by Laura Hird
Then I feel someone straddle me. I open my nippy eyes to see a Stanley knife being waved in my face.
‘Please, dinnae, Shug. I’ll get your magazines. You’ll get the jail if you kill ies.’
The blade’s so close I can smell the rust.
‘Shut it, fuckhead! The drugs are better in jail anyway. My brother says.’
Making Daniel and the lassie grab my arms, he yanks up my jumper and pricks the knife into my chest. Daniel puts his hand over my mouth to stop me screaming. Shug draws the knife down and across in a crucifix. It’s no deep but it’s fucking agony. I almost pass out when I see little bubbles of blood oozing from the gash.
‘Will I do yer bollocks, now? Have they dropped yet?’ he growls, so insane-looking, even Daniel seems scared.
‘C’mon Shug, that’s enough …’
Shug just ignores him and presses the knife against my Adam’s apple.
‘How about a nice wee string of rosary beads round your throat, eh?’
‘Dinnae, man,’ says Daniel, grabbing him from behind and pulling him off me. My ankle’s so sore I can almost hear it, but the threat of castration gives me enough of a rush to get up. My chest’s nipping like fuck as well. It grates against my top as I limp away like a crab on speed. Luckily, they dinnae chase me, they’re too busy laughing.
The pain and shock dinnae really hit me till I’m onto the street. My legs buckle but I keep going, gulping back tears as I hobble towards my stair, towards safety, I hope.
Mum’s drinking when I get in, staring at herself in the hall mirror. It’s like she’s been waiting there to finish me off.
‘For fuck’s sake, Jake!’
When I try to get to my room, she grabs one of my bad arms.
‘Ow, dinnae, I fell down the steps at Wardlaw. Please, Mum, I just want to lie down.’
‘Don’t give me that. I’m not an idiot. It was these bastards downstairs, eh?’
Only Mum could think that.
‘I told you, I fell.’
She still winnae let go my arm.
‘Dinnae lie to me. Tell me, really, Jake, they’re not getting away with it.’
Swallowing her drink, she starts pulling me into the stair. I scream and struggle, but I feel like I’m going to die from the pain in my ankle. When we get to Sean’s, I start lashing out with my fists but I can barely lift my arms. She cannae, she just cannae. The buzzer rasps. As I pray they’re no back yet, I hear someone padding down the hall.
‘Dinnae answer, please, my mum’s having an eppy, dinnae answer,’ I scream, but the door’s already open. Terry looks at Mum, then me. Her eyes seem to bulge. Mum thumps me towards her like a volleyball.
‘D’you want to explain this… the fucking state of this?’
I try to pull her back up the stair, but she’s like a big lump of lead.
‘Please, Terry, shut the door, she’s pissed. Just ignore her.’
‘Will I get the police?’
Mum throws a punch. My life flashes before me as I squeeze myself between them. Somehow, I manage to get her to the other side of the landing, straining like a muzzled pit-bull.
‘Go on, then, get the fucking police. Explain to them how my son looks like he’s been in a road accident.’
Oh, Jesus, Sean’s at the door now as well, gawping at me like I’m Stevie Fulton. I didnae make it to the bathroom mirror, I must look fucking terrible.
‘Please, Sean, jist shut the door. Please, pal, it’s awright.’
But he stands there frozen. In desperation, I grab the handle myself and slam it behind us. Mum throws herself onto it, and does the breast stroke with her fists.
‘KEEP AWAY FROM MY FAMILY, YOU FENIAN BASTARDS!’
I’ve never felt such hate for someone, no even Shug. How could I have stuck up for her the other day? I wish she was dead. Leaving her pummelling the door, I struggle back upstairs and collapse onto the settee, too sore to make it to my room. Where the fuck’s Dad and Joni? Jan puts her head on my lap and tries to look as miserable as me. It’s the final straw. I start bawling my eyes out. I can still hear her creating downstairs.
When she finally comes back up, she acts like nothing’s happened.
‘Poor baby, will I phone the doctor? What’ve they done to you? What have they done to my baby?’
‘Fuck off, Mum, just fuck off.’
I dinnae want a doctor, I just want to fucking die, I just want her to fucking die.
‘I only did it ’cause I love you,’ she wails, trying to cry, trying to pretend she’s human.
Staring straight ahead at the telly, I cannae see through the tears. I’m too rubbery to stand up. It’s fucking torture. I try to pretend Mum’s no there, but someone starts singing ‘Stand By Your Man’ on the news and she lobs her empty glass at the screen. The TV survives but the glass isnae so lucky. I crunch on it as I use my last bit strength to go to my room to die.
Someone knocking on the door wakes me at nine. The look on Dad’s face says it all.
‘Oh, my God, was it her? What’s she done to you, for Christ’s sake?’
His expression’s so pained you’d think it was him had been battered to fuck. He strokes my head. Even my hair hurts.
‘She did this, eh? C’mon, Jake, you’ve got to tell me.’
‘Naw, Dad, honest, but she attacked Sean’s mum. She was calling them Catholic bastards and everything. I hate her, Dad, I really do.’
Still, he seems to think if he stares at me long enough, I’ll say what he wants.
‘Jake, just say, it was Mum, eh? Just tell me.’
Maybe I should agree to get my own back on the old bag. She’d only kill me. I repeat my story about falling down the steps but he’s having none of it. He wants to call the police. If he does that I’ll end up with Shug’s brother after me as well. He’s a fucking armed robber. It takes ages to talk him out of it, then even longer to talk him out of calling a doctor.
‘Please, Dad, I need to rest.’
But still he sits, as if I might get hit by lightning if he lets me out his sight. I force him to tell me about Granda, no ’cause I’m interested, just to take his mind off me. He tells me Joni’s back, but wouldnae say where she’d been. At least she’s got somewhere else to go. I dinnae any more.
Should I mention the shagging noises? Surely he’d throw her out if he knew she was screwing other men. Maybe she’d fuck off and live with her alkie boyfriend. It’s such a shitey thing to have to tell him, though, it takes ages to work up the nerve. It eventually comes out somewhere between a belch and a whisper.
‘Dad, I think Mum’s seeing someone else.’
He doesnae respond. I’m scared to look at first in case he’s tanning his wrists. When I do, he’s asleep in the chair, hardly surprising since he’s been awake since yesterday morning. I think about waking him but he’ll only end up on the settee. Maybe the time’s come to start looking out for each other anyway. Besides, I’m too sore to wank now and I finally feel sort of safe.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ANGIE
I WOKE UP crying the past three mornings. The hopeless, waiting days go downhill after that. Can you die from anticipation? Raymond’s answering machine’s switched off now, but I’ve been killing time listening to his phone ring out. Nobody’s been in touch – the police, work, not even a solitary, gloating ex-colleague. My only consolation is that I told the police about our affair. Whatever happens now, we’ll always be together in the annals of criminal history. Pity I didn’t mention the Mexico thing, though. I’ll probably just look like some woman who was once given a using.
There’s no sign of Vic. I’ll have to tell him about my job today. I refuse to turn into one of these radges that leaves at the same time every morning, years after they’ve been sacked.
On my way to the kettle, I nearly cripple myself on a puddle of shattered glass. Drops of blood trail across the carpet into the kitchen. I half expect to find Vic’s tiny severed penis lying beside the fridge, but it’
s only the dog. Her paw’s lying in a burgundy pool on the lino, stupid, fucking creature. I’m not paying vet’s bills for something that was meant to be on its last legs when we got it, a decade ago. I only agreed to getting her in the first place because I thought she’d be dead within the month.
She offers me the damaged paw. A glass toe-nail clipping protrudes from the pad. Who am I, fucking Daniel? Her awful whimpering reminds me of Vic when he’s having one of his holier-than-thou tirades. However, in a rare moment of compassion, I empty the only booze in the house, the Xmas Advocaat, in front of her. The snivelling mess, poorly as she is, laps it up in seconds. That should dull the pain.
Several minutes’ searching establishes that the flat is a cigarette- free zone. I’d go to the shops but Raymond might call when I’m out. Vic appears as I’m taking the phone off the hook. Giving me a look of impending reprimand, he closes the living-room door behind us.
‘D’you want to explain about last night?’
‘Eh?’
He shakes his head.
‘Your brawl with the neighbour? The laddie comes home looking like that, so you attack his best friend’s mother? Nice one, Ange.’
Oh shit, now he comes to mention it.
‘I was trying to protect him. Where were you, like? One minute he’s down there, the next he’s had the shit kicked out of him. What was I meant to think?’
He looks at me with such hatred I almost find him attractive.
‘You didn’t think to ask Jake what’d happened, like? Was that too easy? Or did you just feel like having a go at someone when I wasn’t in?’
I make for the door but he won’t let me go till he’s said his little piece.
‘Please, for our son, go down and apologise before work, eh? You’ll be too pissed by the time you get home.’
Just tell him now. At least get that out the way.
‘Actually, Vic, my employment’s been terminated. They sacked me on Monday.’
‘You’re kidding me… naw, don’t tell me… the drink.’
How dare he suggest I work at anything less than full efficiency when pissed.
‘No, Vic, not the drink, sorry to disappoint you. The manager fucked off with the takings. I’m responsible for the banking, so they sacked me.’
‘They cannae do that.’
‘They just did.’
He eyes me suspiciously.
‘So were you involved?’
‘Give me some credit, eh? Think I’d still be here, if I had been?’
He slaps the side of the armchair. Ooh, temper, temper.
‘Jesus Christ, they cannae do that. What’re the union saying?’
‘Piss off. You know as well as me what a fucking waste of space they are. I’ve been sacked, that’s it. If I’d known he was going to bugger off with the takings, I’d have banked them before he had the chance. I’m not Uri fucking Geller.’
‘I’ll phone and have a word with them. Who actually sacked you?’
Can he not just keep his nose out?
‘What does it matter? I wouldn’t go back now if they begged me.’
He scowls at his signed photo of Dennis Skinner, for inspiration.
‘Whose gonnae employ you if you’ve been sacked for dishonesty? You have to clear your name.’
‘Look, Vic, I spent five hours in the cop shop on Monday, trying to clear my fucking name. I’ve had enough. They can think what the hell they like.’
‘Cop shop?’
‘A big building with bars on the windows where they put bad people like me.’
I finally get past him.
‘Look, I’m sick of this. I’m going out. If anyone phones, take a message.’
‘Who are you expecting, like?’
Leaving him to mull that one over, I’m suddenly on the street, with nowhere to go, and my only means of communicating with Raymond back inside. As always happens on sorry days like these, I try to think of people to annoy but only come up with Caroline. Raymond has to come back. I need more than my shitty family and a mental defective to keep me going.
The sad bitch answers on the first ring. The tortured way she says hello, as ever, makes me want to hang up. Lacking an alternative venue to drink myself silly and go on about Raymond, however, I invite myself round. It’s my way of doing my bit for charity. God better be watching.
Visiting the Cashpoint en route, I discover I’ve only 50 quid left in my account. These bastards won’t be in a hurry to pay me the two days I’m due, but I withdraw it all, regardless. I can always dig into the bill money till Raymond comes to the rescue with the 15 grand.
The bus appears as I wait to get my card back. My face is tight and hot, as I run after it, waving like an idiot. The driver mutters to himself as I fumble for change. I hate fucking bus drivers. They are the lowest form of life.
Crashing into the disabled seats, I immediately regret it.
‘Will you look at that? I’m 76, and I still leave these seats free,’ whispers the old sweetie wifie behind me to her friend.
‘What d’you expect in an area like this?’
‘I know, see all the To Let signs. It looks terrible.’
‘No wonder, all the coloureds round here. I tell you, if they open another shop in Ashley, I’m moving to West Linton with my sister. It breaks my heart.’
If I’d had a drink, I’d get wellied into them, but I just sit with a fixed smirk. At the stop past Somerfield, another victim gets on – a teenage mum, struggling with two infants and a buggy. She sits behind them.
‘Can’t be a day over 16.’
‘No wedding ring, naturally.’
‘Mmh.’
One of the kids starts coughing – a painful, almost tubercular-sounding cough. I’m two seats in front but I can feel dots of saliva hitting me.
Heuck, heuck, heuck, goes the kid.
‘Get a cold at our age, it can be enough to finish you off.’
Three cheers for viral infections.
‘Should I give it a sweetie? I’ve some Tunes in my bag.’
‘Oh yes, do, Ena, for goodness’ sake.’
Heuck, heuck, heuck.
‘Would she like a sweetie? They have menthol in them.’
‘She doesnae eat sweets, ta.’
I laugh out loud.
‘I’ve never met a child that didn’t like sweets before.’ Heuck, heuck, heuck. ‘Oh good Lord, what sort of a cough is that?’
‘Ah dinnae ken but she’s given it tae me.’
That has them in convulsions. I’m so engrossed I almost miss my stop. Hopefully the emphysema will get them by morning.
I cross over to the grocer’s for booze. The shuttered-down windows are plastered with ‘Paki’s Go Home’ and BNP graffiti. It must be fresh, as I didn’t notice it last week. It was probably those two old bags. I try to compensate by being over-friendly with the woman as serves me. She doesn’t reciprocate. I can’t really blame her.
Walking round to Caroline’s, I push the farty buzzer.
‘Who is it?’ asks a pathetic, scared whimper from within.
‘Death,’ I say, in my finest Grim Reaper voice.
A rancid, cabbagey stench knocks me sideways when she opens the door.
‘That’s not funny, Ange. You can bring on things like that by saying them.’
I’m sure she used to have a sense of humour. Going through to the kitchen with the drink, I find the smelly culprit – a miasma-spewing bin bag. Pulling the collar of my dress over my nose, I wash something suspect from inside her only two glasses. The water’s freezing.
In the living room, the stench is slightly less intense. However, Caroline’s hair, and the back of her jumper, are covered in fish-food-sized flakes of dandruff, which is equally revolting.
I’m on my third drink before she takes a breather from regaling me with her tedious woes. I’m hoping if I let her get the shit out her system now, though, she won’t interrupt when I start. When I get onto my fourth vodka and she’s still banging on, I decid
e enough is enough. At my first mention of police, she’s straight up at the window.
‘What if they followed you? Did you check? They’ll think I’m involved.’
Too irritated to indulge her paranoia with a response, I try the deserted-by-the-man-I-love angle. She of all people must be able to relate to that. No such luck. She seems more concerned about Vic. She’s never even fucking met him.
‘How could you could cheat on such a lovely, caring guy. I’d never cheat on someone like that. I wouldn’t even cheat on a bastard.’
As if she’d get the chance of either.
‘You’re welcome to him, honest, have him with my blessing. Raymond’s worth three of Vic.’
This makes her very annoyed.
‘Who are you kidding? He sounds like a shit. How could you cheat on a nice man like Vic with a shit like that?’
‘I just bent over, he did the rest.’
‘Stop making a joke of it. You don’t deserve love, if that’s how you treat folk. I wouldn’t treat anyone like that. How come you’ve got two men and I’ve got nobody?’
Because I don’t think every news item carries subliminal messages about me and my ex-lovers. I don’t line my window-sills with stewing steak as offerings to Pan. Change tack, quick.
‘The police were bastards. It was like I was a prostitute, y’know, did he pay my mortgage, did he give me money, gifts? So fucking insulting. It was a woman, though, you know the type? Shag men and you’re a traitor to your sex.’
I notice, with regret, that she’s starting to knock back the voddie. Pouring myself another, I splash some in her glass before she has time to empty it. She’s straight back onto cheating on my dull husband being a sin akin to genocide.
