Crocodiles & Good Intentions

by Liza Cody

  ‘You’re an angel,’ I told him, forgetting Connor and struggling to sit up.

  ‘I’m Ziggy,’ he said. ‘My mum says I’m a Starman.’

  ‘Your mum’s right, you’re a real star.’ To some the choice between Electra and Connor might’ve been difficult. Not to me. ‘Hold the bowl steady,’ I said. ‘Yes, just like that. Oh look, she’s beginning to eat.’

  How can I tell you what the smell of dogfood meant to me? Or the sound of Electra noshing it up? A small victory I know, but from the very beginning my life was a series of defeats. Everything big – love, self-respect, honesty, good faith, sanity, had been stripped away. All that remained was dogfood.

  ‘What do you mean, “stripped away”?’ sneered Satan. ‘You never had them in the first place. They coined the term “born loser” just for you.’

  ‘But Electra’s alive,’ I said. ‘She’s strong enough to eat and drink. What does it matter if your frozen-faced daughter’s killing Connor Cropper? My defeats may be huge. But you can’t steal my tiny triumphs.’ I was sitting up now, leaning back against the lawnmower. Ziggy was holding the food bowl, Tantie the water bowl. Pierre was watching Cherry, Li’l Missy and the two cops walk back down the path to her front door. He called out, ‘Li’l Missy – wait up. You can still make this right.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Li’l Missy said. ‘I’m not strong like you.’ He couldn’t even turn round and look Pierre in the eye. I could tell from his voice he was crying.

  In that moment, quick as two sparks, I saw Zach and Sylvie appear in the doorway. As Cherry approached they slammed the door in her face.

  ‘Allez Débris d’Or!’ Tantie dropped the water bowl and punched the air with her pale, skinny fist.

  ‘Oy, that’s my cereal bowl you just smashed,’ Billy yelled, outraged. ‘You’ll have to pay for that.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Cherry snapped. ‘Do something.’

  ‘Police – open up!’ PC Gregory knocked and leaned on the doorbell simultaneously.

  ‘Nidge,’ Pang said, ‘run round the back.’

  While Nidge went lumbering round the corner she went on, ‘Just for the record – can we get one tiny fact straight? Who is the legal owner of the dog?’

  ‘I am,’ Smister and I said together.

  ‘She is,’ Pierre said, jerking his thumb in my direction.

  ‘You have no integrity whatsoever,’ Cherry said. ‘Tell the truth and admit that for nearly a year, you, Li’l Missy and that dog have been living in my house, eating my food. Li’l Missy brought the dog to me. We’ve been looking after it… her. I’ve been paying for heat, light and carpet cleaning. You’ve been sleeping in my bed, Pierre – doesn’t that earn me a tiny piece of your loyalty or respect?’

  ‘Is this true?’ Pang asked Pierre.

  ‘Kinda,’ he mumbled. ‘Well, it’s accurate but it surely ain’t honest. The dog, Electra, doesn’t belong to either her or Li’l Missy. She belongs to the cracked one over there who’s trying to save her life.’

  ‘And you… ’ PC Pang turned to me, ‘… what’re you talking about – killing babies? Does this have anything to do with the abduction and abuse of Connor Cropper? What has been going on here in the last couple of days?’

  ‘For god’s sake,’ Cherry interrupted.

  ‘The last couple of days?’ bellowed Billy from his window. ‘You’re all talking about the wrong baby. That Witch-Bitch, Cherry Price, killed her husband’s little son. He disappeared right about the time she built that bleedin’ eyesore of a shed in her back garden. Which she never got planning permission for. Me and some of the neighbours been complaining about it ever since. But does anyone do anything round here? You should pull that effing shed down and see what she got buried underneath.’

  27

  More Accusations

  Everyone started talking at once.

  ‘And who are you?’ began Suzie Pang.

  ‘You can’t be serious – he’s a total slob.’ Cherry was beginning to raise her voice.

  ‘Oh bloody brilliant!’ The neighbour turned her camcorder up towards Billy.

  ‘Go Billy,’ I said softly into Electra’s ear. And Tantie imitated me at the top of her voice, ‘Go Billy!’

  ‘Go Billy,’ shouted Ziggy, enjoying himself enormously. ‘Look, Mummy, the doggy ate all her breakfast.’

  ‘Go indoors, Ziggy,’ the neighbour said without for a moment taking her eye from the viewfinder. ‘You’re getting wet.’

  ‘The back door’s locked,’ panted Nidge coming round the side of the house holding his chest. ‘But that shed’s definitely been tampered with.’

  ‘We can’t deal with this here,’ Gregory hissed at Suzie Pang. ‘We got to get this lot down to the station.’

  ‘Oh, you must be joking,’ Cherry said, as close to losing control as I’d ever seen her.

  I went rigid with alarm. Even Electra woke up momentarily and whined once before settling herself more comfortably on top of me.

  ‘Yeah,’ shouted Billy, ‘come and get me. I’ll enjoy that. I ain’t been outdoors for over three and a half years.’

  I said, ‘Unless you can persuade Miss Icy-pants over there to part with the padlock keys you’ll have to take Electra and the lawnmower too. I can’t leave her strangling out in the rain. And you can’t make me. If she dies it’ll be on all of your heads. But especially yours, Freezer-face. You’re a baby-killer already. Don’t add to your list of atrocities.’

  ‘Stop calling me cold!’

  ‘Shut up, all of you!’ howled PC Gregory.

  ‘I’m not cold, am I, Pierre?’ Iced Cherry asked, in her sickening Tweetie Pie voice.

  ‘You just been called a baby-killer,’ Pierre said. ‘You’re quarrelling with “cold”?’’

  ‘But you know me.’

  ‘I thought I did, but last few days, I seen another side to you. You talk “integrity” and “honesty” and “values”. But, you always gotta win, Cherry. With you it’s all about the win – control, what you’re forcing other folks to do. Baby, you ain’t got any “values” except if pushing people around’s a “value”.’

  ‘’What’re you talking about?’ Cherry wailed. ‘I’ve had my home stolen from me by foreign terrorists, and all you lot can talk about is a mangy, incontinent dog and a savage incontinent child. I don’t know anything about padlock keys. Ask him.’ And here she pointed the vicious finger at Li’l Missy who turned pale. ‘And,’ she continued, ‘I can’t get into my own house. What’re you going to do about that?’

  ‘How does it feel?’ I asked.

  ‘Oui,’ Tantie said. ‘’Ow does it feel?’

  ‘Do you have the padlock keys?’ Gregory gave Li’l Missy an approving glance. Obviously blonde hair, boobs and boots beat out the personal pronoun, ‘him’.

  ‘No,’ Missy said, throwing an imploring glance at Cherry Gelato, who ignored him. ‘They must be inside – I don’t know where. I don’t know what to do.’ He transferred the helpless imploring gaze to Pierre. ‘I really don’t know what to do. It was time for my pills an hour ago. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Pierre said, because he was way more forgiving than me.

  But Electra’s fate depended on me so I said to Tantie, ‘Can you ask Zach and Sylvie to look for the keys… les clefs… and find Li’l Missy’s medication?’

  ‘Zach et Sylvie? Pah!’ Her hand gesture, the flick of her wrist, were so dismissive I concluded that although she supported the ideals of Débris d’Or, her nephew and niece might as well be dead.

  So many offences, so many old injuries, were surfacing in the rain in Cherry’s front garden. So much hurt, so much need for forgiveness. But not from me, I thought – I’m not forgiving anyone till Electra’s safe. And even then, I’m not promising anything.

  After a brief confere
nce with her two colleagues Pang approached Tantie and me. ‘Does she speak English?’ she asked me.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked Tantie. Tantie began to laugh.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Pang said, addressing Tantie directly while giving me a reproachful glare. ‘Look, we have a very complicated situation here, and I don’t want to make it even messier by arresting foreign nationals… ’ She paused. Tantie stared back at her, managing to look both dignified and ludicrous in two pairs of sodden socks. Pang began again, ‘If you could help us simplify a complex situation, we’d be grateful.’

  Tantie considered this. I held my breath. The persistent rain was beginning to seep through Billy’s coat. I could not afford to go to a cop shop even for a moment. Once there, they’d never let me leave. They have the cyber-me trapped, wrapped like a fly in a spider’s web, in their computers. My only safety is invisibility.

  ‘Good luck with that one,’ the Devil said. ‘Because, you know, you have broken parole. You’ve committed at least half a dozen crimes that I know of. And my beautiful daughter, Cherry Honee, will definitely remind the police of all of them. Such a good daughter,’ he purred, threat and satisfaction oozing from his voice in equal measure.

  ‘I can’t think,’ I said. ‘Stop talking. I need a drink.’

  ‘Mummy, can I give the lady some water?’ Ziggy said.

  ‘The lady isn’t talking about water.’ Ziggy’s mum pointed her camcorder at me.

  Nothing but straightforward fact would do for Ziggy’s mum – no evasion. Take it from a beggar – sometimes when you really, really want help, you’ve got to bite the bullet and ask for it. I looked directly into her lens. ‘You’re right. I’m an alcoholic. I’m suffering from withdrawal sickness at this very moment. I’m not asking for a bottle. I can’t afford to get baked in this situation. But if you have a glass of anything you could let me have – preferably red wine – I’d be able to cope better. And I’d be truly grateful.’

  ‘I told you so,’ Cherry screeched. ‘She’s admitted it – she’s a scraggy old alky and you can’t believe a word she says.’

  The lens didn’t waver. Ziggy’s mum said, ‘Ziggy, listen very carefully – in the fridge door there’s a bottle of that grown-up juice I won’t let you touch. Go and get it. And put on your hoody or you’ll catch cold. Hurry.’

  Ziggy ran. My heart raced. I couldn’t tell if the moisture on my face was sweat, tears or rain.

  Tantie said, ‘Come with me,’ and grabbing Pang by the wrist she led her towards Cherry’s front door. Tantie was trying to help me. Somehow, resentful and unwilling as I was, I’d made a friend.

  ‘Oy, where do you think you’re going?’ Gregory said suddenly. Pierre, in a doomed attempt to be inconspicuous, was trying to peel away from the crowd.

  He said, ‘I got tools in the back of my car. I kinda thought maybe it’d save time if I could cut the poor old dog loose.’

  ‘Tools? Like bolt cutters?’ Special Constable Nidge was sharp as his own thumb. ‘I’m going to need to see these tools.’

  ‘Shee-it,’ Pierre said, resignedly. ‘I’ll pick ’em up now, right?’

  ‘You ain’t going nowhere till we say so.’

  Ziggy appeared in my line of sight holding… Oh bless you, Ziggy and Ziggy’s mum, may you both be rich and secure all your lives, may you never be thwarted by enemies or betrayed by friends.

  Ziggy held, in his grubby little hands, a bottle of Shiraz at least a third full.

  ‘Take it slow,’ a new voice advised. The speaker was behind Ziggy’s mum and off to the side. He was in a group of about seven other neighbours with mobile phones and umbrellas. One oldish couple had brought out picnic chairs and mugs of coffee.

  I held out my hand and Ziggy placed in it the smooth, cool glass container of salvation. I couldn’t speak until I’d poured a life-saving mouthful down my throat. Then I said, ‘Thank you both so much.’

  ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ Miss Self-Righteous said. ‘You’ve given alcohol to a dangerous alcoholic.’

  ‘Well you’ve given her pneumonia,’ Ziggy’s mum shot back. ‘And you’ve probably killed her dog, just like you killed Steve Pascoe’s kid – if what Billy says is right.’

  ‘It’s right,’ Billy shouted down from his window.

  Electra stirred in my arms. ‘Am I dead?’ she whispered faintly.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I whispered back. ‘It’s going to be okay.’ I tipped the bottle again, letting the wine fill my mouth, trying to swallow slowly, trying to allow the magic potion to drip into my gullet when what I wanted was to gulp, to feel that sweet release all in one go.

  ‘Who’s Steve Pascoe?’ PC Gregory said.

  ‘Her ex,’ Ziggy’s mum said, pointing at Cherry with the camcorder.

  ‘She broke up his marriage,’ Billy shouted.

  ‘Lies, lies, lies,’ Cherry said. ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this – rewriting history.’

  ‘His kid just disappeared,’ Billy yelled with unseemly relish. ‘That shed’s way too big for one bleeding lawnmower. You gotta find out what’s buried underneath.’

  ‘Told you so,’ said Ziggy’s mum. And a soft chorus of ‘Yeah’ and ‘People been saying that for ages,’ came from the crowd behind her. Cherry, it seemed, had pissed off a lot of neighbours.

  She said, ‘I’m calling my solicitor, right now.’ She turned to Li’l Missy, snapping her fingers. Silently he handed her a phone. ‘When this stupidity is cleared up, I’m going to sue you, you, you and you for slander and defamation of character.’ She pointed at Billy, Ziggy’s mum, the crowd behind her, and me. Well, she wouldn’t leave me out, would she? She hadn’t made nearly enough trouble for me already.

  ‘These are serious accusations,’ Gregory called up to Billy, ‘and unless you can back them up I’d advise you to pipe down.’

  ‘Arrest me.’ Billy was wheezing and shaking with laughter. Finally his unmanageable flesh had rendered him invulnerable to something. Maybe that’s what it was for from the very beginning: armour to protect a very small, very frightened creature.

  ‘He’s a bitter old blob.’ Cherry seemed to find her balance when slagging off others. ‘His wife left him,’ she added to PC Gregory, but loud enough to be heard by everyone, especially Billy. ‘He resents anyone younger and more attractive than himself.’ She touched her already immaculate helmet of hair, sucking strength from the knowledge that there were people older and fatter than herself. Then she turned away dismissively and busied herself with her phone.

  Every step she took was shadowed by Li’l Missy and her pink umbrella. I wondered if I was the only one to think this looked mad and egocentric.

  ‘Of course you’re the only one,’ the Devil told me gleefully. ‘You aren’t normal, so you don’t have normal opinions. But as you, yourself, are quite mad, it follows that you’d accuse my darling girl of madness. But I have to remind you – she isn’t the one who has been Sectioned and treated with anti-psychotic medications. Think about that before you criticise someone for having your own weaknesses.’

  ‘Don’t answer,’ Electra whispered. ‘Don’t stoop to his level.’

  A murmur ran through the crowd. I turned to look and saw that far from helping to relieve a complex situation, Zach and Sylvie had hung a pale pink sheet out of the bedroom window and started to sing the ‘Internationale’ in French. The Magic Marker message on the sheet read, ‘Stop capitalism. Stop war. Stop death to penguins.’

  ‘Well, I can’t disagree about the penguins,’ said the elderly lady in the picnic chair.

  ‘C’est l’éruption de la fin… ’ sang Zach and Sylvie in sweet harmony, left fists clenched, right hands waving the sheet. In spite of this they were as ethereal as film stars in the wrong movie.

  ‘That’s my sheet,’ Cherry wailed. ‘They’ve ruined a perfectly good sheet. I keep telling you, they’re vand
alising my property. And no one’s doing a thing to stop them.’

  ‘I really do sympathise,’ Gregory said. ‘Unfortunately it’s not a police matter.’

  ‘Well it should be a police matter,’ called out the woman who liked penguins. ‘Or we’re none of us safe in our own homes.’

  ‘This is democracy at work,’ sniggered the Devil. ‘The voice of the people, witnessed and recorded by the people. Like it?’

  ‘It beats the shit out of fascism,’ I said.

  ‘What are you babbling about?’ Cherry stood over me, hands on hips, protected from the rain by Li’l Missy’s pink umbrella. ‘This is all your fault. I told the boys never to bring you to my house. You’re dirty, alcoholic and mad. You’ve got more facial hair than you’ve got morals. You don’t fit in. You can’t control yourself. You spread chaos wherever you go. And you… ’ she turned on Pierre. ‘We’ve been as intimate as two people can be. But you let this… this… dirty vagrant into my life. All I wanted was someone to love, but as soon as she turns up you go back to your old deviant ways, wearing women’s clothes, making me look like a fool. You could’ve evicted the terrorists, but no, suddenly you’re all, “this isn’t what I’m about”. Well, let me tell you, a proper boyfriend would’ve protected me. A proper man would’ve done something, anything, to show whose side he was on… ’

  ‘Stop,’ Pierre said. ‘Maybe I’m not a proper man. Maybe that’s something to be proud of. Second, you didn’t want someone to love – you wanted someone to control. Fucking a guy does not give you the right to change him, to work relentlessly to screw with what’s important to him. You knew what I was from the beginning. I didn’t hide it. I’m a drag artist. I told you straight. Face it, honey, you pretended to accept me but right from the git-go you were planning to destroy everything about me that didn’t fit your picture of a “real boyfriend”. All you wanted was someone to pay your mortgage, service your car, and show off to your family. That ain’t love.’