Now You See Me

by Lesley Glaister

  I stopped and swivelled round in the street and got tangled up with a crowd of little kids streaming off a coach outside the theatre. There was a pantomime on: Dick Whittington. A popcorn babble and smell. The teachers with scribbled faces gestured and grimaced at each other over all the different coloured heads. All these other lives going on and on, every single smallest one of them much realler than my own.

  A carrier bag caught in a tree flapped at me. I looked away quick and got walking, walked all the way back from town. When I got there there was nobody and nothing had been moved since I left. Doggo’s cup was still by the bed. It was cold and the dark had crept in again and got its stain all over everything but it was best to be in there alone. I didn’t even care that Doggo had gone or if he was in prison or what. I had to be alone to give my face a rest from all the masks and expressions of the world. I had to let it slide right off. I curled up underneath the covers and tried to make my mind go blank.

  Eighteen

  There was a fog of days and I gave up. The police had got him or maybe it wasn’t him, Doggo, the wanted man, the murderer. Sometimes the world outside is as much a fog as inside your head, nothing really real, believe what you want it’s all the same. I lay under a grey blanket or maybe it wasn’t a blanket but only my cloudy breath, my cloudy life. I don’t know how long, then I did start to get myself together.

  There is one thing that is real and clear and that is pain. I had to get real to start to get my balance back. It felt so high to climb now, the high wire too high above me to even see. I had to feel the pain to see straight, to even start the climb.

  I don’t do it any more. I don’t keep sharp things, razor blades or knives. I even took the bottles to the bottle bank and let them smash safely inside the bin. But there is always something. I broke a biro and forced the sharp plastic under the skin above my wrist. The pain was sharp and real, the first clear thing for days, and the blood trickling was pressure running out.

  I do know it’s a stupid, ugly thing to do. I had therapy at the hospital and I do know that. The worst time, the last time, I lost too much blood. They thought I was trying to kill myself but I would never do a thing like that. And the wound got infected. I was moved to a proper hospital. Watching the doctors with their stethoscopes slung round their necks I thought I should be training to be one of them, not needing a doctor to stop me harming myself. Such a stupid waste of time. I felt embarrassed. That is when I stopped. I have stopped. This was just the once to help me get my balance back.

  But while I was pushing the plastic into my arm I heard footsteps coming down the side of the house and then he was there, Doggo. Coming in in that bold way like he owns the place. The pain jammed a smile on my face. I pulled my sleeve down quick. There were tears on my cheek I hadn’t even known were there. I wiped them off. He didn’t see, the shades still on. He took them off but didn’t look at me properly, or at all. He dropped his bag and flopped down on the deck chair, the dogs beside him.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ I said.

  He looked grey and wrecked. He groaned and looked blearily up at me. ‘Any tea going?’ I put the kettle on and went outside to the toilet. I pulled the plastic out of my arm, the blood flowed bright. The brightest thing in the whole wide world. I wadded up some toilet paper and put it in my sleeve.

  I didn’t know what to say to him, I felt shy. When I handed him the tea he cupped his gloves round it and hunched over.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ I said in the end. ‘I thought maybe the police had got you.’

  ‘You said anything?’

  I shook my head. ‘Doggo. Sorry I locked you out. I won’t … I won’t do it again.’

  He nodded, blew across his tea and slurped. ‘Had to see someone. He owed me. Meant to be getting me a passport and some dosh.’

  ‘A passport for where?’ I said.

  ‘The fuck out of here.’

  ‘What about the dogs?’ The way he looked at me you’d think that was a really stupid question.

  ‘Anyway he never fucking showed, did he? He owed me. I’ll fucking kill him.’ A fleck of spit came out of his mouth when he said kill. I think he meant it. I didn’t dare to say another word. After he’d finished the tea he smoked a fag. He was miles away, his black eyebrows scrunched together. He was shivering. I put the Calor gas on for him. The cellar was crowding with the smell of cigarette, damp man and dog.

  He stubbed his fag out on the floor, nodded his head forward and shut his eyes. I think he went to sleep. While his eyes were closed I rolled up my sleeve and looked at the gash in my arm. The blood was slowing down. It soon loses its brightness, blood. It was ugly and sore, a new wound across the safe old scars. Stupid. Pain can help. But he was here now. I know he only came back because it was a place to hide. But it did prove he trusted me. He had come back to me.

  He woke when Mr Dickens started moving about upstairs. We could hear the Zimmer frame, the toilet flushing and soon the kitchen tap. We had another cup of tea. Doggo washed his face and stretched. When he reached up his fingertips brushed the ceiling. I tried but mine were miles away.

  ‘Hey, like the hair,’ he said. ‘It’s really …’

  ‘Ta,’ I said, I’d forgotten all about it. I ran my fingers through it, tried to fluff it up, wishing I still had the new clothes. But I could always get some more.

  ‘Might as well do garden since I’m here,’ he said and squeezed out a bitter laugh. ‘While I was waiting for my mate I was planning garden, killing time. Thinking what could be done with it – if there was time.’

  I opened my mouth to tell him what Mr Dickens said about the wanted man. I thought maybe if I could say it with a laugh, like, how ridiculous is that? it might be OK. But if it was him … but before I could decide he’d gone outside. I followed. Maybe it was best to leave things be. Outside in the daylight he took another look at me but this time said, ‘Christ, you look wasted.’

  ‘Not as wasted as you look,’ I said.

  We had to dig out the roots of a dead shrub and it was amazing, all the things in the soil, fat white grubs and worms, millipedes and a bent teaspoon all clogged up with earth. It reminded me of something I heard once: in one teaspoon of soil there are more living organisms than people on the entire planet. I took a handful of the damp earth and stood there thinking that. It was like I was holding a whole universe in the palm of my hand. My mind reeled just to think it.

  Doggo frowned as he worked, ripping and wrenching the poor trembling bushes and slicing the spade down into the earth. Gordon came outside with Norma following. Doggo said Norma was poorly and off her food. I looked. She was quiet, lying down instead of frisking around in her usual way. I said why not take her to the vet but Doggo shook his head.

  ‘In case you’re spotted?’ I said.

  He did an unwilling grin. ‘It’s as much the …’ He rubbed his fingers together. ‘Vets cost fuck of a lot.’

  ‘I’ll pay,’ I said. ‘I’ll even take her for you if you like.’

  He gave me a funny look. ‘I thought you were broke as me.’

  ‘I could take her Monday,’ I said.

  We heaved up the last bit of a great knobbly root and looked into the crater it left, which was hairy with fine broken-off fibres and the pink end of a worm sucking back into the earth. It looked so cold in there I shivered. I went to pet the dogs but Gordon growled and Norma didn’t even look up.

  ‘Maybe she should see vet,’ Doggo said, ‘if you could spare the dosh. As a lend.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, knowing what that meant. That he would have to stick around for at least a couple of days, ‘whatever’.

  Mr Dickens called us in for tea. My mouth went dry, waiting for what Mr Dickens might say, thinking I was mad not to warn Doggo, but when we got in Mr Dickens’ mind wasn’t on that at all. He looked awful. He must have been feeling rough too because he asked me to make the tea – a much better idea since it meant we got to drink it while it was still hot. He hadn’t got his teeth in.
I’d hardly ever seen him without his teeth before. It was awful the way his voice lost its edges and his face caved in. I was embarrassed looking at him, thinking he must be embarrassed to be seen.

  Doggo didn’t seem to notice any difference, well he doesn’t know him like I do. It was amazing how Doggo came to life and raved on about his plans, even getting out a notebook with a sketch. He can really draw, I was surprised. It had paths and flowerbeds marked out, and stepping stones across the lawn to a seat.

  Mr Dickens gave us lunch of bread and sandwich-spread. Doggo ate it with his filthy gloves on. When we’d finished eating we told Mr Dickens we were going for a walk before we got started again. We went out the front and back round to the cellar.

  When we got in I made some tea and he skinned up. It was so great to have someone else there. All the dark corners disappeared, as if light was shining out of Doggo or something although actually he was dirty, dark and hairy. If you didn’t know he was a criminal, you’d guess. A murderer. I liked the way he just came in and made himself at home as if it was nothing strange and the way the dogs settled down too. It’s not a bad place actually. It could be worse.

  He still didn’t take his gloves off and in the end I couldn’t help asking why. He gave me a long look and took one glove off, as slowly as if he was peeling the flesh off the bones. There were sticking plasters all over his knuckles. ‘What have you done?’ I said. He said nothing. He pulled up the corner of one of the plasters. It came up gradually, sticking and lifting the dark hairs and the thin skin on the back of his hand. Underneath was a raw red circle with wet oozing off it. ‘What have you done?’ I said and then I knew. What he had done was get rid of the LOVE and HATE. It took me a minute to take it in. Then I asked him how.

  ‘Fag,’ he said and I nearly passed right out thinking of the shocking burn and sizzle of that.

  I swallowed. ‘Who put the plasters on for you?’

  ‘I did.’ He got a strip of Band-Aid and a spray of Savlon out of his pocket. ‘Could you help me change them?’

  I felt so chuffed that he asked me, like Florence Nightingale or something. I knelt down in front of him and carefully peeled off the old plasters. It must have hurt like hell but he didn’t say anything, there was just a little catch in his breath. The burns were shiny red and runny, not with blood but with clear stuff. On the puffy edge of one you could still see a tiny bit of blue lettering, but I didn’t point that out. I didn’t want him burning himself any more.

  After I’d sprayed the Savlon and put new plasters on I looked up. Our faces were very close together. Only maybe six inches from a kiss. We stuck like that for a breathless moment then he said, ‘Ta,’ and leant back.

  I stood up. ‘You can’t work like that,’ I said. ‘Let’s tell Mr Dickens we can’t do any more today.’

  ‘I’ll be right.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ I said and his eyes met mine with a sort of pang.

  ‘Because they were naff.’ A long moment hung there. He said, ‘Your birthday?’ noticing Mr Dickens’ card.

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘Should have said. Drink tonight? Buy you a pint.’

  ‘K.’ I had to turn away so he couldn’t see my idiot face. ‘Only I’ll treat you – Mr Dickens gave me some birthday money. But … what if you’re seen?’

  ‘Nah. Anyway, a man has to have his pint.’

  We got back to work. I don’t know how he could bear it. And my arm was hurting. Maybe a bit of plastic left in. They’re splintery as hell, biros. But still the fog had gone and it had all come clear. I have not been happier, not for a long, long time. It was me that said that the LOVE and HATE were naff. Does that mean he burnt them off for me? He should not have done it, but still I have not been happier since I don’t know when.

  I just loved the way his beard looked so soft around his lips and the little prong of lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Murder? It was hard to believe, seeing him out in the fresh air like that, gardening. I loved the way he breathed when he was lifting something heavy. There was pale sun so I think my red highlights would have been showing and I was glad I’d had them done. Nice eyes, nice hair, that’s two things anyway. Oh, and the cheek-bones.

  Then a female person came round the back.

  ‘That was quick,’ she said.

  Her hair was silver in the sun, long and straight, pushed back from a high white forehead. ‘I’m Sarah,’ she said, ‘Mr Dickens’ great-niece.’ The blue sky cracked quietly like an egg.

  Nineteen

  We all stood staring at each other for a moment that went on far too long.

  ‘Hi,’ I said eventually. Doggo darted me a panicked look. He didn’t even have his shades on.

  ‘You must be Lamb,’ she said. She turned her eyes on him. ‘And Doggo. Hi. He’s told me all about you.’ Doggo and I froze, but she seemed oblivious. She came closer and I saw that her skin was like cream. Her lips were very pink and her teeth square and white when she smiled. She smiled at Doggo.

  ‘I said to Uncle he should get a gardener but I never thought he would. Not so fast anyway. Look what you’ve done already …’ She shook her head at the chopped-up garden like it was some kind of miracle.

  She was wearing jeans and a white sweater that was tight over her big tits. When she went up the steps and straight into the house without knocking, her thighs were like pork chops. I would never wear tight jeans if I had those hips and thighs. But Doggo kept on watching even after the door had shut.

  ‘Shit,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What shall we do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just get on with it.’ He went into the cellar and came out wearing the shades. I thought it was a bit late for that, but didn’t like to say.

  Doggo had planned a rock garden to make use of the rocks we kept finding in the long grass, rocks with a trail of glitter through them, I don’t know what kind. It was hard work lugging them about with a cronky wheelbarrow and Doggo changed his mind twice about where the rock garden should be. I was getting fed up. What did it matter where it was? Not like it would ever get finished anyway, the garden. I wanted to say that to Doggo. Remember, you are on the run. The rock garden ended up in a dingy corner under the shadow of a tree. I couldn’t see what he could see. He could see what wasn’t there yet, flowers and stuff, all I could see was a heap of mucky rocks.

  ‘What will grow in the shade?’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘Them little white things.’ I gave up. Every time there was a noise from the house he flinched. He’d got the hunched and dodgy look back again. I wanted to hold him. I was his protection. I got a blooming feeling in my belly thinking that. Only it would be good to know exactly what he’d done.

  ‘Are you worried,’ I asked, ‘about her?’

  He stopped and pushed his hair out of his eyes. His glove left a smear of earth across his forehead. He was acting like his mind was somewhere else but I didn’t want it somewhere else I wanted it right there with me.

  ‘Where do you fancy tonight then?’ I said. ‘Duke’s Head?’

  ‘It’s crap on a Saturday,’ he said.

  Sarah came out again. Her forehead was furrowed like someone had pulled a fork through the cream. ‘I’m worried about Uncle,’ she said. ‘He’s not himself at all.’

  ‘I thought that,’ I said.

  ‘Anyway shall I bring you out some tea?’ Her brilliant smile swept over the two of us like some kind of searchlight. She brought out a tray with two cups and some biscuits. ‘Here.’ Gordon trotted up to her, followed by Norma. ‘Hello.’ Sarah’s voice went babyish. ‘Hello, you two.’ She squatted down to pet them and I thought her jeans would burst.

  ‘Norma’s a bit off,’ Doggo said.

  ‘Norma!’ She let out a trill of laughter. ‘I’ve heard some good ones, but I like that!’

  ‘After my great-aunt,’ Doggo said, which was news to me, ‘and Gordon.’

  ‘Her husband?’

  ‘No, the gin.’


  I smiled knowingly.

  ‘So what’s wrong with Norma?’ Sarah ran her hands over the little dog and she whimpered. ‘All right, girl,’ she said, petting and feeling. ‘She eating?’

  Doggo shook his head. ‘Not much, not last couple of days.’

  Sarah smiled up at him. ‘Actually I’m a veterinary student,’ she went. I thought she was joking but she wasn’t.

  You should have seen Doggo’s face then. You’d think an angel had landed. ‘Could you do anything for her?’ he said.

  ‘I’m taking her to the vet on Monday,’ I said.

  ‘I’m only first year,’ she said, ‘but I’ve a mate who’s qualified. I could pop her there now if you like. Want to come?’

  ‘What now?’ I said looking at Doggo, but he was nodding.

  ‘Sure?’ I said.

  He looked irritated. ‘Course I’m sure.’ I was only thinking of him.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s not room for the three of us.’ Sarah pulled a face at me.

  ‘Well Doggo can get on with the garden,’ I said.

  ‘No, I’ll take her,’ he said.

  What could I say?

  So they left Gordon with me and went away. I watched them get in the car and she was telling the truth, it was full of boxes and stuff and Doggo had to cram up with Norma on his knee. It seemed like a funny sort of lying low to me.

  I shut Gordon in the cellar and went up to see Mr Dickens. He was asleep in his chair with a trail of drool stretching like a wire from the corner of his mouth to his shoulder. Doughnut was keeled over by the electric flames and Mr Dickens’ tea was cold beside him. I took the tea away and washed the cups up. Mr Dickens woke up. I could hear him saying, ‘What … what …’

  I went and sat by him and said, ‘It’s OK, Mr Dickens.’ I told him Sarah and Doggo had taken Norma to the vet and he smiled an empty pumpkin smile and said, ‘Good lass, she is.’

  ‘Shall I make more tea?’ I said. ‘Only yours got cold.’

  ‘Must have dropped off,’ he said. He looked at his Zimmer frame and then changed his mind. ‘Please.’ I turned my face away and switched the lamp on to try and make everything seem brighter.