501

  We’re both laughing then and it’s a little while before I realize my laugh has turned a shade guilty, because I’m sort of laughing at my own kind.

  Anyway, today I’m glad when five o’clock comes around and Johnny James is picking me up in his car. Lately we’ve been going straight back to his place after work and I’ve cooked us a meal.

  ‘We’re like an old married couple already; you’ll be washing my boxers next,’ he jokes.

  I’m opening a can of beans and I tell him that his boxers can crawl into the washing machine on their own. But his words have made me wonder – not the bit about his underwear – but about us being an old married couple. It makes me think what the future will be for us.

  Will I always be in Johnny James’s kitchen cooking tea for two, or will those eyes of his be stealing someone else’s heart?

  And you know, sometimes the five years between us seems too many. I worry; I look in the mirror at my face, at the giveaway signs of ageing. But then Johnny James will come in, sweep me off my feet, tell me I’m the best thing since sliced bread, and all those worries will be out the door.

  Until at the George Danny calls me Cougar Katy and I’m worried that it’s a nickname that could stick so I hiss at him to shut the fuck up.

  After tea we drive around to Scottie Dog’s house and I bang on her door. There’s no reply so I call through the letterbox – actually it’s more of a yell. But my voice echoes into the house like it really is empty, like there’s no one breathing in there. I’m back to knocking and getting worried when the neighbour’s door opens and I see a woman who looks like she’s just got out of bed.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  The voice of explanation is like the screech of an owl.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘She’s gone. Her and her suitcase and her sodding cat in a cardboard box.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday morning, and good riddance if you ask me.’

  ‘Where’s she gone?’

  ‘Don’t know; hopefully back to Jockland.’

  This caring neighbour scratches her head like she’s got nits and then slams her door shut.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say to the door.

  So Johnny James and I drive to the George where there’s only the Motley Crew in listless mid-week conversation. They’re sitting around the fireplace, beer in hand and moaning about the weather.

  ‘Hi, Katy. Hi Johnny,’ is muttered in a ragged subdued chorus. Danny says he didn’t chuck ’em out ’til two o’clock and by then Paddy was Off to Dublin in the Green, Pikey Pete was throwing up in the bog, and Old Bob had fallen asleep in the chair.

  ‘I thought he was dead so I left him there. Gone this morning though.’

  Then I tell him about Scottie Dog and he says that it’s strange, what with Irish doing what she did and now Scottie Dog’s packed up and gone.

  ‘I’ll miss the old bird,’ he says, and I’m thinking that the pub won’t be the same without them.

  Johnny James and I have a drink and then go outside for a fag and I try her number and I get that daft bloody answerphone welcome again. But her voice is really clear, like she’s standing beside me, talking in my ear.

  And then I’m so stupid because I start to cry, to sob like a schoolgirl, and Johnny James asks me what’s the matter and I can’t answer him. I can’t tell him that I’m crying for Irish, for Scottie Dog, for Jerry, for Laura, for a dad who doesn’t know me, for a sister I never knew I had.

  ‘It’s nothing, Johnny. Nothing.’

  He holds me in such a comforting way and I’m still crying because the thought of losing him would be the worst of all things.

  Thursday night practice at the George – early March.

  Still Katy.

  I didn’t feel like coming tonight but Johnny James said he’d drop me and pick me up.

  ‘And you can stay at my place, Katy.’

  I’m thinking that my problem is with me and my fucking insecurity because I read that like he’s making a point to me. His place.

  I say, ‘It’s okay, I’ll stay at mine,’ when it’s not really mine, it’s Mum’s.

  So sod everything again. But Johnny, lovely Johnny James, quick on the uptake, says, ‘I want you to come back to the house tonight, Katy. After you’ve been to the pub.’

  So despite my mood, I have to laugh and he says, ‘That’s better, Katy.’ Then he kisses me slowly, lovingly, and I’m getting out of his car and he’s saying, ‘See you later, Lover,’ and he guns the BMW out of the car park like Steve McQueen in one of those old chase movies.

  The George is pretty quiet. Danny is reading a newspaper on the bar and Big Nellie is nursing a pint by the fireplace. She’s absent-mindedly pushing a log into the grate with her foot and there’s a tang of burnt sole in the air. Danny, looking up and sniffing, says, ‘She don’t feel pain; I’m waiting for her to set her leg on fire and I bet she won’t notice ’til it reaches her…’ He thinks better of finishing and turns to get my drink.

  Then he says, ‘Still no word from Scottie Dog then, Katy? Anyone know why she’s gone?’

  ‘You can search me, Danny.’

  ‘Is that an offer, Katy?’

  I call him a pervert and take my drink over to Big Nellie. She grunts a good evening and I’m hoping the other girls’ll turn up soon, else there won’t be much conversation.

  Pegs is the next to arrive and the first thing she says is, ‘What’s Danny burning on the fire?’ Big Nellie is tapping her foot on the hearth like she’s stubbing a fag out.

  Maggie comes in, and then Ada Pikey, and that’s it for practice because Lena is growing fatter by the hour and we won’t see her tonight.

  So we have a knockabout and a few drinks for an hour. Then Maggie reckons she’s due an early night and Big Nellie lumbers off. Then Ada Pikey yawns and tells us she’s got to be up before six.

  So it’s just me and my secret sister and we have a quiet drink and I ask her how things are going.

  We sit cosily together in front of the fire and she tells me about her and Big Dave Trinder, about what they’re planning and how it’s not difficult between them, even though they’re different.

  ‘You know what I mean, Katy, about him not being one of us.’

  I’m still thinking about what she means by us. Then she says, quite unexpectedly, ‘You should pop in sometime; Dad was saying he’d not seen you for a while.’

  This comment’s innocent enough so why does my paranoia start ticking louder?

  Why do I imagine she’s looking for a reaction at the mention of Dad?

  At the mention of us.

  And why do I imagine that her glance into my eyes is seeing into my soul.

  Or do I imagine?

  Christ, what’s happening to me?

  I’m really glad that just then Johnny James turns up. He calls to Danny, ‘Two more voddies for the lovely ladies.’

  Danny asks, who does he mean? And Johnny says Danny must be blind. Danny says it would help in his job cos he wouldn’t see the ugly mugs the other side of the bar.

  Johnny James reckons it’s a wonder he’s got any customers at all, and Danny reckons it’s only his charm that makes the George the best pub in town. Then Johnny James brings our drinks over, pulls up a chair, and we sit around the fire like three Cackers at a travellers’ camp.

  Well, two anyway.

  And we’re still keeping the fire warm when Laura and a couple of her friends – at least, girls she knocks about with – come loudly into the bar. They’re dressed in short black skirts and long black coats and enough make-up to keep a clown happy. Laura scans the room in a quick flick-over and deliberately, oh so deliberately, ignores me. She won’t catch my hello.

  Danny serves them – they look old enough and I’m not going to poke my nose in, say who they are.

  They crowd the table near us and it’s obvious what they’re in here for; I’m now getting dark looks instead of ignoring ones and Laura, flanked by her witchy friends, is
staring me down. Then she stands up with purpose painted on her face and expectations on the coven’s. It’s two strides to me and, ‘Still shagging him, then.’

  She spits out the words to me, and sneers at Johnny James.

  ‘Have a bit of respect, Laura,’ he says. Then he adds, which doesn’t help things, ‘No need to show off in front of your mates,’ like she’s a little girl.

  This put-down fires her up even more and she thrusts her face into mine, inches away, eyes skunked and saliva on her lips.

  ‘Slag,’ she says. ‘Fucking slag. That’s what you are.’

  From behind her comes another titter of laughter from her moronic mates.

  ‘Laura,’ I say. ‘Don’t, please don’t do this here.’

  She’s not listening, and she throws into my face again, ‘You’re a slag.’

  I stand up and our noses are nearly touching in this scene that could have been lifted straight from East Enders.

  ‘Laura, not here.’

  Now my voice is a lot firmer because, to tell the truth, I’ve had a poxy ’nough these last few weeks. My head’s full of trouble and I’m starting to tremble.

  Now if only she’d left it there, had turned on her heel and stormed out of the George. But she doesn’t, she leans right into my face again, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath, the taste of dope-smoke.

  ‘Slag,’ she says to me, ‘fucking slag,’ and her gormless friends titter in the background like my life is for their entertainment. And I think that’s what does it: their tittering. I don’t think I even draw my hand back, I just seem to hit her hard and open-palmed across her cheek without any thought at all. It’s a deep resounding slap and it stings me so God knows what it does to her. Then there’s utter silence, cut-the-air-with-a-knife silence, and in that silence I’m sure her eyes cloud with shock, with wounded hurt.

  I’m sure I say, ‘You asked for that,’ before I walk out the pub, before I’m choking with consequence.

  I’m sure I’m halfway across the car park before Johnny James catches up with me, holds me like I’m a hysterical bitch.

  Then I’m sure he sits me in his car, takes me home, whispers to me in his warm bed all night long.

  Then, in this whole fucking mess, I’m sure he loves me.

  And if that’s all I’ve got, the only thing I’m sure of, I’ll manage.

  Monday night darts in March.

  The George Ladies versus the Dairy Maids Lena.

  Dandy says, ‘You don’t have to go, Lena. Phone Katy, she’ll understand.’

  I say, ‘But it’s an important game, Dandy; I can’t let the team down.’

  All day my stomach has felt like it’s going to explode and now I’ve had to put on my tracksuit for going out; it’s the only thing that’s big enough for a baby elephant like me.

  I tell Dandy I look like trailer-trash and he tells me I’m beautiful and he doesn’t mind that there’s a bit more of me to love now.

  ‘Especially your boobs,’ he laughs.

  And that makes me even more conscious of them.

  So tonight Dandy runs me down to the George and from there we’ve got to get a taxi to the Old Dairy Public House because Danny is more than half-cut. Katy reckons he’s been on it all day, him and the Motley Crew.

  In the taxi Maggie says, ‘What’s the occasion then?’

  Katy reckons it’s an anniversary, something to do with Danny’s wife running off with the drayman years ago.

  ‘Danny always says that he misses him so much.’

  Big Nellie says that Danny’s wife was a pretty little thing but he treated her like shit, and no one really blamed her for leaving.

  ‘Except Danny,’ she says.

  I think it’s the most I’ve heard Big Nellie say in one go.

  Then Ada Pikey tells the taxi-driver to get a move on because she’s dying for the loo and if he doesn’t hurry she’ll wet her knickers.

  ‘You’d think there’d be a bucket in the back,’ she says, and I’m so glad there isn’t.

  In The Old Dairy bar I’ve only been standing a couple of minutes, playing in the warm-up, when my weight catches up with me, drops me into a chair. Pegs sits down beside me and I pat my belly and say, ‘I’ll be glad when this is over.’

  Now I say that but really I’m terrified. Lately I’ve been waking in the night, listening to Dandy’s peaceful easy breathing, and sometimes I want to pound him awake. I want to scream at him, ‘You have this.’ I want to pass over my pregnancy to him; I want him to understand this fear of being torn open, of seeping blood and splitting pain. And I want…

  I want my Mum and I can’t have her because of what I did.

  Pegs says quietly, ‘It won’t be long, Lena; it might even be tonight.’

  Well, I don’t think that’s likely because I’ve still got three weeks to go and my midwife says she’s never been wrong.

  Anyway, I’m first on in the team game and I’m just glad to take my throw and then sit down again. Maggie buys a still water and a packet of crisps for me while Pegs and Katy have their vodkas and Big Nellie drains a pint glass. I feel I’m spilling over my chair like I’m an obese invalid, or a big fat whale.

  Pegs must be a size zero – put her in a school uniform and she’d only seem like a small, dark fourteen-year-old. Even Katy, who six months ago was decidedly plump, is now so slim she could be called skinny.

  And it’s all right for her with a new figure, new hairstyle. New man.

  I take that back, it’s not a fair thing to say, but that’s how I’ve been lately: pretty unreasonable.

  I’ve snapped at Dandy, picked him up on petty little things and, to tell the truth, I’ve said some nasty things to him, like what’s he ‘doing with me when he could be with my beautiful mother?’

  He just says, ‘Don’t, Lena. Don’t speak like that.’

  But stupid, stupid me says, ‘Why, Dandy, is it the truth?’ and for the first time I see him angry.

  ‘Lena,’ he says, ‘never bring your mother into this.’

  ‘Why, Dandy? Why?’

  ‘Because,’ he says, and his voice is hard and cold, ‘because none of this is her fault. It was me and you, Lena. Me and you.’

  I storm off to bed then (well, waddle really, because you can’t make a proper exit when you’re fourteen stone of blubber) and cry myself to sleep. Dandy comes up much later and we sleep cheek to cheek. Well, actually bum to bum.

  But in the morning he’s bringing me a cup of tea and he’s whistling up the stairs:

  You’re gorgeous. Yes you’re gorgeous and I’ll be a slave for you.

  Then he sits on the bed and I tell him I’m sorry and he says he’s sorry and then I want him so badly that my tea’s left undrunk and my big fat body’s wobbling with pleasure.

  We’re loving each other and if I think I can see a shadow in his eyes, I ignore it.

  Anyway, tonight at The Old Dairy Big Nellie sits down beside me and I don’t fell quite so bad in size comparison, but then some lads push by to feed the jukebox and they don’t even look at me. Not a glance, not a flicker of interest, and that kicks my hormones up in the air again.

  Then I wish I hadn’t come tonight because I’m so uncomfortable and my darts go to pieces and I can’t score or get a double for love or money. And I have to heave myself off to the toilet every ten minutes. And I have to loosen my bra strap.

  It’s a good job the Dairy Maids – all slim girls – are sitting at the bottom of the league because the rest of our team struggle and it’s only a flukey treble one, double one out from Ada Pikey that wins our first game. That sets the standard for tonight and the rest of it is dire; any other six would have wiped the floor with us.

  So this night drags like hell and we sneak a lucky four three victory with no thanks to me or Katy or Pegs. I’ve never been so glad to finish in my life and all I want to do is curl up next to Dandy in our warm bed.

  Katy says in the taxi back to the George, ‘Not many games to go, Lena. Reckon
you’ll last it out?’

  I tell her I think so because although I want it over I’m dreading it to happen.

  In the George, Danny’s behind the bar and he’s in a right state. God knows how he manages to take the orders and give the change; habit of years, I suppose. He could probably do it in his sleep.

  He says, ‘My beauties, how’d it go?’

  Katy tells him we scraped through by the skin of our teeth.

  Then he says to me, ‘You’re looking well.’ But I can feel his eyes on my enormous boobs.

  I say, ‘You’ll go blind, Danny.’ and he laughs. ‘Looking’s can’t hurt, Lena.’

  I say it can if I lump him.

  Suddenly I’m feeling a lot better and I think I’ll leave it for a while before I phone Dandy to pick me up. The only thing missing is a good, long drink and I tell Katy that as soon as baby’s shown his face, we’ll be wetting his head.

  ‘As soon as little Andy’s here,’ I say, patting my belly.

  Pegs says it’s bad luck to name a child before it’s born and Maggie tells her not to be so superstitious. Katy says that I shouldn’t listen to old wives’ tales and everything will be fine.

  ‘You’re as healthy as a horse,’ she says, and I half expect someone to say I’m as big as one. Irish would say that if she were here.

  Or Scottie Dog.

  I’m sitting in one of the easier chairs in the bar. Okay, the armrests might be a little bit sticky and there might be more than a whiff of staleness to it, but at least it’s comfortable for me. So I lie back and it’s like I’m drifting off, listening from a distance to the prattle of Danny.

  Danny says, ‘So I says to her, “You’re not going like that.”’

  Pikey Pete says, ‘Like what, Danny?’

  Old Bob says, ‘To the fancy-dress party, Pete. His wife was going to a fancy-dress party.’

  Danny starts again. ‘She’s come down the stairs with nothing on except a pair of black gloves and a pair of black socks.’

  Pikey Pete says slowly, pondering – perhaps savouring – the image of a near-nude woman coming down Danny’s stairs, ‘Nothing except gloves and socks? What was she going as then?’