by Amy Mason
Elliot turned over and kissed her hard on the mouth without opening his eyes. She was still wearing a towel and within seconds they were fucking, their bodies barely moving apart, her arms pulling him painfully close.
Just outside Ida could hear her sister on the telephone, talking politely to someone, and Ida groaned, far louder than she ever did back at home. Elliot opened one eye and smiled at her. He knew her very well and began thrusting hard and fast. She panted into his ear. She hoped Tom was outside the door.
“Can I come inside you?” he whispered.
“Please, yes,” she whispered back. Although she knew it was wrong she enjoyed the danger, and loved the feeling of keeping him inside her for as long as possible.
He came, opened his eyes and kissed her on the nose. “Happy birthday you big mad cow.”
“Thanks, piss head.” She pushed him over and sat on top of him, her legs round his hips. “It’s my fucking birthday,” she shouted as loudly as she possibly could.
“There’s some vodka in my bag, your birthday present dearest. Crack it open will you? Brought you some more Valium too. ”
They showered together and Ida made sure the others knew it, dropping things and giggling loudly. When they finally made it to the kitchen Alice and Tom were at the table with The Guardian and a pile of pancakes.
“They’re cold now but we can make more,” said Alice.
“Oh thanks so much,” said Ida.
“Happy birthday,” Alice said, standing, and the two women briefly hugged.
“Good morning,” said Elliot, holding out his hand. Alice took it, smiling. “I’m so, so sorry about last night,” he said. “I’ve been taking these new antibiotics and they’ve totally messed me up. And then it was a friend’s party. God knows what happened. I’m mortified. Can I take you all for lunch? Your father and stepmother too? And I’m so sorry about your mother. Really, I know how hard it is.”
Alice sat down and nodded at Ida, clearly taken aback. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said.
Tom handed Ida a bunch of freesias. “It’s only little, I didn’t know it was your birthday until yesterday. I just thought these, well I thought you might like them.”
“They’re your favourite aren’t they Ida? They were Mum’s favourite too,” Alice said, and Ida nodded. “Sorry, your present from me is going to be late.”
Elliot patted Tom on the back. “Well done, I would have had a job to remember that. You need to give me some boyfriend tips mate.” Ida winced, Tom was blushing and it was clear everyone felt awkward but no one quite knew why.
“A lucky coincidence I suppose, they were all they had at the corner shop. And, well, lunch would be great, but don’t worry I’ll pay for me and Ally,” said Tom, “it’s not cheap round here.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not,” said Elliot, “thank God. It’s Ida’s birthday after all. I insist.”
Tom started to argue, but Alice said, “Let him pay,” and Tom looked down at his hands.
They arranged to meet Bryan and Terri on Poole Quay and as they drove Ida tried not to worry. The thing was, as far as she knew Elliot no longer had a bank card or cheque book, and she wasn’t at all sure how he was going to make this grand offer a reality. She also worried about what he had been taking to be so ‘up’ – usually he wasn’t even conscious until gone twelve. She tried not to let herself hope that he’d sorted himself out for her sake, made it up with his dad or the gallery, got some cash, and given up the drugs. She tried hard not to hope because she had hoped it before and it hadn’t worked out. There was also always the worry she was ashamed of – that if he got too clean and sorted he’d most probably leave her for somebody else.
Elliot was polite and charming as always, asking Tom question after question about his work. They had friends in common (Elliot knew everyone) and the two men walked in front, while Alice and Ida lagged behind. It was a blowy day and they stayed near the shops rather than walking beside the sea. There was a strong smell of salt and something like drains – Ida had forgotten the smell – and ahead of them fishermen were selling their catch to passers-by.
“He’s good looking,” said Alice. “Very thin though.”
“You can talk. He always says I eat too much. Not in a bad way or anything, he just thinks people should eat less in general. And I do eat loads.”
“He seems okay, very friendly,” said Alice, “and he’s getting on with Tom. Turning up pissed wasn’t ideal but he is your boyfriend, after all.”
“Exactly,” said Ida, “what else would you expect?”
Ahead of them Elliot ran over to a boat and started looking at the fish, asking to pick them up and chatting to the other customers. He looked wonderful in his oversized coat and tartan scarf, his hair sticking up at odd angles, so different, Ida thought, to the jeans-and-jumper-wearing families they were surrounded by. He laughed loudly – she loved his laugh – and she smiled to see an old woman jump at the sudden sound of it.
Above them a flock of seagulls was circling the boats and Ida winced despite herself, keeping close to the gift shops, reminding herself that if it all got too much she could always run inside. “I didn’t know they were still here,” she said, gesturing towards the fishermen. “It all seems so ancient somehow.”
“Yes, they’re still here. I can’t look in their boats though. The poor fish, struggling to breathe. I wish they’d knock them on the head with something, not leave them to die like that.”
“You always were a wuss,” said Ida.
“And you’re not?” Alice asked, looking towards the gulls and laughing.
The waiter greeted them with a wide-eyed expression that Ida knew well. It was the same expression waiters always adopted after her father had complained about their table, or the temperature of the wine, or a crying child. Alice must have noticed the look too because, quite unexpectedly, she squeezed Ida’s hand as they were led through the quiet restaurant. It looked the same as it had at least fifteen years before – orange floral carpets and rose shaped up-lighters. She should have known it wouldn’t have changed; her father stopped going anywhere as soon as they redid the décor. Bryan stood up as he saw them approach. Terri sat still, her mouth twitching slightly while she fiddled with her napkin.
“Darlings. So good to see you. Happy birthday beautiful girl,” he said, reaching for Ida. She hugged him, and he gripped her wrist.
“We had to get the table changed, they put us near the loos, but it’s all sorted out now.”
“It was that china-man,” Terri whispered. “I don’t think he realised who your father was.”
“Oh God,” said Alice, Elliot guffawed, and Tom laughed nervously. Terri beamed up at them.
“Good afternoon, you must be Mrs Irons. I’m Elliot,” he leant down and kissed her on both cheeks.
“Well, haven’t you got yourself a gentleman here?” said Terri, fanning herself with her menu. Ida felt warm with pride.
They sat down at the round table, boy then girl then boy at Terri’s insistence, leaving Ida between Tom and her father. They shook out their peach napkins (folded into enormous swans) and Ida felt ashamed of her father’s choice of restaurant. Elliot was sitting almost directly opposite her, flirting wildly and successfully with Terri, but she couldn’t meet his eye. His family were so sophisticated, they’d hate it here, and it was lucky he would be far too charming to let Ida’s family realise he thought it was anything other than wonderful.
Bryan was talking loudly about someone he used to work with who’d retired and his ‘poof of a son’ and Ida tried to ignore him, staring instead at the hard line of Elliot’s jaw, his mean mouth, his lean, strong arms. It was only when she felt Terri’s eyes on her, and noticed her amused expression, that she looked away. She knew that look, the pitying smile that said, my goodness you love him too much dear. Not for the first time her supposedly stupid stepmother had g
ot it in one.
Bryan ordered Champagne and, when it came, slipped Ida an envelope with a wink. It would be a cheque, Ida knew, and although she was pleased, it had got to the point that no amount she was given could make a dent in the horrible amount she owed. Terri cleared her throat and lifted a gift bag from under her seat.
“I couldn’t stand to see you walking around in all those old-men’s things. You look like a blooming tramp!”
Ida tried to keep a straight face as she opened it, careful not to catch Elliot’s eye in case she laughed. It was a bright yellow dress, a size too small, made out of some strange, shiny fabric.
“Do you like it? I hope you do. Monica helped me choose it. She’s very fashionable.”
Monica was Terri’s eldest niece, the one, (Ida had it on good authority), who had been part of a live sex show at an Ibiza nightclub. It explained a lot.
Ida laughed. “It’s lovely. I better try it on,” she said.
After the third bottle of Champagne Ida forgot to be worried about how Elliot would pay the bill and decided to enjoy herself. If people were concerned her drinking was out of hand they didn’t say anything – Ida had forgotten this was one of the pluses of birthdays. After a round of tipsy toasts to Bridie they sung Happy Birthday three times at Ida’s insistence, and the last couple of times the waiters and other guests joined in while Ida stood up and bowed. She forgot to be self-conscious about the very tight dress, instead enjoying the way it clung to her tits, and the way Elliot looked up at her. In fact, Elliot sung the loudest of all, clapping and whooping and shouting ‘and many more’ at the end. He loved her. Ida was sure he really did.
The food was terrible, as she had known it would be, tiny slices of meat in lukewarm gravy and spongy roast potatoes, but no one was eating much. Even Alice was drinking, and there was a recklessness in all of them, relief that finally, after months of misery, they were allowed to do something that was at least supposed to be fun.
Sudden rain smashed at the windows and they decided to stay where they were. In fact, it was nearly six when Elliot stood up, took the waiter to one side, and handed him a fistful of notes. Only Ida seemed to see.
The rain had died down, although it was still drizzling as they stood in the doorway of the restaurant while Bryan and Terri waited for their cab. Tom offered to drive them home, but Bryan wouldn’t hear of it and Ida he knew would hate travelling in Alice’s tiny Mini.
She felt very tired and sat down on the doorstep while Tom and Alice went to pick up the car.
Terri made a final trip to the loo and Elliot stood in the rain in front of them, smoking and looking at the choppy sea, while Bryan sat down next to Ida and felt for something in his coat pocket.
“Here, darling, I wasn’t sure whether to give it to you, but, I think I should. It’s not exactly nice, but it’s at least honest – she did love you in her own funny way.” He was whispering loudly, his breath hot and boozy.
Ida took the crinkled envelope. On the front it said her name, in writing she knew to be her mother’s, although it was far neater, more childish somehow, than Ida remembered.
“You might not want to open it now,” said Bryan, but Ida had already taken it out and begun to read.
You are born – May 9th 1969
Well hello Ida!
Welcome.
I’m a little surprised, to tell you the truth. I haven’t got over the shock of getting in the family way, let alone having a real life ‘you’.
I was never any good at science, but somehow in my womb things I couldn’t possibly name have been extracted, divided, multiplied… cell by sparking cell.
Now they’ve dragged you out, all lagadi, stinking of iron like some rock they’ve mined. I can hardly speak, and you’re lying so still, staring up at me with these coal-chip eyes, knowing all these magic things you’ll soon forget.
I’m jealous already. Will we be friends? God help you, dearest girl. I waited so long to have you, I wasn’t sure I should. Family scares me, really. I’ve been so long without one.
Your father’s gone for Guinness. I need to go to sleep.
(You don’t look like me or her either really. Who are you, I wonder?)
Bridie xx
“I’d forgotten her funny made-up words,” said Ida. “Lagadi for dirty. She used to say ‘pi’ for head, too didn’t she?”
“Your mother was a bloody strange woman – bloody strange. I should have had my suspicions even back then that she wasn’t a full pound. Anyway, enough of this, it’s your birthday after all. Elliot, son, I couldn’t borrow a fag?”
Chapter sixteen
~ 1999 ~
Something had shocked Ida in her dream, a dog bite or a fall, but within the split second it took her to open her eyes the memory of it had slipped away. She shut one eye again and tried to work backwards. The curtains were open and outside the light of the street lamp couldn’t quite obliterate the moon.
She wondered if it was still her birthday.
Next to her Elliot was snoring loudly and she elbowed him in the ribs. Around her the bed was, thankfully, dry.
“Fuck off,” he muttered angrily, shifting in the bed and kicking her accidentally. He was still wearing his shoes – in fact he was still wearing his coat. She looked down. For some reason there was clingy yellow fabric round her waist, and she was still wearing tights and her heavy red boots. Digging into her cheek was the underwire from her bra – it was always coming out. She had period pains as well – bad ones – and moaned to herself.
Piece by piece the day came back to her. Lunch, then a car ride, then a detour to the pub, just her and Elliot. Then home and... attempted sex? Her mouth felt sticky and dry. She got to her feet, awkwardly pulling the dress up over her breasts and kicking off her boots while Elliot groaned at the sound.
“Shut up you baby,” she whispered loudly. “I’m getting us some water.”
She stepped into the hall. The house was still as she tip-toed towards the kitchen, past the loudly ticking sunburst clock they’d had forever. Although she knew it must be after midnight, it could still be her birthday if she chose not to look.
She filled two pint glasses and carried them back to the room. Opening the door with her hip she found Elliot sitting on the bed, his hair sticking up and his arm extended towards her.
“Fuck, I’m thirsty,” he said, yawning. “What time is it?”
“The end of time. It’s my birthday forever.”
“You’ll get bored.”
“Never – I’d like it. I had a good day. Maybe this is what getting old is about. Being with your family, all at once... puke.”
“Bah, you just liked the food and booze,” he said, downing the pint and putting the glass on the carpet. He pulled Ida towards him and slid his hand inside her bra.
“I like you,” she said, kissing him on the ear.
“Of course, I’m a handsome chap.”
“I love you.”
“Love from Ida Irons means next to nothing. As does hate. ‘Oh Elliot, I LOVE brie. Oh Elliot, I love dogs.’ Next day you’ll hate cheese and hate dogs. Day after, won’t care either way.”
“Well, I love you right now.”
“And I love your tits, forever.” He kissed her neck.
Automatically she jerked her head away angrily.
Elliot pulled his hand out of her bra. “Bloody hell, you’ve never done that before. Must be your age. Growing into a real, grumpy old woman,” he said.
“I’m tired. And confused. And upset I suppose. You don’t ‘love’ my tits. You can’t really love tits. I’m just being stupid when I say I love things normally. But I do love you.”
“We’ve been through this.”
“I know. It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but I’m tired.” She lay back down and turned away from him.
“Oh God, you nutter.
I came all the way to see you, got all clean and nice, and you’ve gone all frigid. That doesn’t seem fair. You were never a fridg’. Well, okay.”
He patted her on the thigh, lay down and within seconds Ida could tell from his breathing that he was asleep.
The backs of her eyes hurt and she knew she could cry. She refused to cry. There was no way she could sleep. She reached towards the side table and switched on the light. Elliot didn’t stir and she realised she was disappointed, that childishly she wanted him to wake up and apologise or at least see that she was upset. And she knew that if she slept the morning would come, and with it the definite end to her birthday.
On the floor was her bag and she reached inside for her cigarettes and a pill to help with her cramps. Fumbling she found a crumpled note and remembered her father handing it to her. She wanted Elliot out of her bed with a sudden fury and she elbowed him again, hard.
“What the fuck?” he said, turning round to face her.
“If you don’t love me sleep on the floor.”
“We’re practically on the floor. You want me to get off the chair bed onto the floor? So I’ll be three inches lower?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, you mad bitch.” He rolled onto the rug, grabbing two pillows, and went back to sleep, or pretended to sleep, his coat pulled up round his face to shield his eyes from the light.
But still it wasn’t enough. Ida felt magical, bad magical, dangerous magical. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, to break something or make something new, but she needed to do... something. Her whole life she had seen patterns, waited for signs, for God, the saints, even Satan, to intervene. And she knew this letter, it meant something, but she wasn’t quite sure what.
She took the Magical Days Book from behind the bed, found a splintered biro and opened the note. She should copy the most startling phrases – the ones that needed further investigation.
‘Stinking of iron.’
Only Bridie would say babies smelled of blood. They must, of course, but Ida had never heard anyone say that before. No clean ‘new baby smell’ for her ma, just the dirty, stinking facts.
