Small Holdings

by Nicola Barker

  I remained frozen. She moved up close to my face. Her arms wound around me. She closed her eyes and caught my top lip between her teeth, then let go with her teeth and held my lip between her two lips. Her breath tasted of germoline and bubblegum. Sweet and antiseptic.

  She opened her eyes. ‘Your face,’ she said, ‘is very swollen. You look like an apple that’s been peeled and soaked in water. Kind of bloated.’

  She licked my cheek like a cat with a tight tongue. In my ear she whispered, ‘Why do you hate me? What did I ever do? You evil son of a fucking bitch.’

  She unwound an arm from around my neck. ‘I’m undoing your trousers.’ More wriggling. ‘I’ve taken off my knickers. See?’ She held a pair of old, skinny black flannel briefs in front of me, then dropped them. ‘Apparently,’ she grinned, turning to face me, ‘you’re drugged and heavy and dumb and kind of numb, but one tiny little part of you is still awake, has a mind and a motivation all of its own. Life’s a killer like that,’ she added, ‘isn’t it? Full of those wicked, bitter, little surprises.’

  She pulled off her vest. I could see her shoulders and her shoulder-blades. My mind was caught up in a debate with itself about whether I would like to be feeling something or whether I preferred not to feel. I could not feel. I could not.

  Saleem kissed my lips again. ‘That’s right,’ she muttered, ‘move your hands just that way. ‘

  My hands? What was I missing?

  ‘I’m kidding you,’ she smirked. ‘Your hands aren’t moving.’

  Her face, close up, seemed damp. When I listened, I could hear a pan boiling on the oven and the air was full of steam. Saleem nudged my cheek with her nose. ‘One moment,’ she whispered, and pulled herself up, both her hands pushing on my shoulders, and then one hand let go, for a second, before she lowered herself down again, but slowly this time, her face puckering with something like spite but not quite. She sighed. ‘This is a good kind,’ she whispered, ‘a sweet kind of revenge.’

  I wished I could feel something. Anything. Only my eyes and my lips. She kissed my lips and then sucked the air out of me. She rose and she fell. The simplest, the slightest of movements: she was a small lake, lapping away in her own time, rolling and riding with her own regular momentum. Gentle waves, rising, falling. Tiny sighs like gusts on the water.

  The chair was rocking. I stared at her face. Her eyes were closed. She was smiling. She had nice teeth. I hadn’t noticed before what good teeth she had. She leaned back a bit. If I looked down I could see her breasts. I looked up again. I looked down again. What could I feel? A tingling in my chin and in my neck.

  She leaned in closer and bit the side of my throat with her fine teeth. I could feel it. I felt something. Her hair tangled around my ears. Her hands touched my shoulders, lightly, and then my chest. She pulled at the buttons on my shirt. I could feel my shoulders, and just below, I was sure I felt something.

  While she undid my buttons she whispered into my ears. ‘Is this hurting? As bad as I want it to? You evil, loyal, Nancy-loving little fuck.’ She pulled her head around and stared into my eyes. ‘Is it?’

  I was sure I could have answered, but I remained as stiff as if I couldn’t answer. I could feel my ribs and my belly. I could feel them. She pushed her hands down on to my hips. I felt her hands. They prickled on me like itchy peaches.

  Her breathing quickened. She rose and she fell. I could feel my belly. I could feel below my belly. Oh, I wanted to feel her so badly! Her eyes were closed and if I shifted my neck slightly I could see her breasts which were lifting as she was breathing, and shimmering wetly. I watched as a drop of perspiration swooped and shot from her chin to her stomach. I wanted to catch it on my lip.

  Her eyes were still shut as she pushed herself up close. I could feel her so softly against me. She kissed my lips and she was smiling when she drew away, and she was very glisteny as she pulled back and as she opened her eyes.

  I could feel something. Oh Christ! Something dark and strong and hot and tight and urgent as anything. The chair was still rocking. I could feel something.

  She froze. She was glaring, all of a sudden. She stared at me. She had stopped moving. ‘It’s no fucking good,’ she said, savagely. ‘Fucking Nancy! Nancy! I don’t believe it. You’d fuck me over just for Nancy. That bitch. Fuck it.’ She pushed herself up. Oh, that was too bad. That was too, too bad. ‘Fuck Nancy! Fuck her! Fuck you! Fuck you both.’

  She hopped over to the oven, picked up a saucepan, hit herself hard on the side of her head with it.

  ‘Ow!’ she yelled, staggering, and then hitting the table, gathering speed, all the time, until, finally, with the swiftest and the smartest backhand I’d ever witnessed, she hit me. Bop.

  I WAS GOING to stay quiet this time. I was going to give no indication - absolutely none - that I was awake. The lights were off, which was a good sign. I was lying on the kitchen floor, slightly curved, arched like a banana with my head resting on the bunched up tablecloth and with Cog looped around me, like a fur muffler across my neck.

  If I looked up I could see through the blind. The sky was lighter than pure dark. 3 a.m.? 4 a.m.? I held my breath to see if I could hear anything. Cog’s stomach rumbled and then he yawned . I slowly raised my arm and lifted him off me.

  I sat up. My foot touched something metallic which shifted and clattered. I froze. I squinted. It was the saucepan that Saleem had hit me with. I put the hand to the side of my head. My head felt odd. My whole face felt odd. I rubbed my hands up and down it and it was like someone else’s face. Soft and bare and rubbery. Altogether different.

  I turned my mind back. I touched my face again. I almost panicked. Who was I? It was dark. Who was I? I stood up. I looked around me. I had to see myself.

  Everything ached. Into the hallway. Up the stairs. I needed a mirror. The bathroom was the first door to the left on the landing. I pushed the door wide and slid inside. I closed the door and switched on the light. I blinked. Oh my Christ.

  My face was bare and clean and neat as a cauliflower. Bruised florets above my eye and on my cheek. My eyebrows had gone. My hairline had been cut back by three inches so that I looked like a Franciscan monk or Henry VIII or Coco the Clown in a wind tunnel.

  I was so angry. Saleem had wanted me to go to the meeting and I had been coming round to the idea, I had been seriously considering it, actually contemplating it - I told myself, I believed myself - and now this. How could I go looking this way ? Ha d she no faith in me? I was angry. It was a stupid feeling. I was angry as hell.

  Where was she? I tried the first door to my left. An empty room. Second door. A cupboard. Third door. Shower unit. The right-hand side. The first door. I pushed it open.

  Doug. It was dark and Doug was darker but I saw him, lying on a double bed, arm hanging off the side of it, mouth open, eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. I almost withdrew but something stopped me.

  ‘Doug?’

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Doug?’

  I stepped up closer. One step, two steps. Closer still. I stood over him.

  ‘Doug?’

  I touched his shoulder. He felt cold. I looked into his eyes. They didn’t focus.

  ‘Doug?’

  I touched his cheek. Waxy. I put my hand next to his mouth. No air. I pulled the blanket up to his chin. I shuddered.

  ‘Doug?’

  I backed out of the room, quietly, slowly.

  The next door along. I tried it. Saleem’s room. She was on her bed too, curled up like a squirrel under the sheets. I opened my mouth to say her name but I didn’t say anything. I squatted down next to her. The side of her face was bruised where she’d hit herself. Her bottom lip stuck out like she was sulking with sleep.

  I leaned forward, barely breathing, and I don’t know what I was planning to do. Maybe I was intending to get right up close to her ear and then to shout in it, to scare her, to start to pay her back for all the bad things she’d done. Perhaps not.

  In fact I drew close and
I found myself touching her cheek with the tips of my fingers. She opened her eyes. ‘Climb in,’ she said, dopily. ‘Come on.’

  I pulled off my shirt. I pulled off my trousers. I pulled up the sheet and climbed in. Under the sheet she was as warm as baked bread. She curled around me and pressed her nose to my neck. I touched her hair with one hand. With the other I touched her hip and her thigh and her left breast which was like moss only softer. She crawled around me, like I was an old sofa and she was settling herself comfortably.

  She kissed me. I kissed her. I counted the bumps on her spine with my index finger, pushing the skin on her back and feeling it slide. She took hold of my hand and guided it down, between her legs, and then lower, to her lost leg, to where it stopped. The scar tissue had left it as fragile as a petal. Just like a plant, I thought, when it’s been pruned back in autumn. And I drew my hand up her leg again. And I kissed her.

  ‘Fuck Nancy.’ I said, feeling her moving.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she said, and almost started laughing. And I would have, but I kept thinking about Doug and whether I’d dreamed him.

  ‘Doug’s dead,’ I said, finding a place to fit myself.

  ‘He’s not dead,’ she sighed, ‘only sleeping.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I sighed back. ‘He isn’t breathing.’

  ‘What?’

  I said nothing. I carried on moving.

  ‘What?’

  She pushed me off and sat up. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?’

  The light shone down brightly and rudely. Saleem was wearing my shirt. I wore my trousers, hastily pulled on. I buttoned up the fly as I watched her.

  ‘Oh God, ‘ she said, ‘you’re right. He doesn’t seem to be breathing. Can you feel a pulse? Do you know where to look for one?’

  I drew closer to the bed. ‘His eyes. Open like that,’ I said, squeamishly, ‘that’s what struck me as wrong, first off.’

  ‘His pulse!’ she yelled furiously, ‘where is it?’

  I grabbed hold of Doug’s wrist. I stuck my thumb across it and pressed down hard.

  ‘I don’t feel anything,’ I said, ‘but I’m probably not doing it right. What did you give him?’

  ‘Same stuff you had.’

  She was slapping his face now, gently and then harder.

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Tea, stupid.’

  ‘Tea? Where from?’

  ‘I made it. Boiled it.’

  ‘Boiled what?’

  ‘You know, that stuff. You told me about it.’

  ‘Stop hitting him. If he’s dead it won’t be helping matters. If he comes to, he’ll be livid.’

  She turned and glared, ‘D’you have any better suggestions?’

  ‘What kind of tea was it?’

  ‘I can’t remember the name. You pointed it out to me. You told me to boil the root.’

  Things started slotting into place.

  ‘ A plant? And you gave it to me too?’

  She grunted her affirmation. She had her ear next to Doug’s lips.

  ‘Why did you give it to me?’

  ‘You fucked me off. It was only temper. I regret it in retrospect.’

  ‘I could’ve been dead too.’

  ‘You only had a cupful.’

  ‘What did Doug have?’

  ‘Since this morning? Two pints.’

  ‘How did you get him to drink it?’

  ‘Told him the first lot was brandy. He knocked it straight back. Second lot I fed him through a straw.’

  ‘Maybe he choked. You shouldn’t have done that.’

  Saleem looked up at me. ‘What shall we do if we’ve killed him?’

  ‘We? We’ve killed him? I haven’t been anywhere near him.’

  Her mouth turned down at its corners. ‘Great one. Who was it told me about the plant? You did. I wouldn’t mind, but you came in here, saw Doug was distressed and your only course of action was to creep into my room to try and cop off with me. That in itself is tantamount to bloody manslaughter.’

  I stared back at her. ‘You are truly a vixen,’ I said, stunned. Her face slowly crumpled, as readily as a fistful of tissue paper. She flung herself across Doug’s chest. ‘Oh Christ!’ she said, ‘and I really love Doug.’

  I went and sat down on the other side of the bed. I said, ‘I didn’t know you loved Doug.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she muttered, through tears and through mucus. ‘Why else would I have gone to all this trouble?’

  ‘For yourself,’ I said.

  She pulled her head up and stared at me. ‘To think,’ she said, ‘to think I was going to let you fuck me. My God.’

  I stared back at her. ‘You poisoned me, you lied to me, you shaved my eyebrows off, you hit me with a saucepan.’

  Saleem sniffed. She appraised me. She said, ‘You have such a negative approach to things.’

  ‘Where did you get the plant from?’

  ‘Inside the museum. The plant which grew from my leg. I thought it was a sign.’

  ‘The grenadilla.’

  ‘The passion flower.’ She nodded.

  ‘Didn’t you stop and think about how strong the stuff was? After you boiled it?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ she scowled, ‘I tried it out on the cat.’

  ‘The cat.’ I smiled.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’

  ‘The cat,’ I said. ‘Remember?’

  ‘What?’ She was losing her temper again.

  ‘You thought you’d killed the cat.’

  ‘So?’

  I decided to tell her. ‘OK, ‘ I said, ‘I’ll admit it. I felt Doug’s pulse. And he blinked.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘While you were sobbing just now he blinked.’

  Her eyes were round as two full moons. ‘He blinked? He blinked, you fucker, and you didn’t tell me?’ She lunged at me. I stood up. I was very proud of myself, suddenly. I was avenged.

  Saleem was looking around her for some kind of weapon.

  ‘Let’s hope,’ I said quickly, ‘that Doug comes to in time for the meeting.’

  Saleem had grabbed hold of the bedside light and was trying to yank the plug out of the wall by its cord. It wouldn’t come, thankfully.

  ‘Doug’s not dead,’ I said, resolutely, ‘which is something to be pleased about, surely.’ She stopped yanking for a moment. ‘And you love Doug,’ I said, ‘apparently, so you should be ecstatic’

  ‘Get stuffed.’

  Saleem put down the lamp and stared into Doug’s face. ‘He’s still out cold,’ she said and then peered up at me. ‘I knew you wouldn’t go to the meeting. I knew it. That’s why I got so angry.’

  I was indignant. I said, ‘I was seriously considering going.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Before you shaved my eyebrows off.’

  ‘Bollocks you were. I knew you wouldn’t. You don’t have the guts.’

  I shrugged. There seemed little point responding. I said, ‘May I have my shirt back, please?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to go home now. I’m tired.’

  Saleem left the room. I sat down on the bed again and looked at Doug. He was still fast asleep but his eyes remained open. I considered trying to pull down the lids, gently. I leaned over him.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Saleem stood in the doorway, dressed in her vest and some knickers. The sight of her strange, pale stump almost made me smile. There was something so special about it. Something neat and extraordinary. She tossed me my shirt and I pulled it on.

  ‘You won’t believe it,’ I said, determining to carry on embarrassing myself, if needs be for the rest of my whole stupid life, ‘but I love Doug too.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘How? ‘

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How do you love him?’

  I shrugged. I said, ‘He’s great.’

  Her eyebrows rose. I added. ‘I mean great, like Jul
ius Caesar or someone. Napoleon. A giant personality.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what he is,’ Saleem said sourly. ‘He’s an unholy pain in the fucking arse and he’s half-mad.’

  ‘I know.’ I stared into Doug’s dead eyes. ‘He’s everything.’

  ‘Come downstairs.’ She beckoned me from the doorway.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t talk properly in here with Doug lying there.’

  I stood up. I followed Saleem to the top of the stairs. She didn’t have a stick with her and refused the arm I offered. Instead she sat on the top step and then bumped down on her bottom. I remembered doing just that when I was small. As she bumped down and I followed her, I said, ‘How did Nancy get involved in all this?’

  ‘Fucking Nancy,’ she grumbled.

  ‘I’m only interested.’

  ‘Christ, you’re so pleased with yourself all of a sudden.’

  Am I? I wondered. I couldn’t think why I should be.

  Saleem reached the bottom of the stairs and pulled herself up on the banister. I saw from the rear that her bottom was pink with friction. She hopped into the kitchen. She went and turned on the kettle.

  ‘I’m going to have a boiled egg,’ she said, and set about preparing it.

  I sat down at the table. The sun was thinking about coming up. My hand was still swollen. My ankle looked horrible, bright and red like the skin might crack and blister.

  Saleem pulled out a chair for herself. ‘OK,’ she said, licking some margarine from her thumb, ‘so you think I’m a shit. And yes, I did kind of twist Nancy’s arm. The point is, though,’ she turned as the kettle boiled but didn’t move to make some tea. I stood u p instead and made some coffee.

  ‘The point is, right, when I heard about Nancy’s eye from Ray it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss. Shall I tell you why? ‘

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s all just crap. Ray might’ve noticed about Nancy’s eye before the rest of us, but what he doesn’t realize is that Nancy’s perfectly within her rights to drive with only one eye.’

  ‘How do you know that?’