House of Straw

by Marc Scott

  Her mind began to run away with her. What was she thinking? She never had daydreams like this, she never thought that her life would ever be anything but a mere existence – live, struggle, die. Poppy began to feel like she was living someone else’s life now, a normal life. She was finally beginning to believe that, somewhere, amongst all that bitterness and anger she held inside her head, there was a good person waiting to escape.

  When she entered Chez Blanc, Matt could sense a change in her. He didn’t know what it was, she just looked different to him. Maybe, he thought, helping her to clear her rent arrears had been a good thing. She seemed to be much more relaxed, almost happy. The happy-go-lucky chef caught her looking in on the dining area. He knew the reason why. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘that posh tart hasn’t been back. Danny told me to get rid of her if she does.’ Poppy laughed. Again, the chef sensed that it was a different sort of laugh, it was almost a believable laugh. Something good seemed to be happening inside Poppy’s head. Surely that could only be good news.

  Danny joined the two of them to sample a seafood dish that Matt had been working on for the evening menu. The restaurant owner drank mineral water, but let his staff finish a half bottle of Moobuzz Pinot Noir with their meal. Poppy was still in high spirits, joining in with most of the conversation and amusing both her boss and the chef with a throwaway line about stealing a couple of bottles of the luxury red wine for herself for the weekend. It was never truly known if the large number of bottles of this fine wine that found their way into Matt’s wine rack at home were ever truly part of an arrangement, but Poppy enjoyed teasing Matt with their shared ‘secret’ at every opportunity.

  Chantelle joined them at the meal table before the evening service started. She had a long face and whiney tone to her voice, nothing unusual there. The scraggy teenager spent most of the time complaining that her parents had gone away that day, leaving her to fend for herself for the coming weekend. Poppy ignored the young waitress’s rant. She was rapidly becoming tired of the girl’s constant moaning and ‘spoilt brat’ attitude. Danny was in the same camp, finding an excuse to leave the table. Matt, however, stayed to offer Chantelle a sympathetic ear, but that was Matt, too much of a ‘nice guy’ for his own good.

  Friday nights were always busy in the restaurant. More than thirty diners had pre-booked and with walk-ins Chez Blanc was expected to be extremely busy to say the least. The tables filled up quickly and Matt and Anton were tested to the full. Chantelle’s continuing bleating about her parents’ excursion did not help matters. She was only one wrong step away now from being on the receiving end of Poppy’s sharp tongue. Danny spent a fair amount of time at one table where a couple of his business contacts were enjoying a night out with their wives. The owner of Chez Blanc was keen to impress this group of diners as they had a substantial influence with the local golf club. The wily old restaurant owner was always looking for new ways to bring in a better class of clientele to his establishment. He hoped that the free bottle of expensive wine he gave these visitors would be well received. He was right. Before the end of the evening he had taken a booking for twenty ‘business heads’ for the end of the month.

  Anyone who had been served by Poppy during a prior visit to the restaurant must have been wondering who the new waitress was. She looked identical to the sour-faced cow who never cracked a smile and had only ever been mildly polite with her serving manner. This new girl was bouncing around the dining area, laughing at customers’ jokes, even complimenting several guests on their appearance. Poppy also went out of her way to find some crayons and a colouring book from the back storeroom in a bid to pacify a hyperactive young child, much to the delight of his exhausted parents. She received the biggest cheer of the night when she called out loudly to her fellow waitress, ‘Not to worry, she can have her crayons back at the end of the night.’ There were roars of laughter from many of the diners. Chantelle was far from amused and sulked for the rest of the evening. Danny was extremely pleased to see this side to his loyal staff member, confiding in one of his business friends that if he had ever had a daughter, he wished she would have turned out just like her.

  By eleven thirty the last of the diners had departed and Danny had left the staff to sort out the clean-up between themselves. It had been a good night for tips, with Matt, Anton and Chantelle each receiving £20. Poppy pocketed almost double that, with a big hug from her boss thrown in for good measure. So now she was set, she had more than enough money to cover the rest of the rent arrears owed to Rahwaz and around £60 of cash to do with as she pleased. It had been a long time since she could afford a trip to the hairdressers, but that extra money should cover it. After all, she wanted to look nice for her ‘new’ boyfriend from now on. If he was going to make as much effort as he had promised, then so would she. There was still one small problem, however, a problem in the shape of a stocky Geordie with a foolish grin. On the one hand she wanted to tell him that their secret sex sorties would have to come to an end, but something in her head told her that she still needed to feel his manhood between her legs. Unfortunately, tact and diplomacy were never going to be Poppy’s strong points, something that was evident when she decided to express her feelings to him that night.

  Matt had seen Poppy put her jacket on and make her way out to her car. She had left without even saying goodbye, something that was unusual, even for her, unless of course she was in one of her foul moods. He chased her to the end of the car park and intercepted her just in time. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t go. I thought we could have a catch-up when ‘Little Miss Stroppy’ goes home. I think she was just about to order a taxi.’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘No, Matt, I need an early night. It’s been a really long day and I just want to get home.’

  The Geordie was not going to be brushed aside that easily. ‘Come on,’ he said, with a glint in his eye, ‘I will make it worth your while, you know I will. We can go back to the flat and try out the new sheets I bought online. They are pure silk, black silk.’

  Poppy laughed. ‘Fuck, Matt, you are so corny. But I said no! And I meant no!’

  Matt tried one last time. ‘You know you can’t resist me, you know you’re aching for it down there. Come on, make a lonely northerner happy tonight.’

  It was obvious to Poppy that he was not going to take no for an answer. Maybe a small part of her wanted him to grab her, roughly, as he had done that first time they had sex, and just fuck her senseless, there and then on the back seat of her car. But the ‘new’ Poppy simply played with his erotic affections. ‘It’s easy, Matt, just listen carefully,’ she said. ‘When I click my fingers, like this, that will tell you when I want your dick inside me. That will be your cue to come running. So until you hear this,’ Poppy belittled the amorous chef by clicking her fingers in front of his face, ‘I suggest that you just fuck off home and play with yourself. Oh, and try not to make too much mess on your new silk sheets!’

  As her car pulled away Matt looked slightly confused, a dejected figure in the dark and empty car park. He stood in deep thought for a few moments before he decided that he didn’t like this new waitress. The old Poppy was a stoney-faced, moody cow, ignorant, arrogant and churlish, with nothing good to say about anyone. She could be a real bitch at times. But he liked her, he wanted the ‘old Poppy’ back!

  * * *

  When she arrived back at her flat in Eltham, she was still in high spirits, but Poppy’s good mood was soon dampened when she exited her car. He was there again, she could see that towering figure coming down the stairway. She knew it was Neddy, she could recognise him a mile away, six-foot four with those long mauve dreadlocks. But nobody ever laughed at the lanky white man for pretending that he had Rastafarian roots, in fact no one ever laughed at Neddy at all. When she got closer she could see his bulging eyeballs, surrounded by dark circles. Years of substance abuse had not been kind to this giant freak and at thirty-something he already passed for being mi
ddle-aged. They did not speak when they passed each other, a mutual hatred that derived from the Marfield days. She was still sure he had been present when her friend Nikita had been subject to that terrible ordeal at the back of the estate. She would never forgive him, nor any of the others, for that night.

  Poppy had always had one over on this drug-dealing thug though, the fact that she knew his real name. Poppy had been present at Southwark Crown Court on the day he had been called in for sentencing for stealing cars and assault. She almost fell off her chair laughing when she first heard those words, ‘Neville Edwards’. The name ‘Neddy’ might strike fear into the average nobody on the Marfield, but if it was known on the estate that his real name was in fact Neville, he would struggle to hold his own with the year nines in the local school playground.

  He had been friends with Cameron since their teens. The pair had spent some time together in prison for a racial attack. For some strange reason they were both proud of the fact that they had removed foot-long fluorescent light bulbs on a train journey and slashed the face of a young Asian boy. They did this for no other reason than he was Asian. Poppy was surprised when she had heard about the level of violence that had been used, simply because the boy was ‘different’. She was not a fan of Asians herself, not after Nikita had told her that she had fallen prey to a small group of Pakistani men who used her for sex when she was only fourteen years old. But despite the fact that she had no time for the Asian community, she would never have carved her initials into someone’s face with a broken light fixture, simply because of the colour of their skin. She would always need a valid reason to hurt someone, whatever their race or religion.

  As they passed one another, Neddy gave her a knowing stare and sucked his teeth loudly. This was another aggravating trait he claimed he had originated from his Jamaican heritage. She could see his face clearly now. With his bloodshot eyes and haggard features he resembled an extra in a zombie film. It was obvious that they were not going to stop and chat, there was still that bad blood between the two of them. Poppy simply walked on for a few paces and used the only word that she knew that accurately described this lowlife from her past. ‘Cunt!’ she muttered under her breath.

  Poppy was still determined not to let his visit dampen her mood. If Cameron had been truthful and was going to give up, or at least cut down on his drug taking, then scum like Neville Edwards would soon be a thing of the past. But as she neared the front door to her flat she sensed that something was not right. Why would Neddy visit Cameron if it wasn’t something to do with drugs? she thought. The overwhelming stench of freshly smoked skunk hit her hard as she walked up the stairs. She bit the corner of her lip, very hard, but chose to to use a different approach when she entered her home. Maybe giving Cameron the benefit of the doubt would be the best thing to do, after all, there would be no point telling her boyfriend who he can and can’t have in his life. Maybe it would be a good thing if he was offered some ‘gear’ by Neddy. It would test his resolve, show her if he was serious or not about giving up his habit.

  ‘I brought some chicken fillets back from the restaurant, I thought we could heat them up for our supper,’ Poppy said, in a gentle tone, as she entered the flat. There was no response. She tried again. ‘We could watch a film later if you like, but I am going to need to have a bath first, I stink.’ Still nothing. She made her way into the living room where the television was blaring out loudly, with nobody watching, as it was most nights. He was asleep, he was sound asleep on the sofa again. Poppy hung up her jacket and threw the bag with her shiny new boots and top into the corner of the room. No tea and toast waiting for me tonight! she thought. She was still in a passive mood and determined not to let the presence of Neddy spoil things for her, but when she turned back she saw something that was bound to change that. The table was littered with small bags, some with pills in them, some with white powder. Her brain told her instantly that this was all down to Neddy. ‘Cam,’ she said nudging him in his ribs. ‘Cam, get up.’ He ignored her.

  Suddenly, something hit her, it struck her very hard. It was the most daunting feeling of reality, a feeling that made her feel sick to her stomach. She raced into the bedroom and searched frantically beneath her wardrobe. It was gone, the money had been taken. Their only chance of having that normal life she had yearned for had vanished in a split second. She flew back into the living room, the veins on her neck began throbbing, the bitter anger in her eyes apparent. Cameron was awake now and sitting up. He started to rub his eyes. ‘What the fuck!’ he said. ‘What the fuck are you shouting about?’

  Poppy showed him the empty sock. ‘The money, Cam, where has the fucking money gone? Please don’t tell me you have given in to the no-good fuck-wit Neddy!’

  Cameron raised his hands as though he wanted the chance to explain. ‘We are gonna double that cash with this stuff, girl, everything is gonna be good.’

  Poppy shook her head vigorously. ‘No, Cam, I want the money back, I want it back now!’ She ran to the window to see if Neddy was still in view, he wasn’t. She returned to the sofa where Cameron sat. He did not seem too concerned. Poppy raised her voice, but still in a calm and controlled manner. ‘You need to call him, you need to call him right now and tell him you want that money back. Do it now, Cam, do it now or I swear…’

  ‘Swear what?’ he asked. ‘Swear what? I have done a deal for this food and I ain’t going back on it. Neddy would think I was a right cunt if I did. I have already got three or four people in the line to buy the stuff, so stop stressing, just give me a couple of days and you will get your fucking money back!’

  ‘Give me Neddy’s number, Cam!’ Poppy yelled. ‘Give it to me now!’

  ‘I said no! Don’t you ever fucking listen to me? Anyway, where did you get all that cash from? You didn’t get that in tips at that shithole where you work.’

  ‘I was saving it, Cam, it was for Rahwaz, you know he wants to kick us out. You might want to live on the fucking streets, but I don’t. Now give me that number.’

  Poppy began to feel that rush of blood rising in her body. She screwed her hands tightly. There were whispers in her head. She didn’t need them to tell her, she already knew what she was going to do. To hell with those calming colours, she thought, if he didn’t give her that number now, right now, he was dead, she would kill him. But as she turned around to square up to him she suddenly felt the back of Cameron’s hand. It hit her across her cheek with an almighty force, sending her flying over the coffee table and onto the floor. She was not down more than three seconds before she was back on her feet, her legs carrying her forward at a searing pace towards her boyfriend. Lowering her head as she neared him, she caught Cameron full on in the centre of his chest, winding him slightly and knocking him down onto the sofa. She raised her fist high into the air, but he caught it on its way down, twisting her arm and throwing her sideways onto the carpet. In a split second she was back up again, hurtling towards him, screaming like a deranged Indian war chief, but this time her charge had no impact, he stood his ground. She wasn’t giving up, she changed tack now, pulling back her leg and swinging her foot hard in the direction of his genitals. Unfortunately for Poppy, the kick completely missed its target as he turned her body sideways, doing minimal damage to his thigh. She suddenly found herself out of breath. She struggled to muster another kick. Now it was his turn. She had spent most of her energy, he hadn’t, he was ready for this encounter. He reached down and grabbed her by the hair. Yanking it hard he swung her over onto her back, kicking her twice in the side as he dragged her across the carpet. ‘I fucking warned you not to come for me again, you bitch!’ he yelled. ‘You aren’t ever gonna beat me, when are you gonna fucking learn that?’ Poppy swung an arm upwards in an attempt to catch his face, but there was no power there, he simply parried the blow. He dragged her as far as the bathroom, giving her a kick or two en route, before lifting her onto her knees. Pulling back her dangling mane, he continued his t
irade of abuse as he systematically pushed her head against the bathroom door. ‘Don’t ever come for me again or I will finish you,’ he said, aiming one final kick into her shoulder as he released his grip on her hair.

  As he walked away Poppy heard the voices in her head. They were telling her to get up, to find a blade, a knife, anything sharp, to stab him, to kill the bastard. But her brain told her that he was too strong for her, he always was, this was not a battle that she could win. In truth this was a conflict she should never have started. Cameron scooped up the bags of pills from the coffee table and cradled them in his arms before carrying them into the bedroom, his actions mirroring those of a big kid not wanting to share his sweets with his little sister.

  And then, it was as if he had heard those thoughts in his girlfriend’s head. His next task was to clear the kitchen drawers of the tray of knives, forks and all other sharp objects. They too ended up somewhere in his lair, tucked under the pillow where Poppy would usually lay her head. Cameron felt a little safer now that those weapons had been secured, safe enough to give Poppy one last piece of his warped mind. She offered little resistance this time as he grabbed her by the neck and turned her head towards his face. He had that usual vacant look in his soulless eyes as he told her what he really thought of her. ‘Listen to me, filthy skank, I helped you when you needed it and all you have ever given me is grief. Well, them fuckers from the estate are welcome to you now, I ain’t putting my neck on the line for you ever again. Stay or go, I don’t give a fuck what you do now.’ Cameron could not resist cracking her head one last time against the bathroom door, adding a token kick into the small of her back, before walking away.