First Aid

by Janet Davey

  Ella was in a no-man’s land of shrubby plants and cobbled paths that linked the trading estate with the main road. Purple and lime-green foliage alternated with pink cobbles. The Council had hoped to make a park of the area but it hadn’t worked out. She walked along, pausing to bite into the triangular see-through container with her front teeth to get at her sandwich. Smoked salmon and lettuce, it was, since her dad had been paying. The path kept making right angles and she wondered if she’d end up back at the supermarket. There wasn’t even a bin. She didn’t want the inside of her bag to smell so she jammed the plastic packaging deep into a purple hedge and carried on eating.

  She had left Peter and Tara to get on with their day. They hoovered up the hours. She found it tiring to be with them. She found everything tiring, having got up so early. It was well known that people her age needed more sleep. They needed to lose consciousness for hours on end to recover from stopping being funny and sweet like Annie and turning into the beings that made the world what it was. They had this weird energy, the adults she knew. It seemed to come from changing partners. Her gran was quick on the draw, but, together, Dilys and Geoff were nice and slow. The longer people stayed with each other, the slower they got. Old married couples went to sleep when there was nothing to do.

  She had come home one day and found Felpo dancing, swaying round the kitchen to some swooshing ballad. It was the sort of thing that got played in the reception area at the swimming baths, only the attendant lady had the sense to turn the volume down. Jo was out of breath so Ella knew that she had been joining in, though luckily she didn’t get to see her arms flailing and her knees at funny angles. Jo said she’d found the record in Trevor’s box of old singles. Felpo stopped dancing and hugged Jo. He said she had no need to make excuses. It was a classic. They had both laughed then as if it was the funniest remark in the world.

  The flat always looked and smelled quite different with him in it, even when he wasn’t dancing. He left those wiry jerseys he wore hanging over the backs of chairs and his shoes by the door just where she tripped over them. He only wore shoes outside. She could never forget he was there. Sometimes he would just sit, very still, for an hour at a time, just dropping the odd word to Jo – stroking Jo’s knee if she were nearby – pretending to meditate. Ella asked him what he was doing and that’s what he said – meditating. She wished she hadn’t bothered. She could tell that he was thinking – the same as everybody else.

  The path came to a sudden end with a pedestrian safety barrier at waist height and cars passing at speed on a main road with no pavement. Ella pulled herself up short. She hadn’t meant to let Felpo come into her mind. It was Tara’s fault. She always seemed to bring Felpo into the conversation. She was fascinated by him.

  No planning had gone into this path. If she had been a dog she would have been run over. She launched herself alongside the traffic, holding her arms away from her body in order to cool off – giving any driver, who slightly misjudged, the opportunity to shave a slice off her.

  ‘You look better,’ said Vince.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ella.

  She moved from mood to mood, but the changes didn’t depend on where she was or whom she was with. She had so few places to go and, in spite of the long walks and bus rides between, it took too little time to get from one to the next. Now she was back in Vince’s house and it was only twenty-four hours since she had last been there. She was damp from the shower. She had wet hair and was wearing borrowed clothes, Vince’s. His mother was shorter than she was, he said. Her clothes wouldn’t fit. Ella thought she and Lauren were much the same height and guessed that Vince hadn’t wanted her to look in his mother’s wardrobe. She wasn’t going to argue – she didn’t want to wear anything of Lauren’s.

  ‘I was going to have a bath round at Dad’s, but it didn’t work out,’ Ella said. ‘They’re on some sort of automatic timer; if you miss your slot, that’s it. I went round the supermarket with them instead.’

  ‘Nice one,’ said Vince. ‘I haven’t done that for years. I should try it. Isn’t there a nudist evening?’

  ‘That’s Hastings. They wouldn’t let you on the bus.’

  Vince nodded, accepting this.

  ‘He really put pressure on me to stay longer,’ Ella said. ‘He wanted me to have some upmarket pub lunch. He always does that.’

  ‘You look better than me in those shorts. You can keep them if you want,’ Vince said.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ Ella said.

  She went over to the window of the living room and stared out. The pigeons were still there, hunched up and almost black in colour, lined up in the same formation.

  ‘Dad hangs on to the trolley with this funny look on his face,’ Ella said, ‘as if he’s on a fairground ride and supposed to be enjoying it. Tara does all the choosing. Anything he sticks in, she whips out again. We get to the check-out. She finds this cheddar cheese that got away. She picks it up, like this, as if she’s found something truly disgusting and balances it on the pile of cooking magazines. Dad sort of smiles and pretends none of it’s happening.’

  ‘They’re probably like that in bed,’ Vince said.

  ‘They’re supposed to be in love,’ Ella said. ‘That’s why he left Mum.’

  ‘It’s their age,’ Vince said. ‘All that middle bit. How do you get through it?’

  ‘Don’t ask me.’

  Ella turned round to face the room, but she didn’t sit down.

  ‘It’s like the afternoon,’ said Vince. ‘No point to it. Just there to join up the morning and the evening. I mean, the morning’s easy, isn’t it, you can deal with it, unless you’re hung-over or something? But the afternoon. What a waste of time. Think of school. The radiators and the smell really getting going, everyone yawning, teachers with bits of bacon sandwich stuck in their teeth.’

  Ella didn’t want to think of school. The place had no reality without its counterpart – home. And for the moment she had no home. She remembered the previous September after the holidays. She saw herself leaning against the high wire fence with a group of sun-tanned girls – getting to know them again. The weather had been hot, the same as it was now. The teachers were wearing what they had worn in July and the kids’ discarded jerseys and blazers were piled up in heaps.

  ‘People our parents’ age don’t have birth or death to gee them up,’ Vince said. ‘They need something in the middle of life. I’d give them an ordeal.’

  ‘Like what?’ Ella said.

  ‘They’d have to go through this tunnel,’ he said.

  ‘They’re always going in tunnels,’ she said.

  Vince ignored her. ‘It would be lined with mirrors. On a particular day they’d be shown the entrance – they’d walk and walk. It would go on for miles.’

  ‘What good would that do?’ Ella said.

  ‘They’d get sick of the sight of themselves. Reality would kick in.’

  ‘It wouldn’t work,’ Ella said. ‘They’d probably just plan their next year’s holiday.’

  ‘It’s a cool idea, you have to admit. It would make great TV. Some people would go mad,’ Vince said.

  ‘Would they have to talk?’

  ‘Yes, of course they’d talk. They’d sort of ramble on.’

  ‘It wouldn’t change anything. Afterwards they’d just carry on being the selves they always pretend to be,’ Ella said.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Vince said.

  ‘I hope you’ll give them a nice packed lunch,’ she said.

  Vince had his back to the sofa and his legs stretched out in front of him. He leant to one side and, with his two forefingers, dragged two parallel lines across the pile of the carpet.

  ‘So, where did you spend the night?’ he said.

  ‘At Lois Lucas & Son’s. It’s this kind of antique shop where Mum works. I work there sometimes at the weekends. I’ve got a key.’

  ‘Antique,’ said Vince. ‘Was that all right?’

  ‘Not bad,’ said Ella. ‘I did get som
e sleep.’

  ‘I couldn’t stand that – waking up every fifteen minutes with the chiming clocks.’

  He started to intone a version of the Westminster chimes.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. Trevor doesn’t have those sorts of clock,’ she said, interrupting.

  ‘Trevor?’ he said.

  ‘He’s the owner. He lives over the shop.’

  ‘He’s gay, is he?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ Ella said.

  ‘Oh,’ Vince said.

  He pushed against the waste-paper basket with his right foot. The basket fell over and the contents tipped on the floor: a clutch of flyers from a pizza delivery company, yesterday’s newspaper, a couple of envelopes, a brown apple core.

  ‘Aren’t you going to pick them up?’ Ella said.

  ‘No,’ said Vince.

  He tore off a corner of newspaper and wrapped the apple core in it.

  ‘So you know Trevor pretty well?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Ella said. ‘I was downstairs. I don’t know whether he was upstairs or not. He might have been.’

  Vince made a graded pile of the rubbish, ending with the wrapped core that sat on top like a paperweight.

  She knew what he was thinking. He was as transparent as a clean pond. All those tiddlers in his mind coming to life. She raised her eyebrows and looked indifferent.

  ‘You’ll stay there forever, will you?’ he said. ‘Gathering dust, as my nan says.’

  ‘Is she the one who shifts the furniture?’

  ‘Yes. Not that it has much chance to gather anything. If Ray won’t go round, she asks anyone in, complete strangers.’

  ‘Could I move in with her?’ asked Ella. ‘I’d like to give her a hand. I move stuff round my room too. I’m strong. I won the triathlon.’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ said Vince. ‘Lisa Summers did. Nan’s barmy. I mean it. She thinks things are behind the cupboards. She’s not happy unless it’s all on the move and the things can’t hide. Her sister’s already in hospital with it. Nan visits her every Friday.’

  ‘Does she go on the bus?’

  ‘What a stupid question,’ said Vince. ‘No, she drives a Ferrari.’

  ‘I think I saw her.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the bus. Yesterday.’

  ‘What were you doing on it?’

  ‘Nothing particular,’ said Ella. ‘Forget it.’

  Vince gave her a cool look. She could see him thinking she was an odd girl and that she was even odder than he had thought. They had known each other for a couple of years now, though they were never in the same classes because he was younger. She had noticed him when he first joined the school because he didn’t look like a new boy. He was taller than the others and his blazer was a few shades lighter. She’d never liked to ask him whether it had belonged to his brother and faded with age or been put through a hot wash.

  Ella moved away from the window and lay down flat on the floor.

  ‘Are you feeling ill?’ Vince said.

  She shook her head. ‘Put some music on,’ she said.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Anything. You choose.’

  ‘This is all Ray’s stuff.’

  Vince got up and walked across the room. He stared at the edges of the CDs, stacked in a tower.

  ‘You wouldn’t like any of this. We could go upstairs to my room. We can smoke up there. My brother doesn’t mind,’ Vince said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Ella said.

  ‘What do you want to do then?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know. Have you got any animals? We could walk your dog.’

  ‘I don’t have a dog. You’d have seen it by now. Dogs always say hi. Do you have one, then?’

  ‘No. We’re not allowed pets,’ she said. ‘Mum bought her boyfriend a goldfish for his birthday. She never buys us anything living. She made him a sticky chocolate cake for breakfast. Then they went out together to buy some weed from the garden centre.’

  ‘Did he want a goldfish?’ Vince said.

  ‘I don’t think so. She asked him if it reminded him of the one he’d had when he was little.’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘He said it was much prettier. He always spouts crap. How could he remember?’

  They heard the door click. Ella rolled on to her stomach and lifted her head to see who it was.

  Ray was hobbling into the room with a towel round his waist. He lowered himself on to the sofa.

  ‘I told you, you didn’t want to sleep on there,’ Vince said.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Ray.

  ‘Isn’t the treatment working?’ Ella said.

  ‘Too bloody right, it’s not,’ Ray said.

  ‘You should try sleeping on pebbles, like Ella,’ said Vince. ‘Good for the muscles.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Ella said. ‘I just told you.’

  ‘Girl’s got more sense,’ said Ray. ‘Sort of crackpot idea you’d come up with. So what are you two doing for the rest of the day?’ he asked, with his eyes shut.

  They could hear the washing machine, with Ella’s clothes inside, humming drowsily through the wall.

  ‘Nothing, as far as I know,’ said Vince.

  Ray snorted. ‘I saw you’d taken that hat off. I thought it meant you were going somewhere.’

  5

  JO WALKED BACK from the river with Rob in near silence. She asked him if he’d seen any interesting boats or if he had bought himself some sweets. She sounded like Geoff – but not as nice. She had lost the knack of talking. Annie woke up and ran in and out of other people’s front gates.

  ‘Wait, wait,’ she said.

  And when they turned round she was holding a fat orange dahlia in her hands – just the bloom, without a stem.

  ‘Are you letting her do that?’ Rob said.

  Geoff was looking out for them as they walked up the path but Jo smiled a few seconds too late. He had already turned away to open the door. Dilys came up behind him in the hall and greeted them by saying that they were later than she and Geoff had expected. The clock on the wall said five o’clock. A blameless time, Jo would have thought. Dilys asked if Rob had found what he wanted at the shops. Both Jo and Rob had forgotten that this was the reason for going out and said yes and no simultaneously. Jo went up to the bathroom, splashed her face with cold water and washed her hands, turning the pink scented soap over and over under the running tap. She could hear Geoff setting out cups and saucers on a tray in the kitchen, then the clinking they made as he carried them to the front room. Rob had wanted her to say something. He would have known how to stop her from talking, if she’d worried or embarrassed him, but he had no way of making her start. He had taken to Felpo. She had been glad; though she hadn’t always wanted a large boy accompanying them. He would miss him, she thought. The tiny strips of sticking plaster on her cheek were beginning to loosen. She picked one off and looked at herself in the mirror. The wound was mending. There was no fresh blood. She tried another one, then a couple more. The last few were slightly stickier but she eased them off. Then she dabbed around with damp cotton wool. She stayed in front of the basin until her face had dried. When she went downstairs again they were all drinking tea and watching the news. The back window was open and through it she could hear the screams and laughter of kids playing in the next street and the retreating tune of an ice-cream van. Santa Lucia. It was a tune that went round in a circle – like all the worst tunes. Dilys had never allowed her to buy a cone from the van. She said the ice cream was made in a plastic bag in the man’s back garden and would make her sick. She had made Jo go to the newsagent and get a wrapped slab from the deep freeze that was then jammed in a comet or slapped between wafers.

  She wondered if Dilys and Geoff had been saying things about her while they were out. She had always hated cropping up in conversations she wasn’t taking part in. As a child, she had spent a lot of time hanging around half listening, hoping she wouldn’t hear her name mentioned but determ
ined to be within hearing distance if it were. Overhearing Dilys talk about her had been like sniffing neat peppermint oil. She hadn’t recognised herself, or at least, she hadn’t recognised the fixedness of it. She had felt fluid, unmade, but had discovered that not only was she these things her grandmother said she was – dreamy, careless, clever, too clever by half – as surely as her eyes were a particular colour, but that she did what she did because of them. They were the explanation. For instance, Jo had thought that she had failed to open her mouth in the presence of Dilys’s cousin, Frank (visiting from Australia), because he’d smelled of ear wax and had shoes with the eyelets so placed that they looked like small dangerous animals. But she had learned that it was because she was shy. And this single word, like other single words that described her, hadn’t floated free; it had been weighted down at its corners with causes and consequences. It would be a handicap until she grew out of it. It came from Dilys’s middle sister, Jean. It had a good side, which was that she could be depended on not to show off in company but to be quiet and lose herself in a book. It hadn’t stopped her from being interested in strangers until they spoke to her, which, of course, they did, as she’d looked at them with such interest. Geoff, disappointingly, had agreed with Dilys, though he’d called it unforthcoming. It had been one way to acquire vocabulary. She hadn’t liked other people speaking about her mother either – what had happened to her. She had found it insulting. She felt protective towards the young woman whose old toys she played with and whose school projects were still in a cupboard upstairs.

  She tried not to talk about Ella, Rob or Annie out of their hearing. Particularly the older two. Both their father and their great grandmother would, she knew, have liked to hear more anecdotes. They didn’t live with the children and wanted to feel included. Occasionally she failed: she set sail down the telephone on paper boats – her daughter the Drama Queen, her son the Conformist. The compliant applause fluttered back down the wire. But her children didn’t need to be explained. They were strong. Explanation broke on the strength of them. She hadn’t been as invincible.