Crocodiles & Good Intentions

by Liza Cody

  ‘Me?’ I was horrified ‘I am a nun… ’

  ‘They’re the worst – them and priests.’

  ‘But nuns don’t smoke… ’

  ‘Hah!’ he crowed triumphantly. ‘So you know about the cigarette burns!’

  ‘I heard someone talking in the corridor.’

  ‘You were unconscious in the corridor.’

  ‘Before I opened my eyes.’ Well what was I going to do? Tell the truth? Don’t make me laugh – some truths are so awful you have to stick to lies. Am I going to tell a nurse, who seems to have some grasp of ethics, that I’d just got out of prison, that I was pretending to be holy for monetary gain, that I’d connived at the kidnap of a child, that I was dependent on alcohol and prescription drugs while in charge of said child, and I was doing my best to palm him off on the National Health Service? It doesn’t sound very good when you make a list of all your sins, does it?

  I sighed again and said, ‘I think I dislocated my shoulder. Can you help?’

  ‘Sit up and face me.’ He sighed too. Maybe he had more than me to sigh about. Maybe he was at the end of a long, complicated shift and he really didn’t need a faux nun to piss him off even further. Either way, when I sat up, he stood in front of me and did something indescribably violent to my arm. I shrieked.

  ‘Better?’ he asked with a sadistic smile.

  When I could speak again I asked for painkillers.

  ‘Not till you’ve seen the doc and had an X-ray.’

  ‘What about a glass of water?’ I wheedled. I wanted to get rid of him long enough to reach the medication lodged in my bra. There was a packet of diazepam with my name on it.

  But when he left I had to admit that I could now move my arm without pain. The sadist gives and takes away pain – that’s how sadists operate. I know – I loved one once.

  I popped a diazepam and crawled down from the bed. I was swimming in turquoise curtains but I beat my way through the waves and out into the corridor. And there I stood wondering which way to turn. I couldn’t go back to Reception because that’s where the cops would be waiting. But somewhere near the main entrance, if he was a man of his word, spandex-clad Fergus would be waiting with my best friend. I had to find him before the cops found me. And I had to do it before Nurse Ethical-Sadist noticed I’d gone.

  Endless curtains, endless corridors. There were used syringes, soiled dressings and suspicious stains on the floor. Corridors interconnected with waiting areas and more corridors. I found a lavatory which looked as if it had suffered a heavy night at the hands of junkies instead of medics. But it was better than nothing. I washed my face and hands, straightened my wimple and drank from the tap. My image in the mirror slid in and out of focus. Even out of focus I looked demented

  I left and walked on down the corridor with my head bowed, trying to imitate a nun with her mind on pure things whereas it was actually clamouring for escape and a bottle of red wine. I found myself looking for Electra even though I knew she was outside. I thought I saw a blind monkey with a white stick but it turned out to be an old woman leaning on her drip stand.

  Then I saw Connor. He raced towards me – his mouth as wide as a laundry basket. He was screaming. I thought he was an apparition and that he would run right through me. Instead he crashed into my legs and hid himself in my robes.

  It was an illusion. It wasn’t really happening. Even Connor couldn’t be so damaged as to think I was a place of refuge. But there he was, clinging to my robes, trying to bite my leg.

  ‘Shut up!’ I hissed. ‘You’ll get us both in lumber.’ When that didn’t work I grabbed him and hauled him off me. ‘Come and see the nice doggy,’ I whispered. ‘You like the nice doggy, don’t you? She likes you too, but you’ve got to SHUT UP.’

  I should have been sorry for him but he was endangering me. And he was almost too ugly and too much of a nuisance to pity. How could I say that about a baby? I’m not proud of it but it’s true. Connor was awful – he’d soiled his nice new clothes, he stank and he bit. But at the mention of a ‘doggy’ he calmed down a little and I could lead him by the hand down yet another corridor, looking for a place to park him. Instead, I found a fire exit. Out we went only to find that it was raining.

  ‘Oh perfect,’ I said.

  ‘Waaah!’ replied Connor.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Waaaah!’

  ‘I don’t like this either,’ I said. ‘But am I crying? No I’m not. Even though things are worse for me than they are for you. Why? Because I’m looking after you. That’s why. You aren’t looking after anyone.’

  The elderly baby said, ‘You’re lying. You aren’t looking after me. You can’t wait to get shot of me. I’m barely three years-old, you know, and I’ve had a crap life. The least you could do is feed me and be a bit more entertaining. It’s not like I’m asking for something really difficult – like love.’

  ‘Make your mind up,’ I said. ‘Either scream or talk. You’re doing both at the same time and it’s driving me nuts.’

  We were in a staff car park. I thought if I turned left and kept turning left every time there was a choice, eventually I’d end up at the front of the building. But it seemed that while I was inside I’d made my way through a maze of wings and extensions.

  ‘You’re lost,’ the old baby screamed.

  ‘If you can do any better, you lead the way.’

  ‘Are you looking for the entrance?’ asked a man in an orange plastic raincoat. He was delivering a bulk load of surgical gloves on a trolley. He pointed back the way we’d come.

  ‘Surgical gloves freak me out, waaah!’ yelled Connor.

  ‘Bless you,’ I said to the man.

  ‘What do you know about surgical gloves at your age?’ I asked Connor.

  ‘Pardon?’ said the delivery man.

  ‘Waaah!’ said Connor.

  We walked. I thought that if we kept turning right every time there was a choice, eventually we’d end up at the front of the building. If left was wrong, right had to be right.

  ‘We’re on ground level,’ I reasoned. ‘A and Es are always on ground level so that drunks won’t kill themselves going up and down stairs.’

  ‘You think I don’t know about drunks and druggies?’ screamed the ancient toddler. ‘My mum and dad are dealers. My auntie’s a crack whore, and my nan’s on the piss morning, noon and night. If you ever saw that woman arseholed you’d never want to take another sip of red wine in your life. She’s about your age, you know.’

  ‘What’s age got to do with it?’

  ‘You should know better. You should be setting an example.’

  ‘That’s ageism,’ I crowed. ‘Why should we be better than anyone else?’

  ‘Someone’s got to be.’

  ‘Don’t you dedicate your life to goodness?’ asked a woman holding a plastic folder over her head as protection from the rain.

  ‘To poverty, actually. Except when we have to feed these little ones.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ screamed the little one.

  ‘I’d give you something but I don’t want to get my hair wet.’ She hurried away.

  ‘More bollocks,’ the little one screamed even louder. ‘I’m wet and uncomfortable and if you can’t even shelter me from the rain, what fucking use are you?’

  ‘I’m no use at all, you stupid baby. I keep telling everyone that. And yet here you are, by your own choice.’

  ‘Waaah!’ said Connor. ‘You promised me a doggy.’

  ‘I’m trying, but your constant screaming is making it tough work.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand you.’ The woman who didn’t want to get her hair wet had returned protected by a golfing umbrella. ‘He’s only a baby. Here… ’ She handed me a ten pound note. ‘I felt so mean leaving you like that. I know how difficult it is, trying to be good. I expect even nuns have to try really hard. No
one’s born good. It has to be a minute-by-minute choice.’

  She didn’t wait to be thanked. She stuck the huge umbrella into my hand and scurried away. The rain ate her up.

  ‘I want to go with her! Waaah!’

  ‘Don’t let me keep you!’

  ‘That ten pounds is for me. I want it.’

  ‘There’s the doggy.’ I pointed.

  Just like a dog himself, Connor looked at my finger instead of what I was pointing at. I don’t care how intelligent Electra claims to be – looking at a finger isn’t clever. Nor is pointing a finger in front of a known biter.

  ‘Waaah!’ I yelled. This time he drew blood.

  Electra and Fergus were sheltering under the overhang by the front entrance. At the sound of my voice she got up, stretched and came trotting over. Her ears were pricked and her tail was waving hello. Clearly she’d had a sleep and was feeling better.

  I’m lost without her. I said, ‘Help me. I can’t cope. I’ve been so lonely.’

  ‘Hello to you too,’ she said. ‘I thought you were getting rid of the baby.’

  ‘I can’t. I tried. He keeps turning up.’

  ‘Stop crying. You’re making a show of us.’

  ‘He bit me.’

  ‘Well you abandoned him. Now you’re quits.’

  Connor greeted her quite gently. She sniffed his dungarees and wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Hi.’ Fergus limped over to join us and we all stood under the huge umbrella.

  ‘Are you okay now?’ he asked. ‘Have they discharged you? Who’s the kid? I thought you couldn’t remember… ’

  ‘I can’t. But he seems to remember me.’ I wiped my eyes on my long black sleeve.

  Now that we’d found Electra Connor had stopped screaming and was stuffing four fingers in his mouth instead. I was hoping he might give himself a nip.

  ‘That’s the way to treat a baby,’ Satan said, sniggering. ‘I wholeheartedly approve.’

  ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’

  ‘I couldn’t leave,’ Fergus said. ‘You asked me to look after your dog. Have you given your statement to the police? Can we go now?’

  I’d forgotten the cops. I looked over to the loading bays where they’d illegally parked their cars. The cars were still there. The cops were probably in the reception area. I couldn’t shove Connor through the automatic doors and bugger off. I nearly started weeping again.

  ‘Connor needs chocolate,’ I said, to distract attention.

  ‘Too right,’ said Connor, sucking loudly on his fingers.

  ‘Great idea,’ said the Devil. ‘He’ll be toothless like you by the time he’s five.’

  ‘A growing boy need’s meat – just like an old greyhound.’

  ‘My girlfriend’s waiting for me in the car park,’ Fergus said. ‘Can we give you a lift somewhere?’

  Satan started giggling again. ‘Who’s he kidding? A faux nun, a decrepit dog and a stinky baby – his girlfriend’s going to love that.’

  The Prince of Paranoia was right as usual. Fergus’s girlfriend, Jade, was waiting in a tidy little Honda which smelled of pine air freshener. Or it did before we climbed aboard. But she was game. She said, ‘Thanks so much for saving Fergus. No one’s safe, cycling in London traffic. I’ve said that a thousand times, haven’t I?’

  ‘You have indeed,’ he said wearily.

  ‘And I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘You were indeed.’

  There she was – another pretty-in-pink girlfriend, who was always right. Co-incidence? I think not. I think they’re sisters – two daughters of self-righteous Satan.

  ‘You’d better hold that baby on your lap,’ she said, confirming my suspicion. ‘He’s too small for a seat belt.’

  ‘I’m not sitting on you!’ Connor shrieked.

  ‘He doesn’t do laps,’ I said. ‘You’ll just have to drive carefully.’

  ‘Why do you think he doesn’t like sitting on people?’ Count Cruelty was laughing uncontrollably.

  ‘I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Nobody wants to think about it,’ Connor said. ‘Why do you think I’m in this mess?’

  ‘Because you pooped yourself,’ replied Count Cruelty.

  ‘Waaah!’

  ‘There are toffees in the glove box.’ Jade had barely known Connor for two minutes and already she sounded desperate.

  Fergus said, ‘Won’t he choke?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘Just give him a fricking toffee.’ She’d begun to drive too fast over the car park speed bumps. I swear that every time Connor bounced I could hear him squelch.

  Fergus handed me a bag of toffees and I shoved one in Connor’s gob. He shut up.

  ‘He’s only a baby,’ Fergus said sounding worried.

  ‘He’s an unhappy baby,’ I said. ‘Unhappy babies hurt people.’

  ‘And dogs,’ Electra said.

  ‘Which way are we going?’ Jade said. We’d come to the car park exit.

  I didn’t know. Satan whispered Cherry’s address in my ear and before I could think I repeated it to Jade. My head felt light and wobbly like a balloon on a stick.

  15

  Waah!

  Unhappy children spread misery wherever they go. The older they get the more cruel and destructive they become. They don’t understand happiness themselves so they want to destroy it when they see it in anyone else. Some unhappy children spend millions on therapy when they grow up. It doesn’t work. When push comes to shove they never quite become adult and they’re still unhappy. Others might become artists or writers or poets and pretend their unhappiness gives them a unique understanding of the human condition. It doesn’t. It just gives them more efficient ways of broadcasting misery.

  This is what the Prince of All Depression told me.

  Unhappy children, he told me, are better off dead. ‘Suffer poor little Connor to come unto me,’ he said. ‘I love him. I know what he needs. This should be your work here on earth – releasing my sorrowing little ones and sending them home.’

  ‘Why are you humans so fixated on happiness?’ Electra asked. ‘The simple scent of a fire hydrant is joy enough for me.’

  ‘That will never be enough for Connor,’ I said.

  ‘What won’t?’ Fergus asked.

  ‘My point exactly,’ my Dark Lord told me. ‘Connor is human, the most sophisticated and entertaining of all my creations. His joy will be visiting on other little ones the pain he feels himself. Thus my family grows.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t he remain here on earth to do thy will?’

  ‘Don’t talk to her,’ Jade said. ‘She’s praying.’

  ‘Strictly speaking, yes,’ my Master said. ‘He should live to do my bidding. But sometimes I need company. I need to chew the fat with a little soul who is well enough versed in the pornography of cruelty to turn me on.’

  Connor’s head drooped against Electra’s shoulder. His drool was toffee coloured. His scrawny neck was twig-like.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Electra.

  But I did.

  I thought: if a skateboarder rolls out into the road, or a dog chases a ball, and Cherry-Jade slams on the brakes, then Connor will shoot, unrestrained, through the windscreen, his twig will be snapped and his miserable life will be over. I won’t have to beg for more and more money to buy him nappies and chocolate, and my Master’s orders will be obeyed without my having lifted a finger. Then someone will give me a drink – for the shock of it. Even nuns are allowed a little medicinal hootch for their nerves, aren’t they?

  ‘You’re raving,’ Electra observed – erroneously, in my opinion.

  ‘I was looking for a little more active participation,’ the Prince of Punishment said. ‘You should watch that tendency towar
ds passive aggression.’

  Although the smell was putrid, my real problem with Connor was the racket. A child screaming hurts my ears and twists my brain into a pretzel.

  ‘You know what?’ Satan said. ‘I nearly wiped out the whole human race once because I couldn’t stand the crying babies. A lot of them were smothered by their parents because they were attracting predators. Raptors ate some. Sabre-toothed tigers ate a lot more. But then I learned to love the distress.’

  ‘Doesn’t god have anything to say about this?’ I asked.

  ‘You should think of god as a science geek with a computer game. He’s on Level six billion and eight by now. You are on Level nine. He’s long gone. He doesn’t even know about nuns and if he did he’d laugh. No, it’s me you have to deal with. I’m all there is.’

  ‘Isn’t that the Ambo?’ Electra asked.

  I looked. It was. ‘Stop!’ I said.

  ‘I can’t,’ Jade-Cherry said. ‘There’s no parking and there’s a taxi right up my tail pipe. I wish they wouldn’t do that. It makes me nervous.’

  ‘I’d drive,’ Fergus said, ‘but my knee… ’

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ she said. ‘At least, I think we are. Do you recognise this street, Sister?’

  I didn’t. It was time for more prayer.

  ‘Don’t,’ Electra said. ‘All you do is mutter rubbish. You’d be better off sniffing lamp posts.’

  ‘Look,’ Fergus cried, ‘another nun. Do you know her? We must be close.’

  I looked. It was Smister. ‘Don’t stop,’ I said.

  Jade stopped. The taxi hit us from behind.

  Connor and Electra fell off the back seat. I rocked forward and hit my head on Jade’s headrest. Fergus slid forward and hit his injured knee on the glove box. The airbag blew up in Jade’s face.

  Connor shrieked. Fergus roared.

  ‘Oh crap,’ said Jade through a mouthful of airbag.

  Electra scrambled back onto the seat and licked my nose. It was bleeding. Connor turned his howling face towards me.

  ‘Nearly,’ said the Prince of Personal Injuries, when he could stop laughing long enough to get the word out.

  I stuffed another toffee into Connor’s gaping mouth.