Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos?

by Faith Bleasdale

  ‘OK,’ I said. Then I went to find Katie.

  ‘Ruth, take care,’ was all she said.

  We went back to his flat in Soho. This guy was cool. He led me to his living room, which had a lot of satin. I thought satin must have been the new thing.

  ‘Beer?’ he asked. I nodded. We sat down on satin cushions on the floor, he leaned closer and I was sure he was going to kiss me. My heart started beating fast. ‘Do you want to shoot up?’ he said. He didn’t kiss me.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s get high.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about. He disappeared and came back with some stuff and I understood what he meant. The last guy I met sniffed cocaine, and this guy had a needle. I started panicking. This was way out of my league. I wanted out.

  ‘Actually, Nathan, I’d rather not,’ I said.

  ‘Why not, babe, it’s great?’

  ‘Um,’ I had to think fast, ‘actually I’m allergic to it.’ Nathan looked confused, then proceeded to shoot up or whatever they called it. I was scared. I was in a flat with a man I didn’t know who was taking dangerous drugs. I’d seen Trainspotting, so I knew. It’s really not nice to find out that the man you were planning to fall in love with is a heroin addict. He put stuff in his arm. I looked away, appalled. Then he relaxed back into the cushions and closed his eyes, I didn’t know what to do. He stayed there for what seemed like hours and showed no signs of getting up. Here was my chance. I checked that he was breathing, and when I was sure he wasn’t dead I ran from the flat and hailed a cab.

  I was crying really hard and I gave the driver Katie’s address between sobs. I was scared out of my wits. Why didn’t I learn? Anything could have happened to me. Katie was in, but she wasn’t alone. She answered the door, took one look at me and let me in. She handed me a tissue then went into her bedroom. Five minutes later a guy emerged, glared at me and left. I sat on her blue sofa. ‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed.

  ‘Is it Nathan?’ I nodded. ‘Oh, God, I feel like it’s my fault, but I didn’t know, honest,’ she said.

  This was the first time I’d seen Katie look worried. ‘Didn’t know what, Katie?’

  ‘Well, he takes heroin like a trooper and he’s gay.’

  I looked at her. Somehow nothing shocked me anymore.

  ‘He’s a well-known closet case. He was going to come out but then it stopped being so cool. He picks up girls from parties, gets high, they leave, just like you. He’s weird.’

  ‘But I was going to fall in love with him.’

  ‘I thought you were going to stop all that nonsense.’

  ‘I was, but did you see his eyes and, more importantly, his trousers?’ We laughed. ‘Katie, I was scared, really scared. I don’t want to be your responsibility but I feel green, you know, like a hick. I just want to be cool, I want to have fun, I want to be more like you. I’m not doing a very good job, am I?’

  ‘Ruth, I don’t understand. You’re a lovely person, you have friends and family who love you and you want to be like me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’ Katie lit a cigarette, perching herself on the arm of the chair.

  ‘Because you’re carefree and you always have men and your social life is brilliant and you never cry or bore people, or end up in stupid situations.’

  Katie laughed. ‘Ruth, I’m not sure what’s going on here. All I can say is that you don’t want to be like me and you’re lucky. It’s about time you started enjoying being you.’

  ‘I do want to be like you and I’m not lucky.’ Now I’d stopped crying about Nathan I realised how drunk I was.

  Katie stood up and started pacing the room. ‘For God’s sake. Listen. I don’t have any friends. Not one. That’s my choice. People don’t get close to me, I don’t get hurt. That’s my story. You couldn’t be like that and you shouldn’t want to.’

  ‘I’m your friend.’ Katie sounded pissed off, I sounded drunk.

  ‘No, Ruth, you’re not. I don’t have friends.’

  ‘Katie, everyone needs friends, even you. Okay, so the people you hang out with aren’t your friends, but I am. I know I’m selfish and everything, but I would like to be your friend.’

  ‘Ruth, you’re drunk and upset, that’s all.’

  ‘Maybe I am. Why are you so reluctant to talk to me?’

  ‘I’m talking to you now.’

  Katie was pissed off, but I was on a mission. Fine, so where do you come from? What’s your family like? Why don’t you see them? Why don’t you talk about them?’ I looked at her.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ Katie stood up, lit another cigarette and stood still.

  ‘Because that’s what friends do. So far you’ve listened to my life story, you’ve let me come out with you, you even kicked a man out for me. That’s what I call friendship. But it works both ways, you know.’

  ‘Ruth, I haven’t been a friend to you. I let you come out with me because you ask, I like working with you, we have fun and I was worried about you tonight, sure, but that’s because, well, I don’t know. I’d make a rotten friend, trust me, I don’t understand this attitude of yours. Why do you need to be my friend?’ She stubbed out her cigarette with a vengeance and didn’t move.

  I gazed at her face: she looked strong, closed, she displayed no emotion.

  ‘Because although you’re trying hard to be a hard-arse bitch, you can’t. Because you don’t even know what friendship is and now you have it. You let me depend on you and now you want to back away. Well, I know you care about me. Katie, you can’t hide from people all your life, never trust them. That’s a lonely way to live.’ Katie lit another cigarette and walked to the window. She had her back to me but I could tell she was pained, her shoulders were hunched.

  ‘Believe me, I know it’s lonely. But I also know that people let you down, so this way, the hurt is less.’

  ‘Who did this to you?’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Made you so scared of people.’

  She turned round to face me. ‘What is this, Ruth? You’re trying to counsel me? God, don’t you dare start any psychobabble nonsense.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense, it’s called caring.’

  She started pacing again. Then, to my surprise, she stopped and waved her arms in the air. ‘OK, I give in. You win. This is me, Katie Parry. My mother is a lush. She drinks all day and sings Frank Sinatra songs. I think she just managed to stop drinking long enough to give birth to me. My father knows she’s a lush and encourages her. When I was a kid he came home from work every day with a bottle of something, whatever was on offer at the supermarket. My mother would drink, my father would watch TV. Then when my mother nearly burned the kitchen down, as happened every evening, my father would go out and get us a takeaway. My mother would pass out on the bed, my father and I would eat, then I’d go and clear up the mess in the kitchen while my father resumed his position watching the television. That was the Parry family life. When I was sixteen, as I’d always looked after myself anyway, I decided that I might as well lose them and live on my own.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ Although Katie exhibited no emotion in relaying this story my head was buzzing and I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s in the past.’ She sat down.

  ‘Where do they live? Where did you grow up?’

  ‘Mill Hill, north London.’

  ‘If they’re so close, don’t you ever wonder how they are?’

  There was a silence. Eventually she spoke. ‘No. My mother is probably dead and decaying in the bedroom while my father eats fish and chips and watches the football. I don’t care. I really don’t.’

  I looked at her. She showed no emotion. Her parents had stopped her from having feelings – no, I knew that wasn’t possible.

  ‘But it doesn’t explain why you have no friends. I mean, your home life sounds dreadful, but why don’t you confide in people? It helps, it really does.’

  ‘Of course I had friends, not so much at school but at college
. I was careless with them, which is why I know I’d make such a rotten one now. Friendship comes with a price. Listen, Ru, in your idealistic world friends are great, love is great, but that’s not always the case. I got close to someone once – actually I gave them everything, that’s what true friendship is about, you have to give yourself. I got very hurt, and I decided I’d never get attached again. But that’s another story, OK?’

  Katie looked angry, although I wasn’t sure if she was angry with me or her memories. I still had so many questions. Why was Katie really like she was? Why did she party? I mean, with a background like that you’d be more likely to join the Mormons than take up drink and drugs. And the friendship thing: who hurt her so much? But Katie didn’t look as if she wanted to pursue it.

  ‘Why don’t you ever tell anyone now?’

  ‘Because it’s none of their bloody business and it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it my way.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound as if you deal with it at all.’ That was bit bold, even for me.

  Katie sprang to her feet. ‘What the hell do you know? God, Ruth – in your perfect world with your perfect parents, perfect friends and perfect ex-boyfriend! And you have the nerve to accuse me of not dealing with things!’

  There were two ways I could have responded to this. I could have protested that I didn’t live in Cloud Cuckoo Land, although that line of defence was a little weak, or I could have screamed at her to stop being a bitch.

  I thought of a third way. ‘Katie, stop being so defensive. This isn’t about me, it’s about you.’ Not bad. However when I saw the anger in Katie’s face I realised that it was bad.

  ‘Christ, where did you learn to be such a pain in the arse? You sound as if you’re quoting from some mumbo-jumbo fucking useless book and it is fucking useless.’ Katie was mad and she was beating cushions.

  I cowered slightly hoping I wouldn’t be beaten next. ‘Calm down.’

  Oops! As soon as the words escaped from my lips I knew I shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘Yeah, right, you take my life to pieces because you’re “interested” in me, you want to be my friend. Well, fuck you, Ruth, I don’t want this and I don’t need this. Your interest in me is totally unwelcome and I would like you to leave now.’

  I looked at the girl I wanted to make my friend, the girl I wanted so much to be like, and I think I saw Katie for the first time. What I saw was someone who was frightened and, even more surprising, frightened of me. I did what anyone would have done in my place: I left the flat. But as I glanced back at Katie I saw a tear in the corner of her eye.

  I went home and tried to think of what Katie was going through now, what she had gone through then. I kept wondering what it was like to have a mother who didn’t make you fish-fingers and invite your friends over and take you to buy shoes. I couldn’t imagine what it was like never to argue with your mother, not because you were wonderful but because she was incapable. I wondered what it was like to move away from home before you were ready, out of necessity, not to play jolly hockey sticks at university. I wondered how you could suddenly find yourself alone and cope with that. Most of all, I wondered how Katie managed to be so nice, because she was. She had just thrown me out of her flat, but I still knew she was special.

  And she had been right about my life. I was lucky and, despite that, I lived in a land with fairies. I still felt as if I was the victim of a number of huge injustices when I was the victim of very little, apart from a dramatic streak, and an overactive imagination. And when I said I was devastated, I was, but I just didn’t know what real devastation was. So when I said that tragedies were very personal things I was right; what I forgot to mention was that they were also selfish, and when you opened your eyes and saw people worse off than yourself you felt guilty, a little stupid and, well, like you needed to make amends. What you needed to do was stop being so selfish and horrible and help other people.

  I decided that when she was ready I would do all I could to make sure that Katie didn’t feel so alone. And I would teach her the value of having friends. Before sleeping I did something I hadn’t done for a long time. I thanked God for my life and I asked him to help Katie.

  I woke with the horrible realisation that either I wasn’t talking to Katie or she wasn’t talking to me. She had asked me to leave and she had been angry with me. I was such a kipper. Storming in like a bull in a china shop demanding friendship from someone not ready to give it, giving friendship to a person not ready to receive it. Once again I had managed to mess up and last night even my saintly thoughts had been pretty self-indulgent. There was nothing good about praying for someone who didn’t want to be prayed for. Last night had been long; part of it seemed like a million light years away. I needed a penance so I decided that, once dressed, I would spend the day cleaning the house from top to bottom. Out came the Marigolds and the bathroom cleaner. Then the doorbell rang. I went to open it.

  Katie stood on the doorstep.

  She looked like she hadn’t slept much: her hair was dishevelled and her eyes were red. She looked as if she had been crying. Her hair was scraped back, she was in her old jeans and a huge cardigan, her face was devoid of makeup and she looked pale. For a minute I looked at her, not knowing what to say, and she looked at me. ‘Can we talk?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, come in.’

  ‘No, I’d rather not. Can we go for a walk or something?’

  ‘OK.’ I was surprised: I’d never thought of Katie as much of a walker.

  I grabbed my jacket and we set off in the direction of Clapham Common. At first we were silent. I looked at the common, still hazy from the early-morning mist and empty, apart from a few people walking dogs and children. Everyone was there for a reason, going about their usual Sunday morning business, but we weren’t.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘But you have nothing to be sorry about.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have pushed you. I had no right to extract information you weren’t ready to give, and no right to upset you.’

  Katie pulled her cardigan tight around her as a gust of wind hit us full on. ‘Who does?’ We walked in silence again, me unsure of what to say and Katie … I didn’t know what she was thinking. The haze lifted slightly, giving way to the cold, grey day that awaited us.

  ‘The last time I cried was when I was seven and the kids at school said I was dirty and smelly.’

  ‘Kids are cruel,’ I replied weakly.

  ‘Then I learned how to use the washing-machine. From then on I’d wash my clothes and although I was creased I was never dirty.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘She didn’t even wash herself.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘He sometimes helped me, and I know he bought my clothes but, well, I don’t remember why I had to do the washing. I used to love going shopping with him because then it was just the two of us and I felt happy. But that didn’t last. When I was twelve or so he just gave me money and I did my own shopping. You know, my father never left us and I couldn’t understand why he stayed. I couldn’t believe he would want to live with my mum. I sometimes wished he would take me away, then I wished that she would go away. I used to pray to God that they would take her away and then my dad would love me. When I grew up I realised that he should have done something to help her, and me. Even though I don’t always remember how he neglected me, it gets hazy. I ate and I grew. But I don’t think he ever loved me.’

  Katie stopped and looked around her.

  ‘Was your mother always like that?’ I asked.

  ‘No. When I was fourteen I asked my father once to help her. He said there was nothing he could do. I asked him if she had always been like that and he said, no, that before I was born she was fine, and he couldn’t remember when it started or why. I guess he knew why but he’d never tell me. It was pathetic. Dad was so gutless. I often thought that if he made her better she would leave him so he didn’t. Isn’t that horrible, to think
of him like that? They were both waiting to die and I was the only thing that lived in that house. Or tried to live. I was lonely, Ru. When I left I had never had a friend. It was too embarrassing to make friends. As I grew up the kids didn’t call me smelly any more but they gossiped about my mum being a lush and about how my house was the house most visited by the fire brigade. My family life was a joke to them, but it never was to me. So I retreated into myself. I chose a sixth-form college in south London and I moved away. I got a grant, a part-time job and some cheap accommodation. A bedsit. My first home. It was pretty grim but my parents weren’t dying around me.’

  ‘Christ, Katie, your life sounds positively Dickensian.’

  ‘Ru, you’re so dramatic sometimes. My life was shit, which was the only thing I had in common with Dickens’s characters. At least the bedsit was in a student house, so everyone was my age.’

  ‘So you made friends?’

  ‘No, I made a friend. Anyway, I stayed with my parents until I passed my GCSEs and then I was off. Am I confusing you?’

  ‘A bit, you’re jumping.’ My head was reeling. Katie sat down by a tree. Although I was aware of the cold and that the grass was wet, I did the same. A small dog ran up to us brandishing a stick. Katie greeted it as if it was an old friend and threw the stick. We watched as a middle-aged woman and a child ran after it.

  ‘OK, I moved out at sixteen. It was funny because before that I felt a childish tie to my father, which evaporated as soon as my brain developed. I was so filled with bitterness that I planned to shout at him to ask him why. To tell him what rotten parents they were and how angry I was, but when it came to it I just ran away. I couldn’t face him so I wrote a letter saying I was leaving and that they would never see me again. I don’t know how I did it, but I was so determined and I never did see them again. I went to my new life. I decided that I would make proper friends who didn’t know my parents. But even that didn’t work out.’