by Liza Cody
‘Pick him up!’ Pierre shouted.
‘No!’
He leaned across me and opened my door. ‘You can’t leave him to be knocked over.’ He pushed and I tumbled out onto the asphalt. I only just had time to haul Electra out after me before Pierre roared away in a cloud of black smoke.
‘Fine fucking nun you turned out to be,’ I screamed watching my home disappear down the North Circular Road just as a Panda car carrying two huge uniformed cops rolled into the space he’d just vacated.
At least Connor was decently dressed in blue dungarees, a long sleeve tee-shirt and too-big sneakers. I grabbed for his hand. He bit me.
I yelled. He yelled. Electra said, ‘How could you forget? He’s a biter. If he were a dog they’d put him down.’
‘If he were a dog, would you bite him back?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But don’t you dare! You aren’t a dog so you don’t have the right.’
‘Can I slap him then?’
‘Not in front of a cop,’ she advised gently. She shoved Connor with her nose and he stopped bawling to look at her. She seemed to calm him.
I grabbed the shoulder straps of his dungarees and steered him away from the police car.
The cops, being blokes, were only interested in the fight. Louis wasn’t half as burly as Lance and Tony but he fought like a ferret on speed. He was lashing out at anything that moved and it seemed he’d learned a trick or two from Connor because he was using his teeth too.
‘Nice one, Louis,’ I muttered as I half dragged, half carried Connor away by his straps.
‘Stay,’ whispered the Devil soothingly. ‘This is quality entertainment. You need a good laugh and you’re so tired of walking.’
‘Come on,’ Electra urged. ‘Don’t dither close to cops. You’re too conspicuous.’
I wasn’t conspicuous at all. I floated six inches above the tarmac in the middle of the road, horses and mastodons thundering past in both directions, and no one took the slightest scrap of notice. A nun, a dog and a child, all able to slide, skip, float away from the scene of a fracas without anyone having registered their existence, let alone their absence. In the world of fighting men we mattered less than a broken fingernail. Give me a gun, a machete or a crossbow and a hefty dose of testosterone – then tell me how much I matter. Go on. Do it. Only men’s violence counts in this world. I have, dragging unwillingly by my side, a violent child. Does anyone care about him? The fact that he is with me, is your answer. We’re both medicated to the eyeballs, following a superannuated greyhound, with no particular place to go and no money to get there.
Does anybody care?
Connor’s skinny little body is covered in cigarette burns and bruises but Lance and Tony would prefer a scrap on a forecourt to looking after him. Bashing someone is easy compared with child rearing – and so much more rewarding. Maybe I should’ve got a few licks in myself. Then I’d reap some respect. In chokey I stabbed a woman’s face with a plastic fork for some peace and quiet. It worked.
Would the same trick work on a blonde dognapper? If I stabbed her frozen smile with a plastic fork would she leave Electra alone?
Connor is my baby now. The Devil is his father. He’s the child I would’ve conceived with my demon lover that time he tied me with his belt to the dressing table chair, bent over in front of the mirror so he could watch his own disgust and not have to look at my aging, hurting face. He had not yet used up all my money, property and expertise, or he wouldn’t have shown me even this cruel affection.
Yes, I had congress with the Lord of Trouser Snakes, and Connor is our ill-favoured, ill-begotten son. With his shaved head and flapping feet he looks like cancer on legs, or a baby convict – a tiny hard-man from cell block H for Hell.
‘Spawn of Satan?’ Electra said. ‘Now you really sound like a nun. For pity’s sake cross the road – don’t just stand here lollygagging. You’ll get us killed. You may want to die, but I don’t.’
So we crossed two roads. Or maybe we crossed the same road twice. And we walked because walking soothes my pumping aching heart. But it tired Electra, and Connor dragged heavy on my restraining hand. When he was too tired to scream and bite I stopped. I crouched down on the pavement and faced him for the first time. His toasty skin was yellow with fatigue and there were dark circles under his eyes as well as the indigo clouds of bruise. Worst of all were the worry lines. Have you ever seen a toddler with worry lines on his forehead? It’s a spooky sight, a clue to many events you don’t want to think about.
‘Okay,’ I said to Electra, ‘he may not be Satan’s spawn but he isn’t one of god’s children either.’
‘God‘s a man – he neglects his children,’ she said, sitting down wearily. ‘But he isn’t your child either. You can’t look after him. You can’t even look after me. I always have to look after you. Why do you think I’m quite content to stay with Cherry?’
‘But I saved your life.’
‘And now you’re killing me.’
‘Don’t exaggerate,’ I said. But she just looked at me with sincere sleepy dog eyes.
An old man with a walking frame stopped in mid-shuffle to say, ‘You’s in trouble here, sister?’
‘The boy’s suffering from haemophilia,’ I said to ward off criticism for the bruises. ‘We were going to the hospital but I seem to have lost my way.’
‘Oh pull the other one,’ Electra said, rolling her eyes tiredly.
‘Turn right at the lights,’ the old man said. ‘Cross at the school, take the next right. You can’t miss it. I’d give you the bus fare meself but I’m waiting on me pension.’
‘Don’t you feel dirty?’ Electra asked, ‘exploiting people’s good intentions. Do you think you deserve a kind man’s charity?’
‘Kindness is given freely,’ I said with revolting piety. ‘No one deserves it.’
‘You said a mouthful.’ The old man crept painfully away. There was no mystery about why he knew the exact route to the hospital.
In the end I hauled Connor into the Accident and Emergency department on my back. His ill-treated little legs wouldn’t take him any further. Fortunately he was too tired to bite my neck and shoulders.
‘You can’t bring that dog in here,’ said a Cherry look-alike wearing a brown uniform and a badge which said, ‘Security’. She completely ignored Connor and the fact that my back and shoulder were contorted with the pain of an injury and from carrying him. I never get credited for my good deeds, even as a nun.
‘God forgive you,’ I said. ‘Help me with him, please.’
‘You have to check in at Reception,’ she said and walked away to interfere with someone else.
I let Connor slide down my back onto a stained brown chair. As he began his weary, dreary wailing I left him and went to Reception. The three women working there were eating slices of chocolate birthday cake. A nun in pain and an abused boy couldn’t possibly compete with cake. I was so fed up that I chanted, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord… ’ very loudly.
‘You’ll get us busted,’ Electra warned.
‘It’s all right – I can’t remember the words. The Lord’s my shepherd… ’
‘No one remembers all the words to that one either,’ she said.
‘All things bright and beautiful,’ I sang, ‘all creatures great and small… ’
Electra lay down and closed her eyes.
‘What?’ yelled a receptionist from behind a computer festooned with party-poppers.
‘I told you to take that dog outside,’ said the uniformed Cherry look-alike. ‘And there’s no singing allowed in here.’
‘Fine,’ I said. I was relieved. She told me to go so it was her fault I was going and leaving Connor all by himself. Don’t blame me – I’m only doing what I’m told. I made for the doors. They whooshed open automatically and I was out in the wind again. My shoulde
r still screamed, but I was not weighed down by Connor any more. He was in a building full of professional carers. He would be cared for. My work for Kerri Cropper was done.
‘Wait,’ Electra said, ‘I’m busting for a pee.’
‘Hurry,’ I said. ‘We need to find somewhere to sleep.’
‘Is that all we need to do?’ She squatted with a blissful look in her eyes.
The hospital was behind me. Ahead was a doorway, a park, a neglected garden, a hidden cranny behind a wall where I could lay my head down.
‘You didn’t even tell them his name,’ she said standing up and placing herself between me and sleep.
‘If they don’t know who he is they can’t give him back to the people who hurt him.’
‘Who are “they”?’ she asked remorselessly. ‘The same ones who’re too busy with birthday cake to help an abused little boy?’
‘There are doctors and nurses in there too. They’ll look after him and make arrangements.’
‘Arrangements? You know for a fact who “arranged” for Connor to live in his grandmother’s custody while Kerri was in prison, don’t you? She was considered by the “caring” community to be a suitable guardian then. How do you know they won’t find someone worse now?’
‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘I can’t help any more. You said yourself that I can’t even look after you. Don’t suddenly expect me to be a responsible citizen – because I’m not. You know I’m not.’
‘I do know,’ she said sadly. ‘But you’ll regret it. It’s always the stuff you don’t do that you regret most.’
‘You’re talking to the woman who gave her life, love and integrity to the Lord of Evil Deeds.’
‘Get over yourself,’ she said. ‘He was just a dishonest man. Isn’t it time you stopped making a Greek tragedy out of a banal situation?’
‘Your name’s Electra,’ I retorted. ‘Don’t you lecture me about Greek tragedies.’
‘I’m a dog,’ she said tiredly. ‘I didn’t name myself.’
‘We’re free,’ I said. ‘Don’t spoil it.’
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but life is very much like a banana. One minute it’s in your hand, and the next it’s choking you – the words were hardly out of my mouth when two patrol cars screeched to a stop right in front of me. Out of the first came two cops trying to subdue a struggling, handcuffed Louis Débris d’Or. He was dripping blood from his nose and mouth but the light of righteous anger was still in his eyes.
The other vehicle carried Tony and Lance. Tony was clearly concussed. He sagged between Lance and another cop. Lance had a swollen jaw, a black eye and grazed knuckles. The cops were looking smug – they had apprehended three very dangerous malefactors.
‘Sister,’ Lance said when he saw me, ‘am I glad to see you! Tell them about this dick-brain stealing your van.’
‘Oh double buggeration,’ I said, folding my hands and humbly lowering my gaze.
‘Excuse me?’ said one of the cops.
‘Double purgation,’ I explained. ‘I’m praying for… ’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I thought you said something else.’
‘What?’
‘I’d rather not say. This, er, gentleman says he knows you and that he was assisting you with the return of some property.’
I bowed my head. ‘He and his brother were most kind. The matter is now concluded.’
‘Not exactly,’ the cop said. ‘Now there’s the small matter of Causing an Affray, ABH and GBH. I’ll need a witness statement from you.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But doesn’t this man need medical attention?’
‘Yeah,’ said Lance. ‘Now. Quick.’
‘I lost my love,’ slurred Tony.
‘Vive la revolution!’ yelled Louis, spitting blood.
‘Let’s go.’ The cop who’d spoken to me was beginning to look fed up. ‘You’d better come with us.’
‘My dog… ’
‘I feel Pretty,’ sang Tony. ‘I want Pretty.’
‘His girlfriend… ’ I began.
‘Shsh,’ Tony said, ‘thassa secret.’
‘Let’s go,’ the cop insisted.
‘What’s a secret?’ Lance asked.
‘Eee ees one beeg stupeed,’ put in Louis, whose timing was perfect.
Tony lunged. Louis laughed. Lance lunged. The cops leaped. Electra jumped out of the way. I went to follow her. Tony swung a wild haymaker. And that’s all I remember.
14
A Nurse And A Screaming Baby
Someone hit me. My mother. My mother hit me. She said, ‘This is all your fault. You did this. You’re a dirty, dirty girl.’ She hit me hard on the side of my head. My ear ached and my teeth rattled.
My bed rattled.
Somebody said, ‘It’s all my fault.’
Someone else said, ‘Take two of these four times a day with food. Get the bandage changed in a couple of days at your nearest drop-in clinic.’
I opened my eyes and looked straight into the face of a cop who was walking backwards.
‘Mother?’ I mumbled.
He said, ‘Hello, Sleeping Beauty’s just woke up.’
The first somebody said, ‘Don’t talk about her like that. She’s a nun.’
The second someone said, ‘You can’t come in here till doctor’s been.’
I closed my eyes and then opened them again. The cop was still there.
He said, ‘I’ll need a statement.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I told my mother.
‘The man hit you.’
‘I don’t remember,’ I said, although my head was beginning to clear, and I did.
The first somebody said, ‘It wasn’t a man; it was a bus.’
I said, ‘It wasn’t a bus, it was my mother.’
‘Come again?’ said the cop.
I struggled to sit up. The first somebody was a man in a spandex cycling suit. He had an orange helmet under one arm and a huge bandage wrapped around his knee. He held out his hand. ‘Fergus,’ he said. ‘You saved my life.’
‘Can you find my dog?’ I asked. ‘She’s called Electra.’ We shook hands.
My bed took a sharp left turn and stopped, but my brain seemed to carry on down the corridor. I was surrounded by turquoise pleated curtains.
The second someone was a nurse with a billowing bosom. He said, ‘We’ll have to take the wimple off. We need to X-ray that head of yours.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Mother’s orders.’ I could see the shadow of the cop through the curtains. ‘I mean holy orders.’
Fergus poked his head in and said, ‘What dog?’
The nurse said, ‘I thought they said you came in with a little boy.’
‘I need to sleep,’ I said.
‘I can’t let you sleep,’ the nurse said. ‘It isn’t safe after a concussion.’
The cop poked his head through the gap in the curtains and said, ‘if this lad’s got it right it’ll be two concussions – she got hit by a bus earlier.’
The nurse grabbed my wrist. ‘Gotta be your lucky day.’ He felt around for a pulse. He must’ve found one because he said, ‘Hmm,’ and let my hand drop back to my chest.
The cop said, ‘When can I talk to her?’
‘When the doctor says so.’
‘And where’s he?’
‘She.’
‘Comes to something,’ the cop muttered, ‘when the quacks are all she and the nurses are he.’
‘Why?’ asked Fergus, who was a lot younger.
‘I used to look up to doctors.’
‘I used to look up to policemen.’ The nurse went to stand, arms akimbo, in front of the cop. ‘Go and bother someone else. Better still, go and see what’s happening to the baby.’
‘What baby?’
‘Lis
tening’s not one of your strengths, is it?’ the nurse said. ‘I’ll call you when you can talk to, er, talk to… ’
‘Sister Angela,’ Fergus said. ‘She’s my angel of mercy.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be looking for a dog.’ The nurse was clearly pissed off with everyone.
‘She’s a brindle greyhound,’ I said. ‘Electra. She’s a rescue dog – fighting and shouting frighten her.’
‘She wouldn’t want to work in A and E then.’ The nurse drew the curtain closed. Had it been a door he’d have slammed it.
‘Okay,’ he said once he’d made sure we were alone. ‘Sister Angela? I’m a lapsed Catholic – Catholic educated and all that malarkey, and I never saw a nun with a red tracksuit on under her habit.’
‘May god forgive you for looking,’ I said. ‘Please leave, and send a woman to look after me.’
‘I’m all you got for the time being. Also you’re my patient, for your sins, which I’m supposing are many and weird. I won’t tell on you – not allowed and all that bollocks.’
There’s nothing hidden from nurses. They can look up your skirt or down your trousers with impunity.
I sighed. ‘I don’t remember much.’
‘Oh yeah? What about the little boy?’
‘What little boy?’
‘In reception they said you came in with a little boy.’
‘Who?’ Well, can you blame me? Double concussion has to be good for something. ‘I know I have a dog,’ I went on, creasing my brow and looking, I hoped, vague. ‘She’s a rescue greyhound. Us Franciscan nuns cherish all distressed animals… ’
‘Last time I looked,’ he interrupted, ‘Franciscan nuns were called Poor Clares, and if you were one you’d know that. And you would’ve dedicated your life to poverty, not greyhounds. You’re busted, Sister Angela, like a cheap china plate on a Saturday night.’
‘My head hurts,’ I said. That, at least, was the truth.
‘What do you know about the little boy?’
‘I told you, I don’t know a little boy.’
‘You can tell me or you can tell the police. It’s serious. He’s been badly mistreated and here you are masquerading as a nun. Are you involved?’