by Various
She wasn’t smiling.
You’re ruining everything, you shit, why don’t you just run off and cry. He didn’t say a thing back. It was in his eyes, he wouldn’t have dared. She raised her hand and slapped. Shouted.
What you need is a Norland Nanny, you bastard brat.
He didn’t hang around, he ran off, did what he was told, went and cried on his own. Sat under an old oak tree as I zoomed in, took a long off shot.
I was surprised to see him sitting at the table, with all the other children, but where would he have gone? Still had the red mark of the witch. Put there when she thought no one was looking. I was, I’ve got the shot. Here, now in my hand and I’m looking at it.
Buzz.
The front
The front door buzzer goes, gets me every time. I look at the clock. They’re early, in a hurry to get their shots. I can see the car, some expensive type, even got a driver up front. The son’s staring out the window, sitting on a leather seat, he can’t see me. But it’s him.
Early. I say as I open the door.
So this is where you live then. Says I say as I open the door. Says it as if he’s been looking for me. Adds. Where are they then? Rubbing his hands follows that up with. Going to show?
I’m going to show you something all right, rubbing my eye, you impatient bastard.
There’s nothing about this man I like, nothing.
Hello. She then says following in behind her knight. She then says following in behind her knight. His manners had already slipped, dropped.
She’s had her day, in exchange for her life, women taking vows, giving up lives.
Are those ours? She says, all excited.
They’re photos scattered all over the floor, by where I’ve been sitting and pondering.
We’re so excited. Can’t wait to see them, can we, Tim? She says blurting it out.
If I hadn’t seen her innards, her insides, her bile, I would have said she looked radiant, relaxed. Happy with what she’d snared, happy with her image to the world. But I had seen, heard, watched, seen the evil, seeping, oozing out.
I’d listened to the registrar talking about the size of her loving, caring heart. He’d told the room how special and warm hearted the bride and groom were.
How’s Sammy then? I ask, Sammy’s on my mind and I want to slow things up.
Why on earth would you remember his name? She says it as if it’s an itch. An itch that won’t go away.
Because I asked and I’ve been looking at photos of him.
Oh! Mrs Bates turns and looks at her Tim, her Mr Bates, her chunk of loving gold.
Your son told me.
Told you what? She She says, annoyed not to have the photos in her hands.
His name.
He’s not my son. Says it in a slow, uncaring way, the only way she can be.
Sorry your stepson, how silly of me.
I told him not to pester people.
Her Tim, her Mr Bates says. Says it like an order. An order that should be heard, obeyed and if not someone close will be swatted.
Someone, me, now, here at this moment, should shout do something.
Something.
Who do people
Who do people like this fly so fucking high?
He wasn’t pestering me, I just asked him his name. I’ve always found it polite to do so.
Jab.
Oh, so do you go around asking everyone’s names?
Mr Tim says.
Oh, so do you
Jab.
Just the ones I’m interested in.
Oh, I see. Mrs Bates says coming Mrs Bates says coming to her hubby’s side.
Can we have a look at the pictures, that is what we’re paying you for. Why we’re here in fact. She’s sounding like him now. A good match, a match made in heaven.
I’ll give you something to look at you bitch.
There on the floor over there, I say. Mr Bates starts, I say. Mr Bates starts moving.
I’ll get them. I say laying down some aggression.
I bend, pick up the pile on the left, the ones they’d like to see, the album shots, the smiley shots the ones for the staircase wall. Straighten them, tap them, bring them together with order.
Didn’t Sammy want to come up? He must have wanted to see the happy shots?
No of course he didn’t, why would a silly little boy want to do that? He was hardly interested in the day, pauses, and adds, you must have noticed that? Mrs I haven’t a heart says.
No, can’t say I did.
You ain’t so happy now. I can feel their uneasiness.
He isn’t remotely interested. Mr Bates says. Mrs Bates Mr Bates says. Mrs Bates takes his hand giving it a gentle squeeze.
Can we get on with this? We’ve a honeymoon to have.
Oh yes, going anywhere nice? I ask.
Yes, the Seychelles. Can’t contain her glee Can’t contain her glee when she says it. Ever been? She adds.
No, of course not. I say.
What I want is for Sammy to lift the handle, pull open the door and run. Run down the street yelling, yelling, please will someone help me grow, before his life goes up in fire.
Who’s a pretty girl, who’s a pretty girl then?
They both spin as if joined already from the same hip. It’s Max, my Parrot, my company, my friend. My Max. Laid an egg two years ago. I thought about changing him to Maxine, but the egg’s our secret.
Say hello Max, I say, while picking up the prints that won’t be making it to the album they’d want to see or show. I drop them into a box.
Who’s a pretty girl then?
He always says that. He couldn’t be further from the truth with this one.
The door’s open, will it fly out? Mrs Bates says taking a step back, scratching her leg with one of her expensive looking shoes.
More to the point is it safe? I’ve heard that they can get rather nasty. Mr Bates says, going back in the same direction as his wife.
Jab.
He’s ok, shouldn’t bite, not unless he doesn’t like you, and that shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Come, please, sit down.
They’re standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
I point to a couple of seats, they’re old, stylish in a way, sturdy bought from a market. The Bates look at them.
Drink? I ask.
No thank you. They take their seats, sitting ready for the punch and Judy show.
I’d like you to look through the photos, take your time. See what you think. If you want any blown up, more than one print, tell me and I’ll put a cross and the number on the back, is that ok? These are just the viewing copies. The finished prints are of a much higher quality.
And when I’ve finished saying it I think rat a tat, tat.
Fine. She says. We’ll do that.
I walk the album shots over to them.
Yours? Mr. Bates says, handing over the Mr. Bates says, handing over the roll of gaffer tape from his chair.
They look at each other, smile, Mr Bates holds out his ringed, married fingered hand for the photos. I look at him, then her.
Don’t you think Mrs Bates should see them first?
Jab.
Yes exactly, I would have passed them to her anyway. He’s taken it like the boarding school boy I’m sure he was.
You know I would don’t you darling? Mr Bates says looking into his wife’s eyes, trying to cover his manners.
Of course you would, she replies.
They start to look, turning the photos in their hands, stopping, moving on. Her climbing out of the car, him by a good looking hinged gate.
One after another.
Showing them their beautiful day. Friends, flowers, presents and drinks. Sunny smiles, chink, chink.
Oh, that’s a nice one, look Tim? She says.
Lovely. Her husband says, approvingly, patting She says. Her husband says, approvingly, patting her on the thigh. And this one, look, oh god that’s great.
They’re looking at
a picture of a jar, full to the brim with love heart sweets.
Jab.
For all the love that was going round at the wedding, I say, and then add some sugar. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a lovely one.
It was just perfect? She says, turning slightly, smiling, ever so proud of herself, adds. Some of these really are very good. You should be very proud of yourself, shouldn’t he Tim?
They talk to me as if I’m a child. As if they’ve got the eye.
Well, they haven’t, I just delivered it to them on a plate. Faces reflect in the glass, I’d angled it that way, little arty shots through the jar of hearts, for a beautiful wife and groom and their bull shit day.
That’s a nice one, don’t you think darling? How many of those do you think we should have? Perhaps they could be printed up as thankyou cards? What do you think?
I don’t know. Mr Bates concentration is already on the wane, he’s sounding impatient. It’s a picture of a rainbow.
Just make up your mind. He says, checking his repulsive big watch.
Show some interest please, love, if only for me? She’s already having to talk to him as if she’s on her knees.
May your love last. I say from behind their chairs.
What? Mr Bates says, raising a thick black eyebrow.
Your love, may it last forever and ever, sir. I say. May you have all the love you two can muster up.
Thank you. His wife says, looking into another shot, not looking back at me.
I pull a long piece of gaffer tape.
Rip.
Rip it off, and another and another, stick them to the back of Mr Bates chair. He turns, I smile, make an eye gesture to the pictures, point and he goes back to looking at his wedding, his wife, his new life.
Good boy. Decision time.
Rip.
You know what, fuck them, fuck them and all they stand for. I rip another piece of gaffer, hold it long and taunt, what am I? What am I? A fucking mad man if I do it.
I’m taping him up in a frenzy I didn’t know I possessed. Wrapping the roll around and around like the lunatic I’ve become, his head, his mouth, I don’t care where it sticks. He’s getting ready for the post. She hasn’t even looked across she’s deep in her wedding day vanity shots, transfixed by herself.
I’ve worked with gaffer all my life, I’m quick at making a loop, pulling it tight, cutting it through with my teeth.
His eyes have been blinded, mouth gagged, he tries to stand. I kick the chair and down the mother goes, down, down to the floor. The floor on which he belongs.
I’ve got bulk on my side he’s more of the gangly type. Then she looks, she’s noticed now. I’m on his back pushing his head into the carpet, pulling his arms back, wrapping the silver tape around and around.
Hi, I yell. Yee ha, riding the horse, here honey, riding it all the way down to the piggy bank, what do you say to that? Your turn now Mrs Righteous.
I shout that bit. She’s confused, she has every right to be. He’s making this err sort of muffled sound. I think he’s choking and I wish he’d stop.
Never mind him, he’s tied up. I say. She drops the photos she’s just cottoned on, the penny has finally dropped. She’s got a situation going on here.
Hey careful with the photos, lady, don’t just drop them like that.
What are you doing Timmy? She yells.
Max, I shout, here boy. Say it like a man Say it like a man would do to his faithful dog. Max, flies out of his cage, Mrs Bates doesn’t like that, terror in her eyes, crosses her arms, covers her eyes. Makes it easy for me to tape her up.
Across her mouth I run my guitar sharp fingernail through so she can breathe, but I don’t give her full use of her jaw, there’ll be no silly yelling from her. Then do the same to him and before I know it, it’s all done.
I’m standing over them Mr and Mrs Bates are on the floor.
Off Max! He’s on Mr Bates’ back, pecking away. He’s always been a judge of character. I put my arm out, he flaps, gets on. I carry him back to his cage.
Good boy I say as I put him back in leaving the door open, one never knows when one might need a parrot.
I walk back to the loving couple, the chairs have fallen in the confusion and fuss, I bend and pick them up.
Mr and Mrs Bates, may I help you to your chairs? He doesn’t seem to hear, so I have to huff and puff him up. Do the fucking same with her.
Mr and Mrs Bates may I pronounce you, man and wife and welcome you to my room. I say.
Seven minutes and they’ve been turned into silver mummies.
I walk over to my workstation, god it’s a mess, I wish I could be tidier, but I’m just not that type, never was. I pick up a scalpel walk the blade back turning it with finger and thumb, bend, lift the man’s head, hold it, and cut him some hearing ear muffs. Making sure I don’t damage his tender winning skin. Then do the same to his wife.
You’ve got this smell on you, darling, I can’t quite make out. I say as I pull away.
She’s pissed herself.
I go over to a shelf and pick up two brown paper bags, big enough for heads. One for him, one for her, draw a king and queen with big smiling faces, making slits for the eyes and mouth. So they can see out.
Here, I’ve got something for you. I say, walking back to the happy couple, I raise their heads, pull the tape from their eyes. Each of them makes a particular sound when I do it. His was AHHH, hers more URRRR.
Now, do I have your attention? I’m going to be giving you a hat, I’ll put them on, all you have to do is breathe. Do I make myself clear? He even nods. I laugh. Her eyes are showing a mix of fear and hate.
And before I know it I’ve got a king and queen in brown paper bags.
I pull their feet tight, gaffer them to the leg of a chair.
Rub my eyes, shake my head, smile at my thoughts.
I walk to the window Sammy’s sitting down there, waiting; he’d be waiting all his life, but not now, not now.
I leave the room, give the happy couple time to look at each other with their eyes. Her bag’s better than his, I sort of rushed his, didn’t get the crown quite right.
I go down in the lift, walk to Sammy sitting in the car. He waves, he remembers, knows who I am, I’m glad about that, I’m taking a risk here, he waves, makes it seem worthwhile.
His Dad wants him to come up and choose a picture. I say to the hat wearing, gloved driver. He nods, opens his door, releases the boy.
Really, can I choose one? Sammy says all excited. Am I really allowed?
Yeah, you sure can. Choose as many as you like. I say, follow the dream catcher.
Dream catcher he repeats. What’s that?
Never you mind.
And we leave the driver waiting by the car.
We take a few steps then I say. So how have you been?
Fine he says, but he doesn’t look happy when he says but he doesn’t look happy when he says it. He’s got small feet for his body, I hope they’re given time to grow. We walk some more, move to the lift. Then I notice his arms, they’re full of red sore looking cuts and scratch marks. How did you get those? I say, they look sore.
He smiles, looks down as if noticing them for the first time. These are worse, he replies, lifting up his shirt as we come to a stop on my floor.
Bastards, I think.
How the hell did you get those? They look like a thousand pin pricks, like someone has gone over his back, putting a pin in, taking it out.
It’s the bitch, I think.
I’ve got eczema and hay fever. Says it like it’s a good thing to have. I knock on the door, turn to Sam and say, You never know what they might be up to. Could be kissing. He smiles up to me. I make the shush sound with my finger.
I open the door, the king and queen sit there, they couldn’t have gone I’d done them up tight.
Is that daddy? Sam says pointing to the right bag. You look funny Daddy, why are you hiding?
I don’t know, I say. He said somethin
g about playing hide and seek with you.
Hide and seek? Sammy pauses then says. They’re smiling, Shall I go and hide, where shall I hide? He says in a young is daddy a king and Sheryl the queen? Sam asks, turning to me. Got it in one. I shout.
Shall I go and hide, where shall I hide? He says in a young confused way.
No, remember we’ve got to choose some pictures first.
Can I choose daddy? You said I could, didn’t you. Says Says it pleadingly, giving his father all the respect he doesn’t deserve.
Who’s a pretty girl then? Max says, not wanting to miss out. You’ve got a parrot. Sammy says. Noticing Max for the first time. Max is sitting on top of his cage.
I’ve always wanted a parrot, they talk, don’t they? I look at him, then Max and say They’re very clever, did you know that?
What cleverer than grown ups? Sammy says, working his mind.
Even cleverer than that. I say, smiling, there’s a rustle from under one of the bags. I don’t know which. Sammy doesn’t notice, he’s only got eyes for Max now.
Do they know their times tables? Sam says, then, Can I Max, I touch him, taking steps to the cage. What’s his name?
Max, I say, say hello Max.
Who’s a pretty boy then! Max Max squawks.
Go up to him slowly and hold your arm out and he should jump on.
Sammy puts out his arm, Max looks at him, waits, flickers an eye, gets on.
Look, he’s on my arm, he likes me. Sammy says.
I think he does, I reply.
Look Daddy, Max likes me, can you bring me a parrot back from your honeymoon?
Mr Bates’ eyes flicker from the darkness of the bag. I don’t know if that’s a yes or a no. Mrs Bates is shaking her head, so I guess it’s a no from her. I walk over to the desk pick up the box with the alternative photos in.
So, shall we choose Sam? I say. Sammy only has eyes for Max. I pull out the first photo, it’s a picture of a kid’s shoe sticking out from under a bed.
