by Steve Haynes
Book shushes me. ‘Don’t want Mr Cow coming in here.’ She yanks up a corner of the thin mattress, and digs around in there, eventually coming up with a little plastic bag.
‘Here,’ she says. ‘This is all I can do.’
She hands me a crumpled bit of paper, which turns out to be a five-pound note. So old and used, it feels soft, like it might dissolve in the rain. Then she gives me three sticks of Travel Gum – Spearmint Buzz flavour.
‘That’s it, honey,’ says Book, closing my fingers around the gum and money. ‘You’d better go now.’
Three sticks of gum means three visits to Cat World. And that’s when it hits me: I bet Oh’s gone to Cat World! She’s probably there, waiting for me, right now.
I run to the railway yard and get under the tarpaulin. Everything is wet now and I can’t get warm, but I have money and I could buy a match and make a fire. When Oh gets back, she might want that money for something, though. And she probably has a match already. So I just try to find a dry bit of blanket to sit on and unwrap my first stick of gum. It tastes minty and sweet, and reminds me I’m hungry.
Then I am falling through space and I can see Oh’s brown-stick body turning and turning, but it can’t be her, so maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s just like the titles or something. This bit isn’t real anyway.
When I get to Cat World it’s raining there too.
I’m in the kitchen and Oh isn’t there, but I feel like she must be around somewhere, so I don’t panic. I make myself some cereal and eat it, shovelling it in, with my Travel Gum wedged in the side of my cheek. Fruity Loops. My favourite. It doesn’t matter what I eat here, no one ever tells me off and the refrigerator is always full of stuff. In the garden the grass has grown extra-long, probably because of all the rain, and I can’t see any cats around, but the horses are swinging back and forth.
I look all over the house, even under the beds and in the wardrobes. Oh is very good at hiding; we used to play it all the time when I was little. Just in case she’s hiding somewhere, I call out her name: Oh! OH! Where are you? But there is no answer.
After I don’t find her, I sit back down at the kitchen table and look out at the rain. I’ve got this horrible feeling Oh’s out there, outside, with the cats. That means I’ve got to go out there, too. Outside. With the cats.
But the gum is losing its flavour so I chew as slowly as possible and stand in front of the refrigerator, looking at the photographs held on with fridge magnets. There is Oh when she was little, holding Mummy’s hand. Mummy’s hair is all different colours. I’m inside Mummy but you can’t see me yet. They are sitting on the horses and Oh is laughing really hard, like something is just too funny. I wonder who lives in our house now.
And then I am back under the tarpaulin, and my bum is cold, and I curl up as small as I can and try to think about what to do next.
Book brings me a cup of soup with bits of pasta floating in it. The soup is cold. She brings me some bread too, and I eat it all because the food in Cat World is comforting but it doesn’t fill you up. Then she helps me hang out the blanket to dry.
She rolls her trouser legs up over her knees and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. ‘I love the sun, Little One, don’t you?’
I shrug, because it’s not exactly warm, really, and go back to beating the blanket with my hands to scare the bugs away.
‘How’s it going, sweetie? All on your lonely only, eh.’
‘I need some matches,’ I say, holding my palm out to Book. ‘Gonna make a fire.’
‘Ai! You can’t make a fire here, Little One!’
‘Why not?’ I close my fist and shove it in my pocket. There are the two sticks of gum and the soft silky note brushing against my knuckles. ‘Oh always makes a fire if we get too wet, or she makes us run around until our clothes get dry again.’
‘That’s why Oh always smelled like a dying dog, I guess,’ says Book.
‘She does not!’ I put my hands on my hips, and Book laughs.
‘Chill out, Little One. I’m just kidding.’
I remember that Book was the one who never let me join in her and Oh’s games. She said I was too stupid to understand and then when Oh got mad she said, ‘only kidding!’ So, nothing’s changed.
Before she goes, she gives me her jumper and two matches. ‘Don’t freeze to death,’ she says. ‘But be careful about that fire. You don’t want anyone to see it.’
In the end I wait until it’s very dark and raining again, and I build the smallest fire in the world under the tarpaulin. When I light it the space fills up with smoke and I can hardly breathe, but I get warm and I decide to go back to Cat World.
This time something is different. At first I’m not sure what it is, because everything looks the same, but the feeling is different. So I take a look around and see what I can find. It’s just that the back door is open.
The door has never been open before.
The cats can get into the house.
I can go outside.
With the cats.
I stand behind the door, ready to slam it shut if a cat tries to get past me. The horses are swaying back and forth. I can feel the sun on my face, and when I close my eyes, bright white blobs fall down the inside of my eyelids.
I can hear voices that sound like they’re coming from far away. Laughter, some crazy kids laughing. I smile. It must be Oh. I just know it is.
And I want to get to her, find her, bring her back.
But she’s outside.
I could run through the long grass to the tree. I could shout all the way, so the cats can hear me and get out of my way. I’m a brave girl. I’m a big and brave, clever girl.
So I pull the back door open wide, and take a deep breath.
But there is one, right on the doorstep! A black cat, licking its paw. It looks up at me with green eyes and opens its mouth wide like a yawn, and its huge teeth sparkle in the sun.
So instead I go upstairs and I climb into my bed and all my toys are in there. I have a memory of my Mummy sitting on the edge of my bed. I think I can feel the weight of her, near me. She reads me a book, and then she says, time to sleep! And I say, no Mummy, just five more minutes, but she says, come on Little One. She gives me my teddy, the soft black-and-white cow, to squeeze, and I close my eyes and put my head back on the cool white pillow.
The little fire has gone out, and everything in the tarpaulin stinks of smoke. Everything is dirty and wet. Everything is cold.
I think if Oh came back now I would punch her in the face. I would claw her eyes out. I would kick her head in. I hate her! She went without me. She is probably on a boat right now, sailing to some other country where she can be safe and live in a house and grow up, and she has already forgotten all about me.
Book comes and brings me half a sandwich and a cup of tea. She is wearing new jeans that are bright blue, and trainers with orange and red flashes all over.
‘Mr Cow took me shopping,’ she says. She does a little twirl under her umbrella. ‘Not bad, eh?’
I sniff. I pull my knees up to my chest and try to wrap myself around the warm plastic cup of tea.
Book shrugs.
‘Hey, Little One,’ says Book. She takes off her jacket and puts it around my shoulders. ‘Poor thing. Look at you! You can’t carry on like this. You’ll freeze to death.’
I try to shrug, but all that comes is a shiver.
‘Come back with me,’ says Book. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up. Get you a lovely warm bed.’
‘Can’t,’ I say. ‘What if Oh comes back?’
‘Silly,’ says Book, rubbing my arms through the jacket. ‘She’ll find you at Mr Cow’s, won’t she? It’ll be the first place she looks.’
That’s right, I think. Book is right. So I allow her to pick me up and put me on my feet, and we walk holding hands towards the town.
Mr Cow looks inside my mouth and in my ears.
‘What are you looking for?’ I ask, but Book shushes me.
‘She’s scrawny,’ says Mr Cow.
‘She’s young,’ says Book. ‘She’s fresh.’
They are talking about me like I’m not even there.
I have a blanket on the floor. The floor is made of straw, so it’s warm at least. There are about ten of us in the tiny, square room, all clutching our blankets. I thought I would have a cubicle, a real bed, like Book does – but she says you have to work really hard to get one of those.
No one in the room says anything to me, and I am too shy to speak to any of the other girls.
I wind myself up in my blanket, and try to make myself small. Sometimes the door opens and Mr Cow or Book comes in and wakes up a couple of girls. They leave the room together. Sometimes the girls cry, and Book puts her arms around them, mothering them. She shushes them and pushes them gently along. If it’s Mr Cow, he doesn’t say anything. Just grabs their arms and shoves them out of the door.
What happens in the other rooms? I want to ask Book, but she doesn’t look my way. Besides, I’m not sure I really want to know the details. I know the facts – Oh told me all of that ages ago. It’s bad, but you can survive it. It’s work, that’s all. It’s the same work Oh did, before she left.
Some of the other girls cry, but I don’t feel like crying. There’s just this big dry stone inside me now.
Mr Cow says there are rules. He does not let us chew gum. He says it is unladylike, and the customers don’t like it. The customers want us to be there the whole time. So Book goes around the room and picks up every girl’s blanket and shakes it so all their private things fall out: matches and beads and photos, and white pieces of Travel Gum. Book collects all the gum in a plastic bag. When she gets to my blanket, she shakes it out just the same, but I have already hidden my last stick of gum under my foot, and I stand on it the whole time she is looking.
‘Good girl,’ says Book. She hands me the photo of my Mummy. ‘Don’t worry, hon,’ she says, whispering into my ear. ‘I’ll give you some later, don’t tell the others.’
When she is gone, I fold my blanket up and put the photo and my last stick of gum at the bottom, careful not to let any of the other girls see me do it. Is this what Oh had to do, I wonder. Did she use up all the flavour and have to go into the room and be there, the whole time? I look around at the sea of wide, frightened eyes, and one by one, the girls look away. We are not little girls, I think. We are something much more terrible.
It’s not real, I think. It can’t be real. Somewhere there is another me, a me who is asleep in bed with her mummy sitting next to her, her mummy’s weight on the bed next to her. Maybe she is dreaming this. But when I wake up, it’s because Book is shaking my shoulder, and her face is close to mine. I can see the make-up smeared over her skin, the little holes where it has sunk down into her pores.
‘Little One,’ she says. ‘Come on, get up.’
She smooths down my dress with her hands and quickly brushes my hair, then runs a smear of lipstick over my mouth. It’s greasy and tastes bad.
‘Don’t be scared, Little One,’ she says. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say. ‘I want to leave.’
‘You can’t leave now. Mr Cow’s looking after you now.’ Book fiddles with my hair, pushing it behind my ears. ‘You don’t want to be ungrateful.’
She presses two pieces of Travel Gum into my hand. ‘See? I’m helping you.’
I throw the Travel Gum away, behind me, hoping it lands on some other girl’s blanket.
‘Don’t help me,’ I say. ‘You’ve helped me too much already.’
Book grabs my shoulders and puts her face right up to mine. She whispers, hissing through her teeth. ‘You want me to call Mr Cow? I’ll go and get him, shall I, and tell him what a bad, ungrateful little bitch he’s bought?’
I shake my head. I let Book lead me out of the room.
She leads me along a narrow corridor and down two flights of stairs. I notice that the stairs carry on going down, probably going out to the back entrance. Book pushes me along the corridor, and into a room with a bed in it. She gives me a mean look and slams the door shut. I hear the lock being turned.
The room is pink, the colour of bubblegum and dolls’ dresses. I climb up on the bed. The bed covers are pink, too, and lacy and frilly. My legs don’t touch the floor, they dangle down. I swing them back and forth. I have my last piece of Travel Gum in the pocket of my dress. That, and the five-pound note. That’s all I’ve got.
A key turns in the lock.
I jump up from the bed, and run to behind the door.
The man has long hair and a beard, and he is wearing jeans and trainers. He looks kind of nice.
He says, ‘Where are you, honey?’
Then he unbuckles his belt.
The black cat licks its paw and rubs behind its ear. It keeps looking at me with its green eyes.
From far away, I can hear Oh’s laughter. Sunlight sparkles over the whole of Cat World.
The black cat stops washing, and pads towards me. It slinks around my legs, around and around, mewing and purring. It’s hungry.
Oh says, you’ve got to hit them really hard in the balls, because that’s where it hurts the most. You’ve got to use all your power.
What’s power? I want to know.
She taps me in the middle of my forehead, then my chest, then my stomach.
I’m too little, I say.
Oh waggles her eyebrows up and down to make me laugh. Little is good, she says. You’ve got the element of surprise.
His face goes bright red and he doubles over. I might have killed him, but I don’t want to stay to find out. I bolt out of the door and race down the corridor. I’m aware of Book somewhere behind me, screeching, but all I can think about is getting down the stairs and out of the hotel. I feel like I could take off at any time, just fly up into the air as I round the corner of the stairs, leap down the next flight, jump into the stairwell and land on my feet.
There’s a fire door at the bottom of the stairs, but there’s no one there. No guards, just the door. I take it in fast. No guards. No padlock. I hurl myself at the door, and as it swings open, an alarm blares out. It’s too late, though. I’m too fast. I am off and running, running on my bare feet on the wet roads, and I don’t stop until I get to a long street with houses, and then I duck down an alley and let myself into a back garden, and then out through the thorny bushes into the long grass beyond.
I follow her voice, Oh’s voice, through the long grass. The cats wind about my legs. The cats follow me and run ahead. Oh is laughing, laughing in that hard, silly way of hers.
I think she is spinning around and around in the grass. Around and around, with her arms out, spinning until she falls over, and the world keeps spinning her around.
It’s all right, Oh, I call out. I’m coming, I’m nearly there.
Through the tall trees I catch a glimpse of her dancing in the meadow. The sunlight bounces off the grass and the flowers. She is laughing.
The cats run towards her, their tails flickering in the long grass, and I run towards her, too, fast as I can. But my foot strikes something, and I stumble and fall, hurting my hands.
I’m not supposed to see it but I do.
She is lying with her face pressed into the grass. Her hair is all different colours. The men have been here. Her clothes are torn and bloody, her skirt bunched up and twisted round her waist. There are big red gouges down her legs, red and blue inside and squirming with white worms.
And the cats sit a little way away, licking their paws and rubbing them round and round their bloody mouths.
Then we’re in the kitchen and the back door is shut.
You’re a silly, says Oh. You didn’
t see anything, really. She picks me up and sits me on her lap. There we go little baby, who is a little diddums, is it you? Is it my little baby? Don’t cry, Little One, don’t cry, don’t cry.
And by the way, she says, don’t stop running.
The sun is bouncing off the flowers in the meadow. Despite everything, the sun feels good. I hold my arms out and spin around and around, until I’m so dizzy I can’t stand up, and I fall into the soft grass and laugh so hard it’s like I’m crying.
Maybe she is somewhere in the tall grass, somewhere, hidden away. Like my mummy was hidden, after the men came, and we looked for days and days, but the cats found her first. Wherever she is now, I know Oh is not coming back. And I want to be sad, but I can’t, because I haven’t got the time. I want to chew Travel Gum and live in Cat World, and lie down here until my body turns into grass. But I can’t. I have to get to a place where there is a boat. I have to find the women who help. I have to keep running, because it’s what Oh told me to do. Because I’m the only one left in our family, and I have to remember everything.
So I stand up, and brush the grass seeds from my dress, and carry on.
TIM MAUGHAN
Zero Hours
0714, Wanstead
Nicki is awake even before her mum calls her from the other side of the door. She’s sat up in bed, crackly FM radio ebbing from tiny supermarket grade speakers, her fingers flicking across her charity shop grade tablet’s touchscreen. She’s close to shutting down two auctions when a third pushes itself across her screen with its familiar white and green branded arrogance. Starbucks. Oxford Circus. 4 hour shift from 1415.
She sighs, dismisses it. She’s not even sure why she still keeps that notification running. Starbucks, the holy fucking grail. But she can’t go there, can’t even try, without that elusive Barista badge.
Which is why she’s been betting like mad on this Pret a Manger auction, dropping her hourly down to near pointless levels. It says it’s in back of house food prep, but she’s seen the forum stories, the other z-contractors who always say take any job where they serve coffee, just in case. That’s how I did it, they say, forced my way in, all bright faces and make up and flirting and ‘this coffee machine looks AMAZING how does it work?’ and then pow, Barista badge.