The Last Girl

by Penelope Evans

  It's all here, you know. Brandy, sherry, advocaat, ginger ale, glass balls, tinsel, Victorian crackers, brazil nuts, liqueur chocolates, liqueurs on their own, mint chocolate, white chocolate, wrapping paper, tangerines, novelty biscuits, serviettes with holly on them... I could go on and on. I haven't left out a thing, barring the fresh stuff, the vegetables and the brandy butter, but even that's all taken care of. Everything else is here, down to the last hazelnut whirl.

  Only, I don't like hazelnut whirls. I got them just for her, for Mandy.

  The funny thing is, all of a sudden, I've got the sort of ache in my guts that makes me feel as if I've eaten a whole mountain of them already. Why didn't she tell me that she's been Writing letters too?

  For the past five minutes though, I've been sitting here thinking I really should apologize to her. All this time, theres been me thinking it was her fault her parents weren't talking to her. Then what happens, it turns out they were the ones at fault all along. There it is in black and white: 'Believe me when I say we blame no-one but ourselves.' See what I mean? The poor girl is innocent. She cut herself off because they were wrong. If you ask me, when it comes to families, I reckon hers are on a par with Doreen and June. Yet she never said a word.

  The girl is a Saint. That's all I can say.

  They're sorry now though - if you were to believe this letter. But are they? It occurs to me that you can read that letter any way you like, but you won't find one word of apology. A lot of beating around the bush, but look for one mention of the S word, and you'll look in vain. It's not there.

  You know what it's all about, of course. It's the old story. Round about Christmastime, people develop a conscience, nothing too uncomfortable, just the odd twinge and the tiny worry of what they would say if anybody asks. Only they don't want to go putting themselves out too much, and as for an apology - perish the thought. So what do they do, they send a letter.

  I bet they wouldn't even have got round to that, if it hadn't have been for Mandy making the first move. And we all know the reason for that. Ethel. Quite obviously, and despite everything I've tried to do to help, the girl has never been able to get used to it - all the snooping and the prying. So in a moment of weakness she writes. And the next thing we know is this. The last people in the world she wants to see, jumping on the bandwagon.

  Sounds familiar? It's June and Bill all over again. Only in this case it's not even a visit. Just a letter if you please.

  There's a word for that sort of thing. It's called Blackmail. It happened to me, Christmastime seven years ago, and I've never once got over it. June and Bill, invading me here in my own house, laughing in my face, so sure they could bring me round. Five minutes of them, that's all it took. A whole Christmas ruined. And thanks to them, untold hours of pain and suffering.

  You know, I'd do anything to spare Mandy that. I would, honestly.

  The question is - how far would I go?

  I reckon the answer to that is easy. The next question is a different one entirely, namely: what would Mandy want me to do? Is this really the sort of thing she'd want to see? To which I would reply: I know my Mandy.

  I’m putting the letter away. Not far - only behind the bread bin. You would even be able to see it sticking out if you look. There's a margin of white that's unmistakable. So there's no question of me hiding it, let alone getting rid of it. You see, she's going to have to read it in the end. You can only protect someone so far. There'll come a time when she'll have to decide for herself about some things. Naturally I would do my best to help, maybe make the odd suggestion, but what it comes down to is, there's only so much you can do. No-one should ever try to come between a parent and its child.

  In the meantime however, let the old kid enjoy herself, have the Christmas she deserves. And just for starters, I'm going to be making out a card for her now - all robins and holly and snow. In a big white envelope and all. Then she can't say that no-one is sending her anything for Christmas.

  As for me, I'm staying put. Up and down is how you could describe today. Happy one minute, tragic the next. Believe me, it takes it out of you. Right now, I'm back on the level, knowing I've done my best for her, for Mandy. But I don't think I could stand an afternoon at the mill. Rest is what I need now, a few refreshing hours in front of the TV with my feet up. I'm not going to lose by it. Today I looked with the eyes of a man who thought he was going to have to eat everything in sight, and it brought it all home to me - there's enough here to keep us going till Easter.

  Besides, I took another blow this afternoon. Suddenly - round about two o'clock I suppose - I realized that with all the brouhaha, I couldn't remember when I'd fed Joey last. Not that I'm entirely to blame. I mean, I know he's covered up a lot of the time, but surely it's not beyond the imagination of a bird to remind me he's there now and then. And he's been noisy enough in the past. Anyway, I took the cover off the cage, and there he was stiff as a peg beneath his perch. I gave him a little prod just to be sure. But it was no good. He was dead as a doornail. Mind you, he never was the same bird after Mandy stopped taking notice of him. All the same, you'd have expected an animal to have more staying power than that. Which leads me to wonder if there wasn't something wrong with him in the first place. Now if you ask me, there may be an interesting principle at stake here. If you pay good money for something - no matter what it is - you have the right to expect it to be fit for the purpose you bought it - which in this case was sitting on his perch and staying alive.

  So what about it? What about me taking him back to where I bought him and telling them I got a bad bargain? Maybe they'd do me a part exchange - on a parrot, say. Mandy might like a parrot to talk to, and I don't suppose it would be that much more trouble to keep than a canary. Anyway, there's no sense in just throwing him away, not without giving him a go. So I've wrapped him up in a bit of the Sunday Express and popped him in the bottom of my shopping bag, all ready for the morning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Here comes the nasty bit. You'd have thought nothing more could happen today after everything else, which only shows how wrong you can be. All I can say is, the sooner Christmas comes and puts us all in a good mood, the better. This evening it was Mandy who was out of sorts.

  For a start, she was late getting in. Way after nine it was. The news had been on and everything. Can you believe it, after everything I told her, after all the trouble it took finding those cuttings, just so as to put her in the picture. Yet late she was. And what was her excuse? The same as ever: working all day, books she'd needed in the library and so on and so on. Well that's as maybe, and Larry's the last person to want to comment, but you could see it wasn't doing her any good. You know what they say about all work and no play.

  As it is, she should watch herself. The fact is, she is definitely not looking her best, attractively speaking. I have never known her little face to look so pinched, and that's even with all the snacks that are still appearing and disappearing in her larder. I reckon she should be taking more rest, relaxing more with another certain party, or what looks she has will be lost for ever. She might be young, but nothing can age like a woman. Not that it would alter an iota of how I feel about her. I've always said I would love the old kid no matter what.

  Mind you, you'd wonder if I still felt the same way after tonight's little performance.

  It started off normally enough. I’d left her in the lounge while I went off to do the donkey work, i.e. putting on the kettle and laying out a tray. Just for a treat - as a taste of things to come - I shook a few Quality Street into a bowl. A girl couldn't have asked for more. Only it was while I was busying myself with all this that she was up to no good in the next room. When I returned, there she was next to the cage, cover in hand, and a funny look on her face.

  'Where is he?'

  'Where's who?'

  Now I know that might seem a strange answer considering what she was pointing to, but to be honest, I'd had so much to think about today, Joey was never going to be the fir
st thing to spring to mind. Besides, had I said a word to her about taking the cover off anything while I was off doing something else?

  But you could tell she already had a bee in her bonnet from the way she snapped, 'The canary, Larry. Where's Joey?'

  And that's when it hit me. 'Oh Mandy, love,' I said. 'Don't ask. I'm that upset about it.'

  'Why, what's happened?' By now you couldn't help but notice that that funny look of hers had turned into something altogether sharper, and uglier. Still, I thought that would change once I told her, and let her see how I felt.

  'He died, Mandy. Just like that. I found him lying there, poor little mite. Not a scrap of breath left in him.'

  'Larry...'

  'I know, love. The fact is, I don't know where to put myself. He was all I had, and now he's gone. It isn't half going to be quiet up here without him...'

  And that's when it happened. She turned on me, no better than a wild thing, practically spat at me. 'If he was all you had, then why didn't you look after him?'

  Well, that would have been bad enough in itself. But it wasn't the end of it. While I stood there, too shocked to say a word, she was still carrying on. 'You killed him, Larry. You never took the cover off, you never talked to him. You stopped me going near him. I don't even think you could be bothered to feed him half the time.'

  'Well, Mandy ...'

  But she didn't let me get a word in. 'That poor bird. Cooped up in that cage. Some people should never be allowed near a living thing.'

  Some people. By which she meant me, I presume. The man who had kept her as much fed and watered as any old bird. Well, there was an answer to that, but I don't know if it was the shock, or the hurt, or both, the words just wouldn't come. Then suddenly I stopped floundering for something to say, and instead a quiet dignity took over. If this was the girl I'd been trying all along to help, then I'd been wasting my time. She didn't deserve it.

  The next bit was going to be easy, a real pleasure: I was going to walk out of that room into the kitchen, get that letter out from behind the bread bin, come back and give it to her. Shove it in her face. With my compliments. Good riddance to it and her. We didn't need people like that around here.

  Then she burst into tears.

  Now what did she have to do that for? And as if tears weren't enough, she starts whimpering like some kid trying to stave off a rocketing. 'Oh dear, Larry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. It's just that I was fond of him too. Please believe me, I really am sorry.'

  Well, I'd be lying if I said I'd ever heard an apology more heartfelt - even if she could at least have tried to meet my eye while she was about it. Anyway, it was a start. So I didn't make a move for the kitchen, not yet. I just waited and watched, wanting to be sure she meant it. But I have to say that after a minute I began to feel, I don't know, embarrassed. If you're going to cry, you don't just stand there while the tears drip off the end of your nose, like you've got a bad cold and can't be bothered with a handkerchief. Not when you're a woman. And it's not even as if she was sobbing. It's as I said, she was just standing there, staring at the floor, arms hanging just any old how by her sides while the tears rolled down her face.

  Suffice to say, it got to be enough to put me quite off my stride, until finally, more to try and find some relief. from it all, I said, 'Something else upsetting you then?'

  The moment the words were out though, I knew it was a mistake. What, that girl needed was a good telling-off, not sympathy. But it was too late. She had already looked-up, surprise all over her face. So you see, she wasn't expecting sympathy either, and no wonder.

  'Larry,' she says. 'Larry.' And stretches out her hand. And that, I have to say, was the worst thing of all. I wouldn't have minded if it had just been for a straightforward handshake between friends But she'd started to cry again and what with that and her hand still snaking around in my direction, It's like having a blind person groping towards you trying to discover if there's anybody there.

  None of this seems to bother her though.

  'Larry, she says, the tears still rolling down regardless. 'Larry. I don't know what’s happening to me any more...I don’t understand... I thought there were people who loved me, even now. But it's nearly Christmas, and where are they? Where are they all?'

  The obvious answer to that was - why ask me? She hadn't exactly been open with her. old pal, despite all the concern shown, so how was I supposed to know about anything now? Bit late for that. Added to which, she could at least have tried making sense instead of muttering on the way she was doing, never quite finishing what it was she wanted to say. I would have pointed this out to her, but I didn't have the heart, not with the tears and all.

  So instead I said, 'I don't know, love. But I tell you what, why don't I go and get us both a couple of glasses of something to cheer us up.' And I was going to add, 'And a box of tissues while I'm at it, seeing as you don't seem to have a handkerchief on you.' Only I should have moved a bit more quickly, because blow me if that hand of hers didn't shoot out again and this time actually grab hold of mine. 'Larry,' she says, but she didn't get an answer. All I could think of was how I was going to get my own hand back again. The fact is, there's no words to describe how unpleasant it feels to have a clammy paw clutching at yours, and no idea of what it was she had in mind.

  And then it came to me. She was all set to tell me something. There was a look in her eye and it set the alarm bells ringing. What's more I knew, as sure as I was standing there, that whatever that something was, I didn't want to hear it. Because depend upon it, once I did hear it, it would rebound on me. It's what people do all the time. They go for the sympathy vote, and the next thing you know, they've got you just where they want you, regardless of what you might have in mind.

  There was only one way left to me. Prepare to take back my hand and say to her, firmly, 'All right Mandy, love, get a grip. I can see you're upset, but you've got to remember it doesn't always do to go burdening other folk with every little problem. Some things you have to learn to face up to by yourself.'

  As it turned out though, I was spared having to say a word. Suddenly from below comes the voice we know and love so well.

  'Amanda, telephone for you.'

  Saved by the bell.

  For a moment the silly girl just stands there, mouth open. Thankfully, the grip on my hand lessens. Even so I have to say, 'Don't you think you should go and answer that, love?'

  She nods, pulls back her hand and starts rubbing at all the mess of tears and hair. A good wash and a brush-up is what it needs, but there's no time. The next second she's off and away downstairs, leaving yours truly to breathe one big sigh of relief.

  Of course you know who was on the phone. And sure as anything you know what the news will be. Mr Adultery himself will be here to ruin the last weekend before Christmas.

  But at least it will mean fewer tears and funny turns. And what's more, this time Larry isn't going to be downhearted. First there's still a world of shopping to be done before the big day, and second, much more important, there's this thought to buoy me up:

  A few minutes ago that kid was half out of her mind with gloom about something. And who was the first person she turned to for cheering up? Who else but Larry. Now you tell me if that doesn't mean something.

  Makes you feel all warm inside.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Now, you know how I feel about Mandy. I wouldn't hear a word against her and that's final. But there comes a time when you have to be honest, and say what's in your mind. Which in this case is - if things go wrong from now on, then we know who to blame. A certain young lady who need not be named.

  Nothing is quite the way it was before yesterday. Until then everything was going swimmingly. Then Mandy comes up here, acting up, and everything else starts doing the same.

  What's outside, for instance.

  Look out of the window, and it's staring you in the face: that brilliant weather that seemed set fair to continue for the next week has taken a tur
n for the worse. Makes you shiver just thinking about it. You can actually see the wind, see the shape of it in the dust, kicking up the crisp packets like some great big lout in the street. What's worse is that it's waiting for you, for the moment you step out of the house so it can rush up from behind the hedge and throw you straight into the road, spitting gobbets of freezing rain at you as you go. Struggle as far as the bus stop and you're wishing you were home again. I tell you, practically the only people on the streets early this morning were the tramps and the dossers and that's because they're used to it. The rest of the old folk were at home, toasting themselves beside their gas fires.

  Do you see the way things seem to be drifting? One day everything seems just wonderful, and the next it's all going awry, as if one thing is simply leading to another, starting with Mandy. With the Holloway Road acting like a great wind tunnel, the only thing to do was escape to the West End and let the old spirits get a lift from the lights and the better class of crowd, but it wasn't possible. Thanks to Joey gone to meet his maker untimely there had been a slight change of plan, and I had business in this part of the world to get over with first. Well even then the day might still have turned out right - if I hadn't decided at the last minute to slip into Woolworths on the way. Silly me, there wasn't a thing there that I hadn't already got, yet all the same I found myself queuing in the pick 'n; mix for half a pound of coconut mushrooms. And that's when it happened. I must have put my shopping bag down to reach for the scoop, and the next I knew the bag was gone. I could hardly believe it. Someone had stolen it right from in between my legs.

  Fortunately it was only a plastic bag from Tesco and my wallet was sitting safely in my back pocket, but the point is, little Joey was still wrapped up in the bottom of it, so now the poor old blighter is not only dead but stolen property to boot. And what it does is leave a nasty taste in your mouth to think that, even at Christmastime, there isn't a soul you can trust.