The More You Ignore Me

by Jo Brand

  He hated the tight little trio of these two girls and Mark. He had been glad of the opportunity to hit Mark a few times in the market square recently and abhorred the way ‘that fucking nutter’ idolised ‘that stupid poof from Manchester. And now here he was at a party with them, boasting to his friends that he would have both girls tonight. His two sidekicks sniggered and swigged cider.

  The party progressed pretty much as parties do with no parents present, loud music and plenty of cheap drink. At first the level of excited chatter and laughter was reasonably low, then it began to rise as more cider and cheap lager was poured down throats. The alcohol allowed confidence to grow and soon groups got up and began to dance in the small space that had been cleared by chairs being pushed back, tables folded and paraphernalia thrown into cupboards. The usual people hung around in the kitchen, picking at crisps and mini sausages and listening to gossip about the progress of various couplings.

  People wandered out into the garden despite the cold weather and little groups passed round cigarettes from packets of ten. It was hot inside and getting hotter. Mark, Karen and Alice sat lined up on an old settee discussing Alice’s disastrous night in Wolverhampton. Karen thought the account of Alice being relieved of her Morrissey T-shirt and bumping into her mad mother who seemed to have hitched up with an ageing lorry driver was a bloody good story.

  ‘I bet Morrissey was crap anyway, Alice,’ she said, trying to find something positive about the night. ‘You were better off outside with all the others I would have had a right laugh.’

  Alice shook her head. ‘Karen, you’ve got no bloody idea. I’d been waiting for this night all my life. Remember what happened the time before with my nan? I feel like it’s never going to happen.’ A tear ran down her face and Karen felt absolutely helpless. She couldn’t envisage a situation which could cause her such silent grief. Maybe one of her parents dying? Mentally she shook her head. No, not even that.

  She put her arm round Alice. ‘I’m sure you’ll get another chance.’

  ‘I just feel like I won’t,’ said Alice, ‘as if somehow it’s destined not to happen.’

  Karen had very little ability to view life in the abstract and decided not to explore this statement.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a dance.’ She threw off a cardigan which had been concealing the glory of her magnificent chest tightly contained within a gold low-cut top and hauled herself up, grasping Mark by the hand as she did so.

  The expression on his face told her all she needed to know about his enthusiasm for dancing.

  He turned to Alice.

  ‘Coming?’ he said.

  To his surprise, she rose; he knew she hated nothing more than to be forced into the swaying awkwardness that was parry dancing.

  ‘You go and dance,’ said Alice. ‘I’m just going outside for some fresh air.’

  Karen entered the throng with Mark awkwardly behind her, bouncing a little on his toes in an approximation of dancing. Alice picked her way gingerly through to the kitchen, nodding at familiar faces as she passed them. She opened the back door and the cold air hit her like a wonderful relief. It was a big garden, illuminated near the house by the light from the windows. She chose not to stay there but wandered further down, gradually disappearing out of the light towards a dark clump of trees.

  As she sat down on a rickety chair near the trees, she heard a low giggling and her natural urge to flee whatever humanity had emitted the giggling stalled as Stephen Matthews loomed out of the darkness, his face wearing the vacuous expression she had come to know so well over the years.

  ‘Well, fuck me, if it isn’t nutty trousers’ daughter come out to take the air,’ he said, waiting for a reaction from his two lieutenants.

  He was rewarded by a snort from the two of them.

  The sickly smell of cider was on his breath, combined with a waft of cannabis.

  Alice turned to go. Stephen Matthews grasped her arm.

  ‘Stay and have a smoke with us,’ he said. ‘We all know your old man, the skinny hippy, does it so it won’t be a new experience for you.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Alice, her voice sounding thick in the cold air, a combination of fear and anger.

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ said Stephen. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’

  Alice felt her heart beat a tiny bit faster. She looked towards the house which seemed to have moved back several miles.

  Stephen put his arm round her and held tight to her shoulder, adding the smell of sweat and cheap aftershave to her overloaded senses.

  ‘Get off,’ said Alice. ‘I want to go back inside.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ said Stephen. ‘Let’s all have a bit of fun out here, shall we?’

  Alice attempted to squirm out of his grasp but before she could, his two friends were on her, Half laughing, half growling, they pushed her to the ground and three pairs of hands began clawing at her clothes and slipping under the outside layers.

  Alice opened her mouth to scream and a hand was clamped over it.

  ‘Come on,’ said Stephen. ‘You know you want it.’

  In the parallel universe where Alice was able to coldly observe the incident, she caught herself thinking, Jesus, what a fucking cliché.

  She bit the hand that was over her mouth, eliciting a loud cry of pain and then a punch. She screamed as loudly as she could.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ said Stephen. ‘Now you’re going to get it.’

  Alice continued to scream and as dirty hands with bitten nails attempted to drag off her jeans, she became aware of two extra voices shouting and then two bodies joining the squirming heap on the ground.

  She was pulled up by a strong hand. Mark and Karen were beside her.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Stephen,’ yelled Karen.

  For a second shame flitted across Stephen’s face and then he regained his composure.

  ‘She came out here for it,’ he said, staring at the ground. Mark and Karen took hold of Alice and steered her towards the house. Alice felt almost too shocked to breathe and when she did, big sobs catapulted out of her.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Mark. ‘You’re OK.’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t mean it,’ said Karen. ‘Got carried away, I expect.’

  ‘Shall I take you home?’ said Mark.

  It was only ten thirty Her dad would still be up. Alice couldn’t face either pretending she’d had a good time or telling him what had happened.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go home.’

  ‘We’ll walk for a bit,’ said Mark.

  Everyone inside seemed oblivious of the sordid incident that had just occurred in the garden and the music played on loudly and unrelentingly.

  Mark found his scruffy jacket and Alice’s donkey jacket and they walked out into the dark, each step taking them towards a more peaceful and forgiving night.

  It was a long, cold walk back to Ludlow. They held hands and occasionally the moon came out and silvered the road ahead as they walked through Wigmore, the little hamlet of Elton and began to climb up towards the forested area of the High Vinnalls. Most of the time they walked in silence, the occasional hoot of an owl and the familiar rustling of woodland creatures accompanying them on their journey.

  Just outside Ludlow they paused to look at the imposing dark shadow of the castle and then they descended past the little church and over the weir.

  Mark’s room looked delightful, a sparse sanctuary of warmth and carelessness. Alice sat on the bed. As he started to remove his coat, Mark grinned and produced a bottle of vodka.

  ‘Found it on the table,’ he said. ‘Obviously nicked from some mum and dad’s drinks cabinet.’

  He got some orange juice from the little fridge and poured them two big glasses.

  They talked most of the night, sitting at opposite ends of the bed, neither realising that as the night travelled towards the dawn, they inched nearer to each other.

  Had Alice been quizzed on the subje
ct of their conversation the following morning, she would not have been able to remember a single thing, but they covered their families, school, Mark’s work, Morrissey, world politics, hunting, and Karen, who at this point was on her back in the garden, laughing delightedly, her legs clamped tightly round Stephen Matthews.

  Eventually the conversation came round to the pair of them and their friendship over the years. Fuelled by the cumulative heat of each glass, Mark looked solemnly into Alice’s face and said very quietly, ‘Did you know I…?’

  He stopped but Alice knew what the end of the sentence was.

  Some weeks after the Second Morrissey Night, as it came to be known, the phone rang very late at night. Keith, dozing in his chair, sat forward in the armchair and lifted the receiver to his ear.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, half asleep. ‘I want a divorce,’ said Gina. ‘Gina?’ said Keith.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gina. ‘Did you hear me, Keith?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keith. ‘I did. Where are you? What are you doing? Who are you with?’

  He heard Gina say, ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Dunk, you talk to him.’

  A friendly male voice said, ‘Hello, you must be Keith.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keith. ‘And who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Look,’ said Dunk, ‘I’m Dunk. I don’t expect you to understand any of this or like it, but it’s true, me and your missus want to get hitched.’

  Keith found himself sounding pinched and outraged. ‘My wife is a very disturbed woman who needs treatment and must come home,’ he said.

  Aw, come on, mate,’ said Dunk, ‘she ain’t that bad, are you, Gina? I’ve been looking after her since she ran away from that mental place — yes, I know all about it — and since she’s been with me, she’s been fine.’

  Keith said helplessly, ‘Look, we need to talk face to face. Can you come here?’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Dunk, and Keith heard him place his hand over the receiver and then a muffled argument.

  ‘All right,’ said Dunk eventually ‘We’ll come over at the weekend, but don’t you go calling them mental doctors or Gina and me will never forgive you.’

  Keith woke Alice and phoned Marie, who drove over in her dressing gown.

  ‘What did he sound like?’ said Alice. A bit pervy?’

  ‘Evil?’ said Marie.

  Keith shook his head. ‘I know it seems weird but he sounded nice.

  The two women looked at him as if he was the one with a chronic mental illness.

  ‘I think we should have the police standing by when they come,’ said Marie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘me too.’

  Keith looked at them both. ‘We are not going to do that.

  We are going to meet this man, assess the situation and then call the police if necessary.’ The normally gentle, humorous timbre of his voice was shot through with a hitherto unheard steeliness.

  Marie and Alice nodded.

  And so Dunk and Gina arrived at the cottage on Saturday morning in Dunk’s enormous juggernaut of a lorry which completely blocked the lane for the duration of their visit.

  Keith observed the almost gentlemanly way in which Dunk helped Gina down from the cab, their closeness, and Dunk’s very obvious fondness for her. He felt no jealousy or anger but was slightly ashamed of himself when he realised that he had not seen his wife as anything other than a problem for so many years now, she had ceased to be a person and a woman to him.

  It wasn’t a long visit. Tea was made, Gina slurped a bit and let biscuit crumbs fall down her front, but Dunk didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed or censorious. He simply dabbed her chin with his hanky, brushed the crumbs from her face and went back to holding her hand.

  By the end of half an hour, Keith had agreed to everything Gina and Dunk wanted. Alice had also warmed to Dunk and as much as she wanted her mum and dad to stay together, she could see that this big lump of an ageing lorry driver was a far more loving and caring partner than Keith could ever be now.

  At the door, Keith and Dunk shook hands.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Keith simply.

  ‘No problem,’ said Dunk.

  Once Gina had freed everyone of their obligation to live a life tied to her illness, Keith and Alice became aware of an enormous number of possibilities in both their lives.

  But nine months later their thoughts of travel, new houses and different people had all melted away.

  A beautiful September day burst open with the rising of the sun, the best type of day to stand back and take in the unparalleled, uniquely English beauty of the Herefordshire countryside. It was more than they as a family, could have hoped for.

  Gina and Alice got up at six, to give themselves plenty of time to prepare for what was going to be the strangest day the village had seen for many years, a day in which all its members could play a part.

  They joined Marie outside the village church and waited for their respective future spouses to walk them through the lych gate to be married by a new, fresh-faced vicar, Tom Akins, who was blissfully unaware of the mayhem the Wildgoose family were capable of.

  The ceremony itself was a strange hotchpotch of favourite hymns and a Morrissey anthem, chosen by Gina and Alice to accompany their process up the aisle. Tom Akins had been a little reluctant when he heard the content of ‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out’; he considered the words, ‘If a double-decker bus kills the both of us’, slightly morbid for a wedding ceremony, but both Gina and Alice were so determined, he was unable to refuse them.

  Wobbly and Bighead had managed suits of sorts and Bert had been primped and scrubbed so thoroughly that he looked every inch the proud father and grandad as he shuffled up the aisle with Alice on one side and Gina on the other. Alice was wearing a plain but beautiful lavender dress, and Gina wore what seemed to be a female clown’s outfit.

  Marie Henty came behind dressed in a fussy cream frock, escorted by her confused father, a retired surgeon who had come down from the Lake District for the weekend with Marie’s mother. Joan Henty was relieved to see her only daughter at last hitched, even if it was to this hippy with the odd family Norman and Jennifer were ecstatic that finally they had a daughter-in-law to boast about.

  The villagers had all piled into the church too, including Doug, red-faced and grinning at this marvellous outcome to many years of chaos, strain and heartache.

  Then came Dunk, Keith and Mark, the prospective husbands, all smiling broadly and hardly able to believe that things had turned out so well for all of them.

  Dunk was resplendent in a badly cut, cheap suit adorned with several incongruous gladioli, an intervention of Gina’s to remind her of her hero Morrissey, who seemed to all of them to be present at a ceremony that to some extent he had been responsible for.

  After a short service the three couples were pronounced men and wives and they all returned back up the aisle to stand smiling and blinking in the late summer sunshine.

  Bouquets were thrown, two of which were caught by May Budd and Annie Wilsher who, looking up at the Wildgoose family in her triumph, secured a wink from a very frolicsome Bert. The third bouquet fell on Doug’s head, causing a ripple of laughter round the group and some very rude jokes from Bighead and Wobbly.

  Due to financial constraints, everyone had decided that the best place to hold the reception was back at the cottage. Keith and Alice had scrubbed, hoovered and washed the place until it looked as good as it possibly could, which was faded and worn out. Beer, wine, sausage rolls, cheese and cake had been purchased from Hereford and was all laid out on trestle tables in the front garden.

  The phalanx of newlyweds moved up the hill with family and villagers and tucked themselves into the little garden to begin the festivities.

  As the sun began to go down, Wobbly and Bighead announced to the assembled party that they had a surprise for the newlyweds and Wobbly went to the van and returned with the biggest rocket anyone had ever seen.

  ‘Right, you fuckers, stand back!’ he shouted.


  Jennifer shuddered at the language and Norman looked embarrassed.

  Bighead cleared a space and moved everyone back behind the rocket which he had got cheap off a bloke in Cleobury Mortimer. He stabbed the rocket into the ground. Bighead produced a box of matches and lit the fuse.

  Everybody held their breath. As the fuse neared blast-off, the rocket slipped from its position pointing directly at the stars and started to sink towards the earth. Without warning and with a huge whooshing noise, it took off straight towards Gina and Keith’s cottage. It hit the window in the front and went clean through it, landing with a massive bang in the tiny front room.

  Everyone hooted with laughter and then looked at each other as if trying to isolate a responsible person to deal with the problem.

  Within seconds the front room was alight and smoke began to pour out of the window.

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Wobbly ‘Shall I get round the back and get some water?’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be a good idea to call the fire brigade?’ said Jennifer.

  ‘Yes,’ said Keith to both questions, but before anyone could move, Gina laid a hand on Keith’s arm.

  ‘It’s a shithole,’ she said. ‘We were never that happy there. Shall we just leave it?’

  ‘Do you know what?’ said Keith, very tipsy and very happy ‘It’s not even ours and we’ve paid too much rent for the place over the years. It’s probably insured, so yes, why not?’

  So the assembled party stood there and watched the enormous bonfire, all of them overtaken by a kind of celebratory madness. Bighead and Wobbly, fuelled by beer and wine, whooped round it like children. The orange glow could be seen for miles around and some elderly people wondered if a war had started and the beacons had been lit.

  Alice stood with her arms round Mark, wondering whether the physical destruction of her home could wipe out all the bad times in her head. There was nothing there that she really cherished. The Morrissey letter was inside her mother, the only thing of real value that couldn’t be replaced.

  Mark stood next to her wondering when, if ever, he would tell her that the letter had been from him.