Snowflake

by Heide Goody

  “Fine, I’ll do that. Have you got a pen?”

  Norman handed me a pen.

  “And have you got a card?”

  He looked at me. “People normally provide their own cards. I need to think about my overheads.”

  “Is that a no then?”

  He sighed wearily. “Perhaps you can re-use one of the old ones,” he said handing me a pile from the side of the window. I smiled at him and turned one over. I hovered with the pen for a moment while I thought about how I could convey how important this was.

  “Have you got any more pens, Norman? Maybe some coloured felt tips?”

  “No.”

  In an effort to do the best job with limited materials, I dug out my sketching pencil from my bag. I drew large, bulbous exclamation marks on the left and right sides of the card. I went over the lines and then shaded them carefully so that they really stood out. In between these two sentinels, I wrote my plea:

  Wanted URGENTLY! Information leading to the discovery of local missing persons formerly of Grosvenor Road. Call for details. Small Reward Possible.

  I added my phone number and handed the card to Norman.

  “It’s a pound for the week,” he said.

  I patted my pockets. “I’ll drop that round to you a bit later.”

  He scowled but he put the card in the window.

  A thought crossed my mind. “If I’m going to owe you a pound, could I round it up a bit?”

  He turned and looked at me with his eyebrows raised.

  “I was thinking we could round it up to, say, fifty. Lend me another forty-nine pounds and I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can. I need to pay this taxi driver, you see.”

  He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before replying. “I try to avoid swearing in the presence of ladies, but for you I might make an exception. Get out of here and do not come back unless it is to bring me my pound, do you hear?”

  I made my exit and approached Jed who sat in his taxi by the kerb. I braced myself for another challenging conversation.

  “Jed, are you someone who is motivated purely by money?” I asked.

  He gave the question a moment’s thought. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  I was hoping that he might be slightly more open-minded. “Have you ever thought that there might be more important things?”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The simple enjoyment that comes from being out and about on a lovely day like this?”

  Jed looked sceptically at the sky, which was a discouraging shade of pewter.

  I tried again. “How about the pleasure of someone’s company? I know that I’ve enjoyed our time together today.”

  “The bit I always look forward to is the part where you pay me,” said Jed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Are you saying that you haven’t got the money or something?”

  “Well that depends.”

  “On what?” he asked.

  “On whether you mean actual cash. I can offer you payment in some amazing sausage that you can’t even buy in this country, how about that? You can’t have all of it, obviously, but –”

  He started to shout at me then, which was a little unnecessary when I was trying to be reasonable.

  “If you mean the stuff that’s made my cab smell like tramps’ feet then you’ve got to be out of your mind!” He got out and slammed his door. He kept shouting as he stomped round to the boot. “If a fare doesn’t pay, then I’d normally hang onto their bag until they bring me the money, but it’s going to take hours before that stink goes. There aren’t enough air fresheners in the world to cover up that horrible smell.”

  “It’s not a smell. It’s a fragrance. Bold but beautiful.”

  He opened the boot and took out my bag. He wasn’t very careful about how he put it down on the pavement and it popped open. I was slightly mortified by the sight of my unwashed smalls spilling out, but Jed put his arm over his face as a fresh waft of the loukaniko sapio sausage smell was unleashed. He hurried round to his door muttering about me being blacklisted and then drove off.

  He stopped twenty yards down the road. My heart rose. He’d changed his mind; he couldn’t leave a fare in distress. It was probably against his cabbie’s oath or something.

  He got out, opened the back door, took out the wickerwork Gida the goat and hurled it at me before getting back in and squealing away.

  I’ll say one thing. I didn’t know goats were that aerodynamic or that cabbies had such good aim.

  Chapter 3

  It took me an hour and a half to walk to my brother’s flat, four miles from my house – my old house – and in that nice bit near St Paul’s, just north of the city centre. I’d used some of my t-shirts to tie the wickerwork goat onto the handle of my case. A nice lady pressed fifty pence into my hand as I went through the underpass at Smallbrook Queensway, but most people gave me a wide berth and unpleasant looks. It might have been because a stone got stuck in the wheel of my case so it made a noise like a pneumatic drill as I wheeled it along. Or perhaps it was the sausage; the heat of the day was really enhancing its presence.

  There had been no food on the plane that morning and I was getting kind of hungry. I nipped into a Tesco Express on my marathon walk and, after much shelf scouring to find what fifty pee would buy, purchased a croissant in the reduced section to munch on as I continued my trek.

  I found Adam’s flat without any trouble, even though I hadn’t been round there for ages, (we really haven’t seen much of each other since he became Mr International Adventurer and After-Dinner Speaker). The flat was inside a redeveloped factory on Silver Street. Lots of exposed brickwork and interesting old metalwork painted green. I went in through the lobby and up to his flat. The key safe was at the side of the door. There was one of those combination locks on it, with four wheels that needed to be on the right numbers. Nanna Shap’s birthday. Did that mean it would be the year of her birth or the month and the day? If it was the month and the day would Adam have put it in the American format? How many goes would I need to get it right and would an alarm sound if I got it wrong? I tried 2604 and, amazingly, the little compartment sprung open, revealing the key. I unlocked the flat and stepped inside.

  I kicked off my shoes with an enormous groan of relief and had a look round. I started in his lounge, which was quite large. It was all decorated in mushroomy shades of brown but there was a plush rug that felt really good on my bare feet. I then spotted the most enormous television. It was so big that I thought it was the actual wall. It looked a bit like the ones that they have in shops that you can only really watch from twenty feet away. I was prepared to give it a go though, as the leather sofas looked pretty good for lounging on. I moved over to look at the shelves on the opposite wall. There were books and DVDs on the lower shelves, but I wasn’t sure what to make of the pile of rubble on the top shelf. My brother’s such a neat freak that it surprised me to see mess like that. I tapped the wall to see if maybe bits of plaster had come loose. I didn’t have time to solve that particular mystery right now though, I wanted to check out the kitchen. I was in serious need of something to eat.

  The kitchen had only a small window and was in relative gloom. I looked for a light switch but there wasn’t one where any sensible person would put one.

  “Lights, lights,” I muttered to myself as I searched for a switch.

  The spotlights over the swanky breakfast bar came on.

  “What the hell happened there?” I said.

  “Did you not want me to turn on the lights?” said a black cylinder on the kitchen counter. A blue strip on its side lit up as it spoke.

  “Are you a robot?” I asked.

  “I am Lexi,” said the box. “How can I help you?”

  “Find me some food.”

  “There are five local restaurants on your favourites list.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said as I started opening cupboards looking for food. I really wasn�
��t sure what to make of the weird boxes and packages. I had no idea what tahini was. Or dulse flakes. I picked up a box.

  “How do you even pronounce this?” I said.

  “This,” said Lexi.

  “It says ‘quinoa’,” I said.

  “It is pronounced ‘keen-wah,’” said Lexi.

  “You sure? You’ve hardly used any of the actual letters.”

  I pushed things around, looking for something I recognised. I wondered how a cinnamon stick might taste, but it didn’t look all that good once out of the jar. It was more ‘stick’ than anything else. Eventually, I found some muesli. I’m more of a Coco Pops girl myself, but at last I’d found something edible, although with a name like Wild Seeds I was prepared for it to be heavy on healthy goodness and light on taste. I tipped some into a bowl and then it crossed my mind that there wouldn’t be any milk. I really was past caring though, so I added some water from the tap and sat down to enjoy. It was hard going. It had lots and lots of tiny seeds in it that got stuck in my teeth. They were so hard that I was a bit nervous of biting down on them. They were like those silver balls you decorate cakes with but even harder. I never knew such a thing was possible. I couldn’t ever imagine eating this stuff for pleasure. I began to wonder if my brother had some sort of digestive disorder.

  Hunger (and toothache) is a great motivator and, nearing the bottom of the bowl, I had a brainwave.

  I poured the rest of the muesli down the sink and went in search of my things. My brainwave? I keep my inking pens in a Celebrations Christmas tub. It was from a couple of Christmases ago, but it still contained all of the miniature Bounties because nobody in our family likes them. That includes me of course, but at this point, I was prepared to overlook the gritty coconut texture and the very thought of chocolate made my mouth water.

  I found a pile of boxes in the smallest of the three bedrooms. Each box was labelled: Lori clothes, Lori desk, Lori shelves and so on. I stood and stared for a minute. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but as a summary of my life so far it didn’t speak of world-conquering success. I realised that I had foolishly been expecting to see the furniture from my old bedroom with my things still inside. My stomach rumbled (was that hunger or Wild Seeds making their way through my insides like an army of gritty little stormtroopers?). It crossed my mind that I could have sold my old furniture and bought food with the money. I started to examine my things – perhaps there was something here I could sell? The most obvious candidate was the rocking horse that stood alongside the boxes. I feared that its resale value might have been reduced by the drawings on the side. Guess how they got there? I’d been experimenting with sensory deprivation as a stimulus for creative thought and I just forgot it was there after I put the blindfold on. You live and learn. I pulled some things out of boxes, and realised that this could turn into action-replays of all the classic doofus Lori moments. I sat Gida the goat down next to the rocking horse.

  “Check this out, guys! I know you two are going to be the best of friends, but you need to know what you’re getting into, now that you’re my only family.”

  I held up a printed certificate. “See this? I won the Gifted and Talented in Art award in year ten at school. You’re probably wondering why it’s got a rude picture of my art teacher Mrs McGee? Look, you can tell it’s her because I’ve helpfully labelled her ‘Mrs McGee’, see? Well, it just seemed like a funny idea. We always said that she was half woman, half wildebeest. Nobody told me that we were supposed to pose for photographs showing our certificates afterwards.”

  I turned it face down with a sigh, remembering my parents’ disappointment when I told them why my picture wasn’t in the newspaper with the other winners.

  “This – ah!” I paused in my reminiscences as I spotted the Celebrations tub. I hauled it out. I counted seven mini Bounties among the pens. I unwrapped one and munched it ravenously. I shuddered at the desiccated coconut (it’s like sand and sugar had an unholy baby and some idiot had said, ‘people will really enjoy getting this stuff stuck between their teeth.’) but swallowed it down anyway.

  On with the trip down memory lane: I held up a table tennis bat. “Exhibit two,” I said to Gida and the rocking horse. “In my defence, the shape of this bat is a dead ringer for Mutt ‘potato head’, who ran the youth club. I did it for a dare, and everyone said it looked just like him. See how red the rubber is? Well his face went the exact same shade when he saw what I’d done.”

  I pulled out some drawings with some early incarnations of Florrie. It gave me a jolt to see how long she’d been with me.

  “Say hello to Florrie,” I said to the horse and the goat, holding up a picture. “She’s the viral internet cartoon hero that the world hasn’t quite discovered yet, but trust me, they will.”

  I paused. One of the Florrie pictures had the Eiffel Tower in the background. I’d been experimenting to see how Florrie liked France. Gareth and I had been a couple for eighteen months when he moved there. He wanted me to go with him. He kept telling me that Angoulême is the French capital city for cartoons. That’s all well and good but, did you know, you can’t get HP sauce or custard creams in France? They don’t even have Greggs. What was he thinking?

  I laughed out loud when I turned over the next piece of paper. It was a collage made up from pictures out of magazines. I remembered my mom hitting the roof when she found all the holes in her Hello magazine, as she hadn’t finished reading it and I’d destroyed Jason Statham’s dream kitchen or something. I’d been creating a photofit of the ideal man. My fingers traced Robert Pattinson’s eyes and Ashton Kutcher’s smile. I’d blended in Channing Tatum’s jawline too and, I think, James Franco’s ears. I tried to recall what had made me do it, but it’s hard to imagine what I was like ten years ago. I’ve moved on since I was a lovesick teenager, thank goodness.

  “What do you think guys?” I asked my audience. “Hot stuff, huh? The question is, does this belong in the portfolio of a serious artist?”

  “I will need more information,” said the black cylinder on the bedside cabinet.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed in surprise. “How did you get in here?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” said the Lexi thing.

  “You have legs or something?”

  “Let me check. The phrase ‘have legs’ means that something, such as a news story, will create long-lasting interest. Does that help?”

  I just stared at the box and then silently returned my gaze to Gida and the horse. I showed them the picture silently. They gave me a firm though equally silent ‘no’ so I moved the picture onto the separate pile to throw away. It threatened to slide off the uneven heap of old bus tickets, bounty wrappers and notes, so I popped my Greek pendant on top to hold it in place.

  “Off you go, handsome!” He wasn’t going to win me round with that cheeky smile, but I pointed and gave him a wink, for old times’ sake.

  I stood up to stretch my legs and wandered into the bathroom. It was all sparkling glass and slate tiles. There was yet another Lexi thing on the window shelf so I decided to keep my mouth shut. I huffed on the mirror and drew a smiley face just to make the place look a bit less like a showroom. I smiled and remembered a story in the paper where a kid had used the toilet in a fancy shop bathroom display and it took the staff four days to find out where the funny smell was coming from. Four days! I felt sympathy for the kid. This room looked like a bathroom, but it somehow didn’t look as if I was supposed to use it. Something on the edge of the mirror caught my eye. A little button with the cute puppy logo for Andrex toilet paper. Was it some sort of fancy dispenser? I pressed the button and watched the toilet paper but it didn’t move. Maybe Adam had one of those sentient Japanese toilets that washes and dries your backside. I pressed it again and the toilet did nothing. I swivelled the toilet paper holder a little bit in case it was stuck and pressed the button a few more times.

  My phone buzzed. It was my brother on video call.

  “Hi, bro,” I s
aid.

  “I see you’ve arrived,” he said.

  Jesus! My head swivelled in a panic. Did he have cameras in here? “What? You’re watching me?”

  “Relax,” he laughed. “I can see a spike in the power usage from my smart meter app. You’ve got all the lights on, haven’t you?”

  I was already on the back foot. Adam can always make me feel like a nine-year-old who’s just put felt-tip lipstick and eye shadow on his action man. I put a hand over the phone and turned to the Lexi box.

  “Turn all the lights off,” I whispered.

  “I didn’t quite hear that,” said Lexi.

  “Turn all the lights off, bitch.”

  “Is everything all right?” said Adam.

  “Perfectly fine,” I said, stepping out of the bathroom. “Just getting used to your robot house.”

  He laughed. He was wearing a suit jacket and a loose shirt. He appeared to be in a hotel lobby or maybe a convention centre. He was lightly tanned. He looked very much at home.

  “Lori, you’re welcome to use the place as your own for a while,” said Adam. “Don’t get paranoid that I’m monitoring you or anything.”

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you,” I said.

  He laughed again. That’s a lot of laughing. He’d probably been in America too long.

  “I’ve installed a few smart home gadgets, that’s all,” he said. “It will give you a chance to think about your environmental impact.”

  Distracted, I stumbled into something in the lounge that fell and smashed on the floor.

  “What was that?” asked Adam.

  “Nothing! I was agreeing about my environmental impact,” I said.