by Joel Willans
The padre suspected her of something, though. He may have been a sleaze, but he was no donkey brain. One Monday, he stopped Estrella in the plaza and asked how much longer the gringo was staying.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m curious, that’s all.’ He smiled with his too-white teeth.
‘Worried he’ll take your place?’
‘What are you talking about, girl?’
‘You know.’
His smiled stayed fixed, but his nostrils flared like an angry horse’s. ‘Do you think anyone will listen to a word that comes from your filthy mouth? You ooze sin from every pore just like your mama. I’m counseling your aunty. Helping her deal with the sadness you have brought her. Understand?’
Estrella laughed. ‘Counseling wasn’t what the boys at school called what you and Aunty do.’
‘You are going straight to hell, Estrella Vargas, as surely as night follows day.’
The way he marched away, chest out, arms swinging like a soldier’s, she knew she had got to him. The thought kept her singing all afternoon.
A couple of weeks later, while she was feeding the chickens, Doug told her that Aunty had asked him if he thought she was beautiful.
‘And?’ Estrella said, tossing grain in big handfuls.
‘I said yes of course.’
She spun round and threw chicken feed at him.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ he said, flapping like one of the birds.
‘You’ve never told me I’m beautiful.’
‘Well, course you are. Beauty runs in your family. And you are, you’re really beautiful.’
She let him kiss her then, but she could tell by the way he pressed himself hard against her that he wanted more. When she pushed him off, he said something in English and kicked the wall.
‘Damn it. I’m leaving.’
‘What! Why? Because I don’t let you kiss me when I’m feeding chickens?’
He crossed his arms. ‘No, because your aunty is trying to get into my pants. And because you won’t let me touch you.’
‘What about trying to prove to your papa that you can do something worthwhile with your life?’
‘I’ve been here long enough,’ he said. ‘I’ve emailed him the photos. I’ve shown him I’m no waster.’
‘If you go I want to come with you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Estrella. You live here.’
‘I don’t want to live here anymore.’
He sighed. ‘I can’t take you with me. I’m travelling around South America until my cash runs out and then I’m going home.’
‘You’re just like my papi.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You run away from your problems.’
‘Listen, I don’t need this, okay. You’re a sweet girl, but I was never going to stay forever. And now your aunty is going all weird, it’s time to leave.’
‘If that’s how you see things, I want to give you something to remember me by.’
‘You do?’
She sat on his lap, and stroked his face. ‘Yes I do.’
‘When?’
‘Meet me in the plaza just before noon.’
‘You’ve got a date,’ he said grinning.
The rest of the morning Estrella praised herself for keeping calm. When she’d wanted to slap Doug’s selfish face, she’d caressed it. When she wanted to kick him between the legs, she’d sat on his lap. Just like everyone else, he said one thing and did another. If he’d come to her town to help people, what was wrong with helping her? If he had money to travel around South America, he had money to take her with him. She practised looking happy in front of the mirror before she went to meet him in the plaza, but her smile looked as fake as a plastic doll’s.
He was waiting besides Old Sergio’s ice cream trolley, playing with two campesina girls. Their ponytails, like black rope, swung back and forth as he chased them in circles. He was good with kids. One day, he might make a good husband and father to someone. Estrella took a deep breath, kissed the ring Papi left her and marched over.
‘Hey there,’ he said, breathless. ‘These two are in my class.’ He nodded at the girls.
She smiled at them and took his hand. ‘Let’s go. I haven’t got much time.’
‘Where to?’
‘Put your arm around me.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes, here. You’re leaving, no? What does it matter who sees us now?’
He shrugged and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. It felt good even when she saw mamitas nudge each other and point and the girls run to get their friends. Estrella marched them towards the doors of the church just as the bell struck. Once she’d counted the twelve chimes, she grabbed Doug’s face and kissed him.
She teased him with her tongue, imagining they were dancing at a fiesta. Over his shoulder, she saw the church doors open. The padre strode out, sunglasses in his hand, squinting in the midday sun. When he saw them, he pulled his hands up to shield his face and stared.
‘Whoah! You’re eager,’ Doug said, licking his lips.
‘This what you wanted, isn’t it?’ She glared at the padre. Even though his face was now in shadow, she saw his too-white teeth and his frown. She waited for him to say something, but he just carried on looking. He was still staring when she took Doug’s hand and led him to the forest path.
The patio was quiet when they returned a couple of hours later. It felt as if the house was holding its breath. No dogs, no radio, no Aunty singing. The only sounds came from outside. A cow’s sad bellowing, beeping motorbike horns.
Then a door slammed. ‘Estrella, is that you, girl?’
She didn’t say anything.
Doug let go of her hand and stopped grinning. ‘What’s gotten into her?’
Before she could answer, Aunty burst out of the kitchen. She was breathing hard. Her hair was messed up like she’d been in a storm and her hands were clenched. The padre stood behind her, shaking his head.
‘Is it true what the padre tells me?’ Aunty hissed. ‘You’ve been whoring yourself in the forest again.’
She felt her face flush. ‘The padre should know. He’s an expert on whores.’
Aunty took two quick steps and slapped her so hard it felt as if her cheek had been whipped with nettles.
‘I want you out of my house.’ She glared at Doug. ‘I want you both out of my house.’
Estrella rubbed her face and felt tears coming. It wasn’t from the pain or because the padre was smirking and pulling Aunty close like he cared. It was the way Doug looked at her.
‘I’d rather be a whore than a hypocrite,’ she shouted so loud the dogs began barking.
‘Get out, Estrella, and take your gringo with you.’
She dragged Doug upstairs. He sat on his bed, head in his hands. ‘All we did was go for a walk. What’s her problem?’
‘She listens to the wrong people.’
‘Is she really getting it on with the padre?’
Estrella nodded.
‘That’s crazy.’ He sighed. ‘Suppose I better get packing. What are you going to do?’
‘I’m coming with you.’
Doug looked at his nails. ‘Surely there’s somewhere else you can go?’
‘No.’ She grabbed his shoulders. ‘You want to help people, help me.’
‘That’s different, Estrella.’
‘Why?’
He got up and dragged his rucksack from under the bed. ‘It just is.’
‘I will have to go to the brothel then.’
‘What! Are you serious?’
‘Nobody else will give me work. It’s that or begging.’
Doug mumbled something in English. ‘Hurry up then. I want to get out of here as quick as I can.’
She went to hug him, but he pushed her away. ‘You can thank me later.’
Estrella didn’t say anything in the taxi to the bus station. Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure she would choke if she spoke. When the taxi
driver asked where they were off to Doug said wherever the first bus was going. She hoped it was Cusco. That was where Papi had last been seen.
They got the last two seats on a bus to Abancay. At least it was going in the right direction. It wasn’t until the driver started the engine that Estrella felt tears coming.
‘What are you crying for?’ Doug wiped the window. ‘I thought you hated this place.’
She shrugged. ‘I do, but…’
She hoped he’d take her hand. Instead, he pulled on a pair of headphones and turned up his music. It only took a few minutes to drive through the town, past the church and the park. Past her old school and Don Miguel asleep on the bench in the plaza. Past the cake shop Papi used to take her every Friday after football. When it was all behind them, she wiped her face and tried to make herself comfortable. It wasn’t easy. The seat was worn, the road potholed and Doug was frowning to his gringo tunes. She stared ahead and saw the bus driver had golden charms and pictures of the Virgin on his dashboard to protect him on the long journey ahead. Clinging to her bag, she closed her eyes and wished for someone to protect her, too.
Burnt
Even though she saw a man on fire as she turned the corner, Cindy didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow down. People don’t just spout flames by the side of the road on a quiet Barrett housing estate. Her hormones must be making her see things.
‘Did you see anything strange back there?’ she said, after a few seconds.
Melvin yawned. ‘What, you mean the fire guy?’
Cindy stared at him. ‘You saw him too? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?’
‘I’ve got other things on my mind.’ He tapped his BlackBerry. ‘Annual report’s late.’
Cindy stopped the car. The fluffy dice that Melvin had bought her because it was kitsch cool swung back and forth between them. She stroked her belly and tried to send comforting thoughts to its inhabitant.
‘I’m going back to see if he’s okay. You phone an ambulance or something.’
‘We’re not the ones to sort this stuff out.’
Cindy did hear him. She had heard him for nearly three years now. Heard him when he told her she was ‘magnificent’. Heard him when he said ‘I do’. Heard him when, with a grin, he said ‘as long as it’s perfect I don’t care what you call it’. She studied his profile. He was handsome, in a catalogue model, stare-blandly-at-your-watch type way. He had money, and thanks to his I-have-to-work-late job, he always would have. And he’d ignored a burning man.
She spun the car around.
‘What are you doing, Cindy?’ Melvin grabbed her arm. ‘We can’t miss this scan.’
At that moment she wished she could run. She wished she could run over hills and through woods, with rain drizzling her face and air sailing down her lungs. She wished she were anywhere other than in the car with Melvin. She yanked herself free.
‘I’m going back to see if the man is all right, all right?’ she said, accelerating so quickly Melvin was thrown backward into his seat.
He didn’t say anything, but brought his hands together in front of his face and puffed his cheeks.
Inside her belly, the baby fluttered. Cindy knew what Melvin was thinking. He was wondering if he’d still have to pay the doctor, wondering if a burning man was a valid excuse, wondering how much longer he’d have to wait to find out if the baby was good enough for him.
An ambulance was parked beside the curb. There was no siren, but its lights were spinning. An old woman and a couple of kids with a spaniel were standing beside it. Melvin sat up. A smirk spread across his face. ‘See, Cindy. There is nothing you can do.’
Cindy stared ahead at the paramedics crouched by a smouldering heap. One of them held a charred briefcase. She undid her seat belt and, caressing her bump, glared at Melvin.
‘You’re wrong. Actually there is something I can do.’ She opened the door and clambered outside. ‘I can act like a human being.’
‘Don’t be silly, we’ll miss our appointment!’
Cindy ignored him and walked to the ambulance. Looking in she could see the burnt man lying on a gurney, shaking and moaning. It was impossible to tell his age. Half his face was stained black as if with tar; the other half flared rose red. The air smelled like it did that time she caught her fringe in the dinner candles, only much, much worse.
Reaching for the handrails, Cindy gingerly pulled herself into the ambulance and stood by the gurney.
‘Coming with us, love?’ asked a paramedic.
‘Yes.’
‘Family?’
‘Oh yes.’
At this the man looked at her. They stared at each other a long time.
‘Breathe,’ Cindy said. ‘You have to keep breathing.’
One Long Queue of Zeros
Jemima’s craving the young American. It’s obvious by the way her gaze skips across the others like a hungry bird hopping from one bare branch to another. When her eyes rest on Megan Bloom, Jemima doesn’t blink. Instead, she swallows as if gulping down the girl’s luminosity. Out of all the applicants, this one’s the brightest. She has the brightest hair, the brightest smile, the brightest eyes, the brightest brain.
‘We’re a diamond of a company. Investment banking alone pulls in enough to make the GDP of a small country look like chump change.’ The skin on Jemima’s rawboned face is pulled tighter by her leer. ‘We’ve got people battering down the door for a shot at working here.’
While the other candidates squirm or sit bolt upright, Megan lounges as if her chair is as comfy as a beanbag.
‘Think you’ve got what it takes?’ Jemima continues.
They all bob their heads in unison, a chorus line of nodding dogs. Jemima looks at me, challenging me to challenge her.
‘A diamond of a company indeed.’ I clap my hands. The applicants jump. ‘But are diamonds really forever?’
The two men, boys really, fresh from university, one with a suit so new he’s forgotten to take the tag off, glance at each other. The prickly girl with the razor cheekbones and a Home Counties accent nods as if she understands, but only Megan Bloom scribbles a note.
Jemima smacks her pad and jerks her pen back like a knife thrower. I’ve made her hundreds of thousands in bonuses. Numbers that end with one long queue of zeros. She hates me for it. She hates me because she knows I get away with whatever I want.
‘Why don’t you just fuck off to Goa or somewhere equally tie-dye if you think this job is so morally redundant?’ she said to me after I’d dissuaded my first applicant.
‘I’d like to pay the company back before I leave.’
‘For what?’
‘For ninety-hour weeks. For a wife who walked out. For making me greedy.’
‘Oh please!’
I point at the boy with the tag hanging off his collar. ‘Are you ready to sacrifice your life to make rich people richer?’
‘You bet I am. I’m ready to start right now.’ He blushes, and I feel sorry for him because it is so clear that he will always be disappointed in his aspirations.
Jemima sighs loudly. Everyone but Megan turns to look. I flash my pad at her. Written in big bold letters are the words THIS JOB SUCKS.
She gasps and clamps her hand over her mouth. Jemima whips her head around and shoots me with an Uzi glare. ‘Did you say something?’
‘No, not a word.’
But Jemima can see that I intrigue the young American. For the rest of the meeting, the girl focuses her attention on my every word. After a few more of Jemima’s questions and one stifled yawn from me, we say our goodbyes.
Jemima tries to herd them out, but Megan is fast on her feet. As I walk back onto the trading floor to immerse myself in the barking barrage of orders, she rushes up to me and says, ‘You were kidding around with me, right? You know, with the sign and all?’
I shake my head.
‘Is this one of those psychological tests?’
Just as I’m about to reply, Jemima calls her over. I watch them s
tanding together in reception, a lusterless woman and a luminous girl. That’s your future, I want to shout, but the door closes and she is gone.
Two days later I get an email on my Nokia from Jemima. She says Megan Bloom declined her offer of a second interview. She says it’s my fault. She says I’m a fucking liability. Before pressing delete, I enjoy the feeling, a sensual mix of relief and triumph, which washes over me on these occasions. It doesn’t last. It never does. There are so many more willing to take Megan Bloom’s place. Nonetheless, when I see my reflection, superimposed upon the red and green numbers tricking down my trading screen, I’m still smiling.
The Grounding of Tiffany Hope
As I floated over the backyard, I admired the watery pink of the dawn sky and the way the dew made the grass shine. It gave me goosebumps to feel so light. As if I was made of nothing but feathers and candyfloss. When I reached the fence I did a slow-motion forward roll and kicked off in the opposite direction. I was so lost in the moment, I didn’t notice the light come on in Mum’s window or see her wrench the curtains apart.
It wasn’t until I heard the window rattle open that I dropped barefooted onto the flowerbed. By the time I ran back to the house, she was standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Think you’re all clever sneaking up in the morning, do you?’ she said.
I shrugged.
She grabbed my shoulders. ‘Don’t shrug at me, girl. How many times have I told you? Keep your feet on the ground or your life will be a mess!’
‘I’m nineteen, Mum. I can make my own mind up.’
She slapped me, only once, but hard. ‘Don’t you dare give me any of your back talk. If I’d been stronger when I was nineteen, you might still have a dad and I might still have a man and we might not be living in this godforsaken excuse for a town.’
I bit my lip and said nothing.
She stared at me with strained hot eyes. ‘I know it’s difficult, Tiff, I know how nice it feels. But if you keep doing it, it will screw your head up. Promise me you’ll stop.’