We Go Around In the Night and Are Consumed by Fire

by Jules Grant

  We don’t ask how they got the house, who it belongs to, and they pay the council tax, keep the electric on, don’t ask us who stays here or for how long. Suits everyone, pretty much.

  Back downstairs I get out some blankets, put the nine millimetre under the pillow, lie down on the mattress for a think. My arm’s playing up so I hold it in front of me, practise squeezing the fingers together.

  Next thing you know, I’m asleep.

  I hear the sounds of the lock before I’m really awake. The whispers.

  I’m up like a whippet, grab my jacket and shoes, race up the stairs two at a time in my socks. Fuck, the bike’s outside. How the fuck did they find me?

  I crouch at the bottom of the attic stairs, hear voices, can’t tell if it’s men or women from here. No point hanging around to find out.

  I creep into the bedroom, slip the sash. The old wood creaks like the front door of the Munsters. The window frame sticks halfway.

  I slide under and out through the window, sit on the ledge, grab the drainpipe and give it a tug. There’s no other way down. It holds.

  I say a quick prayer and put my weight on the arm that’s holding the drainpipe. Swing out and grab on with my free hand so now I’m facing the wall. I find a hold for my right foot where the grout has come out between the bricks, no hold for the left.

  I look down. In between my feet I can see down to the ground, grass all soggy and thank God for the rain. Question is whether to let go and jump now and risk breaking a leg or try to climb down the pipe, risk it collapsing and making a racket.

  The pipe creaks so I let go and jump.

  I hit the ground with both feet and let myself roll, stand up. Nothing broken. Just a sharp pain in my thigh, I must have landed on something.

  I look back at the ground. Hannah Montana stares up at me in her army camouflage, arms pointed upwards. I’ve been stabbed by a fucking doll.

  As I get to the bike and push, the kitchen door opens beside me. I squat down but it’s too late. I reach for the gate. A woman’s voice.

  It’s the famous disappearing woman. Still creeping in and out of women’s windows in the night, then?

  It’s Louise. Better than Mad Daz or Tony. But Louise? Fuck Fuck Fuck.

  Lou, hi, I’m sorry, I haven’t time, I say.

  No change there then, she says. Don’t worry I’m not here for you. Just brought a woman and her kids in from Sale.

  I’ve got to go Lou really.

  Course you have, she says. Don’t mind me, I don’t care what you do.

  18

  Right, fish and chips tonight, goes Geet’s Mam, and I know she’s probably doing it for me just by the way everyone looks at her.

  Don’t bother, I’ll have curry like yous lot, I says, I can do curry, I’m not a total retard.

  Geet’s Dad smiles, makes me feel like I am one. We always have fish and chips on a Wednesday, he says.

  To be honest I’ve changed me mind about Geet’s Dad, ever since he carried Nan to the car yesterday, lent her his hanky when her face was all snot.

  It’s hard at Geet’s, even if they are nice. They’re always on you somehow, let’s all do this, let’s do that, hey let’s all play this now. I can’t be bothered with it. Geet gets no time to herself and you have to wonder how she copes.

  I’m at Geet’s because everyone’s left me. Well, Mam couldn’t help it but everyone else just disappeared. Donna can’t help it either, Lise says, being how she’s Busy, Sorting and Stuff, but I think you can nearly always help things unless you’re dead. I wonder what Nan’s doing. Nan thinks I should stay with her but Donna said no way, she just wants me for a skivvy. Can’t see how she works that one out, when here we have to do stuff like set the table and Nan never makes me do anything like that.

  Later, I’m copying Geet, putting out the knives and the forks, little spoons across the top, when she reaches over, laughing, swaps the knives and forks round. Dillock, are you stupid? she says. Kaheesha comes up from behind her, takes her hand away, gives her a look as if she’s going to give her a telling, only she doesn’t. It’s like that at Geet’s, people not saying stuff but just looking, so you have to try and guess what the rules are all the time, no one saying what they mean. Puts you on edge.

  So I ask. Are they wrong? Geet’s Mam shakes her head. It doesn’t matter, some people are left-handed, she says. Geeta, leave them.

  Ror’s not left-handed, says Geet, because she scores with her right.

  I look at Kaheesha. Just tell me, are they wrong?

  Not wrong, honey, she says. Mostly people have them the other way, that’s all.

  Wrong then.

  I push her hand away, turn the knives and forks round until they’re all facing the same as Geet’s. I push Geet out of the way on the way to the stairs.

  Keep your fucking table then, I don’t care.

  I climb on to Geet’s bed. She’s got this great duvet, fat, little pink and white flowers all over. If I lie down quick, it huffs out all around me, then sort of whispers back down slow. Feathers, Geet says.

  I lie back and stare at the ceiling, lift me head a bit, bang it back on the pillow a few times but it’s no good, the thing is still there. I take a deep breath, bang me head back as hard as I can, up and down, up and down, keep on going until me head starts to gets all spaced, goes empty. I go faster and faster till I’m dizzy then I let out me breath all at once and feel everything go loose. The room feels like it’s still going and there’s a whole lot of nothing, just the space in me head. I close me eyes tight, watch the lights in me head whirl around, all sparkly and spinning. Well nice.

  I must have fallen asleep because next thing I feel a hand on me forehead. I open me eyes and the room’s nearly dark, just a soft shape leaning over me.

  Mam?

  No love it’s me.

  It’s Geet’s Mam, tells me I must’ve fallen asleep. Her hand’s still on me head, warm. I turn away, on to me side, shake it off, squeeze me eyes shut and wait for her to go. I feel her stand up and then she makes a sound, soft like a sigh. It’ll get better love, you’ll see, she says. Tea’s nearly ready.

  When she’s gone I climb out, go over to me own bed, pull the blankets up over me. I lie there for ages, and when Geet comes up, turns the light on, I don’t even let on.

  It’s gone seven, Geet’s Dad’s not home, and the table’s been set up for ages. Everyone’s starving by now, but we’re not supposed to eat if anyone’s missing, which means we’re not supposed to eat if Geet’s Dad’s not home being how he’s the only one who ever gets to go anywhere and if he’s ever stabbed or run over we’ll probably starve. So I’m relieved when the front porch door slams. He comes into the living room, big box in his arms and a huge plastic bag, M&S on the front, puts it down in front of me. That’s yours now, he says.

  Inside the box there’s a brand new duvet, big, white, fluffy. I take it out of the box and it puffs out like a cloud. Inside the bag there’s a duvet set and a sheet, bright blue with teeny white flowers on, well nicer than Geet’s. Can I take it home with me, I says, when I go? Yes sweetheart, he says, of course you can.

  Next day, he takes us to school in the car. Seatbelts on please. Geet kicks me under the seat, hisses at me. I’ll never get to go on the bus now, it’s your fault, she says.

  At school, Geet’s Dad takes me to the Head’s office. Hello O-Rora, goes Mr Grimley. He stands up behind the big shiny desk, doesn’t even look at me even though he’s speaking. I want you to know we’re all very sorry about your mum.

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, so I don’t say anything at all.

  He starts going on.

  On the bookshelf there’s an ornament, a little pot girl in an orange headscarf. She’s kneeling down with a basket on one arm, feeding tiny baby chicks, don’t know how I never noticed it before. In the background I can hear Mr Grimley’s voice, dim, and then Geet’s Dad’s, like I’m listening through the wall. I try looking at them, but it doesn’t make any dif
ference, I can’t hear the words. I go back to the girl. She looks lonely.

  After a while Mr Grimley stops talking and we’re walking out into the corridor. Please contact me if there’s any problem, says Geet’s Dad, putting out his hand.

  Into the classroom and everyone turns to look at me, stops what they’re doing, like when Donna and Mam used to talk about Things I’m Not Supposed To Know About and I walk in on them. The Wiz comes over, puts her hand on me shoulder, nails painted all pink and shiny like little shells. She’s got a long blue cardy on with a belt and a flowery skirt and I can see the hairs on her legs through her tights. Mam used to shave hers in the bath and now I know why. Looks disgusting.

  She’ll be fine now, says The Wiz.

  Geet’s Dad says something back but I don’t really hear it, then he’s gone. Come on dear, you can sit next to Geeta, says The Wiz, and she squeezes me shoulder. I want to shake off the hand but it’s too much bother, so I just stand there.

  Doesn’t matter where you put me, I’m not stopping, I say.

  In the yard at dinner, Mrs West is on duty, and I can see The Wiz nebbing from the staff room window, nosy cow. I feel tired, find a bit of tarmac without any snow, sit down against the wall. Geet comes over, leans against the wall, holds out the ball. You can be goalie, if you want to, she says.

  I don’t want to, so she walks off again, puts Marvin in goal.

  After a bit Mrs West comes over, Westie’s Nan when she’s not a dinner lady.

  You alright lovey? Do you want to go inside for a bit? You’ll catch your death, sat down there. God, I’m sorry love, she says, that’s not what I meant. C’mon inside for a bit.

  I shake my head. I’ve not got the energy to get up. I’m alright here Mrs West, thanks.

  When the bell goes everyone lines up. I walk along the wall, no one looking. At the gate I slip through and keep walking.

  19

  When I get to Nan’s the door’s on the latch and once I’m in I put the snib on just in case. Nan’s still flat out in the bed, snoring, doesn’t even hear me come in. At least she’s not Wasted Away. I take off me shoes, sit down on the bed, watch her muttering, mouth all wet where she’s dribbled.

  It’s me, Nana.

  She’s too far gone to hear me so I lift the covers, climb in beside her. She jerks her head, opens one eye. Nnhhh?

  She puts a hand up, wipes the spit off, puts her arm out to pull me in beside her. C’mon in love, she says.

  There’s banging in me head. I wake up sweating, push the covers back, realise I’ve still got me coat on.

  Now the banging’s not in me head, it’s at the front door.

  I lie there and listen for a bit.

  I can hear Geet’s Dad shouting, through the letterbox. Aurora, are you in there? After a while it stops, I hear the car start up, and then I must have fallen asleep again.

  By the time it’s dark, I’ve got things nearly back to normal, pots in the cupboard, ashtrays washed, cans in the bin. I give everything the once-over with the u-bank. The Complan is still on the table where I left it, not even touched since last time, nothing else in the fridge.

  I go to the drawer where Nan keeps her purse, count out the money. There’s enough for a loaf and a tin of beans, some milk. I get Nan’s keys from the drawer.

  Just as I’m going to open the door someone knocks on it, busy, rappa tap tap.

  I creep down against the wall and wait. It’s not someone I know, not with a knock like that. Sounds like our rent man but Nan gets her rent paid straight to the council from her disability so it can’t be that.

  Then there’s voices outside, sounds like two women. A little white card comes through the letterbox, flutters to the floor. I hear footsteps, then a car start, and it’s quiet again. I pick up the card. Christine Walker, Social Worker.

  There’s a mobile number written in biro on the back.

  I put the card in me pocket, go back into the bedroom, give Nan a shake. Nan listen. I’m going out to the shop, don’t answer the door, I’ll be back in a jiff.

  Nan nods without opening her eyes, goes back to sleep.

  If I went over to Shah’s Nizam would likely give me tick but I daren’t risk it. I go out the back way over the fence and into the ginnel, walk round the back way to the Co-op.

  Inside the Co-op it’s warm and sparkly, chocolate Santas piled up near the till. I put the basket down on the conveyer, look round. On the next till there’s a lady in a big coat with a furry collar and a belt, could be a model or something, trolley piled up with tins of biscuits, Quality Street, all sorts. Behind her there’s a little girl, holding a Santa, goes to wander off and the woman doesn’t even notice. As she walks past I put me hand out to stop her, just in case she gets lost, and she drops the Santa.

  Before I know it the woman with the coat has hold of me, shakes me hard.

  Hey! What do you think you’re doing?

  Before I can say anything, she’s pulling the girl away by the arm, snatches the Santa up, puts it on the trolley, and now everyone’s looking. I want to explain but I can’t make the words come out, so I leave all the stuff right there on the conveyer, make a run for the door.

  Outside it’s freezing, sleet like tiny needles on me face and me knees. The Thing comes right up inside me, and if I ever see that lady again I’m gonna have to hurt her, bad. I hope her babba gets pinched and taken away to live in a shed like that one on the news. That’ll just serve her right.

  At least I’ve still got the money. I go into the 7/11 on the corner of Ship Street, get everything there.

  On the way back to Nan’s I see old Mrs Watson on the other side of the road, keep me head down, walk faster.

  When I get to the corner I look down the street towards Nan’s, then I see them, the cars. Ugly little Micra that Donna says no one in their right mind would have, and a green and white one. The Dib.

  Standing outside Nan’s front door there’s two women, one with a briefcase, and three police, two men, one woman. I can see the policewoman banging on the door.

  I turn across the road, one eye on Nan’s, head for the ginnel on the other side. No one even sees me. I’m just hoping Nan remembers not to answer the door. Round the corner, up the alley and I peep back round, watching. Now I’m praying, Don’t answer the door, Nan, please.

  Nan must’ve heard me, because after a while they all get in their cars and go off so I leg it across the street and up to the front door.

  I’m so cold me hands have gone numb and I drop the keys. I blow on them, but they feel heavy like they don’t belong to me, won’t do what I tell them. Probably what it feels like when you’re dead, can’t make anything move even when you tell it to.

  Then I wonder whether when you die you’re still in there, but locked up inside, not feeling your own hands, not knowing what to do to get out, and me heart starts to hammer.

  Then I remember what Donna said, about Mam being gone to Heaven and that, but leaving her old body behind, and that makes me feel better.

  I get the key in the lock and turn it.

  Inside, it’s dark. I put the bag in the kitchen, go into the bedroom and Nan’s still there, fast asleep. I daren’t turn the lights on just in case the Micra women come back, so I get in beside Nan, snuggle up. Nan turns over, Nnggg, and I creep into the warm bit.

  When I wake up again there’s only the street-lights coming in through the curtains, fingers of the alarm clock glowing green in the dark. Nan’s right on her back snoring and I watch the covers going up and down with her chest.

  I slip out of bed, go into the kitchen. The houses out the back all have their lights on, so it’s not really even dark once your eyes get used to it.

  I boil the kettle, get out the milk, turn on the gas for the beans. Nothing.

  Back in the bedroom I put the mugs down, give Nan a shake. Wake up, Nan, I’ve done you a brew.

  Nnggg? She sits up, gives me a sly smile. Was I slavering, hen?

  I laugh back at her. Yeah. T
he gas has gone, Nan, where d’you keep the tokens?

  She reaches under the edge of the mattress, pulls two out, gives them to me, nods. Robbin’ bastards’ll never look there, she says.

  Nan’s never been robbed in her life far as I know, but she talks about it all the time. I go over to the meter, put the tokens in. No one’s gonna rob you, Nan.

  Just a matter of time love, she says. Nip out and get me a can, will you?

  I daren’t go out so I tell her about the Micra women, the card through the door, the police.

  When I’m finished she doesn’t say anything, just nods. There’s that Tia Maria your Mam got me, in the cupboard, fetch me that then, she says.

  I get the bottle down, but it’s empty.

  Nan puts her jeans on over her tracksuit bottoms, pulls on her shoes, no socks. The veins show up blue under papery skin. Sit tight now. Lock the door behind me, she says.

  When Nan gets back she hands me a Twix and a can of Coke, gets a halfer of voddy and six tinnies out of the bag.

  We’ll have a picnic in bed, she says. Get those beans on.

  After I’ve eaten the beans and half the Twix and Nan’s on to her second can, she gets cheerful.

  Go into the wardrobe, she says, bring me the green shoebox at the bottom.

  I take the box back to the bed and get in.

  I’ve got pictures in here, she says, of your Mam.

  The box is stuffed full of junk. Old photos, bits of ribbon and plastic, some papers. Nan’s got her hands in it, touching stuff, turning things over. She unfolds a paper with writing on.

  This here’s your Uncle, she says.

  Now I know she’s lost the plot because I haven’t got an Uncle, not a real one. Not even a pretend one. Anyone tells you to call them Uncle you tell me about it, Mam used to say.