by Deborah Levy
North London streets. A few kebab shops open. Dry cleaners offering a special price on duvets. Blokes with cans sitting in shop doorways. Crap shops like Raj’s father’s crap shop. Shops selling nylon mittens, outsize brassieres, crap bath mats, dog biscuits shaped like baby boots and bones, crap carpet shops and crap betting shops. The crap chemists and their bored indifferent pharmacists frowning over prescriptions all year round, handing out pills and syrups to citizens with symptoms. The crap shop on the left that sells yams and plantains, right next to the crap shop that sells crap curtains and wallpaper for all the English houses and conversions and flats. What kind of life is he, Raj, going to make for himself? Yeah, it’s true he likes a kebab sometimes. Maybe one day he’ll buy the family dog a stinking baby’s-boot bone with Xtra iron in it. Maybe one day he’ll buy a bath mat from one of the crap shops. Many a time he’s swallowed cough elixir bought from a crap chemist. Sipping the pink stuff from a five-ml plastic spoon.
Silence from Master England. Got nothing to say. Funny sort of a doctor he’s turned out to be. Goes dumb just when Raj actually needs his words for a change. Look at the teenage quack biting his tongue, sitting there motionless, dead still, like there’s a killer wasp hovering above his head. Just his little knife and pain index, going through it in his head, A to Z.
Girl’s got other things on her mind. ‘Front or back entrance?’
‘Back,’ Mr Tens, hostage, a man who lost his God faith with one Billy glare, replies happily and calmly. He’s enjoying the ride.
FreezerWorld at night. Everything is milky blue. Ivory and pearl. A world without stars. The Frozen World. Rumbling of fridges across the ice fields. Dome of white sky. Long solitary journeys across the frozen ocean aisles. Mr Tens. An Arctic Marco Polo who knows the cartography of FreezerWorld with his eyes shut.
Raj feels the cold freeze the marrow of his bones. It’s as if he can hear a seal barking in the distance, which is far away, a confusion of whites and greys. Musk oxen and hares disappearing into the snow. Somewhere, near the frozen-fish section, the ivory-white head of a polar bear searches for her cubs. Raj knows that she is Billy and Girl’s mother. Grey tongue. Purple mouth. White teeth. Hissing as she prowls the ice fields. The ice bear, creature of the Arctic edges, listening out for clues.
She dives into the ocean, takes a deep long breath, plunges under and walks the sea beds searching for mussels and kelp. Dragging slabs of meat from a beached whale, calling out to her cubs to come and feast. Large silent feet checking for ice cracks and explosions of sea ice. Opening FreezerWorld tins with the rake of a claw. Searching for tundra berries in the snax section. On her hind legs piercing a battery-hen egg and sucking it dry. Drawing breath without sound. Under the neon night light her fur is a collection of whites, apricot yellows, straw, ripe wheat. Frolicking. Juggling packets of mustard pretzels in her paws. Sleeping with her eyes open, ears twitching.
Mr Tens is master of the Frozen World. Assured now. Walking with confidence through the ice maze, no Muzak, taking special care of Louise because she is on his payroll. One of his fisher-women. Treading quietly, finger on his lips, ‘I don’t want to scare her.’
Her. Billy and Girl can’t believe he says ‘her’ so breezily. Stops outside a door with his name on it. MR TENS, MANAGER. Gestures for them to wait while he knocks on his own door. Turns the handle. Peers in.
‘Only me, Mrs O’Reilly.’
A woman’s voice saying something. ‘Hello, Terry. Nearly finished the script for Monday.’ Terry Tens putting his face in.
Mrs O’Reilly reading her script, not looking at him. No expression in her voice. She sounds tired.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you for starting your week at FreezerWorld. Today we’re proud to offer you quality goods for every budget.’ She stops. Weary. ‘Just the usual, Terry. I mentioned the reduction on yesterday’s bread. And an announcement for Louise if you don’t mind. To call the hospital for news of her grandfather. Can you read my writing?’
Mr Tens stands to one side as Girl, Billy, Louise and Raj walk into his secret FreezerWorld life.
Mrs O’ Reilly sits at a desk surrounded with sheets of paper. Writing by hand. Scripts written and crossed out. Just like Billy’s recent notes. Shoes neatly tucked under her chair. A plate of FreezerWorld lemon fingers placed just so by her mug of tea. Red hundred per cent wool coat hanging on a hook behind the door.
Mom. A room of her own in the superstore. Earning her keep in the FreezerWorld. Writing words for Mr Tens to broadcast. Writing messages to her kiddies. The security cameras hidden in the managerial office warned her in advance that the hunting party were trudging towards her. She watched them climb through the corridors of FreezerWorld stock waiting to be unpacked. Her children on the screen walking through the Frozen World to claim their frozen mother. Hunters with tension in their bodies, alert, hungry and fearful. Mrs O’Reilly willing them to stop in their tracks and turn back, checking the screen to see if they carry hunting weapons. Following her scent. Mom. A creature of the Arctic edges. Hibernating, nocturnal, terrified.
Mom looking so ordinary. Bit of a new hairstyle. Faint circles under her eyes. Sitting there staring at them all. Billy and Girl and Louise with blood on their clothes. The two girls look the worst. Like they’ve thrown themselves into the propeller of a small helicopter. Perhaps she should take them all straight to casualty? That way she won’t have to say anything for a while. Just give them to doctors and nurses, fill in forms, hold their hands while their cuts and bruises are dabbed with antiseptic, stitched and bandaged up, making conversation with the receptionist about the weather. It’s a bit rainy, if you know what I mean. Not exactly rain. More like slabs of frozen sea. Treading water between the cracks.
There they are. Her kiddies. Not even the security video could prepare her for how much they’ve changed. She bought them a card for every one of their five birthdays without her and never sent them. What are Mom’s first words?
‘How are you, Rajindra?’
Raj goes mad. Loops his thumbs into his belt and starts ranting. ‘I’m not all right, Mrs O’Reilly. I’m done in.’ Walks across the FreezerWorld managerial carpet, waving his arms. ‘Done everything I can for your fucking mad, demented children. Mended their crap car, fed’em the crap food they like, minding my own business in my own crap shop and then I do what boys do and kiss a girl.’ Sly look at Louise and Louise. ‘What happens, your fucking son goes crazy on me. Won’t talk. I mean, what’s wrong with him, what’s wrong with her, it’s what people do, they kiss each other, you know, it’s hormones, romance, it’s an old idea, you’ve seen it on TV, you’ve seen it at fucking bus stops, you’ve seen it on chocolate wrappers, you’ve seen it on bottles of nail-varnish remover, you see it all the time, right?’ Raj making his way towards his girlfriend’s brother. ‘What did I do to make you go dumb, you stoopid fucker … I put my lips like this—’ Raj puts his arm around Billy, presses his lips against his boy lips and sticks his tongue into Billy’s boy mouth. ‘That’s what it is, it’s called kissing …’ Billy shoves his fist straight into Raj’s nose … knocks him flat out cold on the FreezerWorld liver-pâté-coloured carpet.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Billy?’ Mrs O’Reilly stands up, brushing crumbs off her neat blue dress. ‘No son of mine cracks a punch at someone who shows them a bit of affection!’ She makes her way to Raj in her tan tights, kneels down and wipes his forehead with a little tea towel. ‘I’m disgusted,’ Mrs O’Reilly says again. ‘Hitting out like that.’
Stroking Raj’s hair. Cooing at him. Rajindra? Saying ‘Rajindra’ over and over like the tape has got stuck, looking at her kids and Mr Tens too. Has Terry been fighting? Looks like he’s been in a pub brawl.
‘When he kissed me everything went yellow,’ Billy says, clutching his chin, holding his arms out towards Mom. Louise and Girl biting their hands, not wanting to put Billy off his first words. Billy is a baby and he’s just got language. Put his first sentence t
ogether. Little squeaky voice.
‘Everything went yellow.’ Girl knows Billy’s talking about what it felt like to be slugged by Dad when he was five.
Such a long way to Mom, falling on to her, no kiss, just arms around her, eyes shut, and Girl walking in that direction now, shy steps, taking it slowly, Mom holding out one of her arms. Girl making her way there.
‘Dear,’ Mom says. Dear. Such an old word. From her heart to her lips. Mom’s love word just swiped them on the cheek and moistened them with tears. It was as if she had said ‘Beloved’, crammed all the meaning of ‘beloved’ into ‘dear’ because she was too shy to say anything grandiose or flamboyant. Keeping it simple, stating obvious things, no speech up her sleeve to cry through.
Mrs O’Reilly looks up at FreezerWorld Louise. The girl she took in because she had the same name as her daughter. Loving her. ‘What are those bruises on your face?’
Louise is not shy, walking fast towards her mother.
‘How did you get to be in such a mess?’ Mom staring at her two girls, fighting to free her hand under Billy who won’t budge. ‘What happened to your face?’
FreezerWorld Louise says, ‘Sorting it out. Lou and me. It’s okay.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Raj opens his eyes. Everyone on the floor with him. Mom and Girl and Louise and Billy. All in a huddle on their knees. Mr Tens eating the lemon fingers. ‘Gah gah gah gah gah ded ded gah gah ded.’
‘What have you done to him?’ Mrs O’Reilly whispering.
Billy stirring. Breathing easier. ‘He’s saying god’s dedd. Wants a pizza.’
‘Why’s he saying that, Billy?’
FreezerWorld Louise is sitting with her mother. Waiting for everyone. Mom smearing a little bit of Nivea into her cheeks. They really went for each other, those girls.
‘Billy’s a bit of a doctor,’ FreezerWorld Louise says.
‘Is that right?’ Mrs O’Reilly is interested.
‘Yeah. He’s writing a book on pain.’
Mr Tens is gargling with mouthwash. Listening in. ‘What’s it called, Billy?’ Terry Tens spitting out FreezerWorld own brand for tender gums.
‘’S called Billy England’s Book of Pain.’
Billy doing up his trainer laces. Mom combing through Girl’s hair with her fingers. Louise washing her face in the little managerial basin in the corner. Stainless-steel taps. Soaping her hands with the nice FreezerWorld soap. Smelling it. Rose petal and geranium. Bringing it to Mom to smell. All of them still waiting for Billy’s answer because Mr Tens is gibbering, gargling, licking the lemon icing off the plate.
Mrs O’Reilly smiling at her boy and his pizza pangs. ‘Go on, Girl, wash your face too.’
‘Louise,’ Girl says. ‘My fucking name is Louise.’
‘Louise.’ Mom nods. Looks around her. They all look so tired. Worn out. Exhausted. Blood spots on their clothes. Bruised. Billy’s put his arm round his sister.
‘My name is Louise. My fucking name is Louise.’
Billy murmuring something to Mom. Crazy for his mother. ‘Good thing Girl’s mad, otherwise I wouldn’t have had a patient to practise on at such a young age.’
‘She’s called Louise.’ Mrs O’Reilly stands up. ‘And she’s not mad. We got to sort ourselves out.’ Makes her way to the neatly arranged shoes under the chair. Slips them on. Walks to the table, picks up her script, reads it through, puts a line across a few sentences. Reads it through again. ‘That’s ready to go for Monday, Terry,’ she says with a note of stern last-draft finality in her voice.
Mrs O’Reilly feels something rushing at her. Stinging her. It’s joy. Like an Arctic wind burning up everything that isn’t here, her kiddies, with her, in the present time.
‘Mom?’ Billy asking her a question.
‘Dear?’
‘Why didn’t you stop Dad pulping me?’
Mrs O’Reilly. Suddenly the wind chills and freezes the tips of her ears. Tips of her fingers. Crashes into her cheekbones. Bruises every vertebra of her spine. Her lips taste of salt and blood. Arcs of ice crystals cover her eyebrows. Ice and light and space and the bottom of the world melting so there’s nowhere to put her tan nylon feet, nowhere to flee from her hunters.
‘Terry. I think you should take out the second “and” in Monday’s broadcast. Just run the words together.’
‘Uh?’
Billy looking dangerous now. ‘Say why.’
‘Yes, I will,’ says Mrs O’Reilly. But she doesn’t. She just stands there. Silent. What’s Mom thinking about? Grand-Dad who died three weeks ago? Her father buried under the wreath she ordered from the florists? Lilies and roses for her father. ‘Graham England Rest in Peace.’ Anything for a bit of peace and rest.
FreezerWorld Louise helps her out. Dearness in her voice. Sort of whispering because they met each other when they both needed love and they help each other out.
‘He’s saying … wants to know why you didn’t protect him.’
The FreezerWorld wind is a crisis wind. Frostbite and trackers baiting their steel traps.
Mrs O’Reilly. Numbness is pain turned inside out. Wearing her cardigan the wrong way round. ‘It was my beehive, Billy.’ She smiles through the wind and silent falling snow. How many words are there for snow? For pain, poverty, love, regret, knowing how to say the right thing at the right moment, for little vests with poppers between the legs and fingers of fish and No Tears Shampoo?
‘Was a very difficult hairstyle to get perfect. Took such a long time to get it right. The teasing and lacquer. All those pins. Combing out the fringe. Pleating in all those little stray bits. Folding and tucking.’
Billy lunges at her. Knocks her to the ground. Kill her Kill her Kill her. Dump her in the FreezerWorld freezers. Taking out his knife.
‘Say why.’
‘I was very proud of my hair …’
‘Why didn’t you stop him?’
Mrs O’Reilly shaking her head at Billy’s knife. ‘Say why for me in your pain book.’
Billy thinking about this. Rubbing the lobe of his left ear between his fingers. Scratching the back of his hands. Digging his front teeth into his bottom lip. Fluttering his eyelids and making them still again. Curling his toes up tight, straightening them, doing that three times, a boy full of tics and twitches. Something to think about on a rainy day when he’s got a bit of time on his hands.
‘Why should I?’
FreezerWorld Louise interrupts. ‘Because you can.’
‘Yeah.’
Although Billy says ‘yeah’ his voice is cold. Blank. Yeah, he can. So what? Worth being born for, is it? That’s all right then, is it? Being all right. Being brave. Being okay. What kind of Being is that? Being clever, does that make it all right then? Is it all right being in a concentration camp cos you might live to write about it afterwards? Live through it again so other people get the gist, and then top yourself – probably before your bloody royalty cheque comes through? What is a man? What is an ashtray? Naaaa. Better to go down the Leisure Centre and do trampolining. Write a book about how to perfect a triple backward somersault. Better to sell carpets and make your customers happy with a special deal for the underlay and fitting. Should have put a stop to her. Cut her throat there and then and chucked her into the fridges with BELOW ACCEPTABLE STANDARD labels on them.
Mrs O’Reilly manages to stand up. Her nose is bleeding and her daughters scrabble about to get her a tissue. A sad, angry smile on their faces, watching their mother stroking Billy’s neck. Louise England giving Raj or Rajindra as her mother called him – how did she know his full name? – the tiniest kiss she can. She wants to kiss him tiny beginner’s kisses. Holding his hand in her hand.
‘Hi, Louise.’ Raj grimaces.
‘Hi, baby.’
‘Will you ever be normal?’ Raj’s enquiry is really heartfelt, even though it’s a sexy fuzzy whisper in her ear.
‘Dunno, Rajindra.’
Raj ties back her peroxide hair for her with the elast
ic band she’s just given him.
‘Might be all right if I never have to ride in a minicab again.’
Billy, who is soaping his face with the lovely FreezerWorld rose-petal soap, interrupts. ‘That’s right, Raj. I never want my sister to ride in a minicab again. Understand?’
Raj checks out Billy under all that soap. Keep the boy talking. ‘Will Louise … be all right, doc?’
‘It’s not “all right” we’re after here, Raj.’
Raj sighs. Perhaps he shouldn’t encourage the creep to talk after all. Not so much an answer as a tutorial.
‘Pain has its own language. You got to listen in.’
‘Are you ready?’ Mrs O’Reilly calling out to everyone, soaping themselves, gargling, brushing their hair. No one is ready. For anything. Whatever ‘ready’ means.
‘You’re coming too.’ Mrs O’Reilly tugs at Mr Tens’s shoulder.
Billy and his sister glance at each other. Jeezus. Mom collects ’em like carrier bags, doesn’t she? Mrs O’Reilly putting her arm round Louise and Louise. Raj and Mr Tens discussing the low points of running a business as they all troop downstairs towards the exit doors. Billy leading the way. FreezerWorld. A zone where the weather is always the same. A one-season Eden without sunrise and birdsong. Its children crying real tears for crisps and juices.
‘To tell the truth, Mrs O’Reilly, I don’t feel up to driving.’
Raj is resting his hand on the Merc roof. Leaning against the door. His arms feel weak. Tears are about to leak down his cheeks. Suddenly finds himself thinking about his little brother reading comics by the till. The Alsatian lying on a bit of old cardboard on the floor. His mother smiling politely at Stupid Club all day. His dad promising her a better life soon. What kind of a better life? His mum says she wants to try that happy drug. Get the prescription for her. ‘Patel, Mrs Prozac. Take X times a day.’ Raj interferes. Says, ‘No way, Mum, I’ll get you some crack instead. That will cheer you up. We can smoke it when Dad visits Uncle. Light up and watch repeats of the Alan Partridge Show.’
