by Lucy English
Rachel and Jen stared at Leah as if they hadn’t heard properly.
‘I’m going out with Bailey,’ said Leah and the words came out like concrete and fell on the floor.
‘Fuck me,’ said Jen.
Rachel drove Leah back. They didn’t say much. They stopped outside Clive’s house.
‘You don’t love him or anything stupid like that?’ said Rachel.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Leah, getting out. I want his taste. I want his smell. I want him to blot me out.
She didn’t go inside. She peered through the curtains into the sitting room. Debbie and Clive were propped up together, the television light flashing on their faces.
She ran through the park into darkness, the trees darker still. Selfish Leah, couldn’t keep it to herself. Left her husband, hurt her children, cheated on Jen, couldn’t keep a secret, couldn’t keep a promise. Sarah said, beware secrets you don’t know what they will grow into.
But Bailey wasn’t in. She knocked and knocked on the door. I have to tell you myself before someone else does. It wasn’t malice, it was honesty. I want honesty, Bailey. He could be at the Tollhouse. Down the steps full of snails. The crunch, then the squelch; sleeping snails on the steps. Rotten leaf smells. Cat piss smells. The Tollhouse was still open, stuffed with drunks. She pushed through them, fag beer leery, to the back and there was Bailey, had to be, red hair, green silky shirt. Laughing with Sally.
It was Sally who saw her. ‘What are you doing here? Has something happened to Declan?’ Because Leah was red-eyed and frantic.
‘Not at all.’ I can’t think about you, it’s Bailey I need. He was looking concerned and baffled and drunk.
‘Jen was at the Queen of Sheba.’
‘Yeah, so what?’
Look at me. Look at me, not at your shirt. Not over there. ‘I need to talk to you,’ said Leah.
‘I’m having a drink with Sally.’
‘What is going on?’ Sally was not as drunk as Bailey. ‘Do sit down, has something happened?’
You are like a yapping bouncing dog. I don’t want you here. She sat down. Bailey’s hair was loose. His shirt was unbuttoned. He swallowed and the movement ran down his throat.
‘I told Jen,’ she said. He lit his cigarette and smoked it. He said nothing until he put it out.
‘Told Jen what?’ Sally kept saying.
‘Nothing, she’s off her fucking head, that’s what. Now fuck off,’ he said to Leah.
‘No!’ Leah banged the table.
‘You don’t have to tell me nothing, so fuck off home.’
‘Told Jen what?’ said Sally.
‘That’s it, I’m off,’ and Bailey grabbed his things.
Leah ran after him, squeezing through the pub and into the street. Lorries were turning into the Bath Road; a line of them with their lights on. She stopped Bailey by the bus shelter. He pushed her off: ‘We said no blagging, we said no spilling beans.’ Leah held on to his shirt.
‘How could I keep it a secret? She was slagging you off.’
The Bath Road stank of diesel fumes. The pub was emptying now, bringing its stink into the street as well. Sally was outside looking for them.
‘So, everybody knows, then?’ said Bailey, ‘I was porking you and seeing Jen?’
‘Yes,’ said Leah.
‘So, you’ve made me look a right plonker?’
‘What did you behave like? You knew it wasn’t right.’
‘And what else did you say? About me.’
She let go of him. ‘I said his dad fucked him up the bum.’
Bailey went rigid. Sally was walking towards them. ‘You never.’ He wiped back his hair.
‘What do you think I am? Bailey, the two things are separate, aren’t they? Don’t you see that?’
‘There you are,’ said Sally. ‘Is everything all right? Does anybody want a lift home?’
‘No,’ said Leah.
‘Yes,’ said Bailey.
‘You can’t!’ But Bailey walked off.
‘I can do what I fucking like,’ he said and got into Sally’s car.
For the second time that night Leah was in the street and desperate. She watched the car drive up the Bath Road. It’s not finished, she thought and ran back to the steps and up them, over the snails. Then breathless at the top, almost sick with gasping, she waited in the bushes. The ground glistened with slug trails.
Sad crawling slug, crawling back to you but I can’t go until this settles, I can’t leave it. And here you are storming down the road. By yourself.
Bailey opened his door and stared. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ He banged his head on the door frame. ‘God, you drive me mental!’
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Look, just leave me alone.’
‘I can’t,’ said Leah. ‘You have made this too, Bailey, this is your mess too.’
‘OK, my fault. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, any day, but right now I want me kip.’
She stood there as unshifting as she could be.
‘You would stay there all bloody night, you would.’ He let her in. She flopped on to the sofa. It was nearly two in the morning.
‘Talk,’ said Bailey.
I am so tired I can hardly talk, my children are at Clive’s, I told, everybody knows.
‘I’m fed up being a slug, I want to be a city. I’m fed up crawling about under doors, I want to be massive and full of streets and lights and be always busy and exciting. I want to be somewhere people want to go, not what people scrape out and chuck away. I want to have parks and enormous office blocks and cathedrals. Does this make sense, Bailey? I don’t want you to dump me, because I’m sick of being a slug.’
Bailey was on the other sofa watching her. She propped herself up. ‘Does it matter that people know?’
‘I could think about it.’ He was thinking, he was fiddling with his hair: ‘I liked that bit about the city. With my dad I felt chucked out. I liked the bit about being massive.’
‘I’d never say about your dad, you know that, don’t you?’
Bailey moved across the room. He knelt on the floor next to her and stroked her knees, eased himself between her knees.
‘Perhaps it don’t matter that folks know.’ He was undoing her clothes.
‘I’ve got my kids,’ said Leah, stretching her arms above her head.
‘When do they wake up?’
‘About seven.’
‘We can fuck until then.’
But in bed he wasn’t connected. He had backed off to a safe place and was going to stay there. He could give her pleasure, he could always give her that. By early morning he was half asleep, his face heavy and melting over the pillow. Leah sat up, waiting, as she had in the bushes, but there was nothing to pounce on now.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She was coming back from the Project. There was Bailey waiting for her but he made it seem as if he were strolling down the street. He had been in the Red Café; he smelt of chips. They walked along the edge of the gardens and stopped outside her house.
‘I’ll see you at the weekend,’ she said.
‘You might not, that’s what I wanted to tell you. There’s probs. Carol’s not talking to me.’
‘She’ll get over it.’
He stood straight, as tall as he could, and retied his ponytail. ‘I need time to think about this,’ he said.
‘How much time do you need, Bailey? It’s here, it’s waiting for you. My children go on Saturday. When will I see you?’
He shuffled his feet. ‘After the weekend. I need a few days to myself.’
‘God, I thought you meant weeks!’ and she laughed. Bailey laughed too. They stood there outside Clive’s door.
‘We’re a pair of nuts,’ she said. He squeezed her arm and was gone.
All week she rang, but he wasn’t there. On Thursday night she phoned Bill.
‘I’m bored stupid, come out to the Woolpack.’
He didn’t answer at first, then he said, ‘I am go
ing, to meet Bailey.’
‘Well, I’ll come too.’
‘It might not be a good idea.’
‘Why, are you going to talk football?’
‘No, he’s asked me to meet his new girlfriend.’
Leah laughed, ‘Bill, you are thick, I’m his new girlfriend, everybody knows.’
‘Leah … I haven’t got it wrong. She works in the café, he went to a do there on Saturday … I’m sorry.’
She sat on the chair in the kitchen. She felt numb and conspicuous as if her friends were already laughing at her.
Clive came in yawning, ‘I thought you were going out?’
Leah stood up. ‘Yes, I’m going out now.’
In the Woolpack there was Bill looking awkward in the corner with a pint of best.
‘Have you come to slaughter Bailey? I might go home,’ he said.
‘No, I’ve just come to look.’
‘Keep cool,’ he said. They sat there. The pub filled up with the regulars. Mad Frank started playing Barry White, ‘for you smoochie lovers’.
Then, there was Bailey, his arm round the girl and a big smug grin on his face. ‘Wotcha matey!’ He ignored Leah completely. The girl sat down. She looked as if she had been for a ride on a rollercoaster; breathless and stirred up. Bailey had showered. His hair was wet.
‘Whew,’ said Bailey, ‘we got held up.’
‘I’ll say!’ said the girl and giggled.
He had not even looked at Leah. He went to buy drinks.
‘You must be Bill, I’m Kerry,’ said the girl.
‘And this is Leah,’ said Bill, making the situation clear, but Kerry smiled in a bland sort of way.
You do not know who I am. You do not know what is happening.
Bailey sat down. He slipped his arm round Kerry and sniffed her hair — ‘You smell delicious’ — then they were kissing. A long wet sexy kiss.
You dog animal. You sex pig. Flesh pig. Snog your bird in front of me. We never even sat next to each other in here.
She was shaking. Bill said, ‘Keep cool.’
Yes, you want me to lose it, but sorry mate, I won’t.
They stopped. ‘This keeps happening,’ said Kerry, ‘it’s been happening since Saturday.’
‘So it all happened on Saturday,’ said Leah to Bailey who didn’t answer but instead moved a curl off Kerry’s cheek. She had a pointed face, freckles and curly brown hair. She was wearing a flowery blouse and a little skirt. She was small and much younger than Leah. But her eyes were not soft. They darted about like two wasps. They landed on Leah.
‘How long have you and Bill been in Totterdown?’
‘Carol lives with Bill.’
‘She’s out with Ange tonight,’ said Bill.
She scanned Leah: ‘I suppose I’ll get the hang of Bailey’s friends sooner or later.’
Bailey was now kissing Kerry’s ear.
‘You’re at it again: when do you stop?’
‘I never stop.’ And he started on her neck. She was loving it. She closed her eyes. Leah took one of Bailey’s fags and lit it. He saw her. He was licking Kerry’s neck and watching her. Leah took the rest of the cigarettes and put them in her pocket. Bailey stopped.
Kerry opened her eyes. ‘Fag break?’ she said to Bailey.
‘I’ve got none left.’ He was trying to smile.
‘That’s odd, I thought there was a whole packet, did we smoke the lot?’
‘Have one of mine,’ said Leah and handed them both one.
‘Cheers, but I’ll get some more,’ and she went up the other end of the pub.
‘You crazy cow,’ said Bailey, ‘what are you doing here anyway?’
‘What are you doing?’ said Leah. Calm now.
‘She’s me new girlfriend and don’t you mess us about.’
‘Why not? You mess me about.’
‘Drinks all round?’ Bill escaped to the bar.
‘You’re nothing,’ sneered Bailey, ‘you’re nothing to me. You never were.’
This hurt. ‘Liar, liar, you lie to yourself and you lie to her.’ Kerry was now with Bill at the bar; he was doing his best to keep her there.
‘I don’t want you any more, get that in your head. I feel good with Kerry.’
‘Because you lie. What does she know? About you?’
‘I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her about you and all. There’s going to be plenty of time.’
‘Tell her about your dad.’
He didn’t like that. He swigged his drink. ‘You always bring it back to that. Who are you to tell me what’s what?’
Kerry and Bill came back. Bailey slapped the table. ‘About time. Where’s me drink?’
‘What’s up with you all of a sudden?’ said Kerry, eyes darting.
Bailey yawned, ‘Nothing darling, I was thinking about my bed.’
‘All bed and no sleep, that’s you,’ and she slipped her hand on to his thigh.
‘Your eyes are red,’ said Kerry to Leah.
‘It’s the heat,’ said Leah.
CHAPTER TWENTY
This is worse. In bed and I don’t want to get up. This is worse. I feel all the doors shut, the windows shut. I keep thinking, an empty room. I thought I was getting out of it. Bailey, I told you too much. I said, I want to be massive. You used it against me. You felt me growing. You went, slam, get back there in the dark.
You slammed the me I wanted and I don’t understand. Why do it like that? Haul in some girl. Stick her between you and me. Why do that? She’s the one, she’s the one. She’s not.
You see, we met and our wounds touched. Blood passed through, that’s what it felt like. You moved one way. It tugged. We got stuck.
Outside her window it was raining. The trees were shredding. The park was falling apart.
I’m walking through the city in the night. The city is empty. The orange lights shine in the puddles and the shop windows. A bus shelter has its glass broken. I want to find the way out but each road leads to another the same. Above the shops are modern offices, all concrete and glass. Their windows are faces staring at me. I’m running. The steps lead down to the Underground. I’m crying. Newspaper blows round my feet and I shake it off. I am going down.
I’m with Jimbo. We’re teenagers and we’ve just been to see Macbeth at the Aldwych. We’re at Covent Garden and the lift is broken. We are walking down the metal stairs. They’re dingy and seem to go on for ever. We’re going down and round. We hear footsteps above us on the metal, coming down. I’m thinking of Banquo’s ghost and the cackling witches. I’m scared and so are you but you pretend not to be. This is our first time out at night up in town and I was feeling excited and grown up but now I grab the sleeve of your jacket. It’s brown velvet like a teddy bear’s nose. You say, don’t be so silly, but we are running and the footsteps are coming nearer. I’m holding on to you and we are running down the stairs. You look so young and not grown up at all, with a floppy haircut and polished shoes. My best shoes are slipping on the steps and I don’t want to be a girl. My dress is flapping under my coat. I want to be wearing jeans. I want to be up the tree in the garden chucking apples at you.
I’m laughing up the tree and you’re on the lawn squinting at me. You look so small and your ears stick out. I’m right up high and I know I’ll never fall.
We’re at the bottom on the platform and it’s empty. The flat stale smell of Undergrounds and warm air blowing up the tunnels. The wind is blowing up my dress and nobody comes down the stairs. They must have gone back up, you say. I’m on the platform and I want the train to come and take me away.
Under the rails the rubbish is moving in the wind. I look but it’s not the wind but mice scrabbling among the crisp packets and newspapers. Hundreds of mice. It’s horrible and I turn to show you, but it’s not you it’s Bailey.
Bailey and Kerry are walking up the platform. Smiling and in love. Go away. The wind blows stronger and I’m thirteen and awkward and I’m wearing socks and I don’t want to see you. I hate you. The
train is roaring up the tunnels and I’m screaming. I’m growing wild and my hair is long, my nails are long. I run at you with my long nails. The train is coming. I pull at you. The train is coming and we’re falling.
We’re falling. A train is shaking the house. Somebody is knocking at the door.
Somebody was knocking at the door. It wasn’t night but day; late afternoon. It was Rachel.
‘You weren’t expecting me.’ She was dressed in grey and black. She looked elegant. Leah pulled her old kimono around her.
Rachel stepped into Clive’s kitchen, making it seem more shabby than ever. ‘I came round because I heard from Carol.’
Leah burst into tears, ‘I hate Bailey, I love him and I hate him!’
The leaves in the park were yellow and falling. The mornings were frosty. The evenings grew out of vivid sunsets. It was time to see Sarah.
They met in the Red Cafe. Bailey wasn’t working there that day; neither was Kerry. Sarah was by the window dressed in crimson velvet with a purple shawl.
‘How wonderful to see you.’ She hugged Leah enthusiastically.
‘It’s been so long.’ They drank coffee and ate pastries, Sarah all the time holding Leah’s hand.
‘Where do we start?’ said Leah. ‘Ben said the girls wanted to go back to the States.’
‘That is Chris’s fault entirely. Expensive clothes. Meals out. He is so manipulative. I have had such a hard time lately, I cannot tell you.’ She smoothed her shawl. It was made out of soft fluffy lamb’s-wool. Sarah had beautiful hands, long and tapering to delicate nails. On one finger was a sapphire as blue as her eyes.
‘I feel I am beginning to contain it. My girls must learn worldly goods are not everything. Anyway, he hasn’t written to them once.’
‘How’s Chris two?’ asked Leah. On top of Sarah’s usual astrology books was one called Men and Sex.
‘He’s all right,’ said Sarah. ‘Yes, he’s trying to be committed … Leah, I am so bored. Not with life, but Chris. I want passion. Oh, I want a dizzy romance.’ She looked dreamily around the Red Café to see if anybody could give her that. There was a woman in a shabby coat, the two waitresses, smoking, and four men in boilersuits.
‘Passion isn’t everything,’ said Leah.
