We've given samples, got washed, got dressed. The cameras are red-on and the strip lights are slowly coming up to full.
The nurse gives me my supplement tabs.
Ever since my first primary when they examined my eyes and did the fat test they've put me on special dozie. Doctor Dearly said it was to help my eyes stay healthy, keep them the best in the unit. I was short on a special chemical, an ENZYME I needed to boost my count.
Doctor Dearly has cold hands. They feel like rubber when he touches you.
During my primary after he's done my eyes he holds up a pair of CALLIPERS and takes a pinch of my skin beside the ribs. ‘Subcutaneous tissue zero point two mill,’ he says to the nurse.
‘What's that mean?’ I say.
‘It means, G4, you're losing fat and there's some muscle wastage.’
‘Why?’ I say. ‘I eat lots.’
Doctor Dearly looks me one. ‘You can't be doing your exercises. Check the board. You should be level 3 by now.’
‘I try,’ I say, ‘but I get tired.’
Doctor Dearly frowns. ‘Put him on vitamin supplements too,’ he says to the nurse. ‘He needs building up.’
When I tell CC about building up he looks at me like I'm goo goo.
‘Building you up for what?’ he says.
‘Building me up so I can get to level 3 in fizzio,’ I say.
Next primary they put CC on supplements too. Not for his eyes but for general body conditioning, for bulking him up. ‘We need to put some gloss in your coat,’ said Doctor Dearly. We'd never heard him talk like that. Like Cough Cough was a fox or a rabbit. ‘Before you get DEBILITATED,’ he said.
‘What's that?’ I ask CC afterwards.
‘It means when you lose your shine.’
I'm glad Doctor Dearly was going to help Cough Cough keep his shine.
‘What about your enzymes?’ I say. ‘How are they?’
He looks at me frowning. ‘Enzymes?’
‘You need them for healthy eyes,’ I explain.
‘I know what enzymes are,’ he says sharply.
I don't think he does but I don't say anything. Maybe he's a bit jealous because Doctor Dearly didn't give him as many supplements as me. They're small dark-red capsules like the beads on Lolo's necklace before they took it away. It was the one Mrs Murdoe gave her just before she left. They took it off her when she was asleep. She cried and cried but they told her she'd lost it and it was her fault and anyway beads were dangerous. They could make you ill if you swallowed them.
‘Tabs can make you ill,’ said Chicken Angel, ‘but we have to take them.’
We're sitting round the table eating toast, all of us except Cough Cough. He has to wait for the nurses to wheelchair him and they are late. The wheelchair is because he still can't walk too well after the trank. It is the chemical pooling in his legs. Cough Cough tells us that afterwards.
Next to Lights Out is Pippi's empty chair.
I take one of my tabs and Chicken Angel says my face is getting fat because of the supplements. I tell her that's what they do, build you up. Stop you being skinny. So she wants to know why she hasn't had any because she's on the skinny side. I think, yes, she is skinny, skinny like those mop sticks the san team use in the washes. And no, I don't know why Doctor Dearly hasn't given her some.
Then she asks can I div with her. I don't really need them any more she says, because it looks like I've got my fat levels right up.
I'm not sure about doing a div on tabs. What if Doctor Dearly found out?
‘I don't think it's fair,’ Chicken Angel was saying. ‘Why do you two get dozie to make you fat and Lolo and I don't?’
Maybe because Chicken A already has fat bits like her bum, and the things on her chest, and her wings.
Later on she asks me to watch out for nurses so she can write her story.
‘If I do can I read it?’ I say.
‘Maybe,’ she says, ‘one day.’
One day?
‘Hum,’ says Cough Cough. ‘One day? It's a sweetie to keep you in line. I don't know why you want to read daftie stuff about pippies and princesses. Anyway she better watch out. If Tin Lid finds it there'll be no more stories.’
‘They can't stop you telling stories,’ I say.
Cough Cough gives me one of his how-daftie looks. ‘It's not them stopping Chicken Angel telling stories that worries me,’ he says. ‘It's the stories they tell.’
‘They don't tell stories,’ I say.
Cough Cough pats my hand. ‘Dearly tells us the Bin is beautiful. It's for our own good. That's the doziest story out, X-Ray. It dozies us all.’ He pauses. ‘If you let it,’ he adds.
Later I ask CA if she has any Doctor Dearly stories in her notebook. She nods. Only one that she dreamed – where he turned into a giant hypo and tranked everyone, nurses, Tin Lid, san team, Hyena Men, kids.
Well, if all she writes about is dreams she can keep her storybook. It doesn't sound very interesting to me. I'd rather take a tab.
8
I'm much stronger today. I bet I could make level 4 fizzio. Top of the chart. I think Chicken Angel knows this. She's always been best at fizzio. So maybe she's thinking I'll catch her up and get better than her soon.
‘Do they make you sick?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘Give you a head squeal? Do you really feel stronger?’ she says.
I nod.
She takes a pill and swallows.
‘But they make you pitch in your pants.’
Chicken Angel freezes.
I laugh.
Chicken A scowls. She doesn't like being joked.
‘And we'll ask Doctor Dearly to give Jack the Cat some. He's a whisker-thin fatless FELINE.’
We go quiet because the carer comes over with the porridge. We haven't seen her before. We eat quickly because we are all hungry and not slowly like Tin Lid keeps telling us. Because she's not here we can eat how we like.
After the carer brings back toast and jam and butter wrapped in gold paper.
We all stare at the gold butter. We've never had butter like this before, wrapped up and shiny. We only get butter once a week because fat isn't good for us.
CHAPTER 7
Yellow Tears
1
‘It's got writing on,’ says Chicken Angel, looking at me.
‘It says Best Before 2004,’ I say.
‘What's that mean?’ says Chicken Angel.
‘It means the year 2004,’ says the carer as she leaves.
Chicken Angel and I look at each other. The year? We know about Saturdays and Sundays because those are the dozie days, when we get extra dozie to keep us quiet when there aren't enough nurses. It happens every week. No one ever says about years though. Hours, yes, because of the medicines, tabs and dozie and because of tuck-in time. Yes, we know about tuck-in time but not long time.
2004!
We are like those travellers in The Natural World trekking for months across the empty desert and then seeing a signpost – to somewhere we've never heard of.
I can see Chicken Angel doesn't like it being 2004.
‘But we know where we are now,’ I say.
Suddenly Lights Out begins morsing her.
Chicken Angel turns to me.
‘She says why is it Best Before 2004? Is there no Best After 2004?’
Just then the dormie doors open and one of the nurses appears pushing Cough Cough.
We tell him about the gold butter.
‘Tell her it doesn't mean Best like Best Things in Life. It means things get used up and go bad after a certain time,’ says Cough Cough.
‘Like us you mean?’ says Chicken Angel.
Cough Cough shrugs. I can see his eyes are still cloudy and faintly yellow. ‘2004,’ he says. ‘Now we know where we are.’
‘That's what I said,’ I say.
‘It's our history,’ says Cough Cough, ignoring me. ‘We ought to have a history. It's good for us.’
‘I don't want a history,’ s
ays Chicken Angel. ‘It's all a blur so far. What's so wrong with a blur?’
Lights Out is morsing again.
‘She says it wasn't Best Before when the princess went takeaway,’ says Chicken Angel.
‘That was… that was…’ she stops.
‘Years ago,’ I say. We'd all forgotten. Except Lights Out.
The princess was the day nurse's fault. He used the remote on the wrong TV channel and we saw pictures from somewhere called Paris instead of The Natural World with the wild animals. Paris was near London said Cough Cough. It was the first time we'd ever seen news with houses as well. It only lasted a few minutes. Chicken Angel explained it to Lights Out. ‘It's a story about a princess,’ she said, ‘who's gone takeaway. A big cat car dragged her down to his underground den and ate her up.’
Lights Out squealed. Paris sounded beautiful and soft she said. And why should anyone want to takeaway a princess.
No one had an answer.
‘It just happens,’ said Chicken Angel.
‘If we know what year it is,’ says Cough Cough, ‘we can connect up things. Otherwise it's like Outside, all noise and storms and things. And blur.’
‘Well, I still like blur,’ says Chicken Angel. Her lower lip is trembling and I wonder if she is going to cry.
‘Cough Cough,’ says Lights Out, ‘Pippi. Pippi is coming back. She's gone to the sea with Mrs Murdoe. Mrs Murdoe is Best Before everything.’
It's the first time for ages she's used proper words.
They come out of her mouth like beautiful birds flying in through the Weather Eye.
Cough Cough stops and stares at her.
I look at his plate.
The daftie.
He's buttered his toast – with a fork.
‘Cough Cough,’ I whisper, ‘you've buttered your toast with the fork.’
Cough Cough lets out a spitty sound. ‘It's the stuff they gave me in the tests,’ he says wheezily. ‘Leads to PERCEPTUAL MISALIGNMENT. Just a temporary thing. Pass me a knife, please.’
I pass him a spoon. He dips it in the marmalade and uses it to spread the toast.
Chicken Angel and I exchange looks.
This isn't good. What's happening to Cough Cough?
‘Cough Cough, that's a spoon you're using.’
He holds it up and runs his finger up its length. Then he squeezes it in his fist and holds it up to his mouth.
He nods slowly, his eyes wide like he knows he has just swallowed a terrible secret.
What can we say?
Chicken Angel leans across the table and gently takes the spoon. Cough Cough's hand drops to his lap.
‘They put something in my eyes,’ he says in a low whisper.
‘Maybe they'll get better,’ says Chicken Angel.
I smile for CC's sake but I'm not sure.
Something sticks in my mind. This isn't the first time Cough Cough's done something odd recently.
But before I can remember anything Lights Out starts whining. It's her alarm call. Her face is turned to Cough Cough. Suddenly she stretches across the table and does the gently on his eyes.
Then she starts mewing as if she's in a squeal.
She begins morsing Chicken Angel. But it's too fast to understand.
‘What's wrong?’ I say.
Chicken Angel shakes her head. ‘She's upset at Cough Cough, I think.’ She morses this on my wrist so CC can't hear.
‘Yes,’ I mouth. ‘Me too.’
‘Go for a pee,’ says Chicken Angel out loud to Lights Out. ‘Then you'll feel better.’
Lights Out isn't sure.
‘Go on.’
Lights Out leaves holding her hands in front of her while she passes Cough Cough as if she is pushing away something bad.
I'm just thinking about Chicken Angel not wanting a history. I don't want a blur like she does. I want a dawn beginning, a bright sun rising like in Africa.
‘Where did we come from?’ I ask Cough Cough.
Chicken Angel says, ‘Yes, did some daftie make us?’
Cough Cough sneezes.
Silence.
Make us? Who?
Chicken Angel bites her lip.
No one says anything.
Doctor Dearly? Make us?
It's a big question. It growls in our heads.
Suddenly the walls of the day-room vanish and we are all out in the open, on the plains where the wild animals are waiting.
The leopard has stepped into our midst.
We don't know who. We don't know how.
Questions. Questions.
Quick, quick, find an answer before they eat us up.
Then we remember Mrs Murdoe. Mrs Murdoe rescues us. She said we were all seeds once, like little beans. And we just grew and grew. Some seeds become flowers and some seeds become babies.
Cough Cough used to say you got beans from beans not babies and children like us.
Then I remember the picture Mrs Murdoe kept in her pocket. It showed all of us in little boxes, bean heads showing and growing. This proves she must be right and Cough Cough must be wrong.
And that's no surprise because Mrs Murdoe is always right.
Then I hear Chicken Angel cry out.
She is staring at Cough Cough.
2
The PO door rattled and rang behind them. Nail and Kenno stopped dead.
The girl was standing on some ladders behind the counter, back to them, filling in the ciggy bank from a box sitting on the counter.
Tight bum thought Nail.
Nail shushed Kenno, finger on lips, and then nudged him forward. ‘Five-finger us a bar of Choconut,’ he whispered.
Kenno hesitated. Nail pushed him and slipped behind a stand of cards and soft drinks.
At the counter Kenno scanned the sweet packs and the liquorice laces, the mint bags and the lollies. Then he reached up and his shaky fingers crept over the edge of the counter and started to slowly crawl towards a shiny green wrapped choc bar.
Suddenly a hand grabbed his arm, twisted it up his back and slammed him face down among the soft gums and the toffee bags.
Kenno felt someone reaching into his jacket pocket.
‘Hey,’ he gargled.
‘Caught him lifting yer ciggies, sweetie.’
Was Kenno hearing it right? Wasn't that Nail's voice? Nail. He had him slammed down and snorting jelly babies.
‘Wha–’
Nail pushed harder. Kenno's voice jammed in his throat.
‘Caught him nicking yer ciggies, sweetie. Look.’
Kenno felt fingers in his pocket.
Nail, brought out a packet of Lamberts. Held them up.
The girl reached down and took them. She slotted the packet back on to the shelf and turned round to face Nail, looking down at him.
Lot of shape there he thought.
‘I said he was nicking yer ciggies. Didn't yer hear me?’
Kenno gargled. He sounded like a Scottie terrier.
‘No dogs, no barking, no swearing,’ said Nail. ‘Says on the door.’
‘Let him go,’ said the girl. ‘You're hurting him.’
‘Your call, lassie,’ said Nail. ‘Who phones the police, you or me?’
Kenno was rubbing his neck and staring at Nail. He could hear the crackle of a distant voice ringing in his brain saying this is a Nail wind-up, say nothing.
‘Nail, what are yer playing at?’
The girl stepped down and asked Kenno if he was all right.
‘He's a thief,’ said Nail, wondering why she was going soft on his fat cousin.
Then the girl reached below the counter and brought out a phone. ‘It's our policy to prosecute shoplifters.’
She started dialling.
‘Hang on there,’ said Nail. ‘This is Kenno the Klepto. He can't help it. I mind him. He just has pockets to fill. He's a nutter and you have to crack him to be kind. Get the picture? He doesn't know he's thieving. It's like magic to him. He makes things disappear. He just has to touch something
and it's gone. That's how he gets his kicks!’
The girl looked unimpressed.
‘I tell him and tell him and tell him,’ said Nail. ‘But it does no good. Next time my back's turned he's off lifting again like it's apple-picking time.’
Kenno just stared at Nail, his mouth all orifice and empty.
The girl had her arms crossed, the handset tapping her lips.
‘Look,’ said Nail. ‘You keep this quiet, OK. Anything to do with the police, with authority of any kind, will put him back months. You know, he's under treatment. This is confidential, just between you and me.’
‘And him.’ The girl nodded at Kenno.
‘And him,’ said Nail. ‘I'm just telling you so you'll understand, right. We've just got him off the drugs. I mean, you're bound to have relapses. Stands to reason.’ Nail paused like he was undecided. He was doing a lot of frowning as if he was thinking hard. ‘I'll tell you what,’ he said at last. ‘He'll buy the fags. Buy them.’ Nail nodded at Kenno, who was still catching up. ‘We need to reinforce positive behaviour here, sweetie. The more often he pays for things the more he'll get a sense of value, a sense of give and not take.’
Nail nodded at Kenno.
Kenno dipped into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled fiver. He handed it over like he was in a coma for the day.
‘Change,’ said the girl. ‘And don't call me sweetie. Sherbert's for kids. Suck on that.’
‘Well, don't call me slow or I won't be around tomorrow,’ said Nail. ‘What do we call you?’
‘Natalie.’
‘Natalie's good,’ said Nail.
‘And Nail's a funny one,’ said Natalie.
‘It's because I'm hard as.’
‘Hard as?’
‘Hard as a nail. Get it?’
‘Oh, and there was I thinking it was because you were hammered all the time.’
Nail shrugged. The girl was a rubber mouth but she had a torso you could talk about.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘You around tomorrow? We could do something together.’
‘Just what had you got in mind?’
‘A ride. Swim in the loch.’
Natalie frowned. ‘You got a car?’
Nail nodded. ‘Can always lift one.’ He grinned. ‘Only joking.’
Natalie thought for a minute. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘tomorrow. Two o'clock. Both of you.’
‘Both?’
Kenno smiled.
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