by Paris Lees
I never felt like I could speak up at Gaz’s. I remember one Bonfire Night when I were little – I must’ve bin about seven or eight – an’ Aunty Ray dropped me off at Mammar Rita’s. It were Mammar Rita’s birthday so there were fireworks an’ a barbeque, an’ all ma dad’s side o’ the family were there. Aunty Ray had ’er car window down an’ Gaz asked ’er if she wanted to join us, but she said, “No thanks, I’m a vegetarian.” After she left, he started mouthin’ off about how she worra stuck up cow an’ how ’er an’ me mam are “cut from the same fuckin’ cloth”. Then he called me mam a tosser. I had to listen to ’im slag ’em off in front of all ma aunties an’ cousins. I really wanted to speak up, coz Aunty Ray an’t gorra nasty bone in ’er body, but I were too scared. I guess everyone else was too, coz no one said a word. I just sat an’ kept ma mouth shut.
What would Mammar Joe say if she could speak?
We sit for hours, till the sun comes up, just holdin’ Mammar’s hands. An’ ya know how sometimes a song’ll come into yer head that reminds ya of whatever it is yer doin’? Well, all I can hear is Moloko. “The Time Is Now”. You’re my last breath, You’re a breath of fresh air to me. She looks so helpless. She’s only fifty-two. That’s no age to die, is it? ’Er hands are covered wi’ purple veins, like the witch in Snow White. But they still look lovely to me, small an’ soft an’ feminine. In fact, everythin’ about Mammar Joe is small, soft an’ feminine, which is weird coz I’ve never even thought about it before but it’s like I’m seein’ ’er wi’ fresh eyes. Mam’s veins are startin’ to show now. I’d never noticed that before either, but they look older next to Aunty Ray’s. Hers have a bit of wear an’ tear too, but not as much as me mam’s. Mine are white an’ smooth.
Then me mam looks up an’ sez, “I think we should get ’er a priest.” Old Mother ’ubbard never guz to church, but she wears St Christopher round ’er neck, so we reckon it’s worth a try. Mam guz an’ speaks to the nurse, an’ ten minutes later a man wearin’ black turns up holdin’ a bible. He sez, “So you’re her daughters, then”, an’ we’re all so shocked that no one contradicts ’im, but I like it. Then he starts talkin’ about God an’ Heaven, an’ it all sounds so strange, but it’s also kinda comfortin’. After he leaves, Mam sez, “I’m sorry, Mam. I’ve bin angry wi’ ya all these years, but none o’ that matters now. I know I’ve not always bin the best daughter, but ya know I love ya, don’t ya?” I don’t know what exactly Mam is menna be angry wi’ Mammar Joe for, but I’ve got nothin’ to forgive, so I just tell ’er I love ’er. Aunty Ray’s talkin’ about all the nice things they’ve done, all their happy memories. Then me mam sez, “Ya can go, ya know, Mam.”
Then all of a sudden, Mammar Joe’s fingertips turn cold. I face me mam an’ she’s starin’ back at me with a look of horror – like she’s just seen Death ’issen. An’ we know. This is it. It starts at the tips, an’ spreads down ’er fingers, like a wave. I can actually feel the flesh turnin’ cold as the blood retreats an’ ’er life slips away. I move ma hands up to ’er wrists, but then they go cold too, as it sweeps up ’er arm. She’s makin’ these awful noises. Aunty Ray sez it’s a death rattle. They’re gerrin further an’ further apart, an’ more an’ more upsettin’. Each time I think, This one’s gotta be the last, but then there’s another. An’ I suddenly get this overwhelmin’ urge to shout for the doctors, coz she don’t wanna die! She wants to live! She’s tryin’ ’er best to breathe, for God’s sake! We can’t just let ’er die. She must be scared, coz I would be! I’d be terrified. An’ I’d want people to come an’ save me.
Coz until she’s actually dead, there’s still hope, in’t there? An’ I’m wonderin’ why the fuck we just accepted what the doctors told us? Coz they could be doin’ more for ’er, I know they could. I bet she’d be gerrin better care than this if she were the Queen! They don’t die at fifty-two, do they, the Royal Family. So why can’t they give ’er what they’d give them? There must be more they can do!
But then she dies. One minute she’s there – the next she’s not.
The thing that gets me the most is knowin’ that every second for the rest of ma life is gonna take me further away from this moment, from ’er bein’ alive. That I’ll grow older, an’ I’ll change, an’ I’ll always be travellin’ away from now. It’s like bein’ on a spaceship an’ watchin’ the earth get further away, knowin’ you’ll never be able to go home again.
Unfinished Sympathy
How could she have not known she were dyin’? Mam sez, “I don’t remember a single day where she said she felt well ’er whole life.” An’ it’s true, Mammar Joe was a bit of a hypochondriac. I’d say, “How’s it goin’, Old Mother ’ubbard?” An’ she’d go, “I’m not feelin’ too well, duck. But I’ll be rate after a cuppa tea.” But when she did actually have summat seriously wrong with ’er, she just ignored it. It’s absolutely ridiculous. There’s no way she cun’ have known she was dyin’. Aunty Ray sez she must have done, deep down, but just din’t wanna face it.
I’ve taken most of ’er stuff. The council said we had two weeks to clear ’er flat out, so Mam ordered a skip. She were walkin’ around goin’, “Just throw that, no one’s gonna use that.” She wants to throw everythin’, but Aunty Ray’s followin’ ’er round sayin’, “No, that can go ter charity that can, Lisa.” I found a T-shirt that sez Mencap on it, an’ it made me think about the summer she volunteered for ’em while Mam was abroad, coz I used to go down Nottingham with ’er an’ I made loadsa friends. We did loadsa stuff together, me an’ Old Mother ’ubbard.
I keep hearin’ ’er sayin’, “Put that down, I’m savin’ that!” like she’s right next to me, coz she worra right hoarder. I think it’s coz she were dead poor growin’ up. She’d absolutely hate the thought of all this bein’ thrown in the skip. I snatch a glass casserole dish that me mam’s about to toss in a bin liner an’ she guz, “Ya can’t keep that, it’s filthy. You’ll get a disease.” I sez, “She din’t die from a disease, she died from fags. Which I notice you’re still smokin’!” I’ve not bin able to have one since Mammar Joe died. They’re absolutely disgustin’.
She sez, “Yer eighteen years old, ya can’t take everythin’.”
I sez, “I can do worra want. You don’t have to take it, but ya can’t stop me!”
She sez, “We’re all hurtin’, Byron. She were ma mam, ya know.”
I sez, “I know exactly who she was, an’ she knew exactly who I am too – that’s why she din’t call me Byron. She called me what I wanna be called. Coz she’s bin more of a mam to me than you have.” An’ I can feel what’s comin’ next, but it’s like drivin’ a car ya know’s about to crash, but ya just can’t take yer foot off the accelerator – “I wish it had bin you! I wish you’d fuckin’ died, not ’er!” An’ I’m thinkin’, Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off! I know I’m wrong for sayin’ it, I know I’ve gone too far. But I just wish Mammar Joe was still here. All the ’orrible people in the world, an’ the universe leaves ’em an’ comes an’ takes ’er. All the murderers, an’ the war criminals, they just live on an’ on, don’t they?
An’ then – just as I’m thinkin’ about ’orrible old bastards that refuse to die – Gaz turns up. I’ve not seen ’im for about a year. An’ would ya believe, he’s more concerned about me mam than me? Ma fuckin’ dad! Apparently. An’ he’s still in love with ’er, after all these years. He loves ’er more than me! He’s literally stood there comfortin’ ’er, an’ ignorin’ me. An’ I don’t care what anyone sez, I do wish it had bin ’im. I really do. How on earth is he still walkin’ about while Mammar Joe is dead?
I hate ’im. I do. So why do I wish he’d put ’is arms around me an’ tell me he loves me, that everythin’s gonna be alright? But he won’t. An’ it’s not. I feel ashamed for even thinkin’ it.
He were sat in the livin’ room an’ I accidentally knocked ’is foot when I come back from the loo. I sez, “Sorry”, an’ he guz, “What for? The past four years?” It took me a moment to process it
at first. Sorry for the past four years? An’ then I realize, he thinks I’ve bin misbehavin’ all this time! That I’m a naughty teenager. That I’ve done summat wrong. To him. That I need to apologize for. Right now, the day after Mammar Joe’s died. He din’t even know ’er that well. I’m mournin’ for someone who’s bin more of a parent to me than both o’ them put together, an’ he’s just sittin’ there makin’ snide comments. I fuckin’ hate ’im.
But I’ve already said enough today. Aunty Ray always sez, “If ya an’t got owt nice to say, don’t say owt at all.” An’ it’s true, innit, coz there’s no need to be nasty most the time. She always taught me it’s important to be kind to people, even if they’re not kind to you. It’s so hard sometimes though. I look at Gaz an’ me mam, an’ can’t believe I’ve bin left here wi’ these selfish fuckin’ idiots. I walk out. Looks like I’m gonna have to look after mysen from now on.
Put Your Hands Up For Detroit
I saw Lady Die in town. She guz out dressed up in the day now. She were wearin’ jeans, big hoop earrin’s an’ a Von Dutch cap. I sez, “Oi, Die, not like you to wear clothes!” She come over an’ said she’s sorry to hear about Mammar Joe, an’ sparked up a fag. We were stood at the Left Lion. She said, “D’ya want one?” so I just looked at ’er like, do me a favour, babe. Mam sez it’s scandalous they’re even allowed to sell fags, that there’s people who’ve got rich sellin’ things they know are bad for ya. I mean, it’s not as if anyone’s forcin’ people to smoke, but she’s right. It’s wrong. They used to tell people cigarettes were good for ’em.
People are starin’ at Lady Die as she’s sparkin’ up this fag though, an’ then these two lads shout, “Gizza light, mate!” She just pretends she can’t ’ear ’em. An’ I’m thinkin’, I can’t do this. I can’t deal wi’ this every day for the rest of ma life. Then one of ’em shouts, “Oi, nigger-bloke, what ya ignorin’ me for?” so she turns round an’ tells ’em to fuck off. Next thing I know they dash over an’ knock ’er cap off. ’Er wig comes loose an’ as she’s tryna straighten up one thumps ’er in the back of ’er ’ead an’ spits on ’er. Everyone’s lookin’. I’m so shocked, I can’t even think. Before I can even process what’s just gone off, they shout, “Fuckin’ battyman”, an’ run off. Die’s shakin’.
I go, “Babe, are ya alright?” an’ pick ’er cap up. She’s stylin’ it out, tryna pretend they’ve not upset ’er, but they have, I know they have. Coz I know how it feels. I go, “Come on, let’s go to the police, I bet they’re on CCTV”, but she sez, “I can’t be doin’ with it”, so I’m like, “Are ya sure? Coz ya pulled that fit policeman last time we went”, an’ then she’s gorra smile on ’er face again, which makes me smile but inside I’m seethin’ wi’ them bastards. All this is menna stop when ya leave school an’ Die’s twenty now, for God’s sake. An’ it’s just so unfair coz she wun’t hurt a fly, Die. OK, she’s one of Nottingham’s most infamous slags, but she wun’t ever be nasty to anyone. An’ I’m gonna miss ’er like summat rotten if I leave Notts. She’s the mint sauce to ma mushy peas.
But it made me think, I’m not gonna call ’er a black bitch again. Coz it’s not the same when she calls me a white slag, is it? Coz OK, I can’t dance, an’ I’ve got no hips, but no one’s actually tryna bully me for bein’ white, are they? An’ she’s gerrin it coz she’s a tranny an’ coz she’s black. The worst thing is though, they were black! So they should know what it feels like to be picked on for bein’ different, an’ yet they’re doin’ that to other people! It makes me sick.
I go, “You shun’t let ’em get away wi’ it, ya know? Ya don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does.” An’ I’m thinkin’, The only way I can do it is if I can really pull it off. I’ve gorra look the part. I’ve gorra look like a girl. I go, “Die, d’ya think we’ll ever be alright? If we have like loadsa surgery an’ that? D’ya think people will ever accept us?” But she sez she don’t know. “Can ya imagine if ya spent all that money an’ people still din’t see ya as a real woman? I think that’d be even more upsettin’ than ’em not acceptin’ us now.”
She sez, “They’ve passed a law so ya can change yer passport now, ya know. Ya can say yer female now.” Well, I din’t know, but that makes me feel a bit better, coz it just shows ya, there must be other people out there like us. An’ it’s like the government’s sayin’ we’re OK. That we’re proper people. I’m gonna miss ’er so much. I don’t think anyone’s ever had as much fun as me an’ Die.
I go, “Oi, Die, d’ya remember when we went to Newstead Abbey that time?” An’ she guz, “Ah, that was fun that day!” Then she guz, “D’ya remember when we got kicked off the train at Loughborough coz we’d spent all our money on drugs, an’ we had to go in Asda dressed like slags an’ you said, ‘Come on, there’s no such thing as bad attention?’ I sez, “How could I forget? Eh, d’ya remember that time yer blood sugar dropped at One Big Sunday in Leicester an’ they let us go back stage an’ meet Atomic Kitten, an’ I thought you’d just done it for attention?” She guz, “Yeah, coz I nearly died.”
I sez, “We have a laugh, don’t we?” She guz, “Yeah, we do.”
I don’t even know if I should be applyin’ to uni. Ya have to write to ’em an’ ask for a place based on yer predicted grades, but how can I go to uni an’ become a girl all in one month? It’s too much! Louis’s mam sez I should just do it, an’ that if I don’t I might never go an’ it’d be a waste coz I’ve got potential. “Just think about all the hard work you’ve done to get here. Think about how proud your grandmother – your Mammar Joe – would be knowing that you’re going to university.” She’s right, but Mammar Joe’s not gonna know, is she? Why cun’ she have died after I’d got ma A-level results? Why cun’t she have seen that I’m good? At least she’d have known I were on the right path.
I sez, “Die, if I move dead faraway, will ya visit?”
She guz, “Just you try an’ stop me.”
“But what if the train’s dead expensive?”
“I’ll skank it.”
What You Waiting For?
I gorran A in English! I’m dead happy. B in human biology, C in psychology, an’ a D in French. It’s not gonna get me into Oxford any time soon, but I have bin offered a place at the University of Brighton. They wanted better grades, but ma tutor wrote to ’em an’ told ’em I’ve had a tough few years but “would make a great addition to the university”. She’s bin really good to me, she has. Joanna Baker. So they’re givin’ me a chance! I’ve had another offer too, but I wanna go to Brighton. I cun’ be arsed to research unis so I just picked a folder of prospectuses from the library at college an’ applied to all of ’em. They’re in alphabetical order. It was the one with all the Bs, so it were Bristol, Brighton or Birmingham. I’ve seen Brighton on the telly. Loadsa gay people live there, apparently. Peter sez the council’s run by gays, so if I’m gonna be alright anywhere, it’s there, innit?
I’ve bin doin’ a lotta thinkin’ since Mammar Joe died. About how short life is, an’ all the things she coulda done but won’t have the chance to now. An’ I’m sick of hidin’ who I am coz I’m scared what other people might think. Coz one day I’m gonna be dead, an’ it’ll be too late. An’ I think Mammar Joe would want me to be happy. She was always sayin’ how all she wanted was for me, me mam an’ Aunty Ray to be alright. Well I know what I need to do to be happy now. I’ve always known, really.
Ma hair’s growin’. I’ll be able to put it in a pony tail soon. Mam sez I’ve got nice hair, not thin like hers. I got the bathroom mirror an’ held it next to the wardrobe mirror so I could see ma face from every angle the other day, an’ I actually think I can do it. I might just be alright. I’m lucky, really. I just don’t wanna waste any more time. I’m so, so sick of lookin’ at all the girls at college an’ wishin’ I could just be mysen. Coz it’s never gonna go away, an’ I don’t just wanna be one o’ them cross-dressers when I’m thirty. That’s OK for some, but what’s the point in wastin’ any more yea
rs tryna be summat I’m not? I’ve wasted enough as it is.
I went to see me mam the other day an’ told ’er I’m givin’ all ma old clothes to Louis. Sez I’m gerrin laser hair removal on ma face. She sez, “Where ya gonna get the money for that?”, but I think she knows, deep down. Who else has money for taxis all the time? She were sat at the bottom o’ the stairs. I sez, “I don’t know worram gonna do about this, though”, an’ put ma hand on ma chest. “Coz I’m never gonna be able to afford that.” An’ d’ya know what she sez to me? She sez, “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way.” She’s gonna help! She’s finally startin’ to gerrit. Or at least she sez she does.
Which is more than can be said for ma GP. Smanfa’s boyfriend took me down an’ they waited in the reception for me. I looked dead good, I wore ma Superdry hoodie wi’ the long sleeves. I sez, “I wanna have a sex change,” an’ this doctor just looked at me gone out. I cun’ believe what she said next. “So, just to clarify, you want to become a man?” I burst out laughin’. I sez, “No, the other way round”, so she sez she’s gonna refer me to a psychiatrist. That’s what ya have to do before they give ya owt. But I wanna start on the tablets as soon as possible.
I went to see Peter afterwards. He showed me a photo o’ this new lad he’s knockin’ about with. Looks about seventeen. I can tell he’s sweet on ’im, an’ it made me realize that I were never really that special to ’im, was I? He’ll just be on to the next, an’ the next. I’m not sayin’ he don’t care about me or any of ’is other Fallen Divas, but he is who he is, innee? An’ I’ve outgrown ’im in more ways than one. I can’t put ma finger on it, but for some reason he just seemed to look a lot older. He gave me two hundred pounds an’ sez I’ve gorra promise to come an’ see ’im whenever I visit Nottingham. I sez, “Of course I will, ya silly old poof.” But I know I’m never gonna see ’im again.
