Reasons She Goes to the Woods

by Deborah Kay Davies

  Bikini

  ‌

  Pearl and Honey are shopping in town. What I really want, Honey says, is a freakishly stunning cossie. So they go to the swimwear section of a huge store. Pearl is silently amazed at the hundreds of different swimming costumes. Hers is an ancient Speedo, with a worn, transparent patch that shows the ghostly cheeks of her bottom. Until now she’d thought it looked great on her. Try some on, Honey says, her arms full of slithery scraps of fabric. It’ll be a hoot. But Pearl doesn’t answer. Come in with me anyway, Honey calls. So she sits in the changing room and passes items, watching as Honey poses in all sorts of costumes, slapping her bare bottom each time Honey bends over. Ow, Honey says, on cue, after each soft slap. Well? What do you think? she asks at last, posing in a splashy-patterned floral number. Pearl looks Honey up and down and turns her round for inspection. Yes, she nods finally, her hands still on Honey’s shoulders. I would even say this one’s freakishly stunning. Okay, Honey says, that’s decided. Don’t you want something to wear this summer? she asks, putting her knickers back on. You’ve got a gorgeous body. We could go to the lido together. She jiggles her purse. I’ve got loads of moolah, if you want some. But Pearl just shakes her head, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans. On the way home on the bus, Pearl watches the people rushing past and thinks about the black bikini she saw, with its eyelets and laces between the breasts and on the front of the panties. And how much she wants it.

  Thigh

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  Pearl is having one of those nights when she repeatedly dreams the same thing; there is the same party going on, with the same music, and she’s pushing through the dancers, looking for someone. Then there is a loud series of knocks, and she knows that something unstoppable and terrifying is about to begin. Her father is suddenly by her side, dragging her by the hand while the music howls and the dancers laugh and point. Pearl screams, No! Daddy, no! But her father flings open the door. There, doffing his hat, is a man with a huge head and a tiny body. He doesn’t have a real mouth, just a painted smile on his egg-shaped face. I’ve come for her, he says, pointing elaborately at Pearl with a white-gloved finger. Can’t you see what’s happening? Pearl screams, struggling to hold onto her father, but he laughs, shoving her out into the dark. As the door slams Pearl wakes up with wet cheeks. Each time she falls asleep the dream starts again. Finally, she gets up and silently darts across the landing into her parents’ room. She clambers onto their bed and eases herself in between them. Pearl’s mother mumbles for her to get out, but her father shifts to make room. Let her stay, he says. Let her stay. Pearl is safely wedged between her parents, with only her sharp nose out in the cold. As her feet grow warm she becomes aware of her mother’s naked thigh, glassily smooth and cool, pressing against her. Pearl shrinks from her mother’s flesh, towards her father. She takes a fold of his pyjamas between her thumb and finger and rubs the silky fabric until she falls asleep.

  Forgiven

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  Pearl squats on the back door step and contemplates how boring the whole Fee thing is. Each time she’s come round, Pearl has refused to see her. In school she behaves as if Fee is a stranger. Every time Fee tries to slip in beside her in class, Pearl slings her bag on the chair. Fee’s little sagging shoulders and pink eyes leave Pearl unmoved. When Fee tries to say how sorry she feels about what she said, Pearl sings her two-note song. Digging a thumbnail into the soft wood at the bottom of the doorframe, Pearl wonders if friends are worth the trouble. She gazes down the garden to the hedge they used to play under. Pearl thinks about those times. Everything was simple then, she tells herself, even though she knows it’s not true. Suddenly she gets up and walks across the lawn. The gap they crawled through is overgrown, but she squeezes in and rearranges the branches, hugging her knees in the tiny space, remembering how it felt to be in the hedge’s heart. She pictures Fee, snivelling as she chewed mud cakes stuck with insects, her mouth smeared with gravel. She remembers Fee’s thin wrist, and her silence when Pearl gave her a Chinese burn. Pearl closes her eyes, and sees her friend Fee smiling. She can almost hear her saying hello, my love. Something is stuck like a half-swallowed wodge of gum in Pearl’s throat. She gulps hard and opens her eyes. There on the dry earth is a shrivelling bunch of fern tips and campion, with a scrap of paper from Fee that she hadn’t noticed before. I suppose I will forgive her, Pearl decides, looking at the bouquet through stinging eyes. Even though she doesn’t deserve it.

  Where?

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  Pearl starts to disappear from school at lunchtime. Fee and Honey are watchful, but one minute she’s, say, swinging her bag at someone, and the next, poof! she’s gone. Or just as everyone’s struggling into the canteen, bang! they realise she’s not there. In afternoon class, Fee steals looks at Pearl, trying to work out where she’s been. But Pearl’s profile tells her nothing. Her straight nose is concentrating on the teacher and without looking at the page she doodles her favourite fern and fish shapes as usual. Once, she turned her strange, light eyes on Fee and pinched her hand with an understanding look. Fee and Honey are so puzzled they finally decide to split up and search everywhere. After a first sweep they meet on the field. I think you should be the one to ask her, Fee states, shuddering. She’s been angry with me recently. I certainly will not, Honey says, giving her thick hair a shake. Pearl never answers questions. You know how she is. I don’t understand what you mean, Fee says, carefully covering her jutting teeth with her top lip. Honey sighs and drops onto the daisies. Don’t pretend Pearl’s like other people, she says. It’s just not true. She’s, well, a bit weird sometimes. They sit facing each other and fall silent. Now I feel guilty, talking like this, Fee says, thinking about Pearl, her determined aloneness. And me, Honey answers, and gets up. See you, she calls as she runs off. Weeks go by and still Pearl is nowhere to be seen at lunchtime. Then, just as suddenly, she’s back. A little thinner, Fee thinks, and maybe happier. As if something she’s wished for has come true.

  Picnic

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  Pearl is in Will’s kitchen. After a long month she has agreed they can still be friends. Let’s make a picnic, he says. We can go anywhere you want. Pearl sits on the table, swinging her bare legs. So, what’s your favourite food? he asks. Pomegranates and black grapes, she says. Will is disappointed. Anything else? he asks, stroking her arm, smiling brightly. She considers. I like chicken, if you must know. And peaches. And cheese. Will looks carefully at her. Really? he says. I only ask because that’s what I have here. Perfect then, Pearl answers, tapping him lightly on the nose. We’ll take this wine, Will goes on, pulling a bottle out of the fridge. My mother’ll never notice. He packs a rucksack. Follow me, Pearl says. She leads him across the field, through the ferns, down to the stream. They take their tops off and stand in the water with their arms by their sides. Pearl makes her new breasts, with their tiny nipples, nudge Will’s chest. You are beautiful, Will whispers. Pearl stoops and splashes him, and her laughter seems to intensify the sunlight glinting through the trees. They hold hands and she takes him deeper into the woods. They come to a clearing covered with dry, rust-coloured beech leaves. A golden silence lies over every surface. Will spreads a blanket as Pearl takes off her shorts. Me too, he says and strips quickly. They spread out on their backs in the sunshine, swigging the chilly white wine and eating peaches. Wood pigeons call throatily to each other. Now and then a breeze strokes the trees above. This is nice, Pearl says. Time to turn over. We have to do both sides.

  Introductions

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  Pearl’s mother is pretending to make a cake. Some of these, she says, accurately flicking eggs still in their shells into a big bowl. Puffs of flour spurt as each egg breaks. And some of these, she laughs, emptying a bag of dried onion pieces on top. Especially nice, she explains to the empty room, because they’re like scrunched-up insects. Pearl has been watching from the hallway. As her mother shoots a stream of tomato ketchup into the bowl, she walks into the kitchen. Watcha doin’? she asks, t
apping her mother briskly on top of the head. Trying to kill us all? Her mother freezes, hands clasped around the plastic bottle. She looks cornered, but Pearl takes juice from the fridge and drinks it from the carton, ignoring her. Don’t, her mother says, licking her lips: it’s not nice. Who says? Pearl asks. Her mother is shuffling her feet, and craning to see something on a shelf above Pearl’s head. She did, she announces, and points the bottle towards the cover of a cookery book. Just visible is the face of a smiling woman. Oh, really? Pearl asks. Is she your friend? Her mother folds into a chair and puts the bottle down. I suppose she gave you this brilliant recipe, Pearl says. Her mother is whispering behind her hands. I don’t think she can hear you, Mother, she tells her loudly. Speak up! Her mother points again. This is a girl whose name is Pearl, her mother calls to the photograph. I don’t know what she’s doing in this house. Pearl does an elaborate flourish and indicates her mother to the book. And this is a madwoman no one wants, she says. How we all wish she’d disappear.

  Saving

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  Pearl walks to town, down the long, swooping road bordered with weeds that in summer will have moving clumps of ladybirds hanging from their branches. Over the bridge she goes, past the nursery school, its play yard twitching with tiny figures, and down into the underpass. Her pocket is heavy with coins. Not for one minute was she tempted to buy even a stick of gum with her lunch money. For one hour every school day, while the sun gleamed above her, or rain fell, she rested in the secret place she’d found and thought of nothing. Each morning, there was her lunch money, on the table in the hall. And now she has enough. It’s quiet and almost empty in the store. Assistants admire themselves in mirrors, but Pearl doesn’t look at them as she travels up the escalator and walks into the swimwear section. Soon, she’s on her way home again, the store bag pushed inside her jacket. There’s the evening meal to get through. Her mother serves them food that looks as if it came from a joke shop. Pearl looks at the shiny, garish mounds of vegetables. Seriously? she says to her mother, holding up a charred chop. Can’t I have bread and cheese? Something real? She swerves neatly when her mother leans across to slap her face. Nothing for you then, her mother shouts, covering the plates with thick gravy. Her brother rhythmically kicks the table leg as he eats, but Pearl does nothing. All she can think of is getting to her bedroom and closing the door. It’s almost too perfect; there, on her bed, is the tiny black bikini with silver eyelets and laces. Just waiting to be put on.

  Goodbye

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  In a scramble of knickers is a heap of assorted bones. Pearl closes her drawer and hums to keep her spirits up. Then later, she spots a finger bone poking out of the mouth of her trainer. She remembers, long ago, how it felt when she first saw the skeleton girl point at her from inside the school hall curtains. Now, tidying up, she smiles, thinking about how her skeleton girl was always around; splashing in the stream, hanging from a door hook, nodding yes, yes, from the undergrowth, tinkling and clattering, willing to play whenever she was needed. Settling into bed she finds, like a question mark, a collarbone under the pillow, so she goes downstairs. In the kitchen sink the cold tap drips into the blind eye of an empty pot as Pearl takes an apple and walks out into the moon-haunted garden. Now she’s older, her skeleton girl rarely appears in one piece, and that’s understandable. It’s hard to imagine those years when they spent so much time together. Then suddenly, Pearl recalls a lovely hour when they sat smiling on a high ledge somewhere, listening to the hollow bang of sheep’s jaws bouncing across the dark forestry. The fir tree by the back door exhales a melancholy breath as Pearl brushes past, linking then and now. On the garden path she can just make out a trail of white fragments. They are the skeleton girl’s teeth, leading her, so she follows. At the end of the path is a cherry tree, knobbly with buds, each twig sheathed in moonlight. Through her tears, Pearl sees, at the end of one branch, her dear girl’s bony little hand, waving goodbye for good.

  Nothing

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  Some nights, Pearl hears sounds she doesn’t like. When she was little, she’d stuff her bunny right up between her legs and squeeze him rhythmically until a shimmer flooded first her belly, then her chest and she couldn’t hear the sounds she didn’t like any more. When she was older, Pearl forced a pillow over her head and whispered to herself, it’s okay, it’s nothing, it’s okay, it’s nothing, until she fell asleep again. Tonight, Pearl is lying in bed, her eyes stretched to the dark. Something has woken her. In her head a familiar feeling begins to develop, and to stop it Pearl gets up to look outside. It’s a summer night. She opens the window wide and climbs onto the inside sill. Even behind the curtain, leaning out to sniff the faint, steady breath of the quiet woods, Pearl can still hear. Enough, she says quietly, and jumps down. The lace curtains at the landing window throw ragged grey patterns onto her face as she stands outside the door to her parents’ room. This is where the sounds come from. Pearl feels as if her heart will shatter. The sighs and grunts she hears are like the noises a huge lie would make. But this can’t be right, she thinks, and opens the door so violently that it bangs a chair. She sees, without looking, the squirming bed, and her mother’s naked leg thrown out from under the covers. Her father’s strong back is facing her, skewed to one side. Daddy! Be quiet! she shouts. Then, somehow, she’s back in her own room, and the sounds have stopped. It’s okay, it’s nothing, she tells herself, as she falls asleep, it’s absolutely nothing. It’s okay.

  Wow

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  Finally the day comes when her mother and brother will both be out. At breakfast it’s touch and go, so Pearl thinks about nothing. What will you two do this fine day? her mother asks. Her father reads the paper. Stuff, Pearl says, watching the sunlight wink on her knife. What sort of stuff? her mother asks, her head to one side like some huge bird. Dunno, Pearl answers, sipping juice. This is the crucial moment, so she acts bored. What about you? Her mother pokes a finger into the newspaper’s centre crease so it collapses. She’s trying to sound chirpy, but Pearl knows what’s going on. Oh, her father says, folding the paper. Gardening, I think. And will you help, madam? her mother asks. Nope, Pearl answers. It’s almost midday before the house is empty. Pearl stands in the bathroom listening to her father’s spade clink against stones. Opening the window she watches as he wipes his forehead. Sit on the bench, Daddy, she calls. I’ll bring you a drink. He wears shorts and his legs are surprising. She glimpses his navel when he lifts the spade onto his shoulder. Sounds good, he says and walks into the shade of the apple trees. Quickly Pearl changes and gets the drinks. She carries the tray into the dappled cover of the trees. Her father is lying on the bench, his boots and shirt beside him. Daddy! Do you like my bikini? she calls, and waits. Her father sits up and looks at Pearl’s small, full breasts held neatly in the black cups, her perfect brown legs, her tender, flat stomach. Well? she says, swishing her hair, still holding the tray. Wow, her father mouths, his hands open on his knees.

  Trip

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  Today, some of the old gang are going to the beach. Will has a car now and they intend to cram themselves in with all their stuff. Pearl doesn’t speak on the long journey; this is the first time she can remember going to the coast. At last they park and walk through the dunes. The shifting bosoms of sand, the white birds like air-blown, musical blossoms, the sound of the invisible sea, all held inside the huge, upturned bowl of the sky, send Pearl into a kind of rapt absence. Then they’re on the beach. Miles of cream-and-blue loveliness stretch out before Pearl, and her throat bubbles with a feeling she can scarcely hold. Honey gets into her new bikini quickly, but Pearl still wears her old costume. They decide to eat first, and quickly lay out a picnic, but Pearl isn’t hungry. Instead she wants to walk on the rocks and explore the pools with their fringes of purplish grass. Everything seems to squirt, or shrink, or liquefy when she touches it, unlike anything she’s ever seen or felt before. The smell of the wrack, the tough capsules of seaweed that burst with a wet plop, the pl
ant ropes covered in orange warts and especially the transparent, darting pool life, Pearl looks at them all. Suddenly, she stands up and feels a flash behind her eyes; the vast, lemony sky and the heaving disk of the sea all blend into one inexpressible, sparkling new idea of the world. With closed eyes she searches for her dim and rustling woods, the bright stream, her swaying ferns, for her mother’s red face in the steamy kitchen and for a moment, it’s a struggle to remember.

  Disappointment

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  Pearl carries inside her now the yelling gulls and wheat-coloured dunes pierced by tough bristles of marram grass. More than anything else, there are miles of wind-scooped beach stretching out, waiting for her to run over them any time she wants. When Will stops the car for something to eat, Pearl realises she is ravenous. The windows mist with a vinegary fug as everyone eats fish and chips and swigs Coke, and they all laugh at Pearl’s concentration on her food. Her lips shine as she smiles, waggling a drooping chip. I love the beach, Honey says with her mouth full. It rocks. And they all laugh again. Soon it’s quiet and only Pearl and Will stay awake. When she gets home eventually and climbs out of the car, Pearl feels loose-limbed, and her hair is so stiff it looks powdered. The idea of going into any of those tiny rooms is almost impossible, but she forces herself to step inside. It’s quiet, yet Pearl can sense they are all waiting for her. In the lounge her brother crouches on the carpet. He looks mutely at her. Sitting either side of the empty fireplace are her parents. Her mother is tensed, ready to leap from her chair. Pearl looks at her father, but he is studying his locked hands. For a moment they all look like strangers. Is something wrong, Daddy? she asks. You could say that, madam, her mother answers in an oddly deep voice, waving the two pieces of the black bikini between fingers and thumbs as if they were filthy rags. What have you got to say about this disgusting thing? And don’t speak to your father, she adds, a vibration in her voice. He is very disappointed in you.