by Liza Cody
‘It’s a cycle lane,’ the cyclist said. He was shaking like a house in an earthquake.
‘Don’t care what it is,’ the driver said. ‘You stay where I can fucking see you.’ He was shaking too.
I struggled to sit up. I was tired. The Devil was right – I needed a long, long sleep. Electra appeared by my side. I tried to cuddle her but my arm wouldn’t move. And then, suddenly, there were Pierre and Smister flying down like flapping ravens. And Tony was saying, ‘What’s she done now?’ And there was a Range Rover sitting skew-whiff in the middle of the road, and traffic piling up and honking.
Smister said, ‘Why is there always this unholy mess wherever you go?’
The cyclist said, ‘She saved my life.’
I started to laugh. ‘Pity I can’t remember a thing about it.’
‘Must’ve had a knock on the noggin,’ the workman said.
‘I could of killed them both,’ said the bus driver looking as sick and pale as the cyclist.
‘Oh I do love a nice bit of chaos,’ said Milord Mixup. ‘But you should be under the bus, not having cosy chats with the driver. You missed an opportunity there.’
Pierre folded his huge hands. ‘Let us all thank god for sparing the lives of our brother and sister.’
‘Amen,’ said Smister, Tony and the bus driver.
‘Hallelujah’ said the cyclist. Someone shoved a mug of tea into his palsied hand. A small crowd from the café had gathered, and the bus passengers were whispering to each other, wondering when it would be suitable to ask if they could resume their journey.
‘Don’t you realise?’ Count Chaos asked. ‘If you took Electra with you Cherry would be thwarted and you could sleep together for all future time?’
‘Hurt Electra?’ I cried. ‘I don’t care if you are the Prince of Darkness. I’ll never obey you. Never.’
‘She’s delusional,’ Pierre said quickly.
‘She thinks she sees the Devil,’ Smister said. ‘It comes from mortification of the flesh – you know, fasting and, er, scourging.’
‘She had a lot to say about the Devil earlier,’ Tony said, ‘when I came to her for advice. She made a lot of sense.’
Pierre and Smister stared at him in total disbelief.
Again I tried to put my arm around Electra but failed. I said, ‘I think I’ve hurt my arm.’
Gently they hauled me out of the road and into Tony’s Range Rover.
‘Wait,’ yelled a man from the café. ‘There’s an ambulance coming, and the police. They’ll want her story.’
‘She won’t make a lot of sense,’ the cyclist said. ‘Not if she’s telling everyone the Devil made her save my life when in fact she’s an angel of mercy.’
‘Angel of arsey,’ Smister muttered as he lifted Electra into the back seat beside me. ‘How do you do it, Momster? You’ve only got to sneeze and there’s a plague of titanic proportions.’
‘Ow!’ I replied because all of a sudden my left shoulder stabbed me with steel nails.
Tony started the engine and said, ‘Are we taking her to hospital?’
Pierre, who was in the front seat beside him, said, ‘We’ll pick up our vehicle first, then we’ll collect Connor as arranged. We always look after our own. We don’t sponge off anyone, even the State.’
‘Hey, you’re from America,’ Tony said. ‘How did you get to be a nun over here?’
‘Bless you for asking.’ Pierre was brimful of warmth and love. ‘But we leave our past lives behind when we answer Christ’s call.’
That is true too when you answer the Devil’s call. I left a life of ethical standards and probity when I followed him, and there was no return. He doesn’t offer a woman the security of brideship – he takes her from behind and leaves her on her knees, used up and shattered into a million pieces.
‘Just give the Devil a rest, why don’t you?’ Smister said. I didn’t realise he could hear me.
Tony said, ‘Of course she believes in the Devil. I do too. You’ve got to if you believe in god.’
‘But she doesn’t have to talk to him all the time.’ Smister dug a vicious elbow into my ribs. He was tiring of the holy role.
12
Complete Fuckupitude In A Garage Forecourt
I could see something was wrong the instant we pulled into the garage forecourt.
The Ambo was still where it had been parked near the air pump, but now dirty grey smoke was pouring from the tail pipe. And someone had spray-painted graffiti in black, yellow, green and red on the side. The lettering was too elaborate to read quickly but eventually I managed to pick out the word ‘DÉBRIS’.
‘Debris Dior?’ Smister asked.
‘Débris d’Or,’ Pierre said. Maybe growing up in Detroit had given him an advantage when it came to reading graffiti.
‘Militant naturists?’ Tony tipped his head sideways, trying to make sense of it.
‘Naturalists,’ Pierre said.
‘What’s débris d’or?’
I said, ‘Perhaps – um – waste gold? In French.’ If Pierre could do graffiti I could supply some schoolgirl French. I did once take the Lord of Broken Promises to Paris for a week’s holiday. It should’ve taught me something. ‘Broken,’ I amended, ‘Unwanted, cast aside, of no value, thrown away.’
‘What the hell are militant naturists doing with your van?’ Tony said. ‘I didn’t fit a reconditioned battery so that some other bugger could drive off in it. And what the fuck are they using for fuel? Kerosene? They’ll nause up the engine something rotten.’
Just as he said the word ‘rotten’, and as if to answer his question, a bearded guy in a green parka climbed onto the roof of the Ambo with a banner that read, ‘SAY NO TO EVIL OIL.’ We all managed to read that without much trouble.
‘Oy,’ Tony yelled, leaning out of his window. ‘What you think you’re doing? That van ain’t yours.’
‘Et ta soeur!’ the bearded guy yelled back.
‘What?’
‘Something about your sister, I think,’ I told him.
Tony jumped down from the driver’s seat. ‘What about my sister?’ he shouted, furious. Pierre and Smister exchanged horrified glances. Smister slithered down in his seat. Pierre gathered his robes around him and descended from the passenger side. He opened the door for me and helped me down too.
‘Talk to the asshole,’ he whispered. ‘Like shit ain’t stinking enough already.’
‘That’s not what Julie Andrews would say.’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘Silly question,’ I muttered. Then I looked up at the scrawny, bearded protestor, puffed up with aggressive self-righteousness. ‘Bonjour,’ I called. ‘Nous sommes toutes vos soeurs.’
‘What?’ shouted Tony.
‘Oh merde,’ said the protestor.
‘I think I told him we were all his sisters and he said, “Oh shit”.’
‘I’ll shit him.’ Tony growled rolling up his sleeves and revealing his muscular tattooed forearms.
‘Tante,’ shouted the protestor, stamping on the roof of the Ambo.
‘He wants his auntie,’ I supplied helpfully.
‘I caught that one,’ Pierre said.
Tante Débris d’Or was thin and hippyish. So were the young man and woman who followed her out of the Ambo.
‘Allo,’ said Tante, brushing long tendrils of curling greyish hair out of her eyes. ‘You want somesing?’
‘Yeah – you to get your arses out of the Sisters’ van,’ Tony growled. ‘It ain’t yours.’
‘We have taken into custody this auto,’ Tantie said. ‘It is symbolise the waste and dirt of the evil oil.’ She pointed to the banner and the clots of black smoke. ‘We are acting correctly. We have telephone to the BBC and the Guardian newspaper. You may beat us and keel us but we will not depart.’
‘We’re nu
ns,’ Pierre said. ‘We ain’t in the beating, keeling business. But we do need our van.’ He too seemed to be running out of holiness.
‘We location ourselves ’ere,’ Tantie went on, ‘for publication on our cause et aussi because our CD is début and we gig soon.’
‘Omigod, omigod, omigod!’ Smister slid out of the Range Rover and clung to Pierre’s arm. ‘Look at him. Did you ever see anyone so utterly lush?’
It wasn’t the beardy one who was churning his butter. It was the boy half of the pair I took to be twins. They were slender and childlike with pale complexions and long tawny hair. They had straight noses and straight brows over amber-coloured eyes.
‘I’m in love,’ breathed Smister.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ Pierre breathed back. ‘You’ll get us all busted.’
‘I don’t give a tinker’s toss about your cause,’ shouted Tony, who was fixated on the beardy one. ‘Bugger off out of that van. And if you say one more word about my sister, I’ll come up and deck you.’
‘He mean nossing,’ Tantie said.
The girl half of the matching set approached Tony and laid her white waiflike hand on his arm. Her eyelashes were as long as spiders’ legs. She waved them soothingly. ‘Most political,’ she told him. ‘He hate American oil. He is not insult your sister. He is angry.’
‘So am I.’ Tony said, sounding soothed. ‘Who are you all?’
‘I am Sylvie. Zeez are my brozzers – Louis… ’ she pointed to the beardy one, ‘… and Zach… ’ she held out her hand to Smister’s latest passion, ‘… and our Tante Barbette. Togezzer we are Débris d’Or.’
‘Zach,’ whispered Smister as if he was tasting honey.
‘Comment?’ said Zach.
‘Speak English,’ commanded Tantie.
‘Remember your darling endocrinologist,’ I hissed at Smister, ‘and stop drooling. You’re a nun for fuck’s sake.’
‘Chaos beyond my wildest dreams,’ sniggered Satan.
‘What it is,’ Pierre began, ‘we are from a poor order and that van is our only transport.’
Beardy Louis yelled something incomprehensible from on high.
‘What?’ yelled Tony.
‘Is nozzing,’ Sylvie said quickly.
‘Remember Harpreet Kaur,’ I whispered to Tony because, like Smister he was beginning to look beguiled.
‘He does not like religion,’ Sylvie explained gently.
‘He does not like anysing,’ added Tantie. ‘He is our activist.’
‘Our drummer,’ added Zach, as if that explained everything. ‘He like to hit things.’
All I ever meant to do was tell Kerri Cropper her kid was okay. Job done. Then, this morning, all I wanted to do was take her kid to an A and E department in the nearest hospital and leave him there so that someone competent could look after him. And I needed the Ambo so that I could have somewhere to sleep with Electra. Because even though Ms Cherry Self-Righteous had turned out to be an evil troll and the Devil’s handmaiden, she was maybe, possibly, probably, a little bit right about Electra being too old for life out on the street.
Satan giggled. ‘You’re so-o fucked up. I love it – so many baby steps leading you to complete fuckupitude.’
‘That isn’t even a word,’ I said. ‘But if you want fuckupitude, I’ll give you fuckupitude.’
‘Bring it on,’ said the Lord of Cruel Laughter.
‘Will you just belt up,’ Smister muttered. ‘Get a grip, woman.’
‘Are you two trying to blow it?’ Pierre stood in front of us blocking us off from the others. ‘Bow your heads in shame, and repeat after me… “I need love, love – To ease my mind. I need to find, find – Someone to call mine. But mama said… ”.’
The three of us bowed our heads and softly recited after Pierre the lyrics to ‘Can’t Hurry Love’. He was so simple and sincere that it felt to me like a religious experience, but I noticed that Smister was looking sulky and Electra was tired.
Smister said, ‘What do they want the damn Ambo for anyway?’
‘For their protest,’ Pierre said, crossing himself.
‘I think they haven’t got anywhere to live,’ I said to Electra. ‘I think they’re homeless, just like us, but they’re too proud to admit it.’
‘Let them have it,’ Smister said. ‘I’m bored now.’
‘Then Electra and I won’t have anywhere to live.’
Smister and Pierre exchanged a meaningful glance and I heard Satan whispering to them in a voice so soft that only they could make out the words.
Tony came over and said, ‘Sorry to interrupt your devotions, Sisters, but these morons won’t budge and Jimmy Singh’s wife has called the cops.’
This was not good news to anyone – except, apparently, Débris d’Or.
‘They think it’s good publicity for their cause,’ Tony went on. ‘But my family don’t deal with the filth, so I phoned Lance and he’s bringing Connor straight over.’
‘What will your mother and grandma say about that?’ I asked.
‘We ain’t telling them. We think this crap’s gone on too long already. Sorry and all that, but you got to sort this yourselves now. The kid needs kosher fostering and like I said we don’t do cops.’
Smister looked horrified, but Pierre took the news with impenetrable serenity. He bowed his head and said, ‘Thy will be done.’
Tony said, ‘It ain’t my will. I never wanted this to happen.’ He looked shamefaced and awkward. In the background Tantie, Sylvie and Zach were singing Redemption Song in sweet harmony. My shoulder hammered out the rhythm for them.
‘What have they put in that petrol tank?’ Tony said, distracted again by the black exhaust fumes.
‘Sings like an angel,’ Smister said, distracted again by Zach.
The cops and Connor – a combination that would sink my boat for sure. I’d be back in the chokey before breakfast.
‘Stay here,’ I said to Pierre and Tony.
‘Come with me,’ I said to Smister, grabbing him by the hand.
‘Allez avec moi,’ I said to Débris d’Or. ‘You need somewhere avec une douche pour les dames. Non?’
‘Yes,’ Tantie and Sylvie said in unison and with conviction.
‘What did you say?’ Smister asked.
‘That Zach looks exhausted and needs somewhere dark and quiet to lie down. I said you might lend him your bed for an hour or so.’
‘You’re a genius,’ Smister said, ‘and I take back anything else I ever said about you.’
‘Pierre can deal with the Ambo. He doesn’t need us – we’ll only get in the way.’
We slipped out of the petrol station leaving Tony and Louis to shout at each other and Pierre to mediate. We walked in silence except for my shoulder which was screaming. The diazepam was jammed into my bra and I couldn’t get at it without an un-nunly strip-off. Except for a couple of snatched hours I’d been up all night. I’d saved a life but the Devil wouldn’t leave me alone and my vision was beginning to blur. The cops were coming but all I could think was, ‘This is the last time I ever do a favour for a friend.’ Trouble and pain are the punishments for kindness.
I was better at revenge.
Smister let us into Ms Dog Thief’s house. He seemed quite confident so I assumed he knew what time she left for work. Even besotted as he was with Zach he wouldn’t risk a confrontation with her. I showed Tantie and Sylvie into her pinkie-pink bedroom while Smister took care of Zach. ‘Restez la,’ I said, ‘for as long as you want.’
Let Cherry come home and find her house invaded. Let her sort all that out. Electra and I would be long gone. We could reclaim the Ambo, park on a side street and sleep for hours. She’d never find us.
Pierre, Tony and Louis could take Connor to a hospital, couldn’t they? Why should I have to do everything?
I rescued the diaz
epam from my cleavage, took two, found a packet of pills that promised to beat PMT cramps and washed some of them down with milk from the fridge. Then I fed Electra a portion of chicken casserole I found in a neat plastic box. I hoped it was Miss Perfect’s supper. Electra had eaten three or four suppers during the night. Perhaps it would be enough calories to keep her going for a little longer.
I was ready to hit the road.
Electra said, ‘Let me sleep for an hour. You could lie down on the carpet beside me and just rest your eyes. You’re beginning to twitch.’
‘We need the Ambo.’
‘What about the cops?’
‘With any luck they’ll be gone by the time… ’
‘When were you ever lucky?’ she asked with simple logic.
Just as we arrived at the Texaco forecourt six things happened one on top of another.
Jimmy Sigh appeared in pyjamas and sheepskin bedroom slippers yelling, ‘Buggering off all of you, excuse the expression, sisters.’
Lance sailed up in his Range Rover and docked it next to Tony’s Range Rover.
Louis Débris d’Or jumped down from the roof of the Ambo and landed a punch on the point of Tony’s chin.
Tony fell back against his Range Rover hitting his head against a tail light as he went down.
We all heard the shriek of a police siren approaching down the North Circular Road.
Pierre raised his robes above his knees and scrambled into the driving seat of the Ambo.
That settled it for me. I lifted Electra into the passenger seat and followed her.
‘Drive!’ I yelled.
Pierre drove.
13
Double Buggeration
How he missed Connor I don’t know.
And how had a little kid, addled on cough syrup, managed to climb down from the dizzy height of a Range Rover? All I do know is that Pierre very nearly reversed over him as he stood in the middle of the forecourt, mouth agape with familiar distress, shrieking, while Lance knuckled up on Louis in revenge for his having decked Tony.
Pierre stood on the brake and nearly broke our necks.