Lady Bag

by Liza Cody

‘Tina what?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘She was suffering from facial injuries like you two. Care to comment?’

  Smister bowed his head and held Craig’s hand to his cheek. Craig looked as if the penny was just dropping—maybe he could feel Smister’s stubble. Maybe he was about to be associated with something a little too twisted. He withdrew his hand and stood up.

  ‘Craig?’ Smister’s voice was quavering with sorrow and understanding.

  ‘Gotta get back to work,’ Craig said. ‘Be lucky now.’ He strode manfully away.

  I reached over and touched Smister’s sooty young hand. He sighed and said, ‘Maybe if I’d had a shower, or if I’d been wearing my black teddy set.’

  I patted his monkey paw sympathetically, and because he was in love and not paying attention I grabbed my bag back.

  The cop rapped his pen against his notebook. ‘I’m waiting. What’ve you got to say about the facial injuries, and I need to know… ’

  ‘You’ll have to wait a bit longer, mate,’ the medic said. ‘I’m taking these two to Casualty.’

  ‘Listen to me.’ The cop bent down and waved a cold blunt finger in the medic’s face. ‘We got a fire—probably started deliberately; we got a woman at death’s door; we got these two here who know something but ain’t telling me doodly-doo. And now, in case my shift ain’t been perfect enough already, we got you—obstructing the course of justice. Care to comment?’

  ‘They need urgent treatment.’ The medic was young. He looked to his partner for support, but she suddenly got very busy bagging up dirty swabs.

  ‘If I miss my breakfast,’ the cop said, sensing his own dominance, ‘the breakfast I’ve been wanting since an hour ago when I got this poxy shout—they won’t be the only ones needing urgent treatment.’ His cold blunt finger smelled of nicotine and his uniform smelled of boiled eggs. He scared me the way cops always do.

  ‘Five minutes,’ the medic said, sulking. ‘But I’m putting in a complaint. In writing.’

  ‘You do that, Sunshine.’ The cop turned his back on the medics and focussed his pencil-point eyes on Smister and me. ‘Names?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t feel well,’ I said. I could hear my voice wheezing and wheedling like it did on the street. I was silently begging Smister to shut up.

  He said, ‘My mum’s been in a car wreck and doesn’t remember too much.’

  ‘Names?’ the cop repeated. ‘The quicker you tell me, the quicker you can go to the hospital.’

  ‘I told you—I’m Josepha Munrow and this is my mum, Mrs Munrow. We didn’t really know Tina except we saw her in Casualty when Mum was in for her head. Tina said she was scared her boyfriend was going to kill her so we got sorry for her and went back to her place for the night.’

  ‘Which Casualty?’

  ‘UCH.’ University College Hospital is north of the river and outside the cop’s patch.

  ‘So out of the kindness of your bleedin’ hearts you go spend the night with an anonymous stranger cos she’s in danger of her life? Am I hearing you right?’

  ‘We locked him out. We didn’t think he’d, y’know, do anything in front of witnesses. But we were wrong. And now look at us—beat up and lost everything.’

  ‘What’s the boyfriend’s name?’

  ‘I don’t think Tina ever told us.’ It was Smister’s turn to silently plead with me to shut up.

  ‘Kev,’ I said, coughing up black slugs of painful phlegm. ‘Kev, short for Kevin. I don’t know his last name, but he wore a security jacket and I think he worked for the management.’

  ‘And if you locked him out, how come he got close enough to beat you up?’

  ‘We were asleep. Tina let him in. She was scared to death of him but she still loved him and he could wrap her round his little finger. Even after he nearly slaughtered, er, Josepha and me.’

  ‘You think he started the fire?’ He was a smart cop—he was going to do all my work for me. And he was nearly right: in an odd way Kev was responsible for the fire.

  I said, ‘Ask him yourself.’ I pointed to the edge of the crowd where a guy in a high visibility jacket was standing, drinking tea from the back of a van with some of the South Dock residents.

  ‘That’s not him,’ Smister said. And then he caught on: ‘Oh silly me—course it’s him.’

  The cop said, ‘Don’t go anywhere. We ain’t finished yet.’ We watched him hurry away muttering into his walkie-talkie.

  I woke Electra up and dragged myself stiffly to my feet. My joints felt like they had broken crockery in them. I’d coughed so much I thought I’d broken all my ribs and perforated a lung or two. But I had to go or the cop would come back and bust me for sure. Then they’d abduct Electra. Because this was serious. It wasn’t just Vagrancy or Drunk and Disorderly or me being a Public Nuisance. This was Arson and Death. Huge subjects that made my poor brain tremble.

  ‘Hey,’ the medic said. ‘We haven’t finished. You’ve got to go to hospital.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Thanks ever so much for all your help, but I got to find food and water for my dog.’

  ‘About time,’ Electra said. ‘I’m parched. I was clinically dead, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, we got to go,’ Smister said. ‘She won’t be parted from her dog.’

  The medic decided not to argue anymore. He was fed up but he gave us bottled water and told us that it wasn’t only Electra who needed plenty to drink. I looked at the bottles and shuddered. It wasn’t water I needed for my poor trembling brain. I just wanted to be somewhere quiet with Electra and a couple of bottles for company.

  Of course, what I want and what I get are two different countries, thousands of miles apart.

  Smister was trailing round after me like a lost puppy. Except it wasn’t me he was trailing, it was the crappy handbag. And there was the woman with the red coat and black umbrella who was whispering to him about appearance fees and a ‘substantial per diem.’

  Worst of all, we had to pass by the group of residents which included the ogre in his nighty and the WW2 veteran who had been joined by righteous Nan and her hard hoodie granddaughter.

  ‘Got what you wanted then?’ the little old woman shrieked.

  Nan, like wrath in a waterproof, folded her arms and barred our path. ‘How much they pay you, eh? What’s the going rate for making poor folk homeless?’

  ‘Smoke-damage,’ boomed the ogre. ‘I hope you’re happy.’

  ‘You done what the Nazis couldn’t—put me out on the street.’

  ‘Losers,’ said the hard hoodie, and spat at us.

  This was why Electra, Smister and I accepted a lift in Carmel’s car. I felt like rats were gnawing at my guts because I was too sober now to avoid the truth. Kev wasn’t just letting social outcasts like Electra, me and TT stay in empty flats. No. He wanted us there. He used Smister to recruit us: the weird, the ugly, and the damaged, addicted rubbish from London’s lovely gutters, all to make life unbearable for poor but respectable council tenants. The Corruptor wanted to refurbish and reprice the property as luxury river view apartments.

  I was garbage from the gutter. I was dirty and drunk and I let my dog pee and poop in the corridor and the lift. Who would want to live next door to me?

  I sank down in the back seat of Carmel’s car so that no one outside could see me. Nan was right all along—I was an agent of the fat Corruptor.

  That’s what happens when you let yourself want stuff. All I wanted was a roof over our heads cos it was raining so hard. But I became a player in some other bastard’s game. Nobody bothered to explain or give me any choice. Why? Because I was garbage from the gutter and I don’t rate any choice. I was there to be used like bog paper and flushed away when I’d served my purpose. When the developers moved in and wiped away ordinary folk’s homes, painted fancy desirable residences over the top and sold them to the sad
aspirationals who couldn’t afford them without huge loans, I would be back in the sewers under London, because that was my place in the economic life of our beautiful capital city.

  This is a cautionary tale for people who can’t control their anger, who have no opportunity to take their pills or have a little drink to calm themselves down. Listen and remember, or one day you might find yourself, a charred wreck, ranting to a camera about social injustice when all the interviewer wants to hear is a story about a heroic dog and the brave firemen.

  It began well enough: the studio people had collected more than a hundred pounds to help us out. And the GMGB viewers, who’d seen our early morning rescue and watched Electra standing tall, looking over the edge of our cherry picker, had rung in and pledged a staggering amount to ‘help our little family start again.’ Bless them all.

  My lovely daughter ‘Josepha’ somehow managed to grab a wash and makeup session in the ladies’ room. She looked gamine, tousled and oh so very helpless. Electra looked beautiful, noble and hungry. They didn’t interview us on the red sofa in the main studio because we were too dirty. We were in a small anteroom where the chairs were institutional and blue. Carmel sat next to us and said, ‘Those of you who earlier witnessed our exclusive footage of our guests’ dramatic rescue from a burning block of flats must’ve wondered about the fate of the family involved. Well, I’m happy to tell you that Mrs Munrow, Josepha Munrow and Electra are all safe and well here at the GMGB studio. Welcome, all of you.’

  ‘Don’t forget Tina,’ Smister said in his helpless and breathless guise. ‘Mum and me, we’re praying for her recovery.’

  ‘As are we all, I’m sure,’ responded Carmel, who didn’t know Tina from a sack of frogs. ‘Tina, our thoughts and prayers are with you.’

  It was right then that I started to hate Carmel; not just for her immaculately tailored attitude or her golden feathers, but because she too was using us like bog paper to line her golden nest. Tina’s death and the homeless from the eighth floor were simply conveniences to get her and her career noticed. But mainly I hated her because we weren’t allowed to park our sooty arses on the sacred scarlet sofa.

  ‘And this,’ Carmel piped excitedly, ‘is Electra, the heroine of the hour.’

  ‘We owe our lives to Electra,’ my sweet young daughter said. ‘She raised the alarm and woke mum, she even tried to open the window in my room so we could breathe. She’s the best dog in the world.’

  I suppose it’s my fault: it was me, after all, who told him he’d make more money if he looked as if he was putting the dog first.

  ‘And whose idea was it to dress her in a wet shirt? I’m sure none of us will forget the sight of her being carried out of a burning building wearing a Ralph Lauren polo shirt.’

  ‘Was it Ralph Lauren?’ Smister said, impressed.

  I would never be able to forgive him for exploiting Electra on a blue chair when she should’ve been guest of honour on a scarlet sofa.

  ‘Nothing but the best for Electra,’ he said looking anxiously at me. ‘Mum gave us all wet clothes. She knew what to do after Electra got her out of bed. Tina would be here with us if she hadn’t panicked and tried to open the bedroom door.’

  ‘So you were all cut off from the exit and trapped in the one room? That must’ve been terrifying.’

  ‘Oh yes, terrifying,’ Smister gasped. ‘It was Electra who kept us together. Except for Tina. Then Mum blacked out and I thought we were going to die. It was Electra’s faith that pulled me through.’

  ‘And a couple of big strong firemen,’ I said trying to stop myself throwing up. ‘They pulled you through the window.’

  Smister gave me a beatific smile and a vicious pinch on the back of my arm.

  ‘So many heroes,’ Carmel purred.

  ‘And a few villains,’ I said. ‘Who started the fire, and why?’ The true answers to those questions were, first: Too-Tall Tina, and second: because she was a lunatic. But that wasn’t what I wanted to say.

  Carmel started to mither something about an investigation but I interrupted. I didn’t have long. I already had the shakes and they were turning into the rattles. The air was creaking in my chest like an un-oiled hinge. And I was very anxious because appearing on national TV isn’t the best way to escape police attention.

  I said, ‘Developers are trying to force the long-time residents out of South Dock High Rise. They’re employing so-called security men to fill empty flats with junkies and homeless folk and folk with antisocial problems. And they’re trying to scare people by starting fires and making the building unliveable.’ I would’ve gone on but talking squeezed my lungs into wet retching coughs. Electra stood up and whined in concern.

  Carmel said, ‘You’ve no proof of that, Mrs Munrow.’

  ‘I do have proof,’ I said. ‘I’m the proof. The Corrupter, the Devil, he’s used me and Smis… Josepha like bog paper. Get in his way and he’ll stomp on you so hard you’ll end up a bad smelling smear on his doormat.’

  ‘Cut!’ yelled Carmel. She smelled of air freshener. I hate air freshener. It makes me want to hurl.

  Chapter 18

  More Exposure

  ‘I can’t believe you did that.’ Smister was shrieking. ‘You made us look totally insane.’ He held a fistful of the money the studio people collected for us before they actually met us.

  ‘Barking mad,’ murmured Electra.

  ‘I need a drink.’

  Smister glanced at me craftily. ‘I’ll get you a drink if you give me all the rest of those big white tablets.’

  I stopped. Even the rain smelled of soot. I said, ‘Did you take Too-Tall Tina’s medication?’

  ‘What’re you talking about?’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about.’ I took the white bombers out of the handbag, and walked to the nearest drain in the road. I popped one tablet out of its plastic bubble. Water gargled restlessly. Rain and shite were hurrying away underground to the Thames. I dropped the tablet down the drain. A couple of hours’ worth of pain relief swam away beneath our feet to numb the little fishes. Never, ever, say I don’t make sacrifices.

  Smister ambled casually towards me. ‘We shouldn’t be here. We’re too close to the studio. The cops’re probably on their way.’

  He was right. I popped another bubble. ‘Don’t you lay one finger on me,’ I said. ‘I’m so sick of everyone roughing me up. Are you listening?’

  ‘I’m listening. Don’t do anything else crazy.’

  I took the tablet between thumb and forefinger. ‘TT said you took her medication. She was a fire nut. She’d done it before. She said, “The alarms go off and then they come and rescue me.” That sounds like a habit to me. And you took her meds. The way you keep taking mine.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘When did she say that?’

  I couldn’t remember, so I just stared at him accusingly.

  ‘I didn’t take her tablets. I swear.’ His eyes were so blue and transparent I couldn’t believe they hid murky depths. He said, ‘When I met her there was a bunch of crusties trying to take her prescription off of her. Those arseholes wanted her scrip and her disability allowance. And she was so short of love she was going to hand ’em over.’

  ‘So she gave them to you instead. She’s going to die cos she was “so short of love”?’

  ‘Don’t say that. She’ll pull through, won’t she?’ His blue eyes were brimming. I couldn’t tell rain and tears apart. ‘I only took a couple of tabs, I swear. And she gave me some money for food. But she had money left. Honestly.’

  Smister was crying for Too-Tall Tina. Which, I have to admit, was more than I was doing. I was rattling, angry and suspicious, but I wasn’t in mourning.

  Electra stepped gracefully across the puddles to his side. She laid her trusting snout against his hand and he stroked her slim head. She was weeping too.

  ‘Hypocrite,’
I said. ‘You didn’t care when she was alive.’

  ‘I looked after her,’ Smister wept. ‘I let her stay with us.’

  ‘So that Kev could give her one of his famous whackings.’

  ‘At least he was honest. Those crusties would’ve been her best friends until she’d given them everything she’d got, and then they’d have dumped her. They’d all have whacked her. You know they would.’

  I had to admit that was true too. And I knew that some people are so short of love that even a whacking is welcome attention. If anyone understood about that it was Smister. And me.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had a stabbing headache and my hands were trembling for all to see. ‘Come on,’ I said, deciding that the truth wasn’t worth fighting my only friends about. ‘I got to have a drink.’

  I didn’t mention the fact that he’d been pimping for Kev—bringing in trash like me to make life unbearable for the old residents. Which of us hasn’t dirtied ourselves for love?

  We bought wine and dog food at a mini-mart, and I fed Electra from a paper plate I found near a bin. While she was eating, Smister and I shared a bottle of wine. It was a normal sized bottle and we shared properly, sip for sip.

  Smister said, ‘Don’t get twatted. We’ve got to lay low and chill. We can’t do that if you’re rolling around, roaring drunk.’

  ‘I don’t roar.’

  ‘I’ve seen you.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Electra said. ‘I don’t feel safe when you binge.’

  ‘I got to admit you were great in the fire,’ Smister said. ‘I could’ve been badly singed if it wasn’t for the soaked t-shirts. I could’ve lost my eyelashes.’

  He sounded grateful. The headache vanished, and so did the rattles and the nausea. I said, ‘Let’s go north of the river. I never feel comfortable in South London.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Electra said.

  So we caught a bus to Liverpool Street Station and went to the concourse to find lunch. I was hungry and looking forward to a burger and beans, but the first thing I saw was an early edition of the Evening Standard on a station newsstand. There was a picture of me on page one. It was under a headline that screamed: ‘Impostor!’