But I thought about my jacket. I remembered how long it had taken to save the money. The soft, butterscotch-coloured skin. How it felt light and cool, though it protected me perfectly from the cold wind. Its intoxicating smell. I thought about the knubby wooden buttons with their metal shanks. Everything’s ruined now, I said.
When I opened the cupboard door, the wholesome, throaty smell of leather poured out. I stepped back and breathed in deeply. The smell was peaceful. It reminded me of the school satchel my cousin Daniel had handed down to me. There were strange bits of writing on the strap; ragged, scratched-in symbols. They were the things Daniel had done. So it was new to me, but not new; it had been to school before. The leather was soft and shiny in the places Daniel had worn it. I remembered my school beret being snatched off my head as I’d walked up the drive for the first time. But no one had wanted the old satchel that I loved. That little girl wouldn’t have gone down into an underground car park when she grew up. She was not the sort of girl who would spoil a valuable coat for nothing.
I looked at the sleeping tablets on the bedside table. I’d emptied them out of their plastic strips and put them in a little bowl. It was funny how they looked like the courtesy mints you get offered in some restaurants. I picked up the bowl and offered it to my reflection. Do have some, won’t you? I said in the voice of Judith Chalmers, my gran’s favourite travel presenter. Take a handful, feel free! I promised myself that after I’d looked at my poor coat properly I’d take some and sleep for days. I walked round the room, and read my magazine for a bit. I’d bought it because of the caption on the front cover, announcing an article about a woman who’d been knocked out by a frozen oven chip.
There were other discarded things in the bottom of the cupboard, so I rummaged until I felt the jacket. The lining was slippery and chill to the touch. It wasn’t as heavy as I’d thought. I spent some time arranging it on the crumpled duvet. It seemed too small for me to wear. More like a little girl’s coat. Or the flying jacket of a tiny, old-fashioned, aerostunt pilot. I felt it with my hands, like a blind girl might do, and thought how I would never wear it again. I flipped it over, and pushed my fingers inside the cuts. I heard someone sobbing. The lacerations looked as if they’d been inflicted by an animal.
I advise on sartorial issues
ALISON ASKED HOW long my leave was going to last. And why I’d suddenly taken it. I felt too tired to say anything. She held up a sheeny black dress and said, What d’you think? Is it me? Try it on, I said. Who can tell when it’s on the hanger? I followed her into the communal changing room. Is this leave thing about last week? You might as well know I’ve forgiven you for your desertion, she said. Though I don’t approve, of course. I will say just one thing at this juncture: I can’t understand what came over you.
Juncture? I said. Juncture? What sort of poncey word is that? Juncture is not a word I ever thought I’d hear fall from your ruby lips. Whatever, she said, posing in the mirror. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing with this juncture business. It won’t work. Her reflection gave me a mean look. Stick to the point, she said, turning to face me. I was silent, so she sighed, narrowing her eyes, and started to tell me about the party she and Tom were going to. She said it was Tom’s head office do. A chance to meet his boss, and she really needed to make a statement. She reached down inside the front of the dress to reposition her breasts. Hoick those puppies up, I said. Her reflection looked at me. Have you been listening to me? she asked. Only I have the feeling I’m boring you.
I slid down the wall and sat on the changing-room floor. Obviously chairs were obsolete. Alison was adjusting the dress round her hips. I hope you are taking note that I’m using superhuman restraint in not insisting on a detailed account of your impromptu evening with Mr Blond, she said. What’s Tom wearing to this? I said. Will he have his tits out as well? Alison gave me a look. I could see she was counting up to ten. I’m sorry, I said. Actually I gave Mr Blond the elbow not long after you went. I could tell he was bad news. Oh God, I’m so relieved, she said. So you’re not seeing him again? I thought of how he’d banged the taxicab roof and walked away. Definitely not, I said. I’m not that desperate. Her reflection gave me a kind look.
She did a twirl in the black dress. I’m not sure about this bias cut thing, she said. Where do you stand on bias? Darling, I said, nowadays, if it’s not bias I refuse to give it the time of day. Even my bra is bias cut. And the gusset of your knickers? she asked. Double bias with extra bias at the back and sides, I said. You really are in a weird mood, she said, and squinted at her behind in the mirror, then at me with a questioning look. Before you ask, I said, your bum looks positively microscopic. Actually, where is your bum? I’ve got a vibe you don’t like this ensemble, she said, but one happens to think one looks hot, so one’s going to have to buy it at this juncture. Sod the expense, I said, one should always go for it.
I make people materialise
SUDDENLY I ACTUALLY wanted to see my parents. When I got there things were just the same. I sat down and had a cup of tea with my mother. I asked her how she was. The clock in the hall ticked familiarly, its wheeze still detectable. Musn’t grumble, she said. Though you’d love to, my dad’s voice added from the hallway. Any news on the boyfriend front? she asked, not looking at me. I may have, I said. Immediately she was riveted. Well, she said, I just hope he’s a nice boy. You’ve always been so trusting. She patted my knee. But that’s a good fault, of course, she said. My father’s mild voice drifted in from the kitchen this time: There’s no such thing as a good fault, as you well know. Faults are bad. That’s the way they are. My mother smiled at me. Oh well, you understand what I mean, don’t you, darling?
She wanted to know about my boyfriend. I told her he was five years older than me. Dark, straight hair. Actually, I said, he has these improbably well-groomed eyebrows. She thought for a while. But that’s good, she said, the groomed aspect, I mean. So many young men are too casual about grooming. He’s not gay though, is he? I’m not sure, I said. Only time will tell. I told her he was a writer. I didn’t know I was going to say that, but it sounded good as soon as I did. It’s quite sad really, I added. He has this really sweet younger brother he’s devoted to, but the poor boy is disabled.
I began to see my boyfriend clearly. He had nice hands. He was absolutely mad about me. I’m meeting him tonight, I said. Well, I’m happy for you, she said. It’s about time. No offence, darling. You know I love you. Miraculously, as I looked at him, my boyfriend’s hair turned blond and started to tighten into curls.
I said I’d stay for lunch. In the kitchen my mother held my chin in her hand and scrutinised me. You look a little peaky, she said. Are you eating properly? I know you snack, but do you sit down and actually eat a meal? I told her I was feeling under the weather. Is that why you’re off work? she asked. God, Mum, I said, do you pay someone to snoop on me? I am an adult, you know. She ignored me and went on to say how glad she was I had a friend like lovely Alison. She’s so sensible, she said, turning her back on me so I could tie her apron. Anyway, you’re a very lucky girl, you know. So is Alison, I said, to have lovely me. She gave me a busy hug. Well, of course, dear, she said. That goes without saying. Now I have to get on. Things won’t cook themselves.
My dad took me out into the garden. He wanted to show me the bronze fennel. I love it, I said. The delicate fronds were woven into a glinting series of loose nets. At the heart of each net was what looked like a big fuzzy caterpillar. We both stooped down to check them out. They were actually the still-sheathed buds, almost ready to shake themselves into life. We sat on a garden bench and I ran my fingers through the swaying plant. I told my dad it felt like ropy, damp hair. Almost like a mermaid’s. He had a feel. You’re right, it does, he said. I could always tell my father things like that, when we were on our own. I rested my head on his shoulder, and held his rough, gardener’s hand. I was about to say something when Mum shouted for his help. Got to go. Duty calls, he said, saluting, and left m
e.
The fennel smelled like aniseed. It reminded me of some ointment Gran used to put on my cuts and bruises. I sat alone in the shade, the fern swaying beside me, and watched a cloud of tiny black butterflies discover the scarlet runner-bean flowers. Someone was using an old-fashioned lawnmower, the sound like some giant clock’s mechanism ratcheting the hundreds of seconds away. Warm, dry moss covered the arms of the bench like upholstery. I sank into a garden trance, and watched the bed of dahlias glow, their spiny heads radiating red sunlight. Behind them, I could see the lilac flounces of some other plant billow up. A spider trickled over the back of my hand.
I heard my mother tinkling cutlery in the house. The roast lamb smelled delicious. I stood up just as she called out, asking me to pick a bunch of mint. As I chose the bright, hairy stalks I found I was crying happily into them. The perfume of the mint wafted around me and purified everything. I strolled around the garden, touching things: the sweet pea canes, the rough, juicy rhubarb leaves, the warm wood of my dad’s shed. I found I could move from one thing to another without the slightest effort, almost by just thinking about where I felt like going. I never wanted to leave.
After lunch I stayed on. We sat in the afternoon garden and let it soak into us. We were all quiet. Once I heard the ice cream van’s ribbon of music trailing through the streets, but it seemed very far away. My dad asked me if I would like to stay the night. I thought about my little bedroom, kept just as I’d left it, and said yes. What about your date? my mum asked. I told her I’d put him off. He won’t mind, I said. You want to hold onto him, she said. He sounds very understanding.
My father brought me some cushions, and lying on the bench in the semi-shade I fell asleep watching fat blobs of sunlight slipping back and forth over my body. I didn’t dream at all. When I woke up we had gin and tonics. My favourite sound, my mother said, and jostled her ice cubes. Every now and then my father would get up and pull some microscopic weed. There was a faint smell of spring onions rising from a neat little bed he’d planted next to his roses. You’ve got to root the little blighters out, he said.
I misuse bread
WHEN I GOT home I began to feel like a visitor, or a prospective buyer. I wandered through the rooms of my house but I couldn’t see its potential. Time started to do that thing. It’s like you’re from some other dimension where each minute is an hour and a half, say, but an hour is actually a day long. You’re trying to function in your new body, with your new watch on your strange, pink arm, but you just don’t fool anyone. The safest approach when this happens is to sit in one place and wait for something to occur.
Eventually I heard the phone ringing. Alison wanted to come and see me. We sat in the kitchen. She looked in the fridge and made a tutting sound. Well, at least you’ve got some milk, she said. She told me she couldn’t be long. That she just wanted to touch base, see me, sort of thing. You can touch my base any time, love, I said, and we both cackled. I told her I would be back to work on Monday, which I was quite surprised about myself. I didn’t know I was going to do that.
Alison told me her kids were at their karate class, and she had to pick them up soon. Aren’t they a bit young for martial arts? I asked. I knew they were only four and six. Also there was a baby of about a year old. She struck what looked like a karate pose and said, Ah! Never too young, my doubting and defenceless friend. Surely not the baby, though, I asked. ’Course not, she said. Check me out. She held up her thumbs and wiggled them around. I could disable an attacker using just these, she said seriously. Really? I said. No, she answered, but that sort of skill would be invaluable in the rush for the only empty checkout.
She wanted to know if I could babysit the two older ones on Saturday morning for a few hours. She had to take her mum to an appointment at the eye clinic and couldn’t cope with all the kids as well. On a Saturday? I asked. Private, she said. Cataracts. You know my mum. Money no object. Except when I try and touch her for a tenner. Are you sure you want me to? I said. I mean, I like your kids, but do you think I should look after them? She told me not to be wet, that they were becoming more like human beings all the time. I would be fine.
The complication is I have to go to the dentist for a filling, I said. Won’t that scare them? She said they loved the dentist. They wouldn’t mind at all. Especially if they could watch; they liked watching people having dental treatment. I wasn’t sure that was healthy. If that’s true, I said, then they are small but perfectly formed fiends. Yep, she said, you are not far wrong, oh wise one. Anyway, she didn’t have anyone else to ask. Tom was refereeing a match or something. Pray for me, she said. I’ve got to take the baby with us. And you and I still haven’t had our significant chat about you know what. I told her that, actually, we didn’t need to. It wasn’t an issue. I’ll be the judge of that, kiddo, she said.
On Saturday I picked the children up. They sat in the back of the car with their little rucksacks full of kids’ stuff, exuding vital energy, like meerkats. Their shining hair seemed to swing of its own volition. I couldn’t detect any blinking of their eyes. Before we drove off I asked them if they remembered me. Nope, they said firmly. That’s probably a good thing, I said. Last time I checked you were Harriet and Patrick. I’m the oldest, Patrick said, leaning towards me. She’s only four. Well, you two, I said, I am old beyond your wildest dreams of oldness, and my name is Mrs Blobbypants. Harriet took her thumb out of her mouth for a moment. Mrs Bloppypants the Third, she said. I told her she was a bright kid. I’m even brighter, said Patrick. That’s because I’m older than her.
There seemed to be a lot of movement in the car. I asked them to keep still. We wasn’t moving, actually, Patrick said, was we, Harriet? Well, anyway, I said, and asked them what they wanted to do. Watch TV, they said in unison. Isn’t that the standard kids’ answer? I asked them. They didn’t say anything. TV it is then, I said brightly. We like TV best of all, they said, nodding at each other and me intently. Even more than karate? I asked. Karate’s cool, said Patrick, but TV’s cooler, isn’t it, Harriet? Harriet smiled round her thumb, and nodded gently as if she were conserving energy for later. I told them I had some things to do first. Like the dentist. Cool, Patrick said. The dentist is excellent, we love the dentist. Can we watch?
When we got there I bought them comics and sweets in the newsagent’s next door. My stomach was behaving the way it always did whenever I entered the waiting room. When I was little my father had to have time off work to take me; my mother had given up on the whole thing. I remember holding onto the treatment room door handle and screaming with complete abandon. It seemed to me that all the grown-ups had changed and become cruel people. My mother and father, the smiling receptionist, the kind-looking dentist – they had all betrayed me. They were prepared to offer me up to anything that might happen. There was this feeling of utter aloneness.
I explained to the nurse that the children wanted to come in to watch. She looked down at them unsmilingly. Do you now? she asked them. I don’t s’pose that will be a problem. She directed them to a single chair, and told them they’d have to be quiet. They sat facing the huge black affair I had to sit in. I remembered what Alison had said when she dropped the kids off about creating only positive dental vibes. The dentist came towards me with the needle held behind his back. I can see it, shouted Harriet. My heart plunged like a body dropping off the top of a high-rise block of flats. The children leaned forward as I was injected in the softest, most private parts of my mouth. Then the dentist turned to chat to them. I limply allowed the chair to support all my weight.
When the drill started shrilling Harriet got down from the chair and came a little nearer. I gave them both a thumbs-up sign. My hand was shaking. Afterwards, in the car, they sucked with intense concentration on the sweets I’d bought them, fingering the stickers they’d picked up at the dentist. You should give those to me, I told them over my shoulder. I was the flipping brave one. I wasn’t joking either. We drove to town. They asked when they could watch TV. Very soon, be
lieve me, I said. They started to fiddle with each other. She’s just pinched me; he’s pulled my hair. That sort of thing. My jaw was fizzing and beginning to ache. I felt as if my knee joints were turning molten. We went into a bread shop.
I counted four people in front of me. Each one had an enormous bread order. I wondered what that was about; so much stupid bread. I felt light-headed, as if the top section of my skull was exposed to the air. I picked up a long baguette from a deep wicker basket. It was strangely quiet in the shop, except for the sounds of the children slapping each other and scuffling. They both bumped into me sharply several times. It was weird, but it felt as if they were somehow disturbing my newly-filled tooth, jabbing it even. Suddenly I swung round and whacked both of them on the tops of their heads with the baguette. Everyone in the shop turned to look at me. I stood holding the broken stick of bread. The woman behind the counter nodded at it. I hope you intend to pay for that, she said. I had to wait my turn. No one else spoke. When we got outside Patrick put his arm round Harriet and said, loudly and calmly, We hate you. When we get home I’m going to tell my mum you hit us with bread.
I always deliver
I’D PUT HIS address in a kitchen drawer. It was the one I kept my sharp knives in. I had opened it a few times, to get knives out. There it was, every time. So I sat in the kitchen and allowed the steam from my coffee to lap my face. My tooth was quietly humming. I took some painkillers, but I didn’t mind the pain. When I thought about the dentist I felt a little spasm of pleasure that I’d managed to get through it. As soon as I thought about the filling I remembered the children and the bakery. I wondered why Alison hadn’t rung me.
True Things About Me Page 2
