by Ever Dundas
‘Kiss me,’ he said, sitting up, reaching for me, but I backed off and just looked at him. I stood up and left.
‘Goblin?’
I went to Mad and James’ room. I rummaged in their drawer, found what I was after and came back, closing the door behind me, pushing a chair up against it.
‘Goblin, I’m sorry if—’
I threw the condom on the bed and I took off my clothes, dropping my cardigan on the floor, pulling my dress over my head, standing there for a moment in my knickers. I walked over to him, peeling my knickers off, and sat next to him on the bed. I ran my fingers across him again, then I stroked his cock. I straddled him, rubbing myself against him as we kissed. I reached over for the condom.
As I opened the packet he said, ‘Where’d you get that?’
‘Mad and James. Mad showed me how to use them.’
I rolled the condom over his cock and I climbed on top of him, my fingers in his. Lowering my hips slowly, I gasped and stopped. A moment, a glance, my hand pressed on his chest and I moved down, down, down, not stopping this time; feeling the pain and the pleasure and the liquid warmth. I kissed him and breathed him in, his smell of smoke, beer and sweat. He wrapped his legs around me. I wanted to open him up and feel under his skin, I wanted to disappear inside him. I sucked on his tongue as my cunt closed around his cock. I pressed his head against my chest. He licked my breast, biting my nipple, the gentle pain accentuating the heat spreading inside me, up, up, up, like golden bubbles. We heard a scream and we came together as Maisie walked past my door, yelling curses at the dwarves. We collapsed on the bed, laughing, still entangled in each other.
‘This isn’t how I meant it to be,’ he said.
‘You’d thought about it?’
‘Of course. Hadn’t you?’
I nodded and said, ‘What was wrong with it?’
‘Nothing, G. Jesus. It was being here, that’s all, with all of them.’
I sat up and Adam leaned over, kissing my hip. He looked at my arms and said, ‘Did you injure yourself? What are all those cuts?’
‘They’re nothing,’ I said, ‘Just scratches from scrambling around on bombsites.’
I felt between my thighs, sticky with blood. I looked at my fingers and rubbed my thumb over them. I pressed my fingers on his lips, smearing them red. He smiled and flicked his tongue out, licking. I walked over to the window.
‘Someone will see you.’
‘I don’t care.’
He joined me as I opened the window. He pressed up against me and we leaned out, feeling the cool air on our skin. The city was cast in a strange blue light as the sun struggled up, obscured by the billowing smoke. In the distance, a barrage balloon was caught in the flames of a building. The fire circled it, as if gently stroking its skin.
‘James is sick,’ I said.
The balloon collapsed under an invisible weight, like a giant had squeezed its tail. The ripple of the impact spread through the body, transforming it into a fiery fish streaking through the sky.
‘His arm will heal,’ said Adam. ‘He’ll be alright.’
‘He’s different,’ I said. ‘He’s changed.’
As the balloon headed for the ground it exploded into flames, all form lost, shards bursting out and floating down after the fire ball. The flames were striking against the deep inky blue of the buildings and the black smoke. I looked out across the rooftops, smoke rising in pockets all across London. I could see tiny flickering flames in the distance. The landscape was breaking up, changing every night.
*
I crept into James and Mad’s bedroom one morning when Mad had left for work and LK was still snoring in the sitting room. It was one of those rare days when no one else was around.
James was still asleep. I opened the curtains a little and placed the worms next to James’ stump. I couldn’t sew them on, but hoped a prayer would do. I was nervous. I wasn’t sure the lizards would listen because I hadn’t given any blood to Monsta since I’d come to live here; I’d left Monsta tucked away in a box under my bed, forgotten.
I cut my arm and held it over the stump and the worms before closing my eyes and saying the lizard prayer. When I’d finished I opened my eyes and saw the worms were just lying there, covered in my blood. James was in the same position but he was awake, watching me.
‘I’m trying to give you a new arm,’ I said. ‘Like Monsta.’
He reached over and held my arm, his hand sliding a little in the blood. He didn’t move, just held me like that. When he let go he stared at the blood on his hand, flexing his fingers. I gathered the worms, holding the bloody bouquet. He got up and pulled his trousers on before placing his hand gently on my back.
‘We’ll get you bandaged up.’
He ushered me through to the kitchen and sat me down. He cleaned me up and tied a bandage round my arm.
‘It’s what I do,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s what I did. To keep Monsta alive.’
He sat across the table from me and lit a cigarette. He exhaled and looked back at me.
‘I don’t need a new arm.’
‘But, I thought—’
‘You thought wrong.’
‘I’ll pack,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘I’ll leave.’
‘Why would you leave? I don’t want you to.’
I fiddled with a loose bit of bandage. I couldn’t look at him. He reached over and put his hand over mine.
‘We love you, you fool. We don’t want you to leave.’
He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. The cigarette dangled from his lips, dropping ash onto his chest. He didn’t seem to notice. It mingled with his chest hair and disappeared.
‘I’m a bit fucked up,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
I squirmed in my seat.
‘It’s not about the arm, so much. And it’s not about you, or Mad.’
He scrunched up his eyes.
‘You’ve seen things you shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘You haven’t told us, but we know.’
I looked down at the table.
‘The world is fucked up, Goblin. We’ve got to make the best of it. Someone like you, you bring light.’
I started poking at the wound beneath the bandage without even realising. He reached over and stopped me.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’ll sort myself out, okay? Look at me. Everything is going to be alright.’
I nodded. He got up and pulled some chocolate out of the cupboard and handed me a piece. He sat down next to me.
‘What happened to your family? Your old family.’
I squinted up at him.
‘David went to sea to fight the pirates. Or to be a pirate, I don’t know which. Da went to fight the Nazis, but he wasn’t just any ordinary soldier, but a spy. He was tortured but he didn’t give up anything and they shot him dead. Ma fell in love with a merman and drowned in the Thames.’
He didn’t look at me. He placed a new cigarette in his mouth and held a lighter, flicking it on and off, on and off. He stared at it.
‘Is that right?’ he said, really quiet, like he was talking to the lighter and not me.
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘And David was supposed to take me with him. We were both going to go to the sea. To escape. David was a conchie so da hit him and David said, “Goblin, let’s go to the sea.” He left without me but he sends me letters in bottles. There’s hundreds of them floating in the sea, buried on beaches, framed in pubs above the bar, all the locals wondering who the mysterious Goblin is.’
‘How old are you now, Goblin?’
‘You know how old.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Almost fifteen.’
‘You’re growing up.’
‘I am.’
‘You’re a dreamer.’
I tensed and I waited, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t give me the speech about being a grown up, about responsibility. He just lit his cigarette finally and put away the lighter.
‘Don’t let
anyone crush it out of you.’
He put his arm around me.
‘We’re your family now,’ he said. ‘Me and Mad. And all our friends, they’re your friends too.’
I lay my head on his shoulder.
‘What do you say to adoption, Goblin?’
‘Yessir,’ I said, my voice muffled.
‘What was that?’
‘Yessir!’
He placed his hand on the side of my head, holding me for a second before letting me go. He pointed at my bandaged arm.
‘But you need to leave that behind, Goblin. Leave it behind. You can’t save anyone with your blood, you’re no Jesus. Martyrs are boring, Goblin.’
He stroked the scars further up my arm, and I pulled away, embarrassed.
‘Yessir.’
‘You got any problems, you come to me and Mad. And no more running round London like a wild thing. No more helping at bombsites, you’ve seen enough. And you’ve got classes to go to.’
‘I don’t want to go to school,’ I said.
‘Circus school,’ he said. ‘When this war is over you’ll be travelling with us and you’ve got to pay your way. You’ve got to make yourself useful.’
‘I want to be a clown,’ I said, straight off.
‘Well, we all know you’re good at clowning around, G. But let’s wait and see what else you’re good at.’
‘I can tell stories,’ I said.
‘For sure,’ he said. ‘That’s how I found you, remember? You’re a little raconteur.’
‘Yessir,’ I said, puffing my chest.
In the evening we sat at the kitchen table, Mad and James drinking beer and smoking as they put together a timetable for me; clowning, acrobatics, animal keeping, animal training. When it got to maths and English I rolled dramatically on the floor as if I’d just been poisoned, but all they did was laugh at me and flick ash in my hair.
‘Goblin,’ Mad said, ‘the circus is a business and you need to chip in.’
‘I can read. I can write.’
‘You know all there is to know at age fourteen? What about your sums?’
I lay on the floor and recited my times table at the ceiling to show I knew it all already but all Mad did was say, ‘Well, aren’t we clever? We’ll need more advanced classes for you.’
I shut my mouth after that.
‘We’ll get the adoption process started. You just leave it to us.’
It was then I had to tell them about Miss Campbell as I knew that could cause all sorts of complications but they told me they’d handle it and not to worry.
‘You don’t need to call us mum and dad. You can go on calling us by our names if you want. We can’t ever replace your parents.’
‘I want you to,’ I said. ‘I want to call you mum and dad.’
They tried not to, but they both smiled at that.
*
I enjoyed being at school again, or a kind of school if that’s what you can call sitting in the kitchen with whatever teacher happened to be available. My timetable was fragmented at first, due to the war and my teachers’ availability. When Marv was on leave he’d teach me some clowning. ‘The trick is, G, it has to look effortless. But it’s not, it’s carefully choreographed. There’s a lot of work goes into looking clumsy and falling on your face. You seen any of those Chaplin films? You get yourself along to the cinema when they’re on – he’ll teach you a lot.’
Mum and her partner Matt taught me some acrobatics, though it was difficult without much space. We’d sometimes go to the park if the weather was good. They’d hook a rope up between two trees and I’d practice tightrope walking for weeks until I got it just right. A lot of the work I did was about timing, balance, discipline and focus. I didn’t think I’d have the patience but I loved it and worked every chance I got.
Leo, a writer, came round and taught me English. We did lots of boring work on grammar but we also read a lot of books and he gave me advice on writing stories. I started writing on everything I could get my hands on – in the margins of books, on the walls of my room, on dad’s handkerchief when it was the only thing to hand. My head was bubbling with stories and Leo taught me discipline; he taught me about structure, setting and character. When I gave him a mess of a story he’d give it back to me and say, ‘Edit. Edit, edit, edit. And tell me why you’re doing what you’re doing. Justify it.’ I’d groan and whine and say it’s fine as it is and he’d say, it isn’t. You know it isn’t. Dazzle me.
Dad told me about the history of the circus and showed me photos, posters and newspaper clippings of their heyday. I loved the photos of mum’s aerial act; a sparkling blur in the air, a triumphant pose in the ring. Her red hair was pinned up and crowned with feathers, her face a strange mask of make-up. One of my favourite photos was of the clowns, lined up like a class photo, looking serious in their eccentric costumes.
I was awed by the photos of the lions and elephants. When the war started mum and dad couldn’t afford to keep all the animals. Lord whatshisname, the one who slobbered all over Betsy, had estates all across the country and provided sanctuary for all the circus horses, chimps, elephants, lions, tigers, giraffes and camels. He didn’t charge rent, only for the food and the wages of the keepers. Even with the savings from the circus boom years it wasn’t easy for mum and dad. They’d pore over their finances and got me to help as part of my maths schooling. They made it work, mostly through the help of pre-war patrons, and the rest of the animals made it through the war.
Colin had been an animal trainer during the circus days, working mainly with elephants, horses and camels, and he travelled round that lord’s estates when he could, making sure all was well. Colin was a different person with the animals; awkward with humans, but at ease around any other creature. He took me to one of the estates to see Mitzi the elephant. We stayed for a couple of weeks and worked with the keepers, helping them look after her. I’d seen elephants before when Pigeon took me to the circus but I’d never seen them close-up. The enclosure smelled of shit and that warm musty animal smell, just like at Pigeon’s.
‘Hey girl, hey girl,’ Colin said, stroking Mitzi. She knew him, it was obvious. Her ears flapped and her trunk knocked into him, nudging him, almost pushing him over before wrapping around him and pulling him close to her.
‘Mitzi, this is Goblin. Goblin, this is Mitzi, one of our superstars. Eh, old girl?’
I looked up into her eyes and I stroked her. I loved the feel of her body. I ran my hand over the skin, feeling the tiny hairs and the busy lines. I tried to follow their trail with my finger and got lost in a myriad of folds.
‘They skinned them,’ I said to Colin.
‘What? What did you say?’
‘The demigods, the lizards down below, they skinned the elephants and scrunched up their skin like paper, then they clothed them again, and now they feel like this.’
He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
I helped Colin and the keepers muck out and feed Mitzi. Colin wasn’t much for talking so I talked on and on until I ran out of things to say. We worked in silence until Colin said, ‘When the war ends, we’ll bring the circus together again.’
I nodded, pleased he was talking to me. I decided to be quiet and maybe he’d talk some more but he was silent after that and I was bursting with things to say so I said, ‘When the war ends I’m going to be a clown and I’ll travel with you and all my new family, and I’ll find my brother and he’ll travel with us too, telling tales of pirates and mermaids. That’s what’ll happen when the war ends, everything will be right.’
London, 8 May 1945 (VE Day) – 2 September 1945 (VJ Day)
I made a crown like for a king but cardboard with trailing ribbons from old-ma’s old clothes and I dressed like a clown, painted my face white with a big red smile and black round my eyes with a tear at the side, just one tear for the lost the dead the forgotten, floating in the past in the ether down below. I fall into victory above, a tea party where the wine flows, I wear my crown like
for a king but cardboard with trailing ribbons and I clutch my flag arm in arm with new-mum new-dad. Swept up in a Trafalgar Square ocean of people swaying back and forth and buffeted here and there, surging and waving, waiting for Churchill chanting and waiting for him to appear and tell us what we wanted to hear. We’d dip down sullen and silent just waiting with clutched white knuckles, flags drooping crumpled, my smile false and tired, drowning in the crowd, pulled out by mum and dad following a surge moving with the flow pushed up up up climbing Eros encased in concrete up up up perching waiting above the sea above the swarm and Churchill is there – victory in Europe! ‘Londoners, I love you all!’ and the ocean explodes a deafening thunderous stamping roar an explosion of flags and hats, a tide of V’s. Drinking late into the night on our street jam jars lit up shimmering flames flittering flies wine and rivers of V’s and hugs and kisses floating away from sadness, entranced by the fire in the street the piano in the street singing and dancing with the flames, fireworks in the sky, wine in my belly, the glow of the fire on my skin, drunken soldier kisses and laughter closed eyes closed eyes sway and listen and feel until dawn a flickering path of jam jar flies leading us home through the twilight, in bed with Adam curled close, Groo licking my hair. I rub my tear, smearing it gone, no more war, the certainty of bombs stripped away. I fell into sleep and woke above to liberated Nazi camps, the emaciated diseased. The Lizard King says, no love lost for jews, gypsies, commies, homos, but those Nazis are inhuman. Animals, those Nazi bastards, he says, animals. Corpses piled on corpses, buried in liberty, V for victory.
I fell into sleep and woke above to 6 and 9 sixandnineoftheeighth Hiroshima nine Nagasaki six atom bomb six and nine and gone. I woke above to VJ Day and I was glad. V for victory and the end of an era.
I dug out Monsta from under my bed. Dead things can’t die but Monsta was inert; bits of old worms, worn bear body, plastic doll foot, dried up crow foot, stiff pigeon wings and a shrew head with eyes closed to me. I’d stopped feeding Monsta, stopped needing Monsta. Now Monsta was gone.
I made my way through the city, through the pockets of VJ Day celebrations. I went to Kensal Green Cemetery and dug a small hole above where Devil lay. I wrapped Monsta in a blanket, said a lizard prayer – Holy, Holy, Holy – and down Monsta went with Devil and the camera.