by Jane Asher
Anyway, I stayed back from work so I could be the one to welcome Crystal and Wayne. (I told lovely Warren that I had to have a check-up and he was OK about it – he’s been ever so friendly to me lately and he even jokes with me like he does with the others. He made a really funny joke when I said about my check-up – something about the checkout – only I can’t remember it now but it was fucking clever.) Mum had the living room all ready – we’d put a sheet and that on the settee and Mum said she’d make up a nice bed there after we’d had our tea and then Wayne could have Mum’s armchair what pulls out into a lying thing. Mum had bought a box of chocolates and put it by the settee and then she was so guilty ’cos she hadn’t even thought that it might be difficult for me and I felt so proud when I said, ‘Mum, it’s fine. You can offer those chocolates to Crystal and Wayne and Charlie and take one yourself and it don’t bother me one bit.’ Brilliant!
Anyway, the doorbell rang and I felt quite nervous as I got out of my chair to go and answer it. Fucking hell! I’d have been nervous if I’d known what was coming, wouldn’t I? Mum pulled back the curtains and took a peep outside and she looked – what’s the word? – kinda surprised and puzzled at the same time. ‘Oh no, love,’ she says, ‘it’s not your friends. I think they must have got the wrong house – see what they want, will you, Charlie?’
‘No, I’ll go, Mum,’ I says. ‘It’s our house, Ma, not Charlie’s.’ He looked buggered when I said that, so I went straight on and says, ‘It’s not fair on poor old Charlie to make him do all our running about. He does quite enough for us as it is.’ That cheered him up – I didn’t want him sitting there with a miserable face when Crystal come.
I went out to the hall and I could hear voices from the other side of the front door. I felt just a bit scared for a second – I should’ve asked Mum what these people looked like, I thought, before being so smart and saying I’d answer them – s’posing they’re muggers or something? We don’t get many people ringing our bell, ’cos it’s quite a quiet street, really, and except for the odd Jehovah’s whatnot there ain’t that many what come along it. It’s probably some of them, I thought, or those foreign students what try to sell you tea towels and that (I always tell them to fuck off – I can’t stand students).
But it wasn’t. I could tell that straight off. They was far too well dressed and – and glamorous, for religious nutters or students. Kinda beautiful, although it sounds funny to say that about guys. One was a tall, plump black guy, with his hair in a ponytail and a lovely long leather coat on, and the other one was blond and a bit thinner. The black guy smiled at me, and his eyes was all sparkly and bright – he had eyeliner round them like the singers do and I could see he had blusher on his cheeks too.
He put a hand out to me, but I moved back in the doorway a bit and half shut the door in case he was gonna grab me and try and get in and take stuff or something. His fingers was long and kinda girly-looking – for a second I couldn’t think why they seemed that way, but then I realised with a bit of a jump that he had nail polish on too. Fuck me, I thought, that’s going a bit far. He just smiled even more, and pulled his hand back and clasped it with the other one in front of him, really gently and delicately, like a dancer.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said, and his voice was velvety and very low. Husky, I s’pose you’d call it. ‘Don’t be frightened, sweetheart – I’m Crystal.’
Chipstead
I couldn’t be more pleased with my store. I really feel we’ve put ourselves on the SavaMart map lately, with our sales being so healthy and staff morale and attendance being of such high standard just now. It makes all my hard work worthwhile, when I arrive in the morning and check the sales figures and the QC sheets and go through any outstanding matters with Mrs Peters and find that everything is humming along so satisfactorily. It’s what life is all about, I say to her. Job satisfaction and enough of a healthy social side to balance the day’s work and you’ve got your life sorted, Mrs P.
As for Stacey – well, I just wouldn’t have believed it, if you’d told me a year ago how well she’d be working and what a valuable member of the team she’d become. She’s still a very big girl, of course, I won’t deny that – but I’ve never been one to discriminate, and it’s not so much the change in her size that has brought her up in my estimation, but the change in her attitude. Of course the healthy heterosexual in me also recognises that in spite of her size she’s fast becoming very attractive. I’ve never been one to fancy the anorexic look of many of the girls around these days – I’ve always been a bit of a tits-and-bum man. I like a bit of meat to get hold of, if you know what I mean. And our Stacey has certainly got plenty of that! Why she still hangs around with that old man I cannot imagine: still waits for her outside every evening, he does. Looking very pathetic now, though, I must say. He’s unshaven, most evenings, and doesn’t ever say hello any more. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d be inclined to shoo him away from the staff entrance – he’s got a funny look in his eye. She could do far better for herself.
Charlie
I knew I was right to feel trepidation about the pen friend coming to stay. It’s six days now since the arrival, and I still can’t believe ‘she’ has turned out to be a ‘he’. I like to think I’m relatively liberal and broadminded, but I have to confess an instinctive uneasiness at the sight of a tall young man wearing make-up and prancing effeminately about the room. Even the way he sits is unnervingly female – he sort of pouts as he settles himself into the chair and crosses his legs while he looks up at you from under his eyelashes. Stacey tells me he sometimes even wears dresses at home, but thought we might find it a bit too shocking. Too damned right. As he was considerate enough to wear trousers to assuage our old-fashioned sensibilities, one might have thought he could have gone the whole hog and washed off the lipstick and powder and cut his hair and nails. Still, it’s only what one sees in Soho every day of the week, or, indeed, on television nowadays.
Stacey and Lena, of course, simply find it amusing. They’re doing their best to persuade ‘Crystal’ to put on his female clothing, but, so far, I’m pleased to say that he has refused. Last night he was sitting next to Stacey on the sofa, and I swear they could have been two schoolgirls, the way they were giggling and pointing out rock stars and so on in the magazine they were reading.
‘Ooooh, he is simply gorgeous!’ said Crystal in that strange, husky voice of his. Do I find it huskier because I still instinctively feel he is more female than male? Coming from a real man I suspect it’s of a fairly average depth of tone. ‘Honey,’ he went on, turning towards her and stroking Stacey’s hair (that irritated me, I can tell you), ‘is he your type? D’you want me to fix you up now you’re getting slim and gorgeous, sweetie? Pardoning your presence, of course, Charlie!’
I ignored him and continued to stare at the television. I have never in my life watched as much of the wretched thing as I have since moving in with Stacey and her mother. It is switched on first thing in the morning and remains on throughout the day and evening, and any attempt I make to put it off is met with outrage. Stacey, in particular, has a strangely personal relationship with it, and claims that, as it was her only true friend before she came over (as she will insist on calling it), she refuses to abandon it now that she’s on the other side. I’ve come, unwillingly, to know the names of most of the characters in EastEnders, to shout out the answers to the pathetic quizzes that pop up throughout the day and to laugh, grudgingly, at the cheap jokes and ghastly innuendo of the comedians. But to have a real live transvestite, or transsexual or whatever he/she calls himself, sitting on the sofa was too much – I felt as if the room had been invaded by a walking, talking Lily Savage.
But as it was not my home I felt powerless to intervene, and there was no question of leaving Stacey alone with her new friend. Crystal’s ‘partner’, Wayne (you couldn’t make it up, could you?), seems perfectly happy to take off and explore London on his own, and has tried hard to persuade me to go with him an
d ‘do’ Buckingham Palace and so on, but Crystal remains obstinately at Stacey’s side.
There is never any question of my leaving Stacey in any way, at any time, of course, but I was especially reluctant to leave her with someone who patently made her so happy. Not that there is any question of sexual jealousy – Crystal is demonstrably and totally not a threat in that direction – but I am jealous of every smile that he inspires in her, and every warm word that he extracts from her. Before his arrival it was bad enough hearing her stories from work, of how amusing Denisha was, or how charming Warren had been and so on, and now I have to watch the same thing going on at home. Up to a few weeks ago I was the only person who could achieve such miracles: where were all these charming, amusing people when she really needed them? Ha! Stacey is blind to her only real friend; to the only one who truly loves her for herself, no matter what her shape.
She is remarkably transformed: I had no idea someone could lose so much weight so quickly. She’s already talking, about another operation to remove the sagging skin from her upper arms, the top of her thighs and across her darling tummy. I shall find the money somehow – however much she irritates me at the moment, there’s nothing I can deny her.
Crystal and Stacey have their obesity experiences in common, of course, and last night, after the tiresome teasing about getting Stacey ‘fixed up’ with some rock star or other, their conversation turned, as it has every evening, to an endless repetitive discussion of surgery, diets, clothing, incisions, catheters and God knows what else.
‘But have you tried the new low-cal Popsicles?’ Crystal was asking, running a finger down each side of his mouth and rubbing the surplus lipstick away between his fingers.
‘What the fuck are Popsicles?’
‘You don’t know what POPSICLES ARE, STACEY? My GOD, you just haven’t lived, they are sooooooooo delicious!’
‘He means ice lollies,’ I interjected, but shrugged to myself as I realised neither of them was listening to me.
‘They are just fabulous – and if you get the new low-cal ones they’re almost zero calories and just give you something satisfying to put in your mouth – if you’ll pardon the expression!! Ooops! Sorry, Charlie!’ he giggled, and they both looked across at me.
I don’t think I could have managed a smile even if I had wished to try, and I kept staring at the television, aware that they were pulling faces at me and watching my reaction carefully.
‘Oh, just ignore him,’ said Stacey as she realised there was no way she was going to get a rise out of me. ‘He ain’t got no fucking sense of humour, that’s his problem, Crystal.’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she had turned back towards the unnerving creature next to her on the sofa. She giggled. ‘It’s so weird, calling ya that, now I know you’re a bloke. I feel like I oughta call you Peter or Gary or something a bit – well, you know, something a bit more butch.’
‘Oh, sure – like I’m really butch. Like I’m mister macho, honey!’ This made them both giggle some more, and Crystal put his arm round Stacey and gave her a squeeze. ‘No, listen,’ he went on, ‘I’ve used the name Crystal – and no, I’m not gonna tell you my real name for nothin’ ’cos it’s so gross – I’ve used it ever since I called myself that in a show, so all my friends call me Crystal (or sometimes Crys so it’s kinda boy and gal at once, which is cool). If you’re embarrassed when we’re out or something, then you can do that, too. Just call me Crys.’
‘Oh, no, I won’t be embarrassed,’ answered Stacey, looking up at him and still snuggled against him. ‘I think it’s ever so sweet. It’s just funny, that’s all. And why didn’t ya tell me?’
‘What? My real name, you mean? Honey I just said, I’m not –’
‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean why the fuck didn’t ya tell me that you was a boy? Why did you write to me as a girl? I bet I told you stuff I never would of to a guy.’
‘I never thought. It wasn’t a plan or anything, Stacey angel, I can promise you that. It just kinda happened that way: I never thought a thing about it. When I saw your ad in that slimming mag for pen friends and I wrote to you – d’you remember? All that time ago? Well, I just signed it Crystal and put that as my name with my address on the envelope ’cos – well, ’cos that’s my name, I guess. I mean, that’s just so much my name now that I never think it’s funny or unusual or anything – so I never thought about what you’d think. I read your letters for a long time before I realised that you thought I was a gal. And then I guess I just didn’t wanna spoil it. You being so kind and sweet and – and needing me so bad. That was so cool. Look, honey – if you think you’ve had a rough deal, just imagine what it was like for me. Black, gay AND fat? Hey – that’s just winning the jackpot. I got plenty of friends, sure, but you were kinda special to me, and I just kinda left it too late to tell ya all that at once. And that’s why I didn’t wanna send you a picture, like you kept asking. I just thought it’d be better to let you see me and meet me and – and then I’d know how you really felt. ’Cos if I did it in a letter you’d have had time to cover all that up, wouldn’t you? See? And you know how you feel when you’re getting ready to go over the other side, don’t ya? You don’t need no problems. You just want your angels to be there for you and help you. You’ve been another angel for me, honey. You know that, don’t ya? God’s angels are shining and perfect and look after me every minute of every day from up in heaven where they walk on the edges of the Lord’s kingdom, but you’ve been my angel here on earth.’
I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take, but I kept my attention rigidly fixed on Fifteen to One and resisted the temptation to run out of the room. I must have shown something on my face, because I became aware that they were both looking at me.
‘I don’t think Charlie believes in my angels, do you, honey?’ Crystal said smilingly.
I continued to ignore him, and he turned and whispered something into Stacey’s ear; she then leant against him and burst out laughing, more loudly and harshly than I’d heard her before. She whispered something back to him, and then they both laughed some more, irritatingly and relentlessly, rocking about on the sofa in childish hysterics.
After a while, and with a lot of ‘oh dear’s and ‘dearie me’s, the ludicrous laughter slowed and Crystal took a tissue from his pocket, screwed the end into a point and delicately wiped the eye make-up from beneath his eyes where it was running a little. ‘Now, to be serious, honey, how’s the indigestion? Is it better today? Have you stopped that burping and farting trouble?’ This, of course, produced even more giggles and I couldn’t take it any more.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ I exploded, and stood up and walked out of the room, using the excuse of a visit to the upstairs lavatory to take a few minutes to pull myself together.
To my horror, when I came down again they had gone. A note on the table informed me they’d gone out for a drink and would be back later.
Judy
Ben seems like a changed boy. I’m so pleased and relieved. I have a feeling I’ll never quite get to the bottom of what he was going through that awful time I found him in the cellar, but maybe that’s for the best. I sense he feels embarrassed about that now, and I’m the first one to understand about wanting to put things behind you. He’s still seeing the therapist, and I suppose with him – and Holly – to talk to he’d rather I just stay in the background. Just Mum.
And I’m doing well, too. At least with stopping myself buying any more cards – there are still a few up there that I haven’t scratched, and it’s almost unbearably tempting to pop upstairs and look at them, but so far I’m holding out. But it means, of course, that now there’s nothing to distract me from the real problems. And it hurts. Makes me feel raw. I’ve been using Ben and Sally as excuses to avoid facing Charlie’s shocking behaviour – I know I have. If someone had told me what he’d be doing, how he’d leave me in this grotesque, humiliating way, I just wouldn’t have believed it. And I don’t think I quite believe it even now:
it’s so ludicrous as to be like a bad dream.
But Ben and Sally are OK – I know that really. They see all this as just one part of their lives, but for me it’s – and I know I should be bigger than to have to admit this – it IS my life. Charlie and I were such a unit – in spite of all our difficulties and irritations – and nothing can ever replace that amount of time spent together and all the experiences we had in common. That’s what people don’t understand until it happens to them: however much you think your marriage is unhappy, it’s got to be bloody unhappy to make the alternative a better one.
There isn’t an answer to it: simply time, that’s all. I shall bury myself in my work, as they say, and keep my head down until the pain begins to subside. I’m an attractive woman and I certainly don’t intend to shut myself down for the rest of my life, there’ll come a time when I shall be ready to – to – what does one do nowadays? Go on dates?
