Vintage

by Maxine Linnell

  Marilyn slumped back down onto the pillows and read the end of the letter.

  All the best

  Holly.

  She looked at the name, touched the ink on the page as if somehow she could reach out to Holly. Then she crumpled the letter and threw it across the room.

  She couldn’t leave Holly in her life, it wasn’t fair. This was the most difficult decision she’d ever had to make. Could she let go of all this – the best parts, the wonderful parts – and go back to her boring life? And could she trust that it would work out – that she would go to university and have the life she dreamed about?

  Then she knew.

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said out loud. “I’ll be there. We’ve got to find a way back.”

  She couldn’t live a lie all her life.

  She couldn’t abandon Holly in the past.

  She knew Holly couldn’t hear her.

  She didn’t know how they would do it.

  I wake up again. It’s still only 5.30 on Marilyn’s Noddy clock. The little red cap on the boy’s head wags backwards and forwards. He’s laughing at me. There’s no way I can get back to sleep. Got this huge urge to get out of here.

  I lie on my back. Look at the cobwebs on the ceiling. There’s a specially gruesome one with two fly corpses hung in it. Like trophies. No sign of the spider. Expect it’s under the bed. Only I’m not looking.

  Last night was so weird. The youth club. The vicar. Alan. And Dave. Alan’s made his choice, that’s clear. He’s interested in Sheila. But Dave. The loner. I wonder where he lives. Wonder if I could see him today.

  Wonder how Kyle is. Miss him so much.

  Kyle. I sit up. Heart racing. Kyle.

  What is it about Kyle?

  Then I remember the dream. Only a dream. That’s what Mum used to say when I was little. Nightmares. But this dream was different. I was talking to Marilyn, in the dream. Making her help Kyle. He was hurt. Down on the ground. Being kicked.

  Not that it hasn’t happened before. He’s been punched. Spat on. All sorts. But this was evil. He could have been killed. I could have been killed.

  I get up and throw on some clothes. But there’s nowhere I can go. I can’t find him. He’s in another world. I sit back down on the bed.

  I communicated with Marilyn. I got through to her. I know I did. She was doing what I said. She heard. She said okay. Who are you when you’re in someone’s else’s body? Am I her now? Is she me? What’s the difference? Is this how it is when you get reincarnated?

  I wonder if she’s found the note. It’s so long to wait till four. Then I’ll know. At the bus stop. If we can change.

  I go over to the window. The mobile is lying on the table. Switched off. I turn it on. Not expecting anything. The light goes on. It searches for a signal. Searches.

  There is a signal. The name is in some other language, but it’s clear.

  There’s a signal coming from somewhere.

  There’s still some battery left.

  U ok? I send the text to Kyle’s number.

  Then: Meet me at 4 – remember? Holly. I send that to my own number. I can’t think how that might work. But when I press send it goes. Somewhere.

  I turn off the phone. The battery is showing less than half full. Doesn’t last long. Crap phone. Need an upgrade. Must get round dad.

  I wait for a few minutes. Nothing comes back. Of course, it’s still only about six. No way they’ll be awake. After the club.

  I let myself out of the house quietly. I have to walk.

  Anywhere away from here.

  Marilyn went back to sleep, a light sleep with strange images flitting across the edge of her vision. She woke again, and the fear had gone. She could no longer pretend it was night-time. She swung her legs out of bed. Her head swam. She faced the puzzle of what to wear.

  But nothing seemed as difficult as before. She had faced up to a man with a knife. She had saved Kyle.

  It felt like a dream. Something that never could happen to her – something she could never do.

  The clock said it was after ten. Did they go to church here? If so, it must be a late service. But Holly’s mum talked about going out for breakfast earlier, so it didn’t sound like church was part of Holly’s life.

  Holly. She remembered the voice in her head last night, the voice that told her what to do, told her to save Kyle. Holly’s voice.

  But it was Marilyn who did it all, Marilyn who saw the glint of the knife, Marilyn who put up her own arm to stop the man knifing Kyle.

  There was no sign of Holly’s voice in her head now.

  She looked in Holly’s chest of drawers for some underwear. At home she had two Marks and Spencers bras that used to be white, and four pairs of knickers, large and also whitish. Holly’s underwear was different. Lacy bras in wonderful colours and patterns. She picked one out and tried it on. Somehow it still came as a surprise to find it fitted her perfectly. She looked for a matching pair of pants. But there was nothing except a strange object that looked like a suspender belt with a narrow gusset slung beneath it. She threaded her legs through it and pulled it up. It slipped between her buttocks. This felt disgusting. She looked in the mirror, turned to look at her back view as well as she could.

  She smiled.

  She found some tight trousers, like the ones Kyle was wearing, and slid them up her legs. How odd that boys and girls wore exactly the same things. She finished them off with the studded belt. Then a sloppy stretch top with a wide neck that showed the bra straps. She tried to hide them, but she couldn’t and gave up.

  She went over to the window to brush her hair, and saw the mobile on the table, with the note next to it. A blue light on the mobile was flashing. She picked it up. It showed there was a message.

  It’s Sunday morning. Six a.m. My mum would never believe I was out this early. Quiet. So quiet I can hear the birds. A flock of sparrows flies overhead. Getting rare in my world. Here they’re all over the place.

  I walk down the hill towards the coffee shop. Somewhere to go. Seems a year since I got here. But it’s less than two days. I go on past the cafe that isn’t the coffee shop. Where Sheila lives. Pink curtains closed.

  I look at all the changes there have been. Nowhere’s the same. No takeaways. No chains, except for the Co-op. That’s still there. I see a man ahead of me. Familiar. Wish I’d remembered to put Marilyn’s glasses on so I could see properly. He’s walking really slowly, head down. I soon catch him up. When I’m just behind him I realise it’s Dave.

  “Hi,” I say. Feeling awkward.

  He’s looking thinner in the morning light. Stubble on his face. The leather jacket’s worn.

  He looks round.

  “Little Marilyn. You’re full of surprises. What are you doing up so early?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

  “My dad kicked me out. Drunk. He was, I was, we both was.”

  “What about your mum?”

  “She cried. Always does. Makes no difference. Going down the park.”

  I walk alongside him.

  “Can I come?” I sound like an eight year old.

  He doesn’t answer. His hands are in his pockets. Shoulders hunched.

  “If you like.”

  We walk towards the park. Turn in at the gates. They look rusty and bent, but they’re the same gates I know. Knew.

  “Parkie’s not about.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Park keeper. Sometimes lets me sleep in here. Known me for ever.”

  We head towards the playground. Wooden swings and a slide, that’s all, with concrete underneath. Totally dangerous. Haven’t they heard of health and safety?

  Dave sits astride a swing. I sit on the next one. Kick the swing into action. I can see his face. Doesn’t look so fit this morning. But I don’t feel like kissing anyone. Even for Marilyn’s sake. Dead sure he hasn’t brushed his teeth.

  “Don’t you have a job – or go to college, something?”


  “On the dole now. Don’t get on with learning. Got my bike. Good enough for my dad. Not enough jobs for everyone, Dad says. Good when someone doesn’t mind – being on the dole. Then the ones that do can work.”

  “What about your mum?”

  “Always in the kitchen. Or cleaning. She got some cleaning jobs, but they don’t last. She doesn’t turn up when he’s hit her.”

  “Couldn’t she go to a refuge or something?”

  “What’s that when it’s at home?”

  “Somewhere for women – and kids – to go when they’re beaten up at home. My mum does some work at our local one – it’s not far from here...” I stop.

  “What planet you from? Only refuge my mum’s got is the bottle, she says. She goes and stays with our nan when Dad gets out of hand.”

  “But she always comes back?” Beginning to sound like my mum.

  “Where else would she go?” Dave stops swinging and gets up.

  Sighs.

  “Then there are the little’ uns. Our Bethan’s only four. Got to go.”

  “Shall I – see you again?”

  “What d’you mean? I’m always round here, you know that.”

  “I mean – it’d be cool to see you later – maybe. We could go for a walk – you know.”

  “Mebbe.” He walks away. Shoulders higher now, upright. Hands deep in his pockets. I want his arms round me.

  “See you.”

  He walks towards the gates as I swing higher. Air rushes past my face. Muscles pull against the chains. Legs pumping. The swing jumps at the top of its rise. That moment when time stops for a second. Before gravity brings it flying down again. When you think you could swing right over the top of the bar. You want to, but you don’t at the same time. Because if you did, who knows what might happen?

  But it already has happened.

  GET DOWN HERE – U FORGOT U R HELPING WITH BREAKFASTS? MRS L

  Forgotten? She must have. Marilyn raced into some black clothes, found some shoes that would do, ran down the stairs and out of the house.

  She was panting when she got to the coffee shop. The windows were misted over. There was the bitter smell of coffee and the noise of people at the tables, families with children, couples, the odd single person buried under a newspaper. It was full. Mrs L was flustered and red-faced, diving between the tables and the kitchen, ducking through the newspapers and chairs. Marilyn spotted Holly’s mum and a man sitting at a table in the corner, but Mrs L grabbed her arm before they saw her. Marilyn winced; she’d forgotten the slash on her arm.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Then I’ll get in that kitchen. The orders are on the board. Tables four and five haven’t ordered yet, you can take those first. Who’s that man with your mum? Ewan and Maya will be along to take over at 12.30.”

  Table four was Holly’s mum and the man – Martin. Marilyn picked up the order pad and a pen, took a deep breath and walked over.

  “Morning. What can I get you?”

  Holly’s mum looked up.

  “Holly! Didn’t know you were working here this morning. Martin, this is Holly, my daughter.”

  Martin’s hand was playing with the fork on the table as he looked up at Marilyn. He was okay; old, but okay. But he wasn’t Holly’s dad. How could her mum be seen in public with another man?

  He looked awkward. “Hi there. Heard a lot – I mean your mum told me a bit about you.”

  There wasn’t much Marilyn could say to that. She didn’t know much about Holly, so she could have asked him and got some history. But there was no time for chat with all the tables buzzing.

  Holly’s mum took over. “Scrambled eggs please, granary toast, and a large cappuccino. We’ve been waiting ages.”

  “I know, sorry, I went back to sleep. And I’d forgotten. Mrs L texted me.”

  “I can tell. You haven’t brushed your hair this morning.”

  Marilyn put her hand to her head, and her sleeve fell up her arm. Holly’s mum spotted the cut. Her face went white.

  “What’s that on your arm – you haven’t – are you okay?”

  She was on her feet, taking Marilyn’s arm and pulling the sleeve back further. The cut was healing over already. It wasn’t deep, and it was only a few centimetres long.

  People at the other tables were looking. Marilyn pulled her arm away and tugged the sleeve back down over the cut.

  “What would you like?” she asked Martin.

  He shot a look at Holly’s mum, then asked for a full English breakfast and a pot of tea. Holly’s mum sat down again.

  “I’ll talk to you later, right?”

  Marilyn wrote down the order, looked at her briefly and nodded.

  The morning flew by. People were standing at the door waiting for tables. Mrs L covered the kitchen, and it was just possible for Marilyn to do the waitressing. She picked up a few tips as people left and she was feeling pleased with herself.

  A boy with shaved hair and an earring in one ear came in to take over the kitchen, along with a girl Marilyn recognised from the club last night.

  Mrs L took off her apron and smiled at Marilyn.

  “Come on, we’ll go upstairs and have a break – get yourself some breakfast.”

  I swing in the park. Alone now. I think of Sheila, who can’t imagine leaving her parents. She might stay there forever for all I know. I think of Marilyn and her sad wardrobe. Hope she gets to university. And gets laid before long. Perhaps by Dave. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. He won’t do forever, but he’d be fun for her. For a while.

  I feel as if I should pack. I’ve been here since Friday. There must be stuff to take back. But there’s only the pendant Kyle gave me. I’ve got that on under Marilyn’s clothes. And the mobile. Not much battery left, and nowhere to charge it. Even if I did have my charger, the electrics are different here. Round pins. Weird. Marilyn hasn’t answered my text. She might never have got it. I so want to get home. It’s hours till four. And then, I don’t know what could happen. Will it work?

  How am I going to do it? I won’t let the thought settle. Think positive. The change has got to happen, that’s all. Can’t stay here another day. She can’t have my life any longer. Who knows what she’s doing? She could have wrecked everything.

  So much to think about.

  In the end, I wander back home. Eight o’clock now. Wish I’d made the meeting time earlier. But there’s something about the same time. Don’t know why. I get back into bed. In all my clothes. It’s cold in here with no central heating. Getting comfortable, heading for my favourite fantasy, the guy across the road and me.

  The door opens. Marilyn’s mum puts her head round. Like I want her in my fantasy. Like I want her in my room. Like I want her in my life. She doesn’t hear the piss-off noises in my head. If she did she’d be out of here.

  “Sunday, church, it’s time we left.”

  She’s wearing a matching jacket and skirt. Very red lippie with blue eyeliner badly smudged over her eyelids. Powdery stuff on her cheeks. Head scarf balancedon her hair. Pictures of peacocks or something. Terrible.

  I don’t move. She comes in and pulls the blankets back. I can’t believe that. Open my mouth to tell her to get off me. But she’s in there first.

  “You’ve got your clothes on – in bed! What do you think you’re doing? You didn’t even get undressed last night. You’re turning into a little slut, I told your father you would. He’s too soft with you, you’re spoilt rotten.”

  I want to tell her she’s supposed to give me unconditional love. Tell me off for what I do, not who I am. Funny. I’m starting to agree with Mum.

  “How’s that supposed to make me a better person? You’re such a crap mother, you only think about yourself. It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

  I’m sitting up on the bed now. Didn’t mean to shout at her, but this is too much.

  She almost runs across the room and suddenly she’s slapping me on the fa
ce, not hard, but I’m so shocked I scream out.

  “You’ve got to learn, do you hear? No man will take you on like this.”

  She stops hitting me. Slumps beside me on the bed.

  “I don’t need a sodding man to take me on.”

  “You might think that now, but you wait – you wait, you and your fancy ways. Don’t come crying to me when you’re on your own and nobody wants you. Thank goodness we’ve got little Andrew, he’s got a sensible head on his shoulders. He’ll never let us down.”

  “I hope he does, for his sake.”

  She burst into tears. Flings her arms round me. Smells of cheap perfume. Powdery.

  “I always wanted a daughter, someone I could go shopping with and confide in and who’d love me. I don’t know where I went wrong with you.”

  I don’t know either, not knowing the history in full, but I can make some guesses. I find myself putting my arms round her and holding on while she wails into my shoulder.

  “Why can’t you be normal? Happy?”

  “Like you?”

  Don’t start.

  Don’t even go there.

  The door opens again.

  Come in everyone.

  This is open house.

  I put a sign out, didn’t I?

  Please disturb me.

  It’s working.

  I’ve only seen the father behind a newspaper. Silent at the table. Now he’s coming in. Face tight behind his black-rimmed glasses.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  As if he couldn’t see. Marilyn’s mum draped over my shoulder. Weeping.

  “Look at her, just look at her.” Marilyn’s mum wails louder.

  “Looks like normal to me.”

  “She’s gone to bed in her clothes. It’s disgusting.”

  “I didn’t, I’ve been up since six, been to the park.”

  “You see dear, an explanation. I knew there’d be an explanation.”