Toffee

by Sarah Crossan

Why aren’t you wearing a skirt?

  I hesitate.

  I got here yesterday.

  I’m leaving in a minute.

  Sorry.

  She stares at my feet,

  the purple nail varnish worn away

  at the tips of my toenails

  from too-tight shoes.

  Did you burn the toast? It wasn’t me.

  She sounds suspicious.

  I don’t even like toast. I like rolls with butter.

  The fridge door is open.

  On one shelf

  a small stack

  of paperback books:

  Jane Austen,

  Emily Brontë,

  Jilly Cooper.

  I could eat the twelve apostles though, she says.

  Did you pick up sausages?

  I’d kill for some mash.

  It is six fifteen in the morning.

  My eyes are sandy,

  my stomach is sore.

  Before I get out of here I could do with some food,

  because I can’t stay –

  she’s clearly out of her mind.

  I’ll make sausage sandwiches, I say.

  You see what’s on the TV.

  She heads for the metal breadbin.

  I can butter something. I’m not useless.

  She bites her thumbnail

  and scans the kitchen.

  Who are you anyway?

  Do Mary and Donal know you’re here?

  Is Peggy on her way or not?

  I’m here from the council, I tell her,

  clutching her elbow and

  leading her to the sitting room.

  The council? Don’t give me that.

  The council didn’t send you here wearing no clothes.

  Do you think I’m batty?

  Is Peggy OK?

  She squares up to me.

  Her breath is full of sleep.

  I go back into the kitchen to prepare the sausages.

  She follows and stands watching,

  watching me make breakfast

  in my underwear.

  Who Did That to Your Face?

  She asks.

  No One Did Anything to Me

  I tell her.

  Home Help

  I am zipping up my jeans

  when a voice rings out.

  Marla! It’s Peggy!

  The front door slams shut.

  I can’t get my feckin’ tights on, Marla shouts

  from the bedroom next to mine.

  My arse has expanded.

  Feet pad the stairs.

  I nudge my room door closed

  and press an ear against it.

  Your mouth never stops expanding either.

  You not dressed yet? I messaged to remind you.

  The woman, Peggy, laughs and starts to whistle,

  noise nothing like a melody.

  They sent someone else, Marla says.

  A young thing.

  Lovely, she is.

  Almost burned the house down around me.

  A pause.

  Is someone after my job? Peggy asks.

  Was she funnier than I am?

  Did she climb in a window?

  Marla doesn’t reply because

  these are not real questions.

  They are condescensions.

  Peggy doesn’t believe a word Marla’s saying,

  hearing only confusion

  not facts.

  She must have a key, Marla says.

  Or maybe she was here all night.

  She was in her knickers.

  Noises come from the other room

  that sound like fussing, sorting, tidying.

  Well, I’ll definitely look

  to make sure she left.

  Peggy is completely unconvinced.

  Sorry I was late.

  There was a tractor in front of me the whole way

  from Stratton and he wouldn’t pull over.

  What a headache!

  I scramble around the room,

  squeezing things into my bag,

  then quietly

  slide beneath the bed,

  press my side against a collection

  of dusty hat boxes.

  Eventually the room door does open;

  heavy white trainers appear,

  tidily laced to the top.

  No one in the spare room, Marla! Peggy calls out.

  Her feet are still.

  Then she bends,

  hair covering her face,

  and collects a sock I missed

  from the carpet.

  We should probably give it a clean in here.

  And she is gone,

  out the door again, calling,

  Have you had your dolly mixtures yet?

  Dolly mixtures?

  Your meds, woman. Your meds.

  I’ll find them. You come on down

  when you’ve your face on.

  In my pocket, my phone vibrates.

  I Check My Phone

  Finally a message from Kelly-Anne.

  Oh My God. Where r u????

  I type only one word.

  Bude

  Laters

  See you tomorrow! Peggy shouts.

  I peep out the window.

  Peggy is a wide woman.

  She slams Marla’s front gate shut

  and climbs into a car too tiny for her,

  the wing mirror attached with tape.

  I tiptoe down the stairs

  with all my stuff.

  In the hall Marla’s handbag

  is still dangling from the newel post.

  I take from it her purse

  and then a tenner,

  plastic smooth,

  put the purse back again.

  And then I am running

  out the back door

  heading for the seashore.

  Birdbrain

  A man on the beach is taunting a seagull,

  mocking the bird’s swagger, mimicking its squawk,

  while he uses a metal detector

  to search for pieces of copper

  worth less than a packet of crisps.

  A woman reads with earphones in

  while a pair of toddling twins

  hit one another with sandy spades.

  A couple lie on a towel too close to the sea,

  sharing kisses and germs.

  I leave my belongings in a pile,

  stuff my socks into my shoes

  and go to the shore.

  The smarting sea

  strokes my feet

  and I would like to feel

  that freeze throughout my body

  but I am dressed in jeans and a jumper

  and cannot dive in like the dog nearby,

  who yaps and bites at the waves.

  And then the rain comes,

  heavy with wind.

  Sand scratches my skin.

  I return to my things.

  But.

  My backpack has gone

  and with it all

  my spare clothes,

  my phone,

  a KitKat I stole from Marla.

  Shit.

  Bastards.

  Bollocks.

  Shit shit shit.

  I run along the beach,

  empty

  now apart from the metal detector man.

  He stops,

  holds opens his hand to flaunt a find:

  one golden hooped earring.

  Luck is everything.

  You just have to know when it’s your day, he says.

  Lipstick

  Dad found lipstick in my school bag

  and confronted me with it.

  What’s this?

  I didn’t have an answer.

  The previous week he’d caught me reading

  Kelly-Anne’s Cosmopolitan and torn it in two.

  Do you have a boyfriend? he asked,

  not completely unkindly.

  No, Daddy.

&n
bsp; So what’s the face paint about?

  I don’t know.

  And the truth was, I didn’t.

  I’d used it once or twice

  but didn’t see much point

  when it just wiped off a few minutes later.

  He took a deep breath.

  I’m being very patient here, Allison.

  But don’t push me. OK?

  I wiped my mouth with my sleeve

  even though I was sure

  I hadn’t anything on my lips.

  OK, Daddy.

  Sweetness

  The shops are shutting,

  metal grates pulled down and padlocked

  to stop windows being smashed,

  stuff getting stolen.

  A woman is locking up a sweet shop –

  fudge displayed in colourful rows,

  left exposed to tempt passers-by.

  Her hair is piled up high like icing on a cupcake.

  She smiles when she sees me

  then steps close.

  I can smell her sugary scent.

  You all right there, darling?

  She looks up at the unfriendly sky,

  back into my face,

  quickly away again.

  I had forgotten about my face.

  Is there a hostel in town?

  You mean for backpackers or for … ?

  She is unable to gauge my age –

  undecided about whether or not to worry.

  I’m travelling, I tell her.

  Her smile widens in relief.

  It’s what I’m used to –

  telling lies and observing how

  people untighten

  when they aren’t required to care.

  Teachers were this way.

  Is everything OK at home, Allison?

  they’d ask, only half looking up

  from their marking.

  When I nodded eagerly, it was enough to

  absolve them.

  The sweet woman is pointing.

  Your best bet is a B&B along Summerleaze Crescent.

  This time of year you’ll get something good.

  Quite cheap.

  Oh, yes, I’ll find somewhere to stay.

  Dawdle

  I shouldn’t dawdle.

  I need to look like I have a goal,

  seem to be going somewhere.

  As soon as I don’t,

  I’m spotted.

  Hey, sweetheart, give us a smile.

  The man slows his car so he can

  follow me.

  Wanna lift? Jump in.

  I move quicker up the hill.

  Where are you going anyway?

  Is someone expecting you?

  Get in. I don’t bite, sweetheart.

  He is stopped by a red light

  and I rush

  out of sight

  down an alleyway,

  running, running, running,

  until I find the end

  and a road I recognise as Marla’s.

  A man walking a dog sidesteps me.

  A car horn somewhere sounds loudly.

  Rattle

  The window in the shed rattles,

  rain pounds the roof.

  I sit in the dark,

  crunched into a small ball

  to protect me from the cold.

  I have to admit,

  when I left

  I imagined something

  better than this.

  And now,

  with no phone,

  Kelly-Anne will never find me.

  Birthday

  Kelly-Anne woke me early.

  Get up, lazy bones, it’s your birthday!

  She’d made French toast

  topped with whipped cream and berries.

  Next to my breakfast a package.

  An archery set I’d talked about for ages.

  It wasn’t a real one – suckers instead of points

  at the ends of the arrows.

  But she’d bought window chalk too,

  drawn a target in various colours across the glass.

  We spent all day shooting at that window,

  perfecting our aim.

  I guess we were learning to arm ourselves.

  We were learning how to fight.

  And we were always on the same side.

  Disregard

  Marla inspects a lavender bush

  potted on the patio.

  I watch from the window in the shed.

  Peggy is behind her in the kitchen, busy.

  Marla mutters something.

  Peggy shouts. What? What did you say?

  When’s Mary coming? Marla shouts,

  much louder than she needs to.

  I need to get some bits in –

  at least make up a few sandwiches.

  She was like one of those skateboarders

  last time she was here.

  You’d give her a penny.

  I smile, not completely understanding

  Marla’s expressions,

  knowing Peggy probably won’t either.

  Marla rubs the lavender

  between thumb and forefinger,

  brings the scent to her nose.

  She looks towards the shed.

  I freeze.

  Peggy steps outside.

  Eggs, she announces,

  guiding Marla away from the plant

  without a hint of interest

  in anything Marla has just said.

  A wasp follows them into the house.

  A Companion

  Marla might talk to Peggy about me

  but Peggy will not hear her

  and

  will not

  be able to protect her from any

  intruder

  invader

  housebreaker

  thief.

  I could be a ghost.

  I could be a Toffee

  or a Tara

  or a Clara

  or a Claire

  or anything else the old woman wants.

  It isn’t as though Allison was ever allowed

  anyway.

  She could be very quiet,

  almost invisible.

  I have known worse compromises

  than forfeiting a name.

  I could stay.

  No one would believe Marla

  if she cried foul play.

  They’d smirk and vow

  to inspect the place.

  They would say she was mad.

  If I stayed I could take what I needed

  and no one

  would stop me.

  Forgotten

  Do not come down those stairs until I say so,

  do you hear me?

  His face was blood-filled, hard, veins popping

  in his neck.

  Yes, Daddy.

  I scuttled away

  so he couldn’t get to me.

  I missed lunch.

  I missed dinner.

  As he left for work the next morning

  I opened the door an inch

  then closed it again.

  By the evening

  my stomach was stinging.

  Allie? Dad called up the stairs.

  You home from school?

  I rushed on to the landing.

  I’ve been in my bedroom, I told him.

  You said I wasn’t to leave.

  He sucked his teeth.

  You’re a real idiot

  sometimes, you know that?

  Back

  I ease open

  the back door.

  Marla is jabbing a radio

  with a screwdriver,

  scowling.

  I can’t get the bloody thing to work.

  Why are there so many buttons?

  Does it need batteries?

  I can’t find any.

  She glances up.

  You aren’t Peggy.

  I consider telling the truth,

  though

  only for a na
nosecond.

  I’m Toffee.

  I form the fakest smile I can muster.

  It’s not like I haven’t had a lot of practice

  being a pretender:

  I know how happiness should look

  from the outside.

  Marla tilts her head.

  Don’t just stand there then.

  Fix the bleedin’ thing.

  Fruit

  In the fruit bowl are two lemons

  and a soft apple

  along with

  one shiny

  pound coin

  and a twenty pence piece.

  I pocket the money

  and put on the kettle.

  The System

  Dad liked to beat the system

  and other people too sometimes.

  When I needed new jeans

  we walked into River Island

  and he went straight to the men’s section,

  taking a chequered shirt from a peg,

  pulling off the top button

  and marching to the cashier.

  I stood next to him, not listening,

  wondering if I could take a chew

  from the bowl on the counter.

  No, I haven’t got the receipt

  but it’s damaged,

  isn’t it?

  You can see for yourself.

  Look.

  See?

  Look there.

  She quietly made him an offer.