White Trash

by John King

  —It’s apple pie today, Aggie said, licking her lips, like a different person now that she’d stopped being bossy and opened herself up.

  Ruby smiled, felt so guilty now wishing her mum was dead like that, it was a terrible thing to think, she was ashamed of herself, just hated seeing Mum in the nursing home. She knew what they said, that the Alzheimer’s meant she didn’t know where she was, that she wasn’t worrying about the past or the future because she didn’t know they even existed, that it was worse for Ruby seeing her mum go senile in front of her, and Ruby tried to use this but it didn’t really work. She was being selfish, and if it was physical she could nurse her mum, even if it was something terminal, at least she could look after her till she passed away, like Tommy with Aggie, if things turned out for the worst, and she’d tried, had really done her best, the outbursts and tantrums taking over, the constant criticism eating into her till Mum started smashing things up and calling her every name under the sun. Ruby didn’t want to go back and think about the memory lapses that had slowly got worse, the anger, and considering the facts did nothing for her either, nerve cells failing in the brain cortex, what did that mean? She was hurt seeing her mum lose her personality and memories, so she didn’t even remember Ruby was her daughter.

  —Is old misery guts sitting comfortably? Vicky asked, out of hearing range.

  —She’s all right, Ruby said. I like her. She’s just scared of dying. You can’t blame her, can you?

  —It’s her favourite today, apple pie for dessert.

  Ruby walked down the hall to one of the ward toilets and went inside, sat on the lowered seat. Her mum was always there in the background, fixing jigsaws together with women older than her, a picture of Big Ben without the clock, pieces hidden for a joke that the comedian forgot in seconds, so they didn’t know if it was humour or a nasty streak coming out.

  Mum was shining bright, fiddling with the same jigsaw Ruby helped with last time, a month ago now, she was down for days after every visit, didn’t see the point if Mum didn’t know who she was, she was going for herself and hurting herself, Big Ben replaced by a stone bridge humping over a country stream that babbled around greasy black rocks, Ruby could feel them on her hands sitting in this sterilised world of kidney failure, calcification, strokes, blue water talking in tongues, whispering sweet nothings that weren’t sweet at all, licks of white froth that didn’t last, under pressure from the sort of bloody flow you could never escape, everything going downhill towards the sea, and they never finished the jigsaw, her mum losing interest and turning from a child into an old witch with a bitter stream of abuse, slagging off Ruby’s dress, shoes, hair, getting more and more personal, at least till one of the nurses came and calmed her down, knowing what to say, firm with a little child, another skill, and Ruby just sat on the toilet and cried, braced herself, stood and washed her face, checked she looked okay in the mirror, going to Maureen and telling her she was off now.

  She left the hospital and walked to the bus stop, paid and sat at the back with the sweet wrappers and bent cans, next to the emergency exit with its danger signs and penalty warnings, trapping a bottle under her foot third time it rolled back with the motion of the bus, picking it up, wiping sticky glucose off her hand with a tissue. The bus crawled along, stopping and starting, Ruby stuck inside her head making herself think about Charlie Boy, Mr Parish on the ward, and she’d grabbed her chance and persuaded Sally to let her change his bandages, glad to meet the man behind the voice, better than a famous name on the radio because he invented his own playlists and didn’t have to answer to a controller. There was no money involved and that was the secret. Once it came into the equation everything was ruined.

  She had no interest in getting off with him, the thought never crossed her mind, it was the voice and music that made her go over, and Charlie was chuffed when she told him she listened to his show, mostly early in the morning but sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, it depended, normally she was tired, on her feet all day, and she loved the records he played, the combinations, and she liked him right off, felt a tingle in her tummy standing next to his bed, asking if he’d tried the hospital radio, it was run by volunteers and played lots of pop and easy listening. He said he’d been listening to Dolly Parton and gone a bit nutty, groggy still, and he was quiet but sharp at the same time, least that’s how she saw him, and Charlie said he was surprised anyone he didn’t know actually tuned-in, he was being modest, said he thought he was playing records to himself half the time, firing songs out into the night like rockets, and she thought of Bonfire Night in the car park, roast potatoes in foil, down the rec with her mum and dad when she was small, two kinds of bangers, burnt sausages and exploding gunpowder, Guy Fawkes smiling in the flames, sitting by the shops, rockets shooting into the night, lighting up the sky, the clouds, all those spirits passing over Bali and Burma, and Charlie’s eyes lit up as he told her there was nothing better than sitting over his decks as the sun came up in the summer, drinking coffee and playing records.

  He told her how the sun flickered through the buildings, slabs of grey and white concrete turning orange and yellow and red, each sunrise different depending on the clouds, the location, the people watching it, the time the sun broke over the rooftops, shaping aerials and antennas like they were long stems of grass, skinny saplings, and he’d sit there just feeling how good life was, glad he didn’t have to go to work today. It was something special. Most people never saw the sun come up. Ruby loved him for saying that, well, almost loved him, understood what he meant at least, more butterflies in her stomach.

  She dabbed at his stitches as gently as she could, feeling him wince, sensing someone watching her so she turned her head and saw Dawn standing where Charlie couldn’t see her, raising her hand and pretending she was giving someone a blow job, rolling her eyes and fluttering long black eyelids so Ruby felt herself going red same as Boxer, it really was tongue-in-cheek with Dawn, and suddenly she turned and walked off, seconds later Maureen marching past.

  Charlie was settled and she had time to spare so she asked him what he’d done to get the stitches, heard how he’d been DJing at what he thought was an easy night when these men had started mucking about with his records, and when he told them to leave it out one of them had cut him, another punched him so he toppled over, then he’d been kicked in the head. Simple as that. His mates had jumped in and saved him. It was a feud that had been simmering. Stupid stuff. She could see his mood changing and pulled him back, asked him about the other DJs, the music he played.

  Back on the bus she jolted as her subconscious told her the stop was coming up, and she was thanking the driver and walking down the street with the hum of the door’s suction in her ears. She went into the sweet shop and bought a packet of mints, carried on to the nursing home. It was an old building with a lawn in front, not classic Victorian, more like something from the war years, and round the back there was another bigger lawn with a small pond where she sat with her mum when the weather was warm and her mind alert enough to cope with this funny girl pretending she was her daughter. Ruby felt the zinc in her pocket and hoped her mum had taken the last lot of tablets she’d given to one of the nurses. She’d read that Alzheimer’s might be due to a lack of zinc. She’d also read that it could be due to a lack of folic acid, and that’s why you had to eat your greens. There were all sorts of theories, and she’d seen enough patients in the hospital clutching at remedies, looking for answers to mysteries, and she did it herself, waiting for the scientists to come along and save all the people stuck in limbo, and as she went through the front doors she made herself strong just like she did at work. Ruby had to be brave for Mum same as she’d been told when she was a child going into the playground, swallowing her medicine, having an injection. She was strong as she went into reception, then along the corridor, said hello to the nurses, pointed in the right direction, into the TV room where the screen was showing Scooby Doo. She sat down next to her mum and stroked her arm.

/>   —Yes, dear, are you lost?

  —It’s me, Mum, it’s Ruby.

  She was only fifty-six but looked much older, her crinkly black hair combed over and over till it had turned straight and fine, the curve tracing the sides of her face. Ruby hated her hair looking like that because when she was three and four and five, ever since she could remember, her mum had had hair that stuck out like she’d been electrocuted, and she jumped inside, that wasn’t funny, electric shock therapy they called it, she didn’t mean that, it was just the way the hair fizzed like it was full of static same as when Dad rubbed a balloon on his jumper and stuck it to the ceiling when she was having her birthday party, and when she rolled around playing with her mum it stuck in all sorts of funny shapes, the tears welling up.

  Ruby was a girl bouncing on a bed, pulled down and tickled under her arms, and when she was tired and her face had turned red, gasping for air because she was laughing so much they lay on their backs and Mum held her arm in the air then let it go floppy so it fell this way and that way and her job was to grab the arm and stop it hitting the bed, push it so it stood up again, and Mum kept it there for a few seconds before it started to sway and move in small circles that slowly got bigger and bigger looping down towards the bed, fast for a second then hardly moving, one second it didn’t weigh a thing and the next it was a tower ready to crash down, and when it finally did come tumbling down most times Ruby stopped it, for a split second it was too heavy and then it was easy to hold up, it made her feel like she was strong but really she knew Mum was in control, making it easy for her, and they played till they were tired and their arms were aching and then she’d rest her head on Mum’s shoulder and Mum would sing a song, Ruby had to think about the words, giving her love a cherry, without a stone, she wished she could remember the rest, she wanted to ask but didn’t want Mum to look at her blank like she was mad and kill the good memory, it was Ruby’s memory and she wasn’t having it spoiled. They were only words anyway. It was the smell of the sheets and blankets that counted, the talc and her mum’s shampoo.

  —Have you come to mend the telly? she asked Ruby. We can’t get the satellite channels. They say we have to pay for them but I think it’s the set. They don’t want to spend any money, do they? My husband will be here in a minute. We’re going shopping.

  Ruby smiled and felt the mints in her pocket. Alzheimer’s wasn’t fair. If you were evicted from your home, kicked out on the street and lost your way somehow, at least you had the memories, that’s what made you alive, but without memories you didn’t exist. She played the game and told herself you never missed what you never had, all the usual stuff, and what she really wanted was for Mum to mess her hair up like she used to wear it, the endless combing made her face look pointed, like a witch with a broomstick, in the cartoons, in Scooby Doo, made her look prim and proper and evil-minded, too in control and stripped of emotion, she’d always been warm and laughing, it was emotion that made you feel alive, and it was like the groomed hair was the opposite of her illness and its debilitating confusion, and thank God she had been like that, thank God for the memories Ruby had inside her head.

  —Did you see the meteors last night? Is that why you’ve come?

  —I never saw the meteors, Mum. I bought you these though.

  Ruby gave her the mints. Her mum had always loved mints.

  —That’s kind of you, but I don’t like mints. You weren’t to know though. Shall I share them round? Maybe later when you’re not here any more.

  There was a man and a woman near them watching the TV.

  —Shall we go and sit outside, Mum? It’s sunny out there. Let’s go and sit by the pond like last time.

  Her mum looked at her funny, shook her head slowly, as if Ruby was mad, and it was obvious she didn’t remember, had probably already forgotten the meteors and the satellite channels, that’s how it was, but at least she wasn’t angry, slagging off her clothes like part of her knew enough to be insulting, and she placed her hand in her mum’s and sat with her while she watched Scooby running from a ghost, which was really a professor in a sheet, and she wondered if they should be seeing things like that, but nobody was scared of the cartoons, and a nurse came in with a drink for her while her mum kept watching Scooby Doo, and the nurse gave her a sympathetic smile, and Scooby Doo moved straight into a Laurel and Hardy film where Stan and Ollie fell over and got wet because it was raining, the cars big and tacked together, and every so often Mum looked sideways at Ruby, then down at her hand.

  —Why don’t we sit outside? Ruby said after a while.

  —No, dear, Mum said, looking at the screen and squeezing Ruby’s hand. It’s raining outside. Let’s watch the film, like we used to. I’ll make us some crumpets in a minute. You know, like we always do.

  Ruby was a child sitting on the couch on Saturday afternoon with her mum right next to her and the television was on and it was raining outside and the wind was blowing against the windows and there was sleet and snow and thunder and lightning and Dad was working or had gone to football with his friends and her and Mum had a plate each with hot crumpets and Mum had a mug of tea on the floor next to her and Ruby was drinking orange squash and had to remember not to knock it over if she stood up and the crumpets were crisp around the edges and the holes had turned brown where they’d been cooked and the margarine was put on as soon as they came out from under the grill so it melted quickly and smothered the crumpets and sometimes she had strawberry jam on top either that or lemon curd but usually she left them buttery and they used to sit there for hours watching old black-and-white films most of the time they were musicals and Gene Kelly was singing in the rain dancing in the rain and she leant against her mum when she was full up and her head was on the thick brown cardigan she always wore around the house the one her own mum had knitted her with the thick black buttons and they were warm indoors and Ben was in his basket while they ate and then he climbed up next to them and sometimes if it was really cold they used to put a blanket over them to keep warm a fluffy blanket with dog hairs in with the blobs of wool and it was so warm and she was so happy snuggled up with Mum and Ben she wished the film would go on and on so she could stay there forever.

  —Goodbye, was the next thing her mum said, when Ruby left at the end of Laurel and Hardy, surprised by Ruby when she hugged her, like she’d only just arrived, but it didn’t matter.

  Ruby walked back to the bus stop with her head up. It had been a good visit, the best for ages, she was glad she’d come now, didn’t like going to the nursing home, specially remembering those visits when her mum had turned on her. For a while it really had been like old times, for Mum it was a second or two, but for Ruby it was the whole time sitting there holding her hand.

  According to the timetable there was another twenty minutes till her bus arrived. She needed a drink, and though she never usually went into pubs on her own she made an exception and headed towards the one across the road. It was musty inside, with a damp smell coming off the carpet, either beer that had flooded the floor or sick that had been soaked in disinfectant. The place was nearly empty, two old codgers sitting by the door laughing at a joke, all gums and bony jaws, three postmen at the far end of the bar still in their work shirts, heads down discussing something that seemed important, odd words floating down that meant nothing on their own.

  Ruby bought a pint of lager off the woman serving, a tired smile on a face that was starting to age, her looks changing, giving her another sort of appeal. She took her drink and went over by the window, looked out to the bus stop and the home further down the street.

  She was smiling and remembering how they used to go shopping together first thing on Saturday morning, out early come rain or shine, and it was a treat even though shopping was a job that had to be done, and she could smell the food trapped under the iron roof of the market, the mugs of tea and cigarette smoke, the seaside flavour of the fish stall, she loved the cockles and mussels Mum bought her, the feel of the polystyrene teacup on h
er lips and the marshmallow crush against her teeth, listening to the grown-ups around her talking about mackerel as she shovelled the cockles down, so salty on her tongue, and then there were the colours of the fruit-and-veg stalls and the sound of bacon sizzling, the memories so powerful they shut out the must of the pub, and she was leaving the market and walking into the precinct with its fancy displays and panelled ceiling letting in more light than the older market, Mum looking in the windows and telling her the dresses she was going to buy one day, when Dad won the pools, and the stalls had crept into the precinct selling football towels and glitzy knickers, compilation albums and heart-trimmed picture frames, teddy bears and tinsel, Mum pulling her out of the way as a gang of boys came running past chased by older men from the shops, and they used to go into the big shops and flick through endless racks of clothes, Ruby running her hands over the material, once or twice a year going into a shoe shop and sitting down so the assistant could measure her feet, she was always getting holes in her shoes, some things never changed, and she couldn’t wait to be the same size as Mum, to dress like her, sometimes her mum let her borrow her lipstick, for dressing up, and Ruby used to ruffle her hair to make it stick out but it never had the same electric fizz, and she loved going shopping, they bought the food and Ruby got to carry two of the bags, one in each hand, she never said when her arms ached, there were lots of things they did, like playing games and sitting on the couch together, Mum washing her hair in the sink, Ruby closing her eyes tight so they didn’t sting from the shampoo, Mum drying it with a towel and tying it up in a big knot so she looked like she was wearing a turban, and then Mum brushed her hair, combed it, over and over, ran her fingers through Ruby’s hair and told her about the Prince Charming she was going to meet one day, and Ruby made a face because she hated boys, thought they were silly, and Mum said Ruby would have babies and she’d be a granny, and they were good times, Ruby had those days to look back on, and those few seconds today were enough, Mum saying it was just like the old days, and it was, no matter what they said it was still in her, somewhere, the good times, and she finished her drink and put the glass on the bar, went back to the bus stop, happy.