White Trash

by John King

  It was early, too early, but Ruby was so wide awake she couldn’t wait the extra half-hour till the baker’s opened. She skipped downstairs in her bare feet and the T-shirt she’d been sleeping in, peeped into the street to make sure nobody was around before going out and spotting Mick and Dilly through the window, knocking on the glass for some preferential treatment.

  Mick came over and opened the door with the clang of a bolt and the rattle of glass, and she went inside, hungry with the smell of bloomers strong in her flat, all that yeast and flour, ten times better down here, and she always left the window open at night, as wide as it would go, never worried about prowlers. She was over the shops and felt safe, knew her neighbours and would’ve screamed her head off if someone got in.

  She loved the breeze blowing over her skin in the summer, when heat rippled off the hot tar, burning barrels, red coals, roasting spuds, that black asphalt smell of baking bread, somewhere between the petrol drifting off the motorway and the fresh loaves and buns, her mouth watering like mad and her brain skimming away from her across the airwaves.

  —Hello, Dilly said, yawning. You’re up early today. Couldn’t sleep?

  Her eyes focused properly and saw that Ruby was only wearing a T-shirt, didn’t seem bothered, kept talking.

  —Can I have a coffee and a cheese roll please. And a jam doughnut.

  Dilly did the honours, talking over her shoulder.

  —You know Norma, who lives on the corner, next to Eileen? The chubby woman with the little girl who lost a finger? Well, she’s only gone and won a thousand pounds on the lottery. She told me yesterday. They’re going to go on holiday with the kids to Bognor.

  Ruby took her breakfast back up when it was ready and moved the switch on her radio, sat on the chair and ate her roll, the bread so fresh it was hot, the sugar on the doughnut sparkling like a million specks of glitter, and she was buzzing, really shifting, skinned up and had a smoke to level things out, the long, long track Charlie Boy had been playing coming to an end, cranking down at the end with the gears in her brain, surprised when DJ Chromo came out through the speakers.

  For a second she thought she’d mucked up the time, checked the clock and remembered the baker’s wasn’t open yet, they were busy cooking, realised she was right but wondered what had happened, all this in a split second guessing that even DJs went on holiday, a week away sitting on a beach drinking cold lager, just what the doctor ordered, she could do with a holiday, hadn’t been away since she didn’t know when, only thinking about it now because of Norma’s win.

  DJ Chromo’s voice had an ugly edge that made her jump.

  —Last night someone cut up our good mate Charlie. You know who you are, boys, and the message I’m giving you right now is you better be careful. You have to understand there’s nowhere to hide. You’re the cause and we’re the effect. Your time is coming, so you better watch your backs. We know who you are and you were lucky, on your toes before the boys with him had a chance to do you some real damage. We know where you live. You ran last night when the odds were evened up, but this is only the start. Just so you know …

  Ruby didn’t like her DJs talking rough, preferred happy music, seeing as there was enough misery in the world without the TV and radio adding more layers on top, but she was upset about Charlie. She knew it would be his face. That usually was, thinking about Terry the bouncer. She remembered another time these guys had tried to scalp a man. It was just plain evil. She avoided trouble, had always been a peacemaker, even in the playground.

  She rolled out of her chair and went into the kitchen, opened the fridge door and felt the cold, took the orange-juice carton out and poured herself a glass. Vitamin C would get her working properly. She drank long and deep, and then used the toilet and had a shower, the electric light in the windowless bathroom sparkling along the metal towel rail. The water was refreshing. The spray from the nozzle even and her body tingled, each drop filling with light and exploding as it bounced down her and into the drain, spinning away in a soapy whirlpool. A beautiful thing to see.

  She brushed her teeth carefully, rinsing her mouth with mint-flavoured wash and dabbing cherry-scented deodorant under her arms. The pores stung and the smell tickled her nose. She could see the scent rising. It floated up quickly, then flattened out in front of her face, so she stood and watched, waiting for the vision to fade away, a cloud from the hot water hovering and mixing together, colours sparking same as when there was a thunderstorm, and she couldn’t hang around all day thinking life was brilliant, went back into her bedroom.

  —Charlie is our mate and he’s going to carry a scar for the rest of his life. He’s lost blood and …

  She turned the radio off, felt she was closer to Charlie Boy than a lot of people she knew, he was often the last person she heard before she went to sleep and the first when she woke up, almost like he was sleeping next to her, not in a sexual way, she didn’t even think of him as a man, he didn’t have a face with a scar for her to see, and while she slept he was playing records, it was like he was in a factory stuck on the night shift, he probably wouldn’t see it that way, it was love that made him do it, and she wondered if there was any money in a pirate station, saw him dossing all day, knew that wasn’t the case, he worked, she knew that, it was just a hobby. But it was bad him getting hurt. She hoped he was going to be okay.

  Ruby got dressed quickly and left the flat, taking a different route to the hospital, one of two options, today passing the brick hall where the evangelists preached, spreading the word, walls covered in thick graffiti, a maze of laser guns and alien faces, massive trainers on skanking white kids, and she was caught by the criss-cross pattern of bricks and mortar, the way it sectioned the figures, same as the human body with its cells and packs of muscle, the currents that kept it going, and the faces on the wall were happy, smiling with rays of light coming off silver teeth, the windows of the block wired with a touch of stained glass behind the grime, nothing like you got in abbeys and cathedrals, the older churches, but still it was colour, and there was a football pitch to one side, houses to the other, a row of cars gleaming in the early light.

  There weren’t many people around yet, those she saw either hurrying to work or too tired to notice her, one old man enjoying things the same way as she was, retired, walking over to a bench, there was no rush, soon he’d buy a paper and have a cup of tea, when the cafe opened, and she had time as well, wondering if Ron Dawes went out early like that pensioner, didn’t want to think about him right now and make herself sad, didn’t want to hear about the slashing of Charlie Boy, just wanted to see the good in people, that’s all she asked for. People lived and loved so when something bad happened, a murder or train crash, it was unusual, a big story that sold papers, that’s the way she saw things, you could listen to the stories and worry about leaving your window open thinking a rapist was coming or a murderer was lurking in an alleyway, but it was rare.

  —Good morning, a man said, as she passed the shutters of a cash and carry.

  She nodded and smiled, didn’t know who he was, but guessed it was an old patient, and that happened a lot, normally she remembered, but over the years the numbers built up, and it was nice they remembered, Ruby cutting across to the hospital grounds, going and sitting on one of the benches near the psychiatric wing, and it was good over there, like the bushes and flowers were supposed to ease the mental pressure, and she sat in the sun for a while lapping it up, pretending she was on a beach in Bognor, just listening to the birds singing, insects buzzing, breathing fresh air before she started work.

  When it was nearly time she went in and was soon busy, dealing with the men she was caring for, making them laugh with her jokes, weighing up the sort of people they were, if they were confident or scared, and they loved their newspapers, she couldn’t begrudge them their reading, it gave them something to moan about, and that’s what the politicians were really, figures of fun, dollies to stick pins in and slag off, they had their friendly arguments
but none of the men on the ward were that far away from each other, and she had a fag with Dawn outside in the sun. Lost in her work. The same as always.

  A bit after eleven Ruby recognised a familiar face, a youth in his mid-teens who was one of Ron’s regular visitors. She could see he’d been crying from the state of his eyes. He was trying to be strong, and she could see Ron in him all right, a small youth with a spring in his step, even if she didn’t know it was his grandson Eddie she’d have been able to guess. He was carrying a bunch of white carnations with long rich stems and extra frilly heads.

  —Just came in to say thanks for everything you did for Granddad, Eddie said. I brought these in for everyone, and to get his belongings. My dad was going to come in but I said I’d do it. He was too upset, to be honest. We all thought he was going to come home in a few days.

  Ruby smelt the flowers. They had a powerful scent. Sally would be back in a minute and she could sort out a vase, and then they’d go to someone who never got flowers given to them, subtly done, in a nearby corner that needed a splash of colour and a fresh smell. You never knew how long the petals would last. Sometimes they started to wilt after a day or two and nothing you did could get them going again, even changing the water and moving them into the sun, back into the shade, had no effect, then other times they’d last for weeks, go on and on like they never wanted to give up, flowers that looked so delicate you thought a gust of air could blow them apart, and yet they were strong and determined and not ready to die. Finally, though, they did fade, lost their strength, the colour siphoned away and the leaves curling, rotting, it happened every single time, and you could see it coming, could usually see it coming.

  —Why don’t you sit in the TV room for a minute, Ruby said. I’ll get his things for you. Go on, there’s nobody in there right now.

  Eddie sat on a chair, leaning back and looking at the ceiling, then shifting forward and stared at the floor. Ron’s belongings were in a plain fabric bag his family had brought in when he arrived. There were homemade cards of a man and a house, horses running along a road, more flowers and a yellow sun like it was sinking down into the horizon. Ruby took the bag into the television room and sensed the boy wanted to say something. She sat down opposite him, various celebrities flat on their backs facing the ceiling, scattered over a cheap coffee table.

  —I can’t believe he’s dead, Eddie said. I mean, I know he couldn’t walk far, he got puffy and that, but he didn’t need to die yet, did he? He had everything he wanted. He liked the garden, always waited for the crocuses to come up in spring, went down the bookies most days, round the shops and that. He still had mates. Watched telly at home. He wasn’t an invalid. Dad got him satellite TV. Someone went and saw him every day, and he was always in and out, we only lived across the road. He came round every Sunday for dinner. He could have had all his meals cooked if he wanted. He was fit. I can’t understand him dying like that. They said it was his heart. I mean, I know it happens, when you get old, but it’s a shock. He wasn’t the sort of person who dies.

  Ruby just smiled and nodded, because she’d had the same feelings when she heard the news, but now she was thinking that he was eighty-four after all, and was tempted to repeat what Sally and Dawn had said to her at the time, but she didn’t, it was just like Eddie said, his granddad was the sort of person who was never going to die, was going to live for ever, but he didn’t, he lasted a long time and stayed sharp, beautiful, then died, same as the flowers.

  —My sister dusted for him, and I did the lawn, it only took five minutes. He was going to live to be a hundred. That’s what he said. I believed him as well. It was like he’d set his mind on it so it was going to happen.

  Ruby watched a family pass by in the corridor. Most people had someone to love them. Family and friends to help out. That’s how real life worked. That was the reality.

  —I can remember when I was little he used to tell me stories all the time, and they were better stories than the ones in books. I never knew they were real till a couple of years ago, he never told me, so I got him to tell me again so at least I know that much. It’s like time ran out. It’s just good I got to hear some of the things he’d done. I wish I’d written them down, so I got them right. I don’t want to forget.

  —You could still write them down, Ruby said. That way they’ll stay fresh.

  She sat with him for a while, listening, and then said goodbye. She watched Eddie walk along the hall with his head bowed. It was nice of him to bring the flowers in, so soon after Ron died as well. She supposed he wanted to talk to someone. Normally it was a week or so later when they got cards, sometimes flowers. She could see he was upset and close to his granddad.

  When Ruby went back on the ward the carnations were in a vase and sitting on a windowsill next to Mr Davies, a man of fifty-seven whose wife came in every day but only ever brought cream crackers.

  —That was Ron Dawes’s grandson, wasn’t it? Sally asked when she came round the corner. Has he gone?

  —Yes, he just came in for the clothes and cards, the stuff in his locker. I gave him the bag.