‘What yer doin’?’ A high piping voice. ‘Yer’ve been sick. Have you got a nosebleed?’
I tried to lift myself up but nothing worked.
‘Can you get Diane?’ My voice worked. It sounded so ordinary. ‘She’s at number twenty-three.’
‘Alright.’
I closed my eye.
‘Sal? Oh my god.’
‘I brought you some flowers,’ I said, ‘but I don’t know where I’ve put them.’
Things were a bit hazy after that. All I wanted was to dive into sleep, where the hurting couldn’t follow, but they kept waking me up. Lifting me into the ambulance, making me stand up for the X-ray, asking me to look at lights, turning me over to stitch my ear and cheek. They kept me in overnight. I was mildly concussed.
Comes from having your head stamped on.
At some point, I’d agreed to report it to the police. The following morning, people started crashing trolleys around at six am. By the time a policewoman arrived at nine-thirty, I was ready for another night’s sleep.
Her questions made me feel wobbly. Added to that, I couldn’t give a decent description of my assailant – young white man dressed in casual clothes. Nothing memorable, no memory of the make of the car – maybe it was maroon or blue. No, I didn’t know him, no, nothing was stolen. But...I told her about the threatening phone-call, the paint. I explained that I thought Smiley had me beaten up, to warn me off. I told her to pass it all on to Detective Inspector Miller at Bootle Street. She raised her eyebrows at that. Name dropping again.
‘Perhaps you need to take out an injunction against this man?’
Yeah, then I’d really feel safe. I nodded. Closed my eyes. Go away. Let me sleep.
There were a dozen of them round my bed. The one with the receding hair-line muttered something at me, plucked the chart from the bottom of the bed and fired questions at the others. When they moved on, I called a nurse over.
‘When are they sending me home?’ I asked. ‘Do I need to see the doctor?’
‘You just seen him.’
‘But he didn’t tell me anything.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can find out for you.’ I heard her exercise sandals clop against the lino, as she made her way back to the nurses’ station at the end of the ward. I was just dozing off again when she returned. ‘We’re keeping you in for another night,’ she said. ‘Just a precaution.’
‘What have I got, apart from the stitches?’
‘Three broken ribs, bruising to the coccyx, superficial lesions.’
I knew she meant cuts. ‘What about my eye?’
‘Burst blood vessel – it’ll soon sort itself out. Looks worse than it is. The stitches will come out next week, the ribs just need a bit of time.’
I asked for more painkillers and got them. And slept. They woke me up and plonked a plate in front of me; grey curls of flesh, yellow re-heated mash.
‘I’m a vegetarian.’
‘Well, there’s nothing down here,’ retorted the woman with the trolley.
‘Nobody asked me,’ I explained feebly.
She banged the plate back on the trolley. ‘There probably won’t be any left now,’ she complained.
Well, it’s not my fault, fuckface.
A few minutes later, a new plate was slammed down on my tray. The same yellowing potato accompanied now by a watery cauliflower cheese. The cauliflower had disintegrated into a grainy puree and the sauce had a sharp, sick smell. I was hungry but the smell made me gyp. As soon as she was out of sight, I put the tray on my locker and curled up under the covers.
Early afternoon. Ray came, bearing some wholemeal bread, fresh cheese and a bowl of three-bean salad glistening in its dressing. Plus a carton of freshly squeezed orange juice. Heaven.
‘You didn’t bring Maddie.’
‘At school. I thought it’d be best to carry on as normal.’
I bit off some bread. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘That you tripped and banged into a wall.’
‘That old favourite.’
‘And I told my mum you were mugged. You okay? Looks nasty.’
‘It hurts. These are really sore,’ I pointed to my cheek and my ear, ‘and I’ve three broken ribs.’
He nodded. ‘We came down last night but you were out of it.’
‘I don’t remember much about last night.’
‘So what really happened?’
As I told Ray the sequence of events, I found myself getting angry, outraged at the injustice of it.
‘The fucking bastard, he rings me up, issues threats, so I do what he says. I don’t go near and what happens – he still does me over.’
‘But it wasn’t him – this Smiley bloke?’
‘Not in person, no. But I bet he set those goons on me, without even giving me a chance to do what he wants.’ I was getting aerated; the people at neighbouring beds began to cast glances my way.
‘You must report it, Sal.’
‘I have.’ Injured tone. ‘I gave a statement this morning.’ I concentrated on the salad for a while. Then I asked Ray to bring Maddie in for visiting that evening.
‘But you’re coming home, aren’t you? That’s what the nurse just told me.’
‘No, they said they wanted to keep me in another night.’
‘Hang on.’ Ray walked down to the nurses’ station and came back with one of the nurses I didn’t know.
‘I thought I was staying in,’ I began.
‘Well, as there’s been no complications, Doctor’s happy for you to be discharged this afternoon.’
‘When was that decided?’ I asked. I was puzzled at the sudden change.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve just come on shift. But if a patient’s doing well enough, doesn’t require any special treatment...’
Light dawned. ‘You need the bed, don’t you?’
She avoided the question. ‘If there’s any concern, you just ring in. And you’ll have your out-patient’s appointment next week. Excuse me.’ She smiled brightly and escaped.
‘Don’t tell me you want to stay here.’ Ray was appalled.
I shrugged. ‘At least someone else does the sheets and clears the rubbish up. Oh, shit.’
‘What?’
‘Can you ring Nina Zaleski for me? The number’s in the address bit of my diary, in my bag.’ Suddenly, I was confused. Where was my bag? ‘I don’t know where my bag is, Ray, I didn’t take it to Diane’s.’
‘Calm down, I’ll find it. So, I ring this woman and say...
‘I left some rubbish at the side of her house. Tell her not to chuck it, I want to go through it.’
Ray had a peculiar look on his face. I laughed, then gasped as the stitches tugged round my cheekbone.
Ray would come back for me at five. I told him where to find my clothes.
‘My mum’s offered to help out for a couple of days.’
‘Oh.’ My stomach dipped with disappointment.
‘She means well,’ he said.
Maybe. Well, the kids would enjoy it and Clive would go all smarmy.
‘The meeting, last night, Clive...’
‘He didn’t show.’
‘What?’ I didn’t even get the satisfaction of having stood him up. ‘This isn’t on, Ray. We should just give him notice.’
‘And lose all the money he owes?’
‘You think he’s going to pay?’
‘Yeah, he bloody well is.’
I shook my head. ‘No chance. He’s up to his eyes in debt. Where’s he going to get that sort of money from? We should just cut our losses.’
‘No way.’ Ray was getting steamed up, the skin round his lower lip white and taut.
‘Ray, he isn’t worth it. ‘I put my hand on his forearm. ‘He’s a little shit and I don’t want to waste any more emotional energy dealing with him.’
‘Where are we going to find eight hundred pounds?’
‘It’s not that much.’
‘It is. Six hundred p
ounds rent, the rest in bills – more, if you include this quarter’s.’
‘Oh God, not now.’ I held up my hands.
‘Okay.’ Ray pushed back his chair and picked up the empty salad bowl. Told me he’d be back about five.
I wanted a shower and asked for a fresh robe. There wasn’t one. The nurse managed to dig out two hand towels, stiff with months of boil-washing. I shuffled to the bathroom, feeling unsteady on my feet. My weak ankle had returned to normal size. I guess it couldn’t keep up with the competition.
I surveyed my face dispassionately. The inch-long cut on my cheek, with its neat black stitching, looked ugly but I’d been told the scar would be very faint. There was bruising around both my eyes and the left one still had its maze of red spidery threads and small clots across most of the white. I couldn’t see my ear, which had been torn and stitched. The hair around there was harsh with dried blood and dirt.
I undressed and it was then that I caught a glimpse of my body, reflected from the full length mirror and back into the one above the basin. Bruises; huge savage purple and yellow mottles on my thigh, above my buttocks. Looking down, another the size of a saucer below my breast. I looked away.
In the cubicle, I turned the shower on full, hot as I could bear it. Under cover of the streaming, steaming water, I gave in to the pressure that had been swelling like a balloon in my chest. With my fists balled, I mouthed all those age-old clichés, railing against my pain, my outrage and sorrow. Over and over again. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, you bastard, you bastard, you fucking bastard, it’s not fair.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
With an unusual sensitivity, Maddie treated me with great love and attention on my return. It wasn’t just in the way she was physically careful, sitting beside me rather than clambering on my lap, but also in the quick glances I noticed, where she seemed to be checking I was still okay. Her solicitude made me feel all teary.
I’d no energy and I was tucked up and sleeping before nightfall. When I finally hauled myself out of bed, eyes wincing at the harsh daylight, I was perversely pleased at the way my body ached. If I was physically in pain, it didn’t leave as much space for worrying about the deeper hurts, the anxiety and fear below the surface.
Downstairs, the house was a tip. At least Nana Tello and I didn’t compete over housework. She loathed cleaning. I’d no need to worry about sticky shelves and a smelly fridge.
I had tea and toast while she talked about the crime wave, about the Ordsall riots, the Moss Side shootings. She went through all the acquaintances she had who’d ever been mugged or burgled. She blamed the parents, she blamed the teachers, she blamed godlessness and the lack of National Service. She never mentioned poverty or inequality. Then she began to lecture me about not looking after myself, out at all times of the day and night, these places...
‘It was broad daylight. I was walking a few yards from my car to Diane’s door – what should I have done?’ I demanded.
‘Well...’ She was stuck for an answer. Her eyes shifted about, looking for a safer topic. ‘Clive’s a nice boy, you lucky to get a lodger like that.’
‘Clive’s a little shit, actually. We’re gonna chuck him out.’
‘Sal!’ She exploded.
‘I’m going back to bed,’ I said, ‘I feel sleepy.’
She clicked her tongue. Her face set with offence. I was too cross with her to apologise.
I wasn’t sleepy. I didn’t get into bed. Instead, I sorted out my drawers. I reunited pairs of socks, cleared out knickers with holes or dead elastic. I folded T-shirts and sweaters, put aside some for jumble, others for dusters. I cleared out my jewellery box. I dusted the clutter of little bottles on my shelf by the mirror and hung up the heap of clothes on the chair by the wardrobe. My thoughts fluttered about. I avoided trying to concentrate on anything. I lay down again and listened to the rain, the blackbird and the chatter of the magpies. I slipped into sleep and woke stiff and tense, with fragments of an ugly dream dissolving into obscurity.
Knocking at my door. ‘Come in.’
‘Sal, I brought you tea.’ She held up a mug.
‘Thanks.’ I wriggled up to a sitting position. My ribs hurt like hell. ‘I’m sorry about before.’
She sucked her teeth. ‘You should be,’ she said. ‘It’s bad for a woman, this language.’ She put my tea down and began to smooth the edge of the duvet with her hand.
‘We are asking Clive to go, though.’
‘Why?’
Didn’t Ray ever tell her anything? ‘He doesn’t pay the rent or the bills. He’s unreliable, he lies...’
‘He’s young,’ she said, her voice dripping indulgence. ‘He has to learn.’
‘Yeah, well, we’re teaching him a lesson.’
She sighed. So did I. She couldn’t see beyond Clive’s gross flattery. While I could imagine the savage way he’d caricature her to his friends. The crazy Italian Mama with the thick accent.
Tears came from nowhere and dripped in my tea. I put it down, astonished.
‘Oh, there, now lovey.’ She pulled my head to her bosom. I cried a bit but the jerking hurt my ribs. I quietened and pulled back.
‘I don’t know why I’m crying,’ I said.
“Cos they hurt you; you hurt, you cry.’
That simple.
‘Mrs Fraser cried for weeks and they didn’t mess her face up like they do you. I said to her, you cry, you cry all you like. Now,’ she stood up and put her hands on my shoulders, ‘I’ll get you some nice food, you see.’
I waited till she’d closed the door before giving in again to soft little sniffles of self-pity. Easier on the ribs but, even then, the way I screwed my face up tugged at the embroidery.
Invalid food Italian-style was a rich tomato soup followed by a creamy macaroni cheese pie. I ate like it was mid-winter and I was a navvy. Nana Tello beamed with pride. We were at peace for all of two hours. Till the kids came home.
Ray had gone to Asda. The rest of us were watching children’s television. I went to make drinks and caught the remarks as I came back into the lounge.
‘Knees together, Maddie, that’s right.’ Maddie was perched on the edge of the sofa, knees and ankles pressed together.
‘You don’t have to sit like that, Maddie.’ I tried to keep my tone light. Nana Tello glared.
‘Nana said.’
‘Well, I don’t think you need to bother about it.’
‘She’s showing her knickers,’ Nana hissed at me.
‘She’s four years old, for Christ’s sake.’
She drew breath sharply at my blasphemy but ploughed on. ‘There’s a lot a funny people about.’
‘I know, but that’s nothing to do with how Maddie sits or what she wears – don’t start blaming her.’ It was the old ‘she asked for it’ mentality. I was tempted to chuck in Martin Hobbs as an example, but I didn’t want to escalate the argument. I could see Tom looking worried. ‘I’m going in the garden.’
The rain had stopped, everything was sodden. Fresh sweet-peas decked the canes. The grass needed mowing as soon as it dried off and I was up to it. I pottered round, dead-heading window boxes and tubs, making a mental note to tidy up the rockery, where periwinkle and alyssum were fighting for space.
I’d been hoping to hear from Inspector Miller. Surely he’d take my allegations a bit more seriously, now I’d been duffed up? I suppose he was busy making the case against Derek Carlton; a minor assault like mine would be low on the list. And it wasn’t actually Smiley who’d jumped me. It still seemed grossly unfair that Smiley had sent his dog-men after me without even waiting to see if I’d heeded his warning. I guess I expected even villains to play by some sort of rules. Naive.
My mind turned from work to money. The lack of it. If Ray was right about Clive’s debts, then I needed to up my production level. Get more work. My stomach lurched. Work. I should’ve been at the electrical goods shop, seeing the man about suspected pilfering. Shit. I tried to ring and got the ansaphone. Left
a grovelling apology and begged him to contact me again if he thought we could do business. Kept it vague enough so it wouldn’t alert any potential pilferers to the nature of my job. Pilfering always smacks of missing biros and envelopes, but this bloke’s losses were running into hundreds a month; microwaves and VCRs going walkies.
Oh, well. My advert would be in at the end of the week. Maybe now was a good time to reapply for Housing Benefit. Given the paltry level of income over the last few weeks, I’d probably qualify again. Or should I go for family credit? I couldn’t get both, and family credit meant free prescriptions and dental care. I didn’t want to wallow in my poverty. It was time to start thinking positive and looking ahead. I could follow up the ad in the paper with a few cards in shop windows.
The trouble was, I was still holding onto the letter to Martin Hobbs, an obligation hanging round my neck like an albatross. What could I do now? He hadn’t come to the door when I’d called last time. There’d definitely been someone there, radio playing, water running. I needed some proof he was there, then perhaps I could send the letter by recorded delivery. Make a copy for safekeeping? It was time to do some muck-raking.
I rang Nina.
‘What’s with the garbage, Sal?’
‘Sorry. I thought if I went through it I might be able to tell if Martin was staying there. You know, different cigarette packets, frozen dinners for two, maybe even correspondence to Martin. If you could just hang on to it for a while?’
‘How long is a while? If the weather gets any warmer it is not going to be very pleasant.’
‘I know. It’s just that I’ve had...’ what would Ray have said ‘...a bit of bad luck.’
‘So I hear. Your husband said you were mugged.’
‘He’s not my husband.’
‘Well, that’s stupid. If he dies, you have a whole heap of legal trouble to prove you should get the house and...’
Looking for Trouble Page 19