by Carol Birch
‘Somewhere.’
‘Ooh – get ’em out.’
‘Oh no.’ I brushed it off. ‘I don’t even know where they are.’
He was in a mood anyway now, no point in making it worse. Johnny hated anything like that.
‘You’ve not lost them, have you?’ Shiv said. I used to read the cards for her in the tent. Made it all up. It wasn’t serious.
‘Not lost them. Just don’t know where they are.’
‘I’d love a reading.’
He was hovering across from me staring, the anger in his face diffused, spreading and drawing in such minor irritations as this. I mean, what was the point of wasting anger on me and Shiv mucking about? God help him, if that bothered him so much, what would he have made of my real moments of weirdness? Nothing strange had happened to me for years. I tried to tell him about the cold boy once but he cut me short. Said it bored him. He came round the table and leaned over me. ‘Look,’ he said with his forehead nearly touching mine, ‘don’t make me out to be the heavy father figure here. It’s just not fair. Don’t you care that she’s dressing like that? She’s putting herself in danger.’ He was right of course. Anything to avoid conflict, that was me. Compromise, compromise, calm down, calm down. They were both right. She should be able to wear what she wanted and walk about like a free woman – Christ, if tribes in the jungle can go naked without raping each other all the time, why the hell can’t we? – without having to be afraid. But he was right too, and in practical terms he was more right. There were predators. ‘Back me up a bit more,’ he said.
‘I am backing you up.’
‘Not really.’
‘I am. I’m agreeing with you.’
‘Don’t be an arsehole, Johnny,’ said Polly, sitting smiling at the table.
‘When was it due?’ Shiv asked Eve, rolling a cigarette one-handed.
‘Ooh,’ Eve said, closing her eyes again. You could see her eyeballs swivelling under her lids as if she was in REM. ‘Four days ago.’
‘It’s not unreasonable of me to say she can’t go out tonight, is it? One night. One night. The film’ll be on for ages, weeks, she can go tomorrow.’
‘Of course it isn’t,’ I said.
‘It’s just funny,’ Polly said, still smiling. ‘Here we all are talking about rebellion and everything, and there she is doing that, as far as she sees it, and what do we do?’
‘Don’t be crass, Poll,’ Johnny said. ‘This is completely different.’
Polly shrugged. ‘Just saying.’
‘I know what you mean, Polly,’ I said, ‘but this is just about safety,’ and she can keep her big nose out of it.
‘I was wondering, Lor –’ Eve’s eyes opened and looked straight ahead. Polly and Eve had the same kind of hair. Polly’s lay flat around her head, Eve’s straggled down over her swollen breasts. The blue veins on them looked sore. ‘Have you got anything I can wear? I’m running out of things.’
‘Kids,’ said Maurice, as if he knew anything about it.
‘It’s what I always say,’ said big Els, stubbing out a cigarette in the ashtray, ‘our kids’ll rebel against us by being dead straight. I mean, it’s really not cool to agree with your parents, is it?’
‘I don’t think I’ve got much, Eve,’ I said. Her head was already drooping.
‘Oh babe,’ she said, ‘anything.’
‘I’ll have a look.’
‘That why you’ve not got a stitch on,’ said Pedro, ‘cos you got nothing to wear? That bad, is it?’ He leaned back on an elbow and unfurled smoke from his lower lip.
Eve ignored him and looked across at Maurice. ‘So,’ she said peremptorily, ‘who are you?’
‘You’ve met me.’ He smiled coldly. ‘Once or twice.’
Maurice scorned hippies and druggies, all the dope-dealers and mystics. All they cared about was getting high and noodling away in their own thick heads while Rome burned. You couldn’t just be silly with Maurice. Or am I remembering this wrong? I think somewhere there’s a trace memory of the three of us, me and him and Johnny, having fun once or twice. Yes, we must sometimes have laughed. But mostly what I remember is how serious everything was all the time, because it really was true, everything really was a horrible mess, and the rich got richer and the poor got poorer and we were ruled by idiots. Maurice didn’t drink or take drugs like everyone else, and neither did Johnny, never touched a drop, never smoked, never lost control. Pure as a baby. You’d never have seen Maurice dance or bop. Well, I never did. In my mind, he stands looking solemn before a wall of books, a weighty one balanced open on one hand, the index finger of the other hand pointing down at a silky page. He’s fooling around for a photograph, but this is really how he is, the antithesis of frivolity.
‘And who’s this lot?’ she asked.
‘This,’ said Maurice, ‘is Pedro.’
‘Hi.’ Pedro waved his fingers.
‘You look like Lil’ Abner,’ she said.
Pedro had never heard of Lil’ Abner, so encyclopaedic Maurice started telling him about the old cartoons and Dogpatch USA and all the socio-economic factors of it. I went into our bedroom to see if I could find some old tent for her. What does she think I am, a dress shop? I dragged out an old smock dress I hadn’t worn in years. I’d never get it back. Didn’t get the last one back, a dark blue thing, still, easy come, easy go. It had a plunging neckline, couldn’t wear that now, my tits are too big. I went back in and Maurice was telling everyone to drink up their coffee and get out there.
‘This any good?’ I asked Eve.
She took it from me like a duchess in a high-end couturier. Johnny was getting his coat on and everyone was standing up. Shiv wore too-tight jeans and they looked funny underneath her enormous square-shouldered jacket. Els shook out her curly red hair.
‘Where you off?’ asked Eve.
‘Demo.’
‘Ah.’
‘You know about the demo?’ said Maurice.
‘Course I do. Watch yourselves.’ She relit her roll-up with someone’s lighter. ‘Things get nasty. Them police don’t care what they do. Bastards!’
Maurice chuckled. ‘I’m with you there,’ he said, patting Eve’s cold naked shoulder.
‘They’re all fucking corrupt.’ She took a long frowning pull on her roll-up and sneezed.
‘Damn right,’ said Polly.
Lily’s door opened. ‘I’m going out now,’ she said, mincing towards the door.
‘Oh Lily, for God’s sake!’ I said. ‘Please!’
‘You’re not, Lily,’ Johnny said, stepping in front of her nimbly and placing himself in front of the door.
‘You can’t stop me, I’ll just wait till you’re gone and then I’ll go.’
‘Enough!’
She started pulling at his folded arms, scratching the backs of his hands with her sharp nails.
‘Ow! Fuck off!’ he said. ‘I’m not moving.’
‘Lily, will you please—’
‘You don’t know a thing,’ she said, ‘you think you know everything but you don’t. You’re just stupid. I know things too.’
‘What?’ asked Johnny. ‘What do you know, Lily?’
‘I know life’s not just about reading books and saying clever things. It’s not. It’s about trying to be nice to people.’
‘Oh, very profound,’ Johnny said and Maurice said something about the harm principle, and she screamed and turned round with her face ablaze and tears starting from her eyes.
‘You think I’m stupid but I’m not,’ she said.
‘No one thinks you’re stupid, love.’ I got up and went towards her but she flounced away.
‘Stupid!’ she said.
‘You’ve just said stupid three times,’ said Johnny. ‘Try and vary your language a bit more, Lily.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eve, opening her eyes and looking sadly round at everyone as if she was about to say something wise. The hard white belly with its straining navel rested on her wide-apart thighs. ‘I don
’t think this baby wants to be born.’
‘Oh please,’ I said, I’m not sure to whom.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Lily,’ Johnny said, ‘go and blow your nose.’
‘You,’ she said. ‘You’re never wrong, are you?’
‘Of course I am.’
I actually wanted to laugh. Johnny was never wrong. Upon this his identity teetered.
‘I’m wrong very often, I’m sure. And I’m not afraid to admit it.’
That was even funnier.
‘Well, you never do,’ she said.
‘If there’s even a possibility of trouble…’ I said. I don’t know why I bothered, they never let me get a word in anyway.
‘Exactly!’ said Johnny.
Lily suddenly deflated. ‘I can’t go out now anyway,’ she said, wiping her cheeks with her hands. ‘My makeup’s ruined. Everything’s ruined.’
‘Oh, come on, Lily!’ I couldn’t bear them all standing around with their half-embarrassed faces.
‘Oh, come on, Lily!’ She screwed up her face like a gargoyle, shot a look of pure hatred at me and then another around the room, one that took in everyone. Then she walked proudly into her bedroom and slammed the door hard. Harriet jumped up and ran after her.
‘Oh dear,’ said Maurice drily, ‘the Great Refusal. Ha ha.’ His eyes betraying nothing because they never did. He took a last noisy swig of coffee.
‘Oh God.’ Johnny stooped to pick up a book from the floor. ‘Can’t we send her to stay with her dad for a bit? Look what she’s done to my hands. Claws.’
At last they were gone, thank God, and it was just me and Eve, who just sat there on the hard chair with her eyes closed and the crappy old smock dress draped over her belly, nodding out like an old person in a care home. Harriet came quietly out of the girls’ room and sprawled next to me. ‘She’s been crying,’ she said.
‘Oh dear. Is she feeling better now?’
She nodded.
‘Should I go and see her, do you think?’
Another nod.
I tapped on her door and went in. Lily was on her bed, reading. The room was a pigsty. She’d redone her makeup, paint thick round her bloodshot eyes.
‘You OK, Lily?’
‘Yeah.’
I had a horrible Barbie vision of her with breast implants and injections. She looked so nice when she was just flopping about at home. ‘Oh Lily,’ I said, ‘do you really want so badly to look like a sex object? You don’t have to do this.’
‘Do what?’ She didn’t look up from her book.
‘Make yourself up as if you’re off on a photoshoot every time you step out of the house.’
Harriet stood at the door, solemnly watching.
‘This is how I want to look,’ Lily said. ‘If I don’t wear my makeup I’m ugly.’
‘Oh, don’t be so stupid!’
‘You’re not!’ declared Harriet, outraged.
‘Yes, I am. It’s just a fact. I’m just facing facts.’
‘You’re not!’
‘Well, Terry doesn’t think you’re ugly,’ I said, ‘that’s for sure.’
‘How do you know? You don’t know what anybody thinks.’
‘He thinks you’re lovely,’ I said, ‘it’s obvious.’
‘You don’t know.’
I lay down on Harriet’s bed. ‘You and Johnny,’ I said, closing my eyes, ‘you’re as bad as each other. Neither one of you sees straight.’
She started crying again. ‘I’m not horrible,’ she said. ‘I’m not! He’s saying I’m horrible and I’m not!’
‘Of course you’re not horrible,’ I said.
‘He thinks I’m horrible! He thinks I don’t care about things! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!’
‘He doesn’t really think that,’ I said, and got up and went to her and tried to put my arms around her, but she wasn’t having any.
Harriet came over. ‘There,’ she said, sitting by her side and stroking Lily’s shoulder. ‘There, Lily.’
‘But my friends are going tonight,’ she said.
‘Well, maybe they shouldn’t.’
Eve called weakly from the other room. ‘Oh God,’ she said when I went in, ‘I think I’m going to have this baby in your flat.’
You are fucking not, I thought. Got to get rid of her.
Thank God Steve came rapping on the door five minutes later, in a terrible mood.
‘Is she here?’
I opened the door and waved towards her.
‘Come on, love,’ he said furiously, ‘I’m going mad here. I need my fucking fix.’
*
Harriet came out and turned on the TV. It was a gentle nature programme about badgers and we slumped together there recovering our wits. Much later Lily emerged and curled herself away in the corner of the settee, sucking her thumb, covering her face and pulling up her fishnet knees.
19
A feeling of grievance rose in Dan’s chest as he stood gazing out of the kitchen window at the drips falling from the eaves. He didn’t want trouble or fuss. Never had done. That’s the last time I do anything like that, he thought. Leave her to it. And these stupid cats taking over.
‘That’s it,’ he said, and turned from the window. He walked with decisive tread into the living room. ‘You!’ he said to the mother cat. ‘You! Out. Now. You and your kits. You can’t have them in here.’ Then he stood with his arms hanging stupidly limp, thinking, if I move them will she eat them or something? Or is that rabbits?
He didn’t want her eating them. Leaving heads about the place. So he flipped up the lid on the laptop and googled ‘moving kittens’. Oh Christ, it’s never just a yes or no, is it? He skimmed. Blah blah… oh, it looks all right. Nothing about eating them. She might abandon them. Well, if she does the RSPCA can sort it out.
‘Time’s up,’ he murmured, stooping over the furry mass. Blind squirmy newborns. The birthing chair was covered with a grimy crocheted blanket, now ruined. Oh well, he always hated it. Hippie seventies shite. Look at them. When do they start shitting? Not in here. He tried scooping the whole striped squirmy lot up in the blanket in one go, but the kittens mewed like seagulls and the mother hissed and lashed at him.
‘Gaa-a-agh!’ He shook her off but she clung to the blanket with four legs, all claws extended. Closing the blanket round them, he bore them away. She hung on, a great weight swinging alongside, something between a snarl and a yowl ululating from her throat, all the way into the back room where all the rubbish was. It was cold in here because of the open pipe where the cats got in and out of the house.
He set them down gently – poor fuckers, five fur blobs – on the floor in a space between the sideboard and a suitcase from around 1958, overflowing with pointless cotton nothings and ancient embroidery silks; my God, what crap, envelopes full of photographs fading away like rocks to the scrape of time, papers, what? Oh my God, chuck the lot. What are these? Papers. Is that what it’s all about? Nothing here can be important after all this time. He dumped the lot out of the case onto the floor. But oh look. A ration card. I should keep that. Historical. Look at that. Ocella Morse. Chuck the lot. Chuck the fucking lot.
‘There!’ He scooped up the kittens, even the indignant mother, and put them in the case, stinky blanket and all.
‘Now shut up,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you some food.’ He went to the kitchen and poured a bowl of kibbles, couldn’t find a spare so gave her his breakfast bowl, filled another with water. Gave them that, pulled another horrible crochet thing off another chair in the living room, gave them that, closed up the room and left them there. Time I did that, he thought. Keep them out. Time I closed that door.
*
Pete and Eric were in the pub. Eric was settling into the look of a seedy guy trying to sell you something you didn’t want. Pete, in an expansive mood, stood everyone a tableful of Nobby’s Nuts and seasalt crisps.
Nobody wanted a kitten.
‘Take ’em down the animal rescue,’ said Eric.
; ‘That’s right.’ Pete ripped open a packet of crisps. ‘They’ll take the lot off your hands. And all them others too. They’ll be glad of it. And they don’t put them down, you know. Not any more.’
It was quiet in the pub apart from the occasional squawk from the old grey parrot. The TV over the bar was on but it was just people talking on a couch and you couldn’t hear a thing they said. You could still hear the sound of the wind. This weather, thought Dan. Not right.
‘Apparently they buried that body,’ Mary said, ‘or what was left of it.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. ’Bout time too.’
‘Well,’ said Marlon, idling on a high stool reading the Examiner, ‘I suppose they’ve got to give it a chance to get claimed or whatever.’
‘I think it’s really sad,’ she said. ‘Think, being dead and no one even knows who you are.’
‘I should think he’s past caring,’ Dan said dryly.
Mary leaned on the bar. ‘Quite a few trees down,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t get to sleep last night.’ The makeup under her eyes was smudged. A tasteful blue tattoo of leaves and vines crept up the side of her neck and vanished behind one ear.
‘Wild near my house,’ said Dan.
‘I’ll bet.’
‘Yes,’ said Eric, ‘the weather’s sure gone funny.’
‘I wish everyone’d stop saying that!’ Pete stuffed crisps into his mouth.
‘Because it is,’ said Eric. ‘Can’t change facts.’
‘All this doom and gloom,’ said Pete, chewing. ‘Gets on my wick, it really does.’
‘People shouldn’t talk and eat crisps at the same time,’ said Eric piously, his face all soft and sunken. Dan looked away. Sometimes the music in here was crap, sometimes it was OK. Tonight it was crap. He didn’t know what it was, a load of gurgling technotwaddle.
‘I’d love a kitten, really I would,’ said Mary, moving down the bar to serve someone who’d just come in, ‘but I just can’t have one.’