by Phil Earle
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just we’ve all been excited about you arriving. We’ve been waiting hours to meet you.’
With that she snaked her arms around Maya and squeezed hard. Maya smiled and squeezed her back before gently easing out of her grasp.
‘Well, Daisy’s here now. But she might feel a bit nervous at first, so let’s give her some space, yeah?’
The girl looked mortified. ‘Sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’ She shuffled forward towards me again, arms outstretched, and I did the same, away from her.
‘Susie …’ the carers chorused, and Susie stopped, her face falling in horror.
‘It’s all right,’ Maya chimed. ‘Don’t worry about it. Just think, OK?’
Susie gurned, embarrassed, and sloped to the back of the balcony. She was small, five foot at the most, and as round as she was tall. She had wiry black hair like a horse’s mane, which she’d pulled back into a tight ponytail. I’d always thought of myself as unfashionable, but next to her I felt like a cover-girl.
Susie reattached herself to Maya as I was introduced to a couple of other staff members, but by now there were too many names to remember, too many people looking at me, trying to work me out.
I suddenly felt knackered, aware of a growing tightness in my back, like I’d been sat badly in the car. Rubbing it with my hand made no difference, so I tried to shrug it off.
The others picked up on my sudden fatigue, with Floss taking my bag and leading me through the front door. It was a nice gesture, but her carrying my stuff hardly lightened the load. Two foul T-shirts, a three-pack of pants and a brand-new toothbrush wasn’t exactly back-breaking.
‘We’ll do the grand tour later, Daisy. Once Ade arrives. She knows it better than any of us.’ She led me through a long, wood-panelled hallway and up a flight of stairs flanked by an elaborate banister. It felt like I was in a country pile, but despite the grandness of certain things there was a shabbiness to it. The walls had been decorated recently and there was a whiff of paint in the air, but wherever I looked there were intervals of damage: stains on the walls, fraying carpet on every third step, odd bits of graffiti scratched into doors. Whoever owned the building loved it, but they obviously couldn’t keep up with the people living in it.
As we hit the third floor, Floss turned off the staircase and through a heavy wooden door.
‘Girls’ landing,’ she sang. ‘Don’t worry about remembering which floor you’re on. If you end up by the lads’ rooms, you’ll soon know by the smell. It reeks up there. I don’t know what’s making it, but whatever it is, it can’t be legal.’
She wasn’t what I expected the staff to be like. None of them were so far. I’d imagined them to be serious, you know? I expected them to leave long gaps between sentences, to tease me into speaking so they could analyse my thoughts. But so far there was little difference between them and the rest of the kids. And in Floss’s case only a few years as well.
We paced down the corridor until we got to a white door at the end. She slid in a key and pushed slowly.
The smell of paint invaded my nostrils, jolting me like smelling salts. It was too much for both of us. Floss crossed to the windows and battled with the latches as I took in the room.
There wasn’t much to see. Just a medium-sized box, painted the most sterile white you could imagine. It was so numbing that it was almost impossible to see where the walls met. It was like walking into the middle of a snowstorm.
With a final grunt, Floss gave up on the window. ‘Idiots must have painted them shut.’
‘I’ll have a go,’ I whispered, gripping the handle on the window.
It didn’t budge, even when I applied some shoulder to it. It wasn’t until I pushed gently on the glass that I noticed the window was different.
It wasn’t glass. It gave a little at the touch, wobbling away from me, before bending back into place. My forehead creased with confusion.
‘What’s going on with these things?’ I asked.
‘Sorry, Daisy. The decorators must have been blind or stupid. Or both.’
‘No, I mean the windows. They’re not glass.’
‘Oh, that. None of these windows are. Or anywhere else in the house. They’re all plastic. Reduces the temptation, you see.’
She wasn’t making it any clearer.
‘Temptation?’
‘Let’s face it, Daisy. Everyone living here has got things they’re working through. And more often than not, working through them leads to a fair bit of anger. The last thing we need is that anger being taken out on the windows. Believe me, if we had glass in here, then we’d be living in one breezy house.’
There was no drama in her voice, just a matter-of-factness. From what I’d seen of her, I didn’t reckon anything could get under her skin. Immediately I was envious of her.
‘Listen, I’m going to go downstairs now and sort out the paperwork with Evelyn. Give you a bit of time to get used to your room. And don’t worry, you hear? Once we get your stuff in place, it’ll feel more like home, I promise.’
I tried to believe her, but failed miserably. Nothing about this said home. I was only on the other side of town, but I couldn’t feel any further from my house.
Even if I ripped out the Plexiglass and replaced it with Mum’s window, it still wouldn’t be enough. Whichever way I looked at it, I was on my own.
The thought was exhausting and immediately all I wanted to do was sleep.
My bed was by the window furthest from the door and I moved towards it. I didn’t fancy staring at the window at night, knowing I couldn’t open or break it, and besides, I felt vulnerable being so far from the door. If someone was to get in, I wanted to be close by. To be able to kick it closed before they could get to me.
It was no big deal. I reckoned I had the energy to drag the frame a few metres, especially as all I planned to do after was collapse on top of it. But when I grabbed the headboard and pushed, it refused to give. It didn’t look heavy, just a simple wooden base and slatted headboard, but for some reason it wasn’t budging. I walked round to the other end to pull instead, but it made no difference. It dug its heels in like a stroppy kid.
What was going on? I dropped to my knees and lifted the duvet to find each of the legs bolted to the floor. One of the bolts was coming loose, like it had been wrestled one time too many, but the other three were showing no sign of letting go.
I let the duvet drop and pushed myself on to my feet.
First the window and now this? It was a room full of tricks, and I wondered what other surprises I couldn’t see.
It raised the paranoia in me, forced my heart up into second then third gear. I paced towards the door, fearful of what else I’d find before I reached it.
As long as I got out of the room before I counted to five, I’d be fine, and my heart would slow.
The door slammed shut behind me. I hadn’t even got to three.
Chapter 21
I tried to regain my composure as I walked down the stairs. Away from the stink of paint and prison furniture, I felt a bit more human, and would have been fine if I hadn’t tripped over something lying across the bottom step.
Naomi. The lairy girl from outside.
I caught her arm with my foot, knocking a packet out of her hand, its contents spilling across the wooden floor.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she yelled, leaping to her feet. ‘Watch where you’re going, will you?’
‘Sorry,’ I moaned, dropping to my knees to collect what I’d spilt. Talk about a way to make friends. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘Yeah, it’s hard, innit? Noticing people sat on a step …’ Her words were thick with sarcasm and aggression. ‘People often mistake me for a floorboard.’
I pointed my blushing cheeks towards the floor, lighting the area I had to search. As soon as I was down there, I knew what it was I was looking for, because I could
smell it.
Tobacco. Instantly I was home with Dad and the speed of the thought knocked tears to my eyes. Grimacing, I pushed the memory away. The last thing I should do now was show emotion, to anyone, never mind Naomi, who was still sucking her teeth in disgust.
‘Don’t miss any of it. That was a full packet. If there’s any missing or covered in crap, it’ll cost you a new pouch.’
‘It’s fine,’ I replied, relieved. ‘There’s only a bit on the floor.’ I passed it up to her while still on my knees, not daring to look her in the eye.
Naomi exhaled dramatically. ‘You were lucky. Others have had a slap for a lot less.’
Her cigarette papers had skidded across the polished floor too. I leapt to my feet and retrieved them for her. Braver this time, I dared to see how she was looking, whether a slap was on the way.
She didn’t look especially angry. She had one of those faces that slope down naturally, so everything, even the most neutral expression, had something of a scowl about it. Even her hair was angry, a series of tight rolls falling past her shoulders.
She took the papers from me and fell back on to the step. There was no suggestion of a thank you, but she managed something that wasn’t a threat.
‘I don’t know why I bother with these things. They ain’t a patch on Marly Lights.’
She laid a cigarette paper on her lap and dropped a clump of tobacco on top of it. Her fingers shook slightly as she tried to spread it the length of the skin, her forehead creased with the exertion of not dropping it all over the floor again.
‘Don’t know why I bother with it. Struggling to get it rolled is worse than the cravings in the first place.’
A small laugh passed my lips. I couldn’t help it. She was funny, so serious. More serious even than me.
‘Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. If I wasn’t paying for everything I busted up round here, I’d still be affording my Marlies, or at least Mayfairs. Anything except this …’
She chucked the tobacco and papers back across the floor, before slumping, head in hands. Collecting the pieces, I sat on the step beside her, silent as she was.
I don’t know if I did it out of habit or to please her, but either way I couldn’t help myself. It seemed like the natural thing to do. It was what I always did when I saw Dad’s tobacco – I rolled it. And within a minute I was prodding her gently with my finger, a cigarette the best peace offering I could manage.
She looked confused, like she didn’t recognize what I was holding, then the scowl softened long enough for her to say cheers.
‘Nice work,’ she breathed, taking the smoke in and holding it deep in her lungs. ‘You a smoker, then?’
‘Not exactly.’ I didn’t want to get on to the subject of Dad with anyone. Not yet, not ever.
‘Well, you’ve got the tools. You can stick around. You’re already coming in handy.’
I pulled a paper from the case and set about rolling another. I might as well make a pile for her to enjoy.
Not that it pleased her. ‘Listen, if you want one, you ask, yeah? I’m up for looking after you if you help me out, but there is such a thing as manners, you know?’
I tried to answer back, tell her it wasn’t for me, but she cut me off mid-sentence.
‘Look, it’s fine. I’ll let you have it this time. But next time, you and me’ll have words, you hear?’
The cigarette sat in my hand. I didn’t know what to do with it. If I tried to tell her again that it was for her it would sound lame. I went to put it behind my ear like Dad used to do, but as I raised my hand to my head, she sparked a lighter in my face.
The flame danced in front of me long enough for her to get riled again.
‘Come on. Don’t be wasting my petrol as well.’
It didn’t leave me with a lot of options. I put the cigarette in my mouth and leaned in towards the flame.
The smoke rolled around my mouth and I held it there, hoping it looked like I was doing it properly.
Naomi stared at me like I was a freak.
‘What are you doing? It’s not a cigar, you know.’
I smiled pathetically, before breathing in again, pulling the smoke into my lungs.
It hurt. Hurt as I drew it in and stung as I pushed it out. I blew as hard as I could, trying to get the smoke as far away as possible, as if it would limit the damage it was doing. I felt my face turn green as I tasted the heat in my throat.
‘You all right?’ She didn’t exactly look concerned.
‘Yeah, fine. I’m just not used to smoking without a filter.’
‘You should’ve said. I’ve got some in my pocket. That’ll teach you to nick my baccy without asking, eh?’
We sat in silence for a few minutes, but I could feel her eyes on me, checking me out, my clothes, my hair, my way of smoking. She wasn’t exactly being subtle about it and it left me no choice but to keep puffing away. I was too scared to grind it out beneath my foot before it was all gone.
‘So,’ she barked, ‘what are you in for?’
Her directness derailed me slightly, so I shrugged and blew smoke out, as if dismissing the question. Implying that the answer wasn’t important.
But it obviously was to her.
‘Well?’
‘Don’t know really. There’s some stuff they’ve told me I need to work out.’
She sniggered. ‘Duh, well, obviously. They gave that line to all of us. I mean, what stuff? What you in for?’
It was weird the way she spoke about the place, making it sound like prison, and for a second I thought I was talking to Morgan Freeman in The Shawshank Redemption. Except I couldn’t see the same happy ending heading my way. Couldn’t see Naomi taking me under her wing the way the characters do in the film. But I knew I had to say something that might put her off asking anything else. So I gave her the blunt truth.
‘I’m here because my dad’s dead.’
The words physically hurt and I knew if I’d said that to any of the kids at school then it would’ve been enough to make them back off. But this wasn’t school and she wasn’t a friend. Her interest had been pricked.
‘Bummer. What happened?’
‘Car crash.’ Surely that was enough?
‘So why aren’t you home with your mum?’
Unbelievable.
‘She’s dead as well.’
‘Brothers?’
I shook my head.
‘Sisters? Uncles? Aunties?’
‘Nope.’
She sucked her teeth again. ‘Yep, that’ll screw your head up good and proper.’
‘Thanks for your encouragement!’ This conversation wasn’t doing anything for my confidence.
‘No problem. And don’t worry. By the sound of things you should fit in just fine. Everyone else is a fruitloop as well. Me included.’
With that she pushed herself up and ground the cigarette end under her foot. She didn’t bother to pick it up as she walked away, though she did turn back to add, ‘Oh, and no need to thank me for the smoke. I’ll come see you later. You can roll me some more.’
The silence that followed was a relief, although for some ridiculous reason I didn’t stub my fag out as well.
I sat and stared at it, thought about the ridiculousness of the whole conversation, and the fact that I’d ended up smoking at all. It tasted foul and stank as well, but I lifted it back to my mouth anyway. What harm was it going to do? The situation couldn’t get any worse and, in some weird way, smoking made me feel closer to Dad.
So I sucked hard, feeling my lungs recoil at the shock, before exhaling and inhaling again.
Maybe this was all I was worth? And if that was the case, smoking suited me.
Chapter 22
It would be a lie if I said the rest of that first night was uneventful. Every second at Bellfield seemed to be full of some underlying drama or tension, whether it was just banter or somethin
g a lot more confrontational.
The truth was that I spent that first early evening in a zombie-like state. Whether it was the shock of being landed in this alien place or the exertion of leaving hospital, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I felt disconnected from everything.
My body ached, the earlier stiffness in my back multiplying by the minute. It was getting so bad by the time we ate that it was difficult to sit down. I could feel the muscles around my spine spasm, like someone had shoved half a dozen golf balls down the neck of Dad’s shirt. Each time I leaned back in the chair, a jolt of pain shot me upright.
It didn’t go unnoticed. Naomi offered an expression of contempt before whispering something to Susie, who giggled and then looked embarrassed as she caught my eye.
Floss noticed it too.
‘What’s going on, Daisy?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ I answered, trying to make light of it. ‘Just a bit achy, that’s all. Tired, I suppose.’
She didn’t look convinced.
‘Keep an eye on it, will you? And tell us if it gets worse.’ She seemed concerned. ‘Oh, and that reminds me, your meds. Evelyn said you were to take them before each meal.’
She pushed herself to her feet and paced out of the door, leaving me to people-watch.
The dining room was long and thin, more a canteen than anything homely, with huge metal shutters lining the right-hand side, which housed the kitchen. The shutters were down tonight as we were having takeaway in my honour, a celebration that caused a few ripples among the others.
‘How come she gets to choose?’ Patrick moaned. ‘I’ve been here eight months and I’ve never chosen yet!’
‘That’s such bull,’ barked Naomi. ‘You chose that crappy fried chicken last week. Worst damn thing I’ve ever eaten. Was more like rat.’
‘That wasn’t me. That was Jim!’
All eyes turned to Jimmy, who was on another wavelength, tapping furiously on his oversized phone.
This seemed to diffuse things a bit, as Susie giggled again, while Naomi and Patrick rolled their eyes.