyway … he didn’t care who saw him … not here … it was the same as when he was at home … he could relax once the front door was closed … could tell Carole things … some of his fears … that was a bit like praying … except he wasn’t asking for anything … and there were some things you couldn’t talk about … you had to stay strong … dependable … he told Carole about praying in the chapel … when she was home again … but he was staunch … said that his prayers had been answered … he really did believe that God had done him a favour … his wife and daughter were fine … and even though his little girl was strong and healthy he didn’t turn into a churchgoer … nothing like that … but he was the sort of man who never forgot his family and friends … always remembered a kindness … honest as the day was long … a grafter … proud of his achievements … a house and family … so he didn’t forget … would never be rude to the religious people who came knocking on his door trying to save him … he respected their beliefs … and now he was a father as well as a husband … he took this extra role so seriously his mates used to take the piss … but he didn’t care … it was all good-natured … and the thing was he could look after himself … nobody mucked him about … and if Steve was happy he showed it … he had a daughter … a defenceless little girl who relied on him one hundred per cent … it was a big responsibility but he could handle it … knew some people were weak but he was strong …felt sorry for the weaklings but looked after his own … worked harder than ever … did all the hours going … he really worshipped his daughter … was gentle with her and played any game she wanted … took her for walks and to the pub … sitting on his shoulders … listened to everything she said … when she was old enough to talk … just like he listened to her mother … and he worried about her … they swore that if their daughter ever died then they would kill themselves … together … but first they’d have to make sure there was a heaven … somehow they’d have to know … and if there wasn’t they’d make the most of their time together before one of them died … it was impossible to imagine life without the other … but there had to be a heaven … and they pushed the fear away … for a while … and Steve wanted his daughter to have everything … it was like her coming along sent him on a mission … they’d wanted lots of kids … five or six … boys and girls … cats and dogs … the more the merrier … but it just wasn’t possible after the first one … Carole couldn’t have any more now … it was a shame but it just made their little girl extra special … five or six times as special … one child was a million times better than none … and they poured all their love into her … never let her go without … and an outsider would look at Steve and see tattoos and a shaved head … maybe label him … but he was a good man … one of the best … and before she started school he used to take his girl to the swings and slides during the day … doing more of his work at night so he could see her while she was awake … watch her growing up … and he’d sit her on the roundabout and spin her round for as long as she wanted … then soon as she was fed up he’d grab the roundabout and pull it to a stop … like every second counted … and he’d be remembering what his wife said as they were going out … not to make her dizzy or she’d get sick … like last time … he’d bought her too many sweets … he mustn’t spoil her … and he watched her every second … going up the steps to the slide with her till she got the hang of it … keeping an eye on the bigger kids … pushing and shoving and not knowing their own strength … you had to watch the swings … a kid could easy run out in front of one and get hurt … Carole was nervous when he took her out … you have to watch her, Steve … don’t let her out of your sight … it only takes a second and a pervert will grab her and take her away … do sick things to her then dump her in a lay-by … he’ll throw her off a cliff and she’ll be washed out to sea and never found … he’ll chop her up and put her in dustbins … and his face would change as he imagined the bad things that happened … and if he got hold of someone trying to grab her he’d kill him … the fucking cunt … not in front of her, Steve … you’ll scare her … she knows not to go with strangers … but I would … I’d fucking kill him … dirty fucking child-molesting scum … plus the ones who don’t fiddle with kids but kill them anyway … men who go out and rape women … rape other men … scum who mug old dears … break in and beat up old men in their own homes … steal their pension money … torture animals and hurt people who can’t call for help … you know … anyone who can’t defend themselves … I fucking hate all that, Carole … I fucking hate it … it cunts me right off … and she’d agree and calm him down so the horror passed and he was all right again … sorry, love … it just gets me going … what’s wrong with people anyway? … and Steve was a family man … a drink with his mates once or twice a week … he went to work and paid the bills … did the normal things … but his family was what really made him what he was … his wife and daughter and all the rest of them … their parents … brothers and sisters … cousins … nieces … nephews … neighbours … he never wanted to do anything else … he really was content … I’m not lying … he didn’t bother anyone and didn’t expect anyone to bother him … Steve was a happy man … simple as that.