by Caroline Day
7
THE STILL POINT
21
Barry is snoring, with his head and front paws on the pillow, and I’m pressing my cheek into his fur. He smells like dirty puddles, but I don’t mind. I can feel his body going up and down and up and down, and hear his noises and it’s tickling my nose. And if I was in a mood for laughing, I would think it was very funny to listen to him, because it’s such a very loud noise for a dog who’s so little. But in my head it’s not a mood for laughing. It’s a very sad mood.
Usually Barry sleeps in his basket in the lounge, and isn’t allowed in the bedrooms, but Bridget said it was OK, because I’d had a hard day and maybe it would cheer me up a bit, and she could see how devoted Barry was to me and just this once wouldn’t hurt. She did say, only in his basket, though, and put it on the floor at the end of the bed, but I don’t think Barry wanted to stay in it.
I’m telling my research to Barry. Really I want to be telling it to my telephone, like Veronica Ptitsky, with her audible notebook. But my phone is not an iPhone like hers is, because of me having had lots of telephones and because of putting them down and forgetting them, and so it’s best if they’re just old ones from eBay, without a lot of data for doing things like the searching which is called surfing, and no audible notebook at all, just a camera, which is mostly for pictures of dogs. Anyway, my phone is on the desk by the window, and so is my notebook which is a real one, and I don’t want to get them, because if I get up then Barry might jump out of the bed, and I like having him with me, like a snoring teddy bear. So I’m just telling him my research instead, and very quietly, because it’s very late at night, in fact so late it’s the morning, because of being 2.17 which is what it says on the clock by my bed, which is also a radio if I want it to be. But the radio is off now and the light is off and the only noise is me, telling Barry my research, but really whispering because I don’t want anyone else to hear.
‘I’m not very good at tying knots, so that probably wouldn’t work.’ This is what I’m telling him. ‘Like when my rope came undone last time, and I just hit my knees and hurt my head and I had to talk to Camilla da Silva for months and months, and take all the pills. So that’s not the best way, unless I find out how to do the knot better.’ I’m thinking about it. Maybe Connor Flynn knows how to tie knots because he seems to know lots of things. He’s very clever.
If I had my notebook, I would write it down: ask Connor Flynn how to tie a knot in a rope that won’t come undone. But instead I just whisper it to Barry and he snores back at me.
This is not research for my book. It is research for something that is very bad. It is so bad that we don’t say that it’s something you do, we say it’s something you commit. Committing is bad. Like crime and murder. You don’t commit good things. You don’t commit jobs or love or helping. You don’t commit golden rules.
I don’t want to commit anything. But now that I’ve had my revelation, it won’t go from my head. Because what if my mum, Jenny, is not right as rain soon? What if she’s dead in a box, or vegetive with a brain that’s damaged, like mine but not so lucky? What if she’s asleep without ever waking up, and what if she can’t talk and cook and tell me, hello my Hope, and sweet dreams, and tell me she loves me, and tell me smile brightly, Hope Nicely?
And what I’m thinking is that I wish I didn’t have to always be me, stuck in this stupid old jumble head. Because if I wasn’t such a No-Brain Nicely, then I would have known how to put air into my mum Jenny’s nose to make it go into her brain. I would have known about the number to call, and it would have been the right one.
Everything would have been all right if I hadn’t been such a rubbish person. This is why I’m doing my research – though it’s not even proper because it’s not from surfing, or books or filing cabinets. And because of not getting out of bed to fetch my notebook or my phone. It’s No-Brain research, but I’m doing it because it’s important, to help me think. It’s called focus. It’s planning, which is valuable.
‘There is shooting with a gun, where you put it in your mouth.’ This is me whispering to Barry. But I don’t know anyone who has a gun, and I don’t know where they sell them. Or there’s poison, like Hayley, who was the letter T, in Coronation Street. But that was a long time ago and I’m not sure what sort of poison it was or if you can buy it in normal shops. I don’t think you can just go into Superdrug and say please can I have some poison. There’s also an overdose, which is a bit the same, and that’s just taking pills, so maybe I could do that instead. There are pills in Danny Flynn’s bathroom and in my bathroom at home and even in my washbag in the sweet bathroom right here, which are my pills for taking every night, except when I forget because of my mum not being here to tell me.
Maybe Connor Flynn would know how many pills you need to take. Is there a right number, like fifty or a hundred or a hundred and seventy-three?
Now I’m thinking very hard and also trying to remember what I’ve already said. It’s like making a list, which is a good way to focus. There are knots and guns and poison and pills. And I’m thinking, though my brain is feeling a bit tired now, and the radio which is a clock says it is 2.24.
Barry is snoring and I’m feeling like my breathing is wanting to join him. Grrr. Grrr. Grrr. And my eyes are finding it a bit difficult not to be shut. And the words in my head feel like going for a long walk. But I’m remembering another way too. To commit it. When I was on the train with my mum, Jenny Nicely, after we’d been to London to go to the museum where there were dinosaur bones and real ones that moved and watched you, we were waiting in the train, without moving, for hours and hours. But the train had to wait for a very sad reason. ‘Person on the track,’ I tell Barry.
In the morning, I’ll write all this down in my blue notebook, with numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
22
As they came in for the jump, Alissia leant forward, arching her back and raising her body up from the saddle. Her heart galloped in time with Sappho’s beating hooves and her breaths came fast, chest rising and falling beneath her tight jacket. Rain pelted down. Alissia could feel it whipping against the skin of her face, the wind tugging her long auburn hair from under her helmet.
Too wet for riding really. She was soaked to the skin. She should turn back. But the blood was pumping through her and she yearned to run Sappho faster still. This was always when she felt most alive, feet in the stirrups, every nerve tingling with adrenalin.
Sappho leapt the fence. In those seconds of effortless motion, Alissia’s mind flew free, remembering the vision that had greeted her as she had strode into the stables that morning: long legs and shapely buttocks in tight denim, bending across a hay bale. Then the stranger had straightened and turned and stared right at her. Alissia was used to gazes quickly diverting as people recognised her – she was, after all, the local celebrity: champion jockey, holder of three gold cups. But those eyes had fixed on her own – shining dark irises, framed by long lashes below a jet-black fringe.
‘Hello.’ Lips pink against smooth, dark skin. ‘I’m Devinder. The new stable manager.’
Devinder. Sappho landed. Alissia sat back into the saddle, feeling the pulsating of the mare’s rhythm between her thighs. The voice had been soft yet self-assured.
Back in the dry of the stable, Alissia tied up the horse and unbuttoned her jacket. Beneath it, her shirt was soaked transparent. Better get this wet stuff off before she caught cold. The stable hands all knew she liked to be alone after finishing a ride. They knew to wait until the star jockey called them in to see to Sappho. There was a towel on the peg in the corner, for when she arrived back sweaty and needed to rub herself down.
She removed her riding hat, shaking her damp hair free, and then unpeeled herself from her shirt and unclipped her rain-soaked bra, dropping both onto the straw-covered earth beneath her. Bending over, she clasped her boots and pulled at first one, then the other, slipping her feet free from inside the hard leather. She unzipped her jodhpurs, tugging them a
way from the skin they clung to and easing them off.
I’m still holding a spoon of porridge in my hand, in front of my mouth, and my mouth is open but the porridge is cold because of me forgetting to eat it, while I’ve been too busy reading the story. Danny Flynn printed it out for me, with all the notes about the end of the class yesterday. It was a shame we didn’t stay at the class because it was very interesting with the woman called Patsy talking about what mistakes we should try not to make. I can’t even remember why we didn’t stay until the end but it was very nice of Veronica Ptitsky to do the notes for us – and they were very good and in order, with a, b, c on different lines. Maybe that’s what I’ll do with my research, instead of 1, 2, 3, 4.
Marnie said we’ll be discussing my book in the next class, Veronica has written at the bottom of her notes. Extract attached. Warning: may contain dirty stable scene … enjoy! Vx
There’s a big surprise in Veronica’s story, because even though all the staff at the stables are not meant to go in when Alissia is in there, after riding her horse, she’s not all on her own. The woman called Devinder, who has the pink lips against the dark skin, doesn’t know about this and it being a rule, because she’s new and hasn’t been the stable manager for very long, so people must have forgotten to tell her. And she’s coming into the stable right now, and Alissia doesn’t realise it until she hears a husky cough and by that point she’s completely naked, even having let her silky knickers drop onto the straw-covered floor, which is going to make them a bit mucky. Maybe that’s why it is a dirty stable scene. Maybe she doesn’t even care about the dirt because of being so wet. But then – flip a pancake – there she is, all naked, apart from a diamond on the chain around her neck, and she’s hearing a cough and turning round, and she’s seeing Devinder, but Devinder isn’t saying sorry and going away, which is what would be polite. Instead, she’s keeping her dark, shining eyes on Alissia, and she’s saying, good ride? And Alissia is glancing at the towel on the peg, and about to reach for it to cover herself but, oh flip a pancake, she’s not doing that. No, she’s shaking the water from her long, auburn hair, and she’s standing there with her thin, muscular legs slightly parted, and she’s letting Devinder’s gaze wander hungrily from her face down to her pert breasts and her – oh flip a pancake.
I still haven’t taken a mouthful of my porridge, even though I love porridge. I’m still holding the spoon in one of my hands – the right one, I think – but with my other hand, I’m slipping my fingers inside my pyjama trousers so that I can stroke my little fanny button. There is a golden rule which is about not touching ourselves when there are other people with you, and I haven’t forgotten. My brain is not that jumbled. I am twenty-five years old and I know about these things, because of practising hundreds of times. I am not really a fanny wanker, but I think it’s OK, because there is only Connor Flynn in the room with me and he is reading his book, Peptides and Proteins, and not looking at me or talking to me, just mumbling to himself a little bit about neuro-something. And he is in the armchair and he can’t even see my hand in my pyjama trousers because of me being on the other side of the table. And maybe it is breaking the golden rule a bit, but it’s because of the story making me really want to. It’s because it’s a bit rude, even though it’s dirty, and even though it’s breaking a rule that Devinder has come in the stable when she’s not meant to, but I don’t think Alissia is really cross, because she’s letting Devinder put her soft, moist lips on hers and her fingers too.
Veronica Ptitsky is a very good writer because even though I’m not a real lesbian and I’ve never even been horse riding, I can really see what is happening in my head and when she’s writing about Alissia and Devinder and the sighing and shuddering, that’s what I’m doing too. I don’t think Connor Flynn notices, or not very much because he only looks up from his book a little bit and I don’t say anything, I just eat my porridge now. Even though it’s completely cold, it’s still very nice.
‘Hope. We need to go.’
Danny Flynn has his coat on and his bag, which is a backpack, over his shoulder. I’m still in my pyjamas with my paw slippers, but now I remember, he did say we had to hurry up so as to go to the hospital, but I must have forgotten, because of Alissia and Devinder and my porridge. Now Danny Flynn’s shaking his head and saying we need to be quick, because of going to talk to the doctor at the hospital who is only there until ten, so could I please go and put on some clothes as fast as possible please. I’m not very good at hurrying but I say I will.
I’m still feeling a bit funny, because of the reading and the rubbing, and Danny Flynn is standing by the door, with his arms folded. And as I’m walking past, I have a thought in my head, which is that I’d really like to put my arms around him and press myself against him really tight. I’m not quite sure why I think it, but I don’t have time to tell myself about the golden rule and about keeping our hands and feet to ourselves. And I have done practising with my mum, Jenny, about not just doing the first thing that comes into my brain, but I sort of forget about this. Instead, I grab Danny Flynn with my arms and I press my body against his, with a little bit of a rub of my tummy and my chest up against him. Mostly my chest.
‘For heaven’s sake, Hope.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me away. And even though I’m holding onto him, he’s stronger than me. And even Connor Flynn has looked up from his book, to watch.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ This is Danny Flynn. And I don’t answer him because I don’t really know the answer. I just wanted to do it. And maybe it’s OK anyway, because of us maybe getting married, maybe. But he’s giving me a look like it wasn’t a very good idea, actually. And he’s shaking his head and saying, go on, hurry up, please, don’t I realise we should have left already. And he’s saying, for heaven’s sake, again, but only mumbled, not really to me.
I hurry as much as I can, but it’s not very fast, because of having to sing the whole of my brushing song, which is to make sure my teeth are clean, and because of having to write my research, and doing it a, b, c, d and then having to think for a long time about which is e, which is person on the track. And by then Danny Flynn is knocking on my door and saying am I coming because we’re late. So I come, but I’m still holding my notebook and my toothbrush is still in my mouth. I only realise when I’m in the dining room and I say I’ll take them back to my room but Danny says just leave them on the table, he’s sure Connor won’t mind popping them in my room. Connor says not until he’s finished this chapter because Danny knows that he never leaves a half-read chapter, and Danny says clearly, Connor, and heaven forbid that he should have suggested otherwise. He shakes his head with his eyebrows low. But then he does a sort of smile with his mouth and says he doesn’t know why Connor Flynn wastes his time reading that rubbish anyway, and Connor says, well, that’s because he doesn’t have the IQ to understand it, and Danny Flynn tells him to get back in his box.
Bridget drives us. Danny Flynn says thanks Mum, and sorry Mum, and she says no really, it’s no problem. He’s looking at his watch and talking about how we should have been at the hospital by now because Mr Kephalopolis will …
‘What’s funny, Hope?’
I’m putting my hand over my mouth and I manage to stop myself laughing, because of trying really hard. I don’t know why, but my brain just thinks that it is a funny name.
‘Hope. Don’t you ever …?’ He doesn’t finish what he’s saying, maybe because he’s turned to look out of the window. Bridget starts saying how it’s turned out nicer than she thought it would but the forecast has rain later.
I’m in the back of the car. Danny Flynn is in front and there’s a bit that’s for resting your head, so I can’t see all of him. But because he’s looking out at the street, I can see the side of his face and his head, with the hair that’s a little bit red, and it’s quite curly and long over his ears and on his neck, but on the top there’s not quite so much. It would be nice to know if he is my boyfriend or not, but
, really, I don’t want to ask him. Maybe this is why in those films and on telly, people say, oh I wish he would just give me a sign.
Bridget doesn’t drive into the hospital because she’d have to pay for the car park, but she’s just dropping us off, so she pulls up and says here we are. Danny Flynn is getting out and Bridget says, I really hope it’s all OK.
‘What’s OK?’ This is me, because I’ve forgotten about my mum and the elephant nose, because of thinking about Danny Flynn and waiting to see if there’s a sign and now I’m like, flip a pancake, how could I have forgotten? Now, I don’t want to come out of the car, because of feeling not very nice, but Danny Flynn is opening the door for me and he’s not saying hurry up, or for heaven’s sake, but he’s holding out his hand and doing a sort of smile.
He doesn’t keep holding my hand when I’m out of the car though, so I don’t know if it’s a proper sign, but he does say he’s sorry if he was a little bit short. And I’m confused because he’s not really short. He’s shorter than Connor Flynn but he’s much taller than me. But that’s not the sort of short he means.
‘You know. Snappy.’ This is him. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just didn’t want us to be too late. Mr Kephalopolis’ secretary said he was only in until ten.’ I don’t laugh about the Kepaphopolis this time, because I’m walking so fast it’s nearly running and it’s making me breathe too hard. But Danny Flynn isn’t slowing down to make it easy, he’s just doing long legs, walk, walk, walk, and looking up at the signs, which are like flat boxes with writing, and lit up, and going, hmm. And there are lots of people going in both ways, and some have arms in bandages, or some are in wheelchairs and being pushed. And I’m thinking that would be nice, because of my breath going so fast, but then we’re in the right room and there are lots of people sitting on chairs and one of them is Julie, who is my social worker, except not properly anymore, because of being retired now.