by Liza Cody
Pang was sitting on the stairs, waiting, with her notebook on her knees. Gregory was between me and the front door, looming. Where was everyone else? I craned my neck to look into the living room. Chilly Cherry was sitting on one end of the sofa, talking to her phone. Nidge was at the other end looking awkward and glum. I couldn’t see Pierre and Li’l Missy at all. The neighbours had cleared out.
‘Name?’ said Pang determinedly.
This is always how it starts – the downward slide that ends in the crapper.
‘Bag with an E,’ I said. ‘That’s B-A-G-G-E. Lady Bag.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Ms Price called her Angela Mary Something,’ said Gregory, he of the inconvenient memory.
‘She got it wrong,’ I said. ‘Never heard of her. Listen, the one you need to talk to is Billy next door. He can’t get out, see, and he’s been keeping track of the neighbours for years. When there’s no racing or snooker on the telly he gets lonely and bored. Well, wouldn’t you – if you couldn’t walk further than your bathroom?’
‘That’s not your name,’ Gregory said. Obviously he had an ear for the important stuff.
‘Bag, with an E. Prove me wrong. The thing is, see, in this day of mass communication you don’t have to rely on my faulty memory for facts and figures. Every one of those neighbours has an electronic gismo, and everyone took pictures of what happened last night when Ms Frosty gave Connor back to the woman who’d abused him so dreadfully. I can’t blame you lot – you hadn’t heard the story or seen the picture then. But she had. She knew just how desperate the situation was.’
‘We can easily find out,’ Gregory said. ‘Your fingerprints, photograph and all your details are on record.’
‘Dig up the shed,’ I said, desperation for a drink, knocking like rim-shots at the back of my skull. ‘She’s as good as murdered one little boy already. You don’t have to believe me – talk to Billy.’
‘Name?’ said Gregory.
The blessed, sainted, doorbell rang.
It was as if the house inhaled cold damp air as Gregory opened the front door. ‘What?’
‘Emergency Glass Repair,’ said one of the new arrivals.
‘CID,’ said the other.
‘Oh joy,’ said Pang softly.
‘Oh shit,’ I said.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Gregory. ‘If us poor plods uncover enough nuts, sooner or later the squirrels come along for a feed.’
‘Pang,’ said Pang, standing up quickly.
‘Hobbs,’ said the CID man. ‘I’m here to assess the sitch. Terrorism?’
‘Someone needs to give me a debit card and sign my worksheet,’ said the Emergency Glass Man. ‘And let’s get our arses in gear – I haven’t had my lunch and I got two more callouts already. Where’s the householder?’ He wasn’t going to let a little thing like terrorism get in his way.
‘Ms Price,’ Gregory called. ‘Someone’s come to mend your window.’ He seemed very happy to let the broken window trump the CID.
‘Thank goodness,’ said Cherrylzebub, coming to the sitting room doorway.
‘I can’t get my tools in here, love, without you clear the hall and get rid of that sodding lawnmower.’
‘They aren’t terrorists,’ I said. ‘I think they’re environmental activists who lost their way.’
‘Eh?’ said Hobbs.
‘Don’t listen to a word she says,’ said Miss Pink Perfect. ‘She’s not all there.’
‘A shoe short of a pair,’ confirmed Gregory.
‘Their concern for penguins might be a clue,’ I said.
‘They assaulted me in my own home,’ said Baby-Cherry in her Tweetie Pie voice.
‘What you got a lawnmower in your hall for anyway?’ said Glass Man to Ice Woman.
‘As an instrument of chaos,’ said Chaos Incarnate, ‘that lawnmower’s done sterling work. One of your better acts. I approve.’
‘You’ve served your purpose,’ I said to the lawnmower, ‘and now you must go.’ I struggled stiffly to my feet. ‘I’ll put it back in the shed, shall I?’ Electra got up and stretched too.
‘Pick it up and carry it,’ squawked She-who-cares-more-for-hall-
carpets-than-for-babies-or-dogs.
Meanwhile Hobbs was saying to Gregory, ‘Just go up those stairs, arrest the two terrorists and take them to the nick. What’s stopping you?’
‘My pleasure,’ said Gregory. He was only prevented from taking the stairs two at a time by Pierre, Li’l Missy and Tantie coming down laden with bags.
‘They’re going to arrest Zach and Sylvie,’ I said.
‘Et pourquoi pas?’ Tantie said, shrugging.
‘We’re leaving,’ Pierre said to his icy ex.
‘I don’t understand why you’re treating me so badly,’ she said, sniffing pathetically. ‘All I ever did was love you and give you and your friend a home.’
‘Where are you going?’ Pang asked. ‘We’ll need an address where you can be contacted.’
‘Next door,’ Pierre told her. ‘Even a racist pig like Billy looks good after this.’
‘Not you,’ Pang said to me. ‘We need your statement.’
‘I’ll just help with the lawnmower and come straight back.’ I kicked Pierre’s ankle as he edged towards the door. He turned and grabbed the mower’s front roller, and together we half pushed, half carried it over the doorstep. Li’l Missy and Tantie followed us out.
Even in the confusion I noticed that at last Tantie was wearing her own boots and they gave her strength and stature. Some women’s self-worth seems to depend upon their footwear.
30
Gimme Shelter
We were only allowed into Billy’s house because Tantie refused to go in on her own. Billy’s need for pie depended on Tantie and temporarily overcame his racism, ageism and genderism.
His thirst for gossip depended on me. So after I’d fed Pierre, Li’l Missy, Tantie and myself on purloined chicken soup and rice pudding I went up to tell stories. The first thing he said, before even saying ‘hello’, was, ‘The blond one, y’know, the gay one, yeah, d’you think he’d show me his boobs?’
‘You’re disgusting, Billy,’ I said.
‘I’m just an ordinary bloke,’ he said. ‘Whatever he’s got below the waist, he’s quite tasty in the upstairs department. So, are the cops going to arrest the cow next door? Are they still there?’
I looked out of the window. A patrol car and the unmarked car Hobbs had arrived in hadn’t moved. I wondered if Nidge had taken Zach and Sylvie away. It was still raining but the rain now had a sleety look as it hit the windowpane.
The Glass Man was boarding up the Ice House window, although it seemed to me that a little sleet in the living room wouldn’t make much difference to such a cold climate. On the other side of the road I saw that Pang and Gregory were being let into Ziggy’s house.
I said, ‘Do you really think that polar bear next door did away with her ex’s little boy?’
‘Could of,’ he said. ‘She really couldn’t stand that poor bloke paying attention to anything that wasn’t her – even if it was just a cigarette. But if you ask me, what she really wanted was the house. That’s why she had him took away by the blokes with butterfly nets.’
‘She couldn’t have killed his kid. There’d be too many people looking out for him. Like the mother. Behave, Billy – you just want someone to pull that shed down, don’t you?’
‘Not so green as you’re cabbage-looking.’ His eyes disappeared into a roll of cheek fat. Billy was smiling.
‘She’d never do anything evil herself,’ I said. ‘She’d make someone else do it for her. And she’d always be able to justify it or explain it away. Like Connor. If he dies it won’t be her fault. It’ll be mine for going to see him in the first place. Or mine, Missy’s and Pierre’s for trying to rescue him. It
’d be the Social Services’ and the cops’, for giving him back to his abusive grandmother. But never, ever, hers for knowing and not caring.’
‘That piece of all right with the big bazongas was a grandmother?’ Billy asked, shocked, the smile vanishing. ‘Too effing old. Way too old.’
‘She wasn’t too old for you night before last. Anyway, Billy, how old are you?’
‘I was drinking,’ he said. Which of course explained everything. I’m not joking. It really does explain everything.
It was growing dark, and sleet was beginning to slap the window. I watched as Pang and Gregory came out of Ziggy’s house. They looked hard at Billy’s window, but went next door instead.
‘How about a beer now?’ I asked.
‘Okay, but I ain’t giving you none.’
‘You’re a gent,’ I said. I left his foetid bedroom quickly but not quickly enough to prevent myself from hearing him say, ‘This is my house and you ain’t invited.’
In the tiny back bedroom I collected all the clothes I’d taken from the charity shop bag. An armful – more than I’d owned for a long time. I carried them down to the kitchen. Tantie had hung Billy’s coat in front of the oven to dry. It was kind of her, but now that she had shoes and a handbag I felt the distance between us. I gave her a can of beer and pointed at the ceiling. She made a face but took it upstairs.
I put on as many layers as I could, and then found two bin bags, shoved one inside the other for double protection and stuffed the rest of the clothing inside. Then I put on Billy’s coat. It was still damp, but so much better than nothing.
Electra was in the sitting room sleeping in front of an electric fire. Pierre and Missy were deep in conversation.
I said, ‘The cops are coming and I have to go. You’ll be all right but it isn’t safe for me and Electra. North Pole Nora next door saw to that when she told them I’d broken parole.’
‘You can’t take Electra out in this weather,’ Missy protested. She looked so cosy in her cashmere jumper, sitting nose to nose with Pierre. She was my treacherous, sweet friend. It nearly broke my heart.
Without being called, Electra got up and came to my side. She had nothing to say to me, but she was ready. The Devil, who always has something to say, commented, ‘Save yourself and kill your dog. Yep, that’s the kind of deal I approve of.’
Trying to ignore him, I said, ‘I don’t suppose either of you remembered Electra’s coat.’
‘You’re never going to forgive me, are you?’ Li’l Missy said, and began rummaging in a huge striped beach bag.
‘It wasn’t malice,’ Pierre said, holding his hand out to Missy. ‘It’s weakness. She scares easy.’
‘So do I,’ I said. ‘So does Electra.’
‘You’re tough and independent,’ Pierre said.
‘No I’m not. I’m homeless. I have to put up with whatever life throws at me. I don’t have a choice and it doesn’t make me brave. I’m running away now. Watch me.’
Silently, with tears magnifying her pretty blue eyes, Smister held out two items. One was Electra’s old green waterproof coat. The other was pink, mohair and hand-knitted. The words ‘Lady Bag’s Lady Dog, were appliquéd to one side in lime green felt.
‘Put it on her,’ I said. And Electra waited patiently while Smissy adjusted the doggy sweater and fastened the loops and pearl buttons underneath. Pearl buttons didn’t save it as an outfit – only Smister could get away with a colour combo like that. Electra couldn’t. It looked… well, actually it looked like a dog’s dinner on her.
But it was warm and dry and I could see how much work had gone into it. I fitted the old waterproof over the top.
‘The Ambo,’ Pierre said, fishing in his pocket for keys. ‘Go there, out of the weather.’ He couldn’t find his keys. Which reminded me that I still had them in Billy’s pocket.
‘Not safe,’ I said. ‘The Arctic Assassin knows about it. She’ll have told the cops.’ I went to the kitchen to pretend to find the keys.
‘Keep them,’ Old Nick whispered in my ear. ‘The cops will arrest my darling girl and then you can hide in her house. No one will ever think of looking for you there.’
I stopped. ‘How will I know she’s been arrested, and for how long?’ It was such a tempting idea.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he sniggered. ‘You saw how easy it was for Zach and Sylvie to expel her. It’s payback time.’
‘I know,’ I agreed, shoving Pierre’s keys back in Billy’s pocket. Electra’s claws clicking on the kitchen tiles made me turn. She stood, her head cocked, ears pricked, waiting to go out. Her citrine eyes stroked my troubled mind.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said to her.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said to the Old Goat. ‘You called her, “My darling,” but you’re suggesting I fuck her up. Why?’
‘She’s not my only darling,’ he said soothingly. ‘You can be my darling girl too. You’re yearning for love and acceptance. You were born yearning. I know it and I know you.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘no, you don’t know me at all. If she’s your darling, I don’t want to be. If you’ve chosen her you can’t have me. Anyone who chooses her is beneath contempt.’
‘Then I choose you,’ he said simply and sincerely. ‘No contest.’
‘You clever, lying bastard,’ I said. But I was so moved I sat down on a kitchen chair, laid my head on the table and wept. He knew me so well. He knew what I wanted. There’s no one else in my life who knows me like that. And there never has been.
‘What else are you going to do?’ my fiendish friend whispered. ‘Risk the life of the one creature you say you love? Abandon the only two people who even pretend to care about you?’
I cannot begin to express how much I needed a drink at that moment. The pressure was squashing my brain to the size of a walnut. My heart was dribbling out of my eyes in heavy drops of salt water. My hands shook, sweat greased my skin, my guts lurched and squirmed. The table I laid my head on wallowed like a raft on a choppy sea. I was afraid I’d die. I was afraid I wouldn’t.
Pierre said, ‘Wassup – you look like shit.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I need a drink. I really need… ’ My tongue clung like fur to the roof of my mouth. I turned to look at Electra. ‘How dumb am I?’ I asked her. How many days, weeks, years ago had she told me to my face that it was dumb to look to a dog for guidance? How long ago was it that she told me that a dog can’t lie because she can’t talk? So I said, ‘Who do I listen to? The intelligent, articulate one who can tell me what to do? Or the one who can’t talk?’
‘Say again?’ said Pierre, while Electra just sat looking at me.
Waiting for me to do the right thing.
I fumbled in my pocket and my trembling fingers dropped Pierre’s keys on the floor.
‘You’re blowing your only chance,’ warned Damian Dark.
‘You found them,’ Pierre said, relieved.
‘I can’t talk now,’ I said. ‘I’m sick.’
‘No shit. What we gonna do with you?’
‘I can’t think. Can I have some money?’
‘You’ll just get hammered. That’s why you’re sick, dumb-ass.’
‘Wrong,’ said Mr D. Dark Esq. ‘You’re sick because you aren’t hammered.’ And this time he was telling the painful truth.
‘I’m off,’ I said, stumbling to my feet. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t get as far as the front door.
‘Stop,’ Missy cried. ‘You can’t just run away and leave us to carry the can.’
‘She’s sick,’ Pierre said.
‘Give me your phone?’ I asked. ‘Then you can find me if you want.’
‘I’ll give her my old phone,’ Pierre said.
‘She’ll sell it. She’ll lose it. Someone’ll rob it off her.’
‘Yeah, well, I have to find it first and charge it.’
>
‘No time – bugger off,’ I said. But it was me who was buggering off. I opened the door and went out into the idle sleety rain that looked as if it had the stamina to last all night.
‘Stop,’ Li’l Missy Sinister cried again. ‘Don’t be such a drama queen. I’ve only got a fiver, but you can have it.’ She handed me a crumpled note.
Pierre found his money clip. He seemed a little surprised that there wasn’t more in it, but he peeled off a tenner and gave me that too. Smister rolled back my sleeve and wrote his phone number and Pierre’s on my forearm. ‘It’s not like you’re going to wash it off, is it?’ he added cattily.
Pierre said, ‘About the cops and Connor – we’ve just gotta stick to the facts.’
‘I know,’ I said, fifteen quid vibrating in my hand. ‘Just don’t let Miss Fridge-Freezer put all the blame on us. She knew where Connor came from.’
‘She knew,’ Pierre said, frowning as if his head hurt.
‘She even pretended to be shocked,’ Smissy said.
‘Goodbye,’ I said hurriedly, because I legitimately owned fifteen pounds and I knew that I could make myself feel better very shortly. I shut the door on their anxious faces and Electra and I took the few steps across Billy’s front yard to the road. I arrived there at the same time as a little white Kia. The driver’s door opened and an umbrella unfurled itself. It was followed by Alicia in a fleecy coat and funky red boots. Pierre would not remain anxious for long.
She said, ‘Hi, what a lovely dog. I didn’t know you had one.’ She bent and laid a hand on Electra’s head. Electra flattened her ears and accepted the hand. I found myself accepting the hand too.
I said, ‘Give Pierre a message from me? It’s about a mortgage. Ask him if his name is on the deeds. If I’m right, probably all he did was set up and sign a Standing Order. In which case he only has to talk to his bank and cancel it. And maybe tell the mortgage holder what he’s done.’
‘A mortgage?’ she said. ‘A Standing… ?’
‘Order. He’ll explain, or he won’t.’ I was exhausted, but I added, ‘He’s been paying for a very bad decision.’
‘Yeah, well, we’ve all done that.’ It was her rueful, embarrassed smile that made me believe that maybe she wasn’t a troll. Trolls don’t admit to bad decisions. They are always the victims of other people’s wickedness or stupidity, never their own. Pierre’s luck was changing.