[Phoenix Court 03] - Could It Be Magic?

by Paul Magrs

  When they reached their estate it was nearly dark. They met Elsie scooting across to Fran’s house.

  “I’m going for my tea,” Elsie said. “Fran’s being ever so good to me.”

  “Hm,” said Jane. Fran never invited her for tea these days. Fran always made it sound like she had the five thousand to feed, and that her family meals were sacrosanct. Elsie sounded so pleased with herself, getting an invite over the road to eat with Fran’s mob.

  “I saw your Penny on the bus into Darlington,” Jane said.

  “She isn’t my Penny.” Elsie smiled, but she was blushing with pleasure. “She’s my Craig’s Penny.”

  “Well, anyway.” Jane waved her objection aside. “All the way there on the bus she sat with that Mark. You know, Mr Tattoos.”

  “Oh yes?” Elsie’s eyes narrowed. Jane was getting at something. Her voice had gone hard, her accent just that bit posher. She was meaning to be awful.

  “They were friendly as anything,” said Jane. “Laughing and carrying on all the way there.”

  “Were they, now?” Elsie thought, Jane’s trying to upset me. Why would she do that? She decided to ask outright. It was the best thing to do with people like that. “What are you trying to say to me, Jane?”

  “I just reckon your Craig should learn to keep an eye on his lass. By the looks of it, she likes the fellers.”

  Elsie flushed with anger. She kept her voice steady. “Well. Thanks for telling me that, Jane.”

  Then, without saying goodbye or anything, Elsie stumped across the play park towards the lights from Fran’s house.

  “Wait a minute!” Elsie cried and went running back to Jane. Her voice sounded almost gleeful. Jane swung round and found her arms being grasped by Elsie, who was gabbling right into her face. “You needn’t worry about that, pet! Our Craig’s Penny isn’t carrying on! She couldn’t be carrying on with that Mark! Mark isn’t like that — I saw him on New Year with the other bloke — Penny couldn’t do anything with him! He’s a queer!”

  Jane recoiled as if she’d been slapped. Peter looked up at her.

  Elsie stared at Jane for backup. “So it’s all right, isn’t it? Penny must be all right.”

  “I don’t know,’ said Jane. She turned to go, leaving Elsie looking confused. God, thought Jane, what have I stirred up now?

  Penny waited outside the shop where Mark’s ex-wife worked.

  In the cool, white, crowded arcade, Penny wondered what she was doing, hanging around for him. The music piped through the speakers was faulty. Abba were doing ‘Thank You for the Music’ at twice the usual speed. When Mark came out of Sam’s shop he was cross and flushed.

  “Sam can still wrap me round her little finger,” he said. “She’s got me babysitting for her new baby again.”

  By now Penny had decided Mark couldn’t be the ruthless user Andy had said he was. She knew Andy liked to overdramatise things. She and Mark went to look at the discount home appliances in Wilkinsons.

  “I’m in heaven here,” Mark said, cheering up, gazing at the racks and rows of primary-coloured kitchenware.

  “Me too,” Penny said.

  “It was my mother-in-law’s lover who taught me to love kitchenware,” he breathed.

  Penny said, “It was Liz who passed the love on to me.”

  They went to the bathroom section.

  “Honestly,” Mark said. “It’s like being one of the Stepford Wives, but I don’t care. I just love things for the house.”

  “Me too,” said Penny.

  They came home in the dark on the 213 and Penny realised that she’d had a nice day with him.

  He said goodbye at her garden gate. Tactfully he didn’t let her ask him in for tea, knowing he’d probably bump into Andy.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you—” she began, and jumped backwards.

  The instant they touched, her lips brushing the side of his face, Penny came over weird. Mark, too, had straightened up, looking shocked. “What was that?” he asked and, instinctively, they took a step apart.

  “I don’t know,” murmured Penny, but she did.

  When she kissed Mark Kelly on the cheek it had been in a particular spot along his jawbone. This was a piece of his design she had been fixated on all day, a very beautiful tattoo she couldn’t help feeling drawn towards. Just above his jawline, to the right of his mouth, there was a crimson butterfly, very small and tucked into the blocks of tidy colour. This is what Penny had kissed and, at this first contact, she had felt those thin, cottony wings stir and beat a brand-new pulse against her mouth.

  Mark smiled at her. “See you soon.”

  “Well! You bugger!”

  This was after tea and Elsie stood in Fran’s kitchen, peering through the blinds.

  “What is it?” asked Fran, who was busy washing up and weary with Elsie. All through dinner that woman had talked about nothing but herself. Frank and the bairns had gobbled up their dinners as quickly as possible, when usually dinners here were a long-drawn-out affair, full of family chat, business and argument. Tonight Elsie banged on and on about her poor, missing husband, his madness, her son’s first love and her own bladder complaints. Maybe Elsie was embarrassed because she had to go to the loo a few times through the meal, but not everyone wanted a running commentary. Frank was a man, Fran thought crossly. Why would he want to be hearing about Elsie’s waterworks? Eating fish fingers, listening to that. It was intolerable.

  Elsie was supposed to be doing the drying now. But the Mother Shipton tea towel was still in her hands and she was clutching a wet plate to her chest. “Just look at them!” She was staring at number sixteen.

  “Whatever now?” asked Fran, but she went to see.

  They both stared at Penny kissing Mark, just outside her garden gate.

  “Oh,” said Fran.

  “I have something to say to that little madam!” Elsie said.

  Fran regretted letting Elsie have some of Frank’s beers. He’d been pissed off but acquiescent. Fran was only too pleased to lessen his intake tonight — Spar lagers 50p a can — but Elsie was becoming red-eyed and reckless-looking. Fran had forgotten Elsie was meant to be on the wagon.

  “It’s just like Jane said,” spat Elsie.

  “Jane said what?” asked Fran.

  “Penny’s been carrying on behind our Craig’s back.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she—”

  “With that shirt lifter from over the way!”

  “Elsie,” Fran said. “You can’t go round calling people shirt lifters!”

  “I’m going over there,” Elsie said grimly, and was out the door.

  At one glance Penny saw how drunk Elsie was.

  “I don’t want to talk about this now, Elsie.”

  The older woman had barged her way into number sixteen. She was short but surprisingly powerful. When Penny looked at her she was shaking with rage, her hair all disturbed. “You’ll listen to me whether you like it or not.”

  Penny sighed. “What is it?”

  “You’re treating our Craig like a common convenience,” Elsie said, her mouth all twisting. Penny thought she might be having a stroke. “And I’m not having it. I know you think you’re better than us.”

  “What’s he said to you?” God knows what version of last night’s row Craig had given Elsie. There was no way Penny could come out of it well.

  “He’s said nothing. He tells his mother nothing. He wouldn’t hear a word against you! He worships the chair you sit on! But I saw you, you little minx. You’re taking him for a ride. I saw you kissing that bloke from over the way.”

  “You what?”

  “That Mark.”

  “So?”

  “So, she says! Have you no common decency! You’re going out with my son! You’re practically his fiancée!”

  Penny had heard enough now. “Yeah, yeah,” she said airily and opened the kitchen door, readying herself to throw Elsie out.

  “I don’t understand you, Penny. You’ve got a lo
vely lad in my son. You’re like a cat on heat.”

  Penny raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You really think you’re a cut above, don’t you? You think you can mess about in our lives and then just leave us.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Like your mother. Think you’re so superior. Not like the rest of us. Even lying in a coma she still thinks she’s it.”

  Penny stood by the open door. “I’m throwing you out now, Elsie.”

  “Throw me out, she says! Listen to her!”

  “I’m asking you to leave.”

  Elsie gathered up her dignity. “Little madam!”

  “And you tell your Craig he can fight his own battles!”

  “Oh, he can, he can.” Elsie cursed, shuffling past. “And you’ll find yourself sorry, you little bitch!”

  Penny slammed the door behind her.

  Elsie cried all the way across the dark playground to her house. The wind had picked up, forcing her to struggle against the garden gate to get in. She just wanted to be indoors and hiding now. What a horrible day it had been. She felt she’d run out of people she could talk to. Even Fran looked cross with her tonight. Elsie wanted to be in her house, watching telly, the fire going.

  Something nagged at her and pushed her back, however. A feeling of gloom. Something like a warning.

  She let herself indoors and the hallway was dark. There was an unfamiliar sound of rushing water. When she switched on the light it burst into life only for a second, then went off with a bang as all the lights fused. She leaped back against the wall and found it soaked. Water ran down the walls of the corridor in silver sheets. As she walked across the carpets, they squelched and sucked at her feet. Then she saw into the living room and, beyond, through the serving hatch, the kitchen.

  The pale streetlight coming through the windows was enough to show that the furniture was overturned. Someone had taken a Stanley knife to the sofa and chairs and slashed through the upholstery as if they were looking for money. Elsewhere the destruction was more aimless. The coffee and dining tables had been dismembered and scattered, the bookshelves tipped and their contents shredded apart. Mirrors were smashed everywhere and all that glass kept Elsie from dashing into the room. She still had enough sense left not to fall on the glass. She counted in her head how many mirrors had been broken, how many seven years of bad luck that made.

  Her pictures had been wrenched off the walls and dashed on the floor. On the mantelpiece the brass ornaments —the ladies who were bells inside, the Aladdin’s shoe, the Scotty dog —were all melted into each other. The real-effect fire had been kicked in.

  There was no message. Nothing written in blood or shit across the emptied walls. No clue.

  “Oh, me house,” Elsie said.

  She knelt and opened the cupboard on the wall unit. The wine glasses they never used were shattered and blackened, as if by fire. She reached past them for what she was looking for. A shoebox she had covered in lilac sticky-backed plastic. Her memory box. For a moment, as she grasped it to her chest, she didn’t dare open it But it rattled, it was heavy with the papers and photographs inside. That was something.

  Elsie untied the purple ribbon to check. She squinted in the gloom at the pictures. The photographs were safe.

  What would impress her? Nothing would impress her. Look at her powers, look at her intellect. She isn’t a girl who’s easily impressed.

  And what can I do for her? Is there anything left? I thought I was good to her. I wish I could put things right, put things in a way she’ll listen.

  After gym that night I went to the Acorn with Mary. She came on friendly today. I don’t know what that’s about. The lads egged me on, so I went for a drink with her. The lads would rather me be with Mary than Penny. Mary’s more our sort, Steve said. The first thing he’s said directly to me in weeks. So he’d approve of me going with Mary. Mind, they couldn’t laugh at her fanny in Lycra if I was going with her.

  But…I don’t want Mary. I don’t want a skinny gym lass. I want Penny with all her softness and quickness, and them powers of hers.

  In the pub after gym I had a few pints fast. After gym they go right to my head. It’s good, though. I hate first dates with a lass. I never know what they want to talk about. My palms sweat on the glass and my thoughts go too fast. It wasn’t a first date, though. But I drank and was on my third pint before you knew it.

  Mary was giving it all this chat. I thought she’d been standoffish before. Now she was coming on like I dunno what. I thought, if this had been a month ago, I’d be over the moon. Why did all my opportunities come at once? But I reckon it’s like Steve said once. You get a charisma, a sexual confidence when you’re knocking someone off regular and you feel horny all the time. The lasses come flocking round. They can’t keep away, you’re so confident and that. And here Mary is, in her going-out outfit, sitting on the edge of her barstool and she’s making her little skirt ride up like that. Penny would never do that. I’m noticing little things about Mary I’d never have noticed before, because of Penny. Like how much make-up Mary’s wearing.

  When Mary goes to powder her nose, as she calls it, I’m away. I’m out of that pub and running through Aycliffe precinct before I know it. I’ve escaped.

  I can run like the clappers. I’m not even limping. I’m drunk but even drunk I couldn’t run like this before. Something has happened to me.

  When Mary was singing my praises, staring up at me and saying how strong I was, she was referring to how much I was lifting this afternoon. Without any extra effort I doubled the weight I usually lift. Well, not quite doubled, but I added a fair bit on. Everyone noticed. I hardly sweated any extra.

  Downstairs I showered and I sat in the sauna. I looked for an extra towel to cover my damaged foot, as I always do, when I heard someone else come in the room and I am naked. I felt my feet self-consciously, but my foot was a normal shape. My foot was foot-shaped for the first time I could remember. I set it beside the other and they looked almost the same. Spot the difference! Left and right mirror reflections! Snap! I had a pair, a pair the same!

  I’m still not sure what’s happened.

  I run like a bastard. In slow motion, covering some graceful ground like Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. We have the technology — we can rebuild him. Here I am, Penny, here I come restored. Will Penny be my Lyndsey Wagner, my Bionic Woman? Will we be super-heroes together, do you think?

  Mary will have come out of the bog, brushing her hands on her skirt, pushing her skirt into place. She’ll come on tiptoes back to the bar, thinking about putting her hands over my eyes as she comes up behind me. Whisper, “Guess who?” in my reddened ears. When I guessed she’d move her cool fingers down my buliworked neck, round my chest, brush my nipples hard. She’d be making her first move on me.

  But I’m gone! I’m running! See me go!

  Across the park, down Faulkner Road, across the Burn. If you looked you’d hardly see me. I’m just a blur, a pulse of light.

  There’s a pub here. I think of having another drink. More courage, and maybe I need it. The pub is the Robin Hood. Its sign is a painting of Kevin Costner as Robin Hood in that crappy film. Like on the cover of the video, he’s firing a burning arrow right at you. It’s a good likeness of Kevin Costner, that.

  I run round the back of the pub and I realise I don’t want another drink. I know what I want. To prove something.

  When they made superhero TV series they always had a warning on at the end. They said, “Spiderman — or whoever it was — has special powers and that’s why he can climb up walls and that. Don’t try it at home.” And of course I always did. Who was going to take notice of a warning like that? It made you want to do it all the more. But I could never bloody do it. I couldn’t climb up walls. I couldn’t even run straight.

  That’s why tonight I get the smart idea of climbing up the tallest side of the Robin Hood. Off go my shoes! Off with my socks! Look at my feet! I press my fingertips and my
two bare feet against the brick. If someone caught me up this dark alley now it would look like I’m having a slash. But it would stop looking like that with the first step I take upwards. I brace elbows and knees and then...then...I hurry to the rooftop, to the eaves.

  At the top I unfasten and unscrew and liberate their satellite dish. As proof I have been there. I imagine, as I scoot back down the sheer wall, that I can hear the groan of disappointment from inside the Robin Hood as the TV reception fucks up. They’d be watching the football.

  And I’m away, with the satellite dish tucked under me arm. It’s the dish that calls the superhero members of the Justice League of America up to their satellite which orbits the earth. That’s what I reckon. And I can run!

  SIXTEEN

  The atmosphere was no better. It had got so that Judith dreaded going to work. And she was a good worker, she was never one for not enjoying her job. Shop work had always suited her because you saw people, but just recently the corner shop had stopped being a nice place to work. This was the business of the boss’s son and his interfering ways, his ideas for upgrading the shop. “It’s a tatty little shop on an estate!” Judith shouted at him. “What does it need upgrading for? We’ve got everything that everyone wants!”

  The boss’s albino son looked at her. “Everything needs upgrading.” He was doing a business degree at the University of Sunderland and in his holidays his dad let him practise on the family business. All the threatened changes preyed on Judith’s nerves so that she could hardly sleep at night. It had been her agitation that made her daughter waylay the boss’s son one night after shutting up shop, and slap him one in the face. She wasn’t usually like that. She had meant to give him a reasonable talking to, one business-studies person to another, but the boy was obtuse. She had made his nose bleed. “Our Joanne,” Judith giggled when she was told. “I didn’t bring you up like that! Did he know who you were?”