In Bloom

by C. J. Skuse

  ‘That makes zero sense,’ I said. ‘Less than zero in fact.’

  She sat down, still concentrating on her breaths. ‘I just feel like if I’m happy too much I won’t be the right person anymore.’ She was staring so intently at me. It was the same expression Julia had on her face when I cut her throat. Must be fear.

  ‘You’d rather be the person you are now?’ I said. ‘Scared? Controlled? Every movement monitored? Humiliated in front of your friends?’

  ‘He doesn’t humiliate me.’

  ‘You told me Tim announced to the Pudding Club that you’d wet yourself in Costa after you found out you were pregnant. And he told them how much weight you gained.’

  ‘It slipped out. He didn’t mean to.’

  I sighed, over-theatrically. ‘You displayed those ballerinas yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look I’m not going to launch into the full Wilson Phillips medley here, Marn, but why are you so afraid to be happy? Why can’t you loosen up?’

  ‘I don’t want to be alone again. I don’t function. Before I met Tim, I was off the rails. I was a lost soul. Tim made me feel safe and got me out of Leeds and away from all my bad influences – my friends, family – and he brought me here. I was a wreck after my mum died. I hit the bottle, hit the clubs. I was addicted to sex and freedom. The euphoria of it, you know?’

  ‘Yeah, I know that feeling.’

  ‘But it was drowning me. When you and me are together, it takes me back to that feeling of being free. And it scares me. It’s a great feeling but I don’t want to lose myself again. I don’t want to go back.’

  ‘I’m alone.’

  ‘Yeah but you’re stronger than me. I’m too scared, Rhee.’

  ‘But you want to leave, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I can’t let go.’

  ‘You have to. You could be anything, Marnie. You could go anywhere. Isn’t there some place in the world where you’d love to go?’

  ‘Alassio,’ she replied, eventually ‘In Italy. It’s where my family comes from. I’d go and live somewhere near my brother.’

  ‘Then go.’

  ‘I can’t. My brother hates Tim.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you take Tim.’

  ‘I’m not like you, Rhiannon. I can’t throw caution to the wind like that and up sticks. I have a family.’

  ‘Ooh, way harsh Ty.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘You don’t have to be like me. Just don’t be like this,’ I told her. ‘Don’t be scared all the time. He’s the one making you scared. Let go of the walls.’

  ‘No.’

  I held her wrists and gently prised them off the walls of the cart.

  ‘Stand up.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I’m standing up too. Stand with me. Come on, you can do it. You don’t have to open your eyes. Stand up, Marnie.’

  Inch by inch, she did. The cart jolted and she yelped. Raph grizzled.

  ‘I’m still holding you, Marn.’

  Tears trickled down both her cheeks. ‘I don’t like this. I don’t feel safe. What if I fall?’

  ‘You can’t fall, I’m holding you.’

  ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Come to Cardiff on Saturday with me.’

  ‘It’s too risky.’

  ‘It’s a Christian women’s day trip. The riskiest part will be deciding which hymns to sing on the coach. Or a slightly stale Dundee cake.’

  She opened her eyes. ‘You don’t know what I’m like when I’m off the leash, Rhiannon.’

  ‘Take a risk once in a while, Marnie. I dare you.’

  ‘Don’t start that again.’

  ‘You might enjoy it a tiny bit.’

  ‘I’m afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what? Tim?’

  ‘Of myself.’

  ‘You’re stronger than you think, Marn. You’ve done this. You’ve conquered your fear of heights today alone.’

  ‘Huh?’ she said, looking around. The cart had stopped. We were back at the bottom. And she hadn’t even noticed.

  Saturday, 10th November – 26 weeks, 6 days

  Marnie did come to Cardiff. I don’t know what she said to persuade Tim to let her but she was waiting for me at the coach when I rocked up with my overnight bag. I squealed and she squealed and it was like the last twenty years and the babies and Craig hadn’t happened and we were just two besties meeting up for a school trip.

  The first half of the journey was fine apart from a bit of coach-seat backache – we ate our pick and mix, sharing earphones to listen to our tunes. She loves Queen Bey almost as much as me but doesn’t know as many words, obvs. We watched a movie – The Passion of the Christ – until Elephant Vadge Madge was sick and it was switched off. I’d initially thought Marnie had left Tim at home for the day but of course, he was never far away.

  Six texts. Two calls. One FaceTime. And we’d only been on the road two hours. So yeah, that pissed me off.

  We stopped at the services to use the toilets and here t’was that I made one of my world-famous boo-boos. I spotted a pub called The Stagecoach and I bought Marnie a drink.

  ‘So you can loosen up,’ I said, holding up a glass of White Zinfandel as she returned from the toilets.

  ‘No I can’t. I’m breastfeeding.’

  ‘This is your day off, remember?’

  ‘I’m not good with drink, Rhee. One glass and I’ll be out for the count.’

  ‘Go on, it’s only a few sips. Stingy bastards charge five quid for that and it’s no more than a tooth-full. It’ll take the edge off.’

  ‘Edge off what?’

  ‘Your anxiety.’

  ‘I’m not anxious.’ She fiddled with the glass stem. ‘I love Zinfandel.’

  ‘I remember you saying you missed it when you were pregnant. Go on, neck it. Be less Marnie today, be more Rhiannon.’

  She swilled that thought around for a moment before necking the Zinfandel in three gulps. Then she ordered another.

  ‘I didn’t know how much I wanted that,’ she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘It’ll be out of my system by tomorrow, won’t it?’

  ‘Yeah of course.’

  I went to the loo for the second time and when I got back to the coach, Marnie motioned me to join her around the back where she produced a pack of cigarettes.

  ‘You don’t smoke.’

  ‘I used to,’ she said. ‘Tim got me to quit. I’ve had these in my bag for months’

  She lit one up and threw her head back. ‘Fuck me gently, that’s good.’

  It was around this point that I fully got what she had meant when she said she was afraid of herself. Because when Marnie drank, Marnie changed.

  ‘You’re cashing in all your bad girl chips today, aren’t you?’ I said, full of pointy-toe goodliness – Nanny McPhee to her sudden onset Chris Brown.

  ‘That wine’s done me the power of good. I feel so relaxed.’ She laughed, almost maniacally, like laughter was a new thing for her. ‘I do need to loosen up, you’re right. I was way more Rhiannon, once upon a time.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a little bottle of the Zinfandel she’d been drinking in the pub. ‘Here’s to loosening up.’

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘I bought it when you went to the loo.’ She giggled like an imp, stubbing out her cigarette on the coach and lighting up another. Her head lolled back so hard I thought it might fall off. ‘Jesus Christ almighty. That’s like an orgasm for the mouth.’

  Big Headed Edna was wandering past the bus with her carpet bag. ‘I hope that wasn’t the Lord’s name I heard then.’

  ‘Yeah he was here, Edna,’ Marnie called out, quick as lightning. ‘He was going into Burger King. I waved but he didn’t recognise me.’

  Edna did her best bulldog-chewing-a-wasp impression and shuffled back onto the coach.

  A group of lads, clearly on a stag week
end, sauntered loudly across the car park towards a pimped-up green hatchback, clutching McDonald’s bags.

  ‘Oi oi!’ they shouted across at us. No, not us. Marnie. I forgot I have The Bump now – the finest Cock Repellent on the market today.

  Marnie lifted her top to reveal her pendulous lactating tits.

  A chorus of cheers and Wahey!s followed as one of the lads – a good ten years younger, tanned orange and stacked like a champion boxer – laughed hysterically and made a beeline towards her. You know the type – fake tan, Peaky Blinders haircut, crisp black jeans, tight V-shaped torso and permanently hard pecs. I stood back in the shade, not quite believing what I’d seen as a zephyr of scattered detritus whipped up around me.

  Some hideous Ibiza remix of Prince’s ‘Get Off’ blared out, as their engine purred and honked at their chief fuckboy. I suddenly felt about a hundred years old so I shuffled back onto the coach with all the other crones.

  Marnie was last on board, around twenty minutes later, so giddy she could barely sit still. ‘They’re on a stag weekend. Troy – the one I was talking to – says we can join them in Cardiff tonight if we like. He’s lovely.’

  ‘He’s about eight.’

  ‘Twenty-two actually,’ she said, with a firm eye roll.

  ‘And why am I caring about this exactly?’

  ‘They’ve asked us out for drinks.’ She was laughing like a Wimbledon audience – at absolutely nothing.

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yeah, you and me.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘I said I wouldn’t come out without you. They all seem lovely though.’

  ‘Well they would, wouldn’t they? You showed them your tits.’

  The horn honked a shave-and-a-haircut and sped towards the M5.

  A Malteser rolled out from under the seat in front of us and Marnie scrabbled around and ate it straight off the floor, fluff and all. ‘It’s a bit of fun. They’ve booked a special package at this club in the city centre – Meetz – queue jump, private lounge, waitress service and mixers. One of them’s getting married next weekend. Go on, what do you say?’

  I did the double take at my abdominal mound and waited for her to get the hint. She didn’t. ‘Uh, I can’t drink? And we’re supposed to be on a Christians Are Us coach trip, in case you’ve forgotten?’

  ‘Yeah I know, but go on, it’ll be fun. Come with me, please?’

  ‘What about Heil Husband? Don’t you have to clock in at the Eagle’s Nest this evening? He’ll tell if you’re drunk. He’ll smell it down the phone.’

  ‘You’re the one who told me to ditch the guy. You’re the one who said Tim was a controlling little bitch and that I needed to take off my ankle tag. So I am. I said I will call him later and I will. I don’t want to think about tomorrow, Rhiannon. Today is what matters.’

  *

  I know I know, I’ll be old one day, and Check my privilege and all that, but Jeeeeeesus Christ old women move slowly. Cardiff Castle was fun and all but only because Marnie was there. And her being pissed out of her mind did make it funner – she was so easy to trip up. They had a trebuchet in the grounds and we spent an inordinate amount of time talking about the different screams each WOMBAT would emit as we fired them over the ramparts. We laughed at codpieces, pretended to steal antiques and swore unabashedly. The other WOMBATs made it clear they were NOT amused, particularly Edna who had ‘gone to great lengths to organise this trip’ and didn’t appreciate our behaviour.

  I don’t think I stopped laughing all day. Marnie started it. She said Rita had an ‘arse that looked like two bin bags full of water’, and I chimed in with ‘At least she doesn’t have headstone teeth like Debbie Does Donkeys.’ Unfortunately we were in a stone corridor with good acoustics and both women heard every word. White Nancy ranted about the ‘language being tossed about like confetti’ as well. So we’re not in their Good Books right now. I don’t think we’re even in the library.

  If wombats had feathers, they’d be a-ruffled right about now.

  Had to check in early to our hotel so Marnie could sleep off her wine binge, and then I hit the shops alone. I ate lunch in a swanky Italian eatery in Cardiff Bay called Acqua in Bocca where the waiter looked like Salt Bae and persuaded me to go for the pine nut and ricotta ravioli, even though pine nuts always get stuck in my teeth, I don’t like ricotta and I’m not that keen on ravioli. Wasn’t so bad though. Everyone else around me seemed to be having turkey Milanese or steak, the sight of which doesn’t repulse me as much as it did. I may have turned the corner on meat.

  Why did you take that man’s steak knife, Mummy?

  I got back to the Radisson late afternoon, walking like a puppet, my feet throbbing, my face sweating and my baby kicking the shit out of me because I’d had a glass of Prosecco at lunch. I crashed out on the bed and I’ve been here since. Got to start getting ready in a minute. We’re meeting the Fuckboyz at 7 p.m. Sometimes having a friend is totally overrated.

  That Prosecco’s gone up my umbilical cord and into my brain. It’s brain damaging me. I hope you’re happy.

  *

  Marnie was pissed to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. She’d thrown up all the Zinfandel but our feet had barely touched the threshold of Meetz when she was downing double vodkas. Then she reached a new pinnacle of pissed-ness – the Say Anything to Anyone Phase. She offered the doorman a blowjob and called a passing cyclist a Bike Wanker.

  Superb gentlemen on the coat check – he checked my coat but didn’t bother to check my coat. I made a mental note to tip him extra.

  The ‘Fuckboyz on Tor’ – from Glastonbury, hence the excellent pun – had all turned up as promised. No road accidents had taken them out in the meantime. All dressed up in crisp short sleeves, shiny pointy shoes and trousers so tight you could read their sort codes, Fuckboy Troy had texted Marnie and told her to meet them all on Level 6 on the top floor.

  ‘Marn, are you sure you want to do this?’ I said as she grabbed my wrist and led me towards the lifts.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, sharp as a sword. ‘Yes I do.’

  Meetz was your bog-standard city centre venue with six levels of club rooms – the ground floor, which was all decked out in a jungle theme with wicker chairs and glow-in-the-dark cocktails – was dead. Level six – our level – seemed to bear an electro theme. The lights were blinding, the music was repetitive and the barmen all wore epilepsy-inducing waistcoats.

  Get me out of here now.

  I should have gone back to our hotel after the first drink but something stopped me – Marnie. I sat there for hours on the end of a booth upholstered in mermaid’s skin, feeling like a nun in a brothel, watching her dancing, drinking and flirting with every member of the group. She wasn’t the only one of course. They were all at it and the room was packed out with people flirting, Gangnamming, shuffling, whip nay-naying, slut-dropping, fingering and twerking, a pot-bellied guy pouring lager over himself and a gangly woman in glasses throwing up in her handbag. I even watched some gelled-up douchebag drugging his date’s Budweiser but I didn’t warn her – it was the redhead who’d barged past me in the queue outside.

  As I downed virgin cocktail #3 I lost the will and ordered a Prosecco.

  You do realise I’m getting more brain damaged by the minute here? I’m gonna be on posters.

  Four Fuckboyz hooked up with four random Ladiez and disappeared, and Marnie and Troy were necking in the corner of the booth. I held out a vague hope that at least one of the Boyz would be able to hold a conversation – there’s usually one in any group like this who can – but on this occasion I was completely wrong and they were all cunts. I soon summarised they were only interested in women willing to put out there and then – conversation optional. I let one of them – Bradley, nineteen – feel my tits but warned him if he touched my bump I’d snap his fingers back. He laughed. Brain-wise he was pretty atticky. I don’t know what Marnie saw in Troy either. Why are herpes-ridden fuckboys with half haircuts so appealing?
I don’t get it.

  ‘So what do you do then, Rhiannon?’ Bradley slurred in my ear.

  ‘I’m pregnant.’ I swigged my Prosecco. It felt thick in my mouth.

  ‘Yeah I know but before that.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know. I worked in a bank or something.’

  He laughed for no reason. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Uh, NatWest.’

  He laughed for no reason again. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fancy another drink?’

  ‘Just ask, Do you want to have sex with me round the back of the bins – yes or no?’

  He laughed for a third time and my fist began to twitch. ‘Well, do you?’

  ‘You’re really not picky are you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Any hole’s a goal?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Pink or stink?’

  ‘How ’bout both?’ He swigged his lager and laughed another fucking time. All he did was laugh and swig lager. I wanted to flay the skin from his acne-ridden face and reupholster the booth with it.

  Troy and Marnie slid out of their banquette, her holding onto him like he was her walking frame – a walking frame with a boner like a hockey stick in its shorts. ‘We’re heading out to lounge, all right? Catch yous laters.’

  ‘Where’s the lounge?’ I asked Bradley when they’d gone.

  He was talking to the size six brunette ensconced between him and the next guy. ‘Our private room next door. We’ve got it, like, all night. It’s more, like, private, so they can have a bit more privacy, kind of thing, like.’

  Out in the corridor, the doors on the five lounges were closed but there was a glass porthole in each. The rooms were lit with different light bulbs – the Green and Yellow booths had people shagging inside them, in the Blue lounge three men were asleep and the White one was empty. I found Marnie and Troy heavy petting in the one that looked like the Pink Panther had just exploded in there.

  I didn’t knock.

  ‘Marn? I’m going back to the hotel. Will you be OK on your own?’

  Troy pulled slowly away from her neck. Marnie had her eyes closed and her head all lolled forward. ‘I’ll see she gets back, no worries.’

  I looked at her. I looked at him. ‘Preferably unraped?’ I suggested.