The Seven Rules of Elvira Carr

by Frances Maynard

  Karen sat upright. “Hiya.” It was Mark, his Animal Arcadia polo shirt unbuttoned at the top, his nearly bald head at odds with his round face. I refolded the towel, my heart beating uncomfortably. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” she said, “Building enrichment stuff for the wolves? Hammering away.”

  “Yep. That’s me. Always hammering away.” He laughed. Sunlight exposed a jagged tooth. He turned to me. If I had been nearer the door, I would have run out. “Hello, Ellie,” he said.

  “Oh!” Karen tipped forward in her chair. “You two know each other?”

  “Yeah.” Mark laughed again, although Karen hadn’t made a joke as far as I could understand. “We’re old friends. Aren’t we, Ellie?”

  Were we? I’d only met him twice, and neither of us was old. My armpits prickled. I dropped the towel altogether.

  “Here, let me.” Mark stepped forward to pick it up, his hand brushing mine.

  “Quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” commented Karen.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Mark said, laughing. “What are you doing at lunchtime, Ellie?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze intent on me.

  “I always go to the café to see Paul, and on the way back, I visit the orangutans.”

  “Paul? That guy with the glasses you were with at the concert?”

  “Yes.” I held the towel tightly.

  Mark laughed. “So”—his hand touched mine again—“I might see you there then.”

  “You will see me,” I said, looking at the floor, at a whorl of darker color in a floorboard, “because I always go there.”

  “You crack me up, Ellie. You really do,” he said, laughing, showing his broken tooth again. “Better get back now and help out the guys. See ya, ladies.”

  After he’d gone, Karen turned to me. “Yuck. Creepy or what? I hate being called a lady.” She pouted, her hand on her hip. “Ooh, I’m a lady.”

  But Mark had picked up the towel for me and asked what I was doing at lunchtime. He was interested in me. He laughed a lot, which meant he was a happy person. He’d remembered my name and said we were old friends. Those were nice things. If he’d said, “See ya, females,” it would have sounded rude. I didn’t like the way he laughed at everything I said, though, or the way he stared at me as if he was hungry. Or the jagged tooth.

  • • •

  I sat, hunched forward on the café chair, waiting for Paul. And Mark. I could ask him what his favorite animal was, and Paul and I could tell him ours. But Mark came in with a group of other carpenters and sat with them and only waved at me. I felt uncomfortable, knowing he was there, and disappointed.

  • • •

  Sylvia lowered her voice as Roxanna pirouetted around the lawn. “The salon refit’s not finished. And there’s still the upstairs flat to sort out. It’ll be a strain on their relationship. That’s what worries me. What with them only just getting back together.”

  “Why are you whispering?” Roxanna looked from me to Sylvia.

  “I was just saying, pet, that Mummy and Daddy have got a lot to think about, with the new salon.”

  “Mummy’s always thinking about the new salon. She’s always reading magazines about hair and looking up hair things on the Internet, and staring in the windows of hair salons to see what they charge and what color their chairs are.”

  “Chair color is important, I’ve always found,” Trevor called out. He was just off to the Club. Sylvia’s lips pursed when he told her.

  Was chair color important? I’d never thought so before. My head ached. One person’s remarks led to another person saying something that didn’t quite fit, and then the conversation changed to a different subject, and then somebody laughed, for no apparent reason, and then another person, usually Trevor, started singing. It was bewildering, and yet even Roxanna, who was only four, managed to keep up.

  “Of course”—Sylvia lowered her voice again—“Shelbie can be a little bit too independent with her having lived out in Spain on her own.” She looked at me. “Remember not to repeat that to anyone else, pet. Or Shelbie. That’s one of your rules, isn’t it?” I nodded, my face reddening. Rule Seven. The difficult one.

  Rules change depending on the Situation and Person you are speaking to.

  It meant you could say something behind someone’s back that you wouldn’t say to their face. You could say something unpleasant to let off steam, without really meaning it. In fact, you could be indirect and devious, and nobody would think you were a bad person.

  • • •

  “Ellie!” someone called out. “Don’t walk so fast!”

  There were running footsteps behind me. It was Mark, racing to catch up with me. He’d been in the far corner of the café again earlier and had given me the same slight wave as before, this time accompanied by laughter from his friends.

  “I’ve only got seven minutes of my lunch break left, and I always see the orangutans before I go back,” I said, turning, but not slowing down. He couldn’t kiss me if I was walking. I pressed my fingertips into my palms. I didn’t know how to say, diplomatically, that I didn’t want a boyfriend. “No, thank you” wouldn’t be enough.

  Mark laughed. His face and the top of his bald head were pink from running. He had made an effort to see me. He came very close, looking me up and down as if he was searching for something.

  “You are a strange little thing, aren’t you?” he said, panting.

  My nails dug into my palms. I remembered his muscular tongue and the ache in my jaw after his proper kiss. “I’m not little,” I corrected, staring straight ahead. “I’m five foot six.” I didn’t say I wasn’t strange because I knew I was. I had a feeling someone had said the words You are a strange little thing to me before, which was impossible, as I’d never had a boyfriend. Then I remembered I’d read them in a Mills & Boon, As Tears Subside. Adam, the hero, a global-warming activist, had said them.

  “We were just getting to know each other before, weren’t we? At the concert? And then your boyfriend and the bus interrupted us.” Mark was walking close beside me. Too close. His elbow jostled my shoulder. “So what we need now is a bit of privacy.”

  I walked faster, but I didn’t have time to think of a reply or about anything at all, because he pulled my arm, roughly, and dragged me behind the bushes next to the orangutan enclosure.

  Immediately, we were hidden from view, although I could still hear the public talking and laughing and, behind us, soft thuds and thumps as the orangutans moved about. Mark pinned me against the wire fence of their enclosure. I couldn’t escape. I could barely move. I squirmed and wriggled but he was too strong. The netting sagged behind me, and my body bowed back with it.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mark grunted in my ear. “I bet nobody’s ever paid you this much attention before, have they?” He rammed his tongue into my mouth again. It felt huge. I couldn’t breathe. I was choking. My heart felt like it would explode with fear. His hands were underneath my Animal Arcadia T-shirt, in my bra, squeezing and pinching. On the other side of the bushes, I heard a member of the public shout, “Come here! I told you to hold on to the stroller!” It was the sort of thing I heard all the time at Animal Arcadia. It made what was happening to me here in the bushes seem more unreal.

  I wanted desperately to run, but I couldn’t move. I wanted to push Mark away, but he was too strong. I wanted to scream, but my throat was blocked by his tongue. I struggled not to retch.

  Behind me, I heard the heavy thudding of an orangutan as it ran across the enclosure. I hoped it wasn’t Cinta with Pernama clinging to her. I didn’t want them to see me like this and be afraid. Mark pulled up my Animal Arcadia T-shirt, and the wire of the fence dug into my naked back. He yanked at the waistband of my jeans, struggling with the metal button, grunting and pushing me, hard, against the netting. He tugged but couldn’t undo them. This was when I was most glad Sylvia
had steered me away from elasticated waists.

  “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” he said over and over again. I heard the noise of a zipper being pulled down. The zipper of his jeans. I shut my eyes. Blood pulsed and roared in my ears. I could no longer hear the angry swear words. A grumbling noise from the background rose, then intensified. A huge sequence of bark-like pulses and roars was all around me, so loud and so close it seemed to be coming from inside my head. This was it. I was going to die, explode, disintegrate.

  25.

  Animals are more reliable.

  —Keith Curthoise, Paul’s dad

  I staggered. I was loose, free! Mark ran, crashing through the bushes, holding on to his jeans. The noise was still there, a long barking roar, close to my head, but not in my head. It surrounded me, fast and whooping, pulsing like a burglar alarm. I heard a small child wailing and a woman saying, “It’s just the silly old monkey. He must be in a bad mood.” Behind me, loud thuds shook the ground. Rojo, the orangutan, was making the noise!

  Karen had told me dominant males made an enormous roar—a fast, long call—when they sensed threat or danger. Mark had thrown me against the netting of the enclosure, and Rojo had been defending his territory. My heart seemed to burst in my chest. Rojo had saved me. I clung to the fence, my legs shaking. I wanted to sit down, but I was frightened Mark would come back. I had to get out.

  I stumbled from the bushes, the sunlight dazzling. Members of the public stared. I pulled down my T-shirt. A woman tutted, “So that’s what the keepers get up to, is it? I’ve just seen her boyfriend running off. Disgusting when there are kiddies around. Worse than monkeys.”

  “You’re only young once,” a man replied. His bare shoulders were scarlet with sunburn. I wanted to run, but my legs were still shaking. I walked back to the Adoption Center, praying they wouldn’t collapse under me.

  Karen was filling in Adoption Application Forms for a group of white-haired ladies. They were laughing at a photo of Rojo, taken from the front.

  “Ooh, I say!” yelped one.

  I went to the box of donated sheets and towels and tried to unfold one, but my hands were trembling too much for me to hold it. I felt like the can of Coca-Cola Paul had dropped on the café floor last Tuesday: an uncontrollable stream of fizzing emotion, bubbles of fear, and shame hissing and splashing everywhere. I felt the old ladies staring at me as if they knew what I’d done, but when I shot them a glance, they were still laughing at the photo and clinging to each other for support.

  I looked at my watch. The bus to Sandhaven left in twelve minutes. I was desperate to catch it, although it would mean leaving Animal Arcadia hours before my finishing time. I ached to be at home with the curtains and the duvet blocking out the world. I sat down, something I never did, and waited. I couldn’t even stack the envelopes.

  Karen was shaking her head, saying, “I don’t know, the older generation. What is the world coming to?” The white-haired ladies didn’t answer her question but shrieked with laughter and gave each other little pushes.

  As soon as they’d gone, I asked Karen if I could go home. She looked up from the computer, eyebrows disappearing into her crest of hair. “You mean to say you’re deserting your post?”

  I nodded. I had to lean on her desk because of my trembling legs.

  “Is this medical leave?” Karen asked.

  I heard the word medical. It was true that I didn’t feel well. I nodded.

  Karen looked up at me, her nose stud glinting. “You look really pale. Are you going to be OK getting the bus home?”

  I nodded again. “It goes in nine minutes,” I said.

  “Off you go then. I’ll email you later, check you’re OK. See you back on the front line next Tuesday.” She saluted and went back to her screen.

  I hurried through the park as fast as my shaking legs would carry me. For once, I was glad there were crowds of people around. They would stop Mark from dragging me away again. I headed for the exit, avoiding Wolf Wilderness. Two keepers were standing, arms folded, looking at the orangutans. Rojo was swinging from rope to rope, the climbing frame creaking under his weight. Above him, Cinta and Pernama peered out from the top of their tower. “Unsettled,” I heard one of the keepers say as I hurried past.

  • • •

  At home, I drew all the curtains, although it was the middle of the afternoon and the sun was blazing outside. Was it only two hours since Mark had pulled me behind the bushes? I took off my clothes and put them straight in the washing machine. I’d gone through the same procedure after Mark’s proper kiss at the bus stop. But this time had been much worse.

  I showered again, standing under the hot water for a long time, wishing I could wash myself away. I put on a clean nightdress, checked the front door was bolted, and got into bed. I lay under the duvet.

  • • •

  I got up in the evening and made a pot of tea. I couldn’t face cooking or eating dinner, so I just microwaved the broccoli and ate it standing up in the kitchen, because the Vitamins would do me good. Then I went back to bed.

  • • •

  I woke in complete darkness, my heart pounding. I sat up, struggling to breathe, feeling Mark’s tongue blocking my throat. I retched. I ran to the bathroom and got to the toilet just in time. I vomited up the broccoli. I wished Father was there to stroke my back and say There, there, get it all up, darling, or even Mother. It was lonely being sick with no one else in the world knowing about it. I watched the green swirls of broccoli vanish down the U-bend, then sat on the toilet seat until I stopped feeling sick. When I washed my hands, my face looked white and clammy in the mirror, my normally pink cheeks bloodless.

  I made another pot of tea and walked around the house in the darkness. I didn’t want to go back to bed. Whenever I lay on my back, I thought of Mark pinning me against the fence and retched again.

  • • •

  Mother’s eyes flickered briefly when I went to see her. I stayed for an extra quarter of an hour. I felt no one could hurt me if I could just sit there, next to her, forever. I wished she’d open her eyes and speak to me, even though it would only be to say, “Not that way.”

  Mind you, Not that way would be appropriate. She would be right. I had behaved in a stupid way. Stupid to believe Mark wanted to be my boyfriend, stupid for not pushing him away after the concert, stupid for not realizing he was a creep. I’d been stupid for not understanding Rule Five—Not Everyone who is Nice to me is my Friend—even though I’d drawn up the Rule myself, and the spreadsheet containing it had been stuck on my fridge door for weeks. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Too stupid to go back to Animal Arcadia and too frightened. Mark would be on the loose. He could pounce on me at any time. I shivered and retched again, the noise making Mother’s eyelids quiver. I massaged my forehead, wishing I could rub out the whole episode. Except for Rojo saving me. If Rojo hadn’t frightened Mark away, he would have carried on hurting me. I’d never feel safe at Animal Arcadia, so I’d never see Rojo or Vikram or Pernama or any of the animals again.

  I wiped my face with the sleeve of my T-shirt. I’d never wear the yellow Animal Arcadia uniform again either and have the public look at me as if I was important. Karen would lie in a rubble of backlogs. I’d never have Scrambled Eggs on Toast in the café with Paul, or talk about animal programs on TV. All that had gone.

  • • •

  At home, I emailed Paul and Karen to say I was OK but I wasn’t coming back. Then I emailed Rosemary McAlpine to say sorry and to thank her for her trouble and to say I couldn’t be a volunteer anymore.

  • • •

  After lunch, I went back to bed. I took a Mills & Boon, Irish Idyll, upstairs but couldn’t concentrate on the story. The ache in my spine brought back Mark trapping me against the fence. I wanted to tell the heroine, Shannon, not to believe anything the hero, Patrick, said, not to get into his car and to push h
im away when he kissed her. In the end, I shut the book without even marking the page and mopped my face with a tissue.

  Karen replied:

  What’s up, Doc?

  Have you gone AWOL? The sheets and towels have reached my knees! Surely you weren’t that fed up with me moaning about Matt? Is there anything I can do to lure you back?

  Toodle pip, Karen x

  I didn’t understand much of what Karen had written. I emailed her to say I wouldn’t be returning, and I didn’t want to say why. I put Love from Ellie at the bottom because Karen was a friendly person.

  Paul wrote:

  Wassup Ellie?

  Why are you leaving Animal Arcadia? I thought you liked it there. I will miss you even though you are not my girlfriend. Do you want to come to the cinema with me some time?

  High Five, Paul

  p.s. My dad said we are going for a country walk and picnic on Saturday. Do you want to come with us? It is not a date because of me liking blonds and waiting to see if Kate Humble comes back on the market. P.

  We’d had picnics when I was a child. Mother had cooked unusual things in pastry from recipes in the Daily Telegraph and there’d been a lot of hard-boiled eggs. Our wicker picnic basket was still in the attic. I’d seen it when I put the Jack Snipe up there. I could get it down and take it on the picnic with Paul and his dad. I might as well go, since I would not be seeing Paul anymore at Animal Arcadia.

  The picnic basket had been an anniversary present from Father to Mother. It had come from Harrods, because Father had an account there. The account came with a special card, a gold one, with Harrods written on it in green writing. Mother had cut it up with the kitchen scissors when Father was Away, muttering something I didn’t understand about giving brandy to an alcoholic. She hadn’t seen me watching from the doorway, and I’d tiptoed back upstairs because of her angry facial expression. I’d seen Father drink brandy at parties when I was young, and at Christmas. I hadn’t realized that that could make him an alcoholic.

  The picnic basket had neat compartments for everything and a dark-green insulated pocket for keeping a wine bottle cool. The pocket had a gold Royal Coat of Arms because the Queen shopped at Harrods. She’d been there on the day Father bought it, he’d said, but he’d only caught a glimpse of her, wearing a jeweled crown and a red cloak trimmed with ermine, because of all the security guards around her.