Reasons She Goes to the Woods

by Deborah Kay Davies

  Moving on

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  Pearl gathers up the bikini fragments strewn on the carpet and stuffs them in her pocket. Jacketless, she leaves the house, head down, oblivious to the evening, or to where she’s going. Her shoes darken at the tips as she crosses a field and a wet wind blows her hair across her face, then changes direction, whipping it all out behind her like a signpost. She reruns in her head the huge, black-handled scissors, her mother chopping haphazardly at the bikini. I’m doing this for your own good! she’d shouted, pulling the delicate laces from their eyelets and snipping them into finger-length sections, unaware she was cutting her own dress at the same time. No one is interested in you, Pearl! she’d said. No one! As Pearl watched, she’d felt herself shrinking to the size of a gnat. She could clearly see her brother trying to grab the bikini, and hear her father shout as he struggled to get control of the scissors. She zoomed closer as they tussled. It looked as if her father would not be strong enough to wrest open her mother’s fists. Pearl could feel herself buzzing, circling, invisible to all of them. Then she landed, back in her old self, and the room was empty, everything just the same, but for an overturned chair and the litter of black scraps on the floor. Now, on the side of the grey-toned mountain, Pearl stops walking and empties her pockets. In brilliant colour she sees her house: the apple trees in the garden, the tray with two glasses, the sunlight sparking along the blades of grass, her father on the bench, silently mouthing WOW, and realises that the bikini’s not important any more.

  Silver birches

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  Pearl wakes up to a commotion. It’s like the shifting clamour of a huge, angry crowd. But how come? she thinks. I’m alone in my room. She checks outside. Through her window the dark street is familiarly empty. In the house beyond her bedroom door the furniture sleeps, rugs sprawl out on floors and she can just imagine the fridge’s lonely night-time buzz. The noise must be inside her head. It’s a startling thought. She lies down and tries to work it out. Even with her eyes tightly shut she can tell that the room is shifting to another colour. And that she is not alone. The clatter in her head is gone. In its place is a whispering sound, as if millions of tiny palms were softly clapping. She opens her eyes. Her room is full of saplings whose bright trunks are festooned with silky tatters. They all incline towards her. The nearest lean over her bed on three sides and dangle their stippled, minutely jointed branches onto the covers. The semi-dark is like the clearing in a tall forest; sharp with green smells and the serious perfume of dripping moss. The trees are swaying. It seems to Pearl that they are saying, ressstt, as they dangle their serrated, heart-shaped leaves across her forehead and cheeks. Everything is goooood. Pearl falls asleep again, lulled by the birches’ woody music. When she wakes in the morning, she stretches. There on the covers is a withered, broken twig. Suddenly she remembers the night, and an unwelcome new thought bashes her smartly across the head. Maybe the trees were giving her a warning? But, Pearl wonders, whatever could it be?

  The future

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  Mr Wilks, the form teacher, is explaining to Pearl about the importance of her exams. You’re very bright, he says, wiping the board. Have you thought much about your future? Pearl’s perched on a desk, her forthright eyes on him. She could laugh, she thinks, at such a question. Why are you smiling? Mr Wilks asks. Pearl sits quietly, her hair illuminating the drab room, and contemplates all the rooms just like this one, all the lessons she’s sat through, all the workbooks and tests, all the ticks and crosses. I’m just thinking about school, she says. And is it funny? her teacher asks. In a way, Pearl says, slipping off the desk neatly. On the way home Pearl walks through the park, swinging her bag. She balances on the kerb and feels the huge chestnut trees looming over her. The evening light is making every surface look soft and frayed, as if instead of wood, say, or metal, it were covered in worn-out fabric. School is hilarious, she thinks, but it’s also sad. Everybody is working so hard, and for what? She feels sorry for the teachers. Soon, school will be over for ever. In the end, all the children there will scatter. It’s as if her real life can’t begin until a few things are in place, and leaving school is one of them. When she gets home, her father is already in. She tells him about Mr Wilks and he looks serious. Do you care about exams, Daddy? she asks. Honestly, why do I need qualifications for what I’m going to do? Her father takes hold of her hands. And what might that be, my good girl? he asks, smiling. Pearl is intensely surprised. But Daddy, she says, don’t you know yet?

  Tablets

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  Pearl hovers outside her mother’s room, scooting downstairs as the door opens. In the hall her father is shaking the doctor’s hand. Those should do the trick, the doctor says, as he leaves. She must take them regularly. Pearl comes out from behind the kitchen door when her father calls. He wants her to go to the pharmacy. The sooner she starts on this medication, he says, the better. Be quick, my good girl. Pearl dawdles to the shops. It’s a windy day and there seem to be hundreds of birds flying around. Pearl thinks of a time when she’d have imagined a golden eagle swooping to snatch the prescription out of her fingers and take it to line a magnificent nest. But that doesn’t work any more. She queues in the chemist. On the way home she stops in the park to investigate the medicine. Twirling on a deserted roundabout, she opens the boxes: just two-tone pellets encased in plastic. It’s hard to believe they have the power to pull her mother back. And Pearl knows her mother will not want to take them. There is a commotion in the bedroom as Pearl’s father tries to get her mother to swallow the pills. He looks exhausted when he comes downstairs. Pearl hands him a cup of tea and a biscuit. Don’t you worry about it, Daddy, she tells him. I’ll give them to her if you like. I’d like to help. A week goes by. Pearl has been spending time, twice a day, with her mother. Pearl sits on the bed and opens her hand to reveal the tablets. With a hand firmly over her mouth her mother looks at them, then watches as Pearl puts the tablets back in her pocket, and leaves, gently closing the door.

  The walk

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  Pearl had to stretch out on the floor of her room to do up the zip of her new jeans. She’d posed in front of the mirror and nodded at the slim stalks of her legs. If only I didn’t have to wear a top, she thought, or this hospital-looking bra. My breasts are so nice. But who in this neighbourhood walks out with their boobs on show? Still, the bonus is that God, or Someone, had answered her prayers and given her small, pinky-tipped nipples, instead of those elongated brown jobs her mother’s saddled with. Now it’s late in the afternoon and she waits outside the place her father works. Finally, she sees him. But instead of his usual smooth, elegant walk, he’s limping. For a moment, everything freezes. She has to think hard about her father with a limp. No, she thinks, it’s okay. The limp makes him look even better, maybe. And it probably won’t be for ever. Immediately, the bunchy arms of the trees in the gardens, and the still cars in the road, all start moving again. Pearl hides until her father passes, then falls in far enough behind to be unnoticed. As they walk, Pearl is in a reverie. She only sees her father and the unfamiliar way he moves. Soon she starts to mimic the strange shape his leg makes. On they go, her father first, limping. Then, far behind, Pearl in her new, tight jeans, with avid eyes, limping too, until they are nearly home. Suddenly, Pearl straightens and sprints, taking another route, and throws herself on the settee moments before her father gets in. Good evening, Daddy, she says. Everything all right with you? I had a feeling something might be wrong.

  Sounds

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  Pearl’s father clears his throat. It’s as if what he wants to say is paralysing his tonsils. Poor Daddy, Pearl thinks, trying her best to understand him. He gets up and walks to the window, running his fingers through his floppy black hair. Finally it becomes clear. He wants Pearl to listen to something her mother has to say. Do you understand how things have gone too far? he asks Pearl, striding back to hold her fists in his strong hands. Please talk to your mother. So Pearl kisses his c
heek. Is that all? she thinks, climbing the stairs to her parents’ room. Inside, she walks straight to the window and throws it open wide. Fresh, gusty air blows in. Well? she says, sitting at the bottom of the bed. Her mother arranges herself and pulls the covers up to her chin, gesturing for Pearl to come nearer. Then she proceeds to talk. Pearl watches her mother’s lips make shapes, and sees her moving her hands, but nothing makes sense. All she can hear are a series of clicks and whines, and the sound of breath rushing in and out. Finally, she’s had enough and stands up. Her mother’s eyes are glittering and she’s nodding her head. Pearl locks herself in the bathroom and sits on the loo until she hears her father call. In the kitchen he’s made a pot of tea. There are biscuits laid out. That was great, Pearl says, sitting down and pouring herself a cup. Really, really great. She sips and watches her father, her heart so clogged with sadness she begins to feel nauseous. He seems to be studying her. Pearl picks up the plate. Won’t you have a biscuit, Daddy? she says, waving them in front of him. Go on, you deserve one.

  Results

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  Pearl had stayed up, night after night, revising. The less she’d slept, the more she felt able to absorb all the stupid stuff she needed to remember. She’d lived on bananas and water. Finally, exam fortnight came. In school, everyone was either silent and grey, or yelling and laughing like fools. Pearl didn’t speak to anyone. In her house, no one registered it was the end of term. Every time Pearl stepped outside, she plunged into another world where timetables and pens, schedules and forms were important. On the first day, she’d seen Fee hunched on her seat in the huge hall, shoulders heaving. Pearl could hear her gasps and nose-blowing from where she sat waiting for the exam to begin. Then, suddenly, it was all over. In the weeks while everyone waited for their results, Pearl forgot about the whole thing. Now, on a sunny morning, Fee calls. Are you coming? she says. Where are you going? Pearl asks. To get our results! Fee tells her. Aren’t you nervous? You go on, Pearl says. She packs a rucksack and makes her way to a place in the woods where there is a perfect oval of bright, tender grass. She threads her way through the cool, whispering trees and listens to the birds singing about mysterious things she will never know. She spreads her blanket and lies down, watching the restless leaves break and regroup. When dusk fills the undergrowth, she retraces her steps. In the post a few days later, her results arrive. Are you pleased, Daddy? she asks. Her father is smiling widely. Yes, he says. You are a clever girl, and hugs her. That’s all right then, Pearl says, hugging him back.

  Bang

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  Pearl won’t be allowed to have the radio on any more. Especially not Radio One. Her mother’s brain can’t take it, apparently. Pearl and her brother have been summoned to the lounge. There are far too many drums banging, and long words, their mother explains. I feel my head will explode. Of course, my love, their father murmurs, stroking her hands. No one is going to make you listen to the radio. He looks across at Pearl, and she forces herself to smile back. You two can go now, their mother tells them, falling back on the settee. Upstairs, Pearl screams into her pillow and pulls out a few strands of her silvery hair. She loves the radio; all those serene voices telling her about wars and famine, droughts and earthquakes. Everything goes on, just the same, in the beautiful world, and Pearl likes to hear people telling her about it. Mostly she loves Radio One. The ridiculous chat, Pearl finds it soothing, and the heavy-metal groups. The rhythms that send her mother into fits make Pearl happy. She wipes her eyes when she hears her father’s knock at the door, and then tells him to come in. He’s brought her the radio. But I’m not supposed to listen any more, Daddy, she says, her heart giving a little bright pulse as he stands holding out the radio to her. I thought you could have it on quietly in the shed, he says, handing her a pack of batteries. Oh, Pearl says. Okay. Then, because he looks so crestfallen, she gives him a hug. Thank you, Daddy, she says. When he’s gone she chucks the radio in a corner and drops to the floor, banging her head on the wooden boards until she blanks out.

  Couple

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  Pearl feels as if her body has been prone on the bedroom floor while her mind’s travelled to another planet. Anyway, she’s back now, and it’s no surprise how the usual things are still going on. Her brother’s in his room, drawing spaceships. Nice, she says, picking up a few sheets from the pile by the side of his bed. These are good, she adds. He looks pleased, and starts to explain about thrusters and jets, why he’s added this particular vent here, not there. Whoa, Pearl says. You don’t have to tell me, I know why you draw this stuff. In the lounge, her mother is lying on the settee, fingering her favourite towel. Pearl watches for a moment. She won’t have a blanket, her father says, standing in front of the empty fireplace. It just has to be that towel. Never mind, Daddy, Pearl tells him. As long as she’s quiet. She backs out of the lounge; it feels too crowded. I’m sure you’re right, she hears her father call as she slams the front door. In the street Pearl has to wait until everything stops wobbling and heaving. She wonders why she feels so odd. It’s as if all the red-brick houses are locked, their windows barred. The grass on the field looks scorched. Pearl steadies herself. Coming towards her up the street are two people with their arms wrapped around each other. She looks again. The girl has familiar thick, swishy hair. Honey? Pearl says as they slow down in front of her. Now I understand, she thinks. Here are Will and Honey, looking guilty, clutching each other. So you two are a couple now, she says, trying to take it in. Then she’s back in her own room, and she doesn’t know how she got there.

  Hungry

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  Lying on her bed, Pearl realises that more and more often she feels like the only survivor of a shipwreck. Here she is, gripping a plank on an unfriendly ocean. Her swollen tongue hangs out of her mouth like a sand-filled sock. Her waterlogged feet are flapping, and her eyelashes are crusted with salt. The sun bakes her skin and frazzles her hair. And I can never go back, she thinks. Already it’s too complicated, everything feels likes a knotted, snarled-up ball of wool. She thinks about Will, her friends and her mother, and realises that, if she’d really been shipwrecked, then all the people who were with her on board would have been saved. They’re gone. Only Pearl, with her little secret and her roaring, stubborn, hungry heart would still be missing. I am the original drifting, hollow girl, she thinks, spread out in the ocean’s arms. Pearl looks at herself on her plank, and soon she hears the seagulls laughing. The sea spray is stroking her skin and over the edge of the plank, below the surface of the colourless water, there are smiling fish flicking about. Her head feels light as a handful of seeds and her eyes are dazzled. All around, the scintillating sea is murmuring to her, and Pearl catches its meaning now and then. She sits up and stretches her arms to the horizon. Here there is no one to get in her way. This is okay, she thinks. In fact, this is more beautiful than anywhere else. Even the emptiness that sits like a yawning mouth in her chest makes everything sharper, more real. I am lucky, she thinks, settling down to sleep. It won’t be much longer and this hunger will be gone.

  Fight

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  Pearl waits for Honey outside the school gates. What do you want? Honey asks. She’d turned a little pale when she saw Pearl, but soon recovered herself. I want you, Pearl says. They walk in silence, while fat raindrops slap the pavement. Honey swings her bag, walking quickly. Without appearing to rush, Pearl keeps abreast. When they get to the park gates, Honey stops. So, she says. What is this about? Pearl puts her bag down. I think you know, she answers. I don’t, Honey says, now flushing darkly. If it’s because I’m going out with Will, then who cares? You’ve finished with him. That’s not the point, Pearl says, feeling as if a strobe of light has her locked in its beam. There’s a hissing sound all around her. She can see Honey’s lips moving, but she doesn’t hear any words. From her stomach a wave of energy is rising. When it reaches her head she strikes Honey so hard across her cheek that she falls to the ground. Pearl stands poised. Honey shakily gets to her
feet. When she’s upright, Pearl smacks her again, and this time, as her hand comes into contact with Honey’s face, there’s a cracking noise. Honey falls like a slim, chopped tree, and lies without moving on the wet tarmac. A baby’s bottle half filled with curdled milk rolls towards her head and Pearl kicks it away. Then she kneels and pulls a few leaves from Honey’s tumbled, gleaming hair. Pearl’s face is expressionless. Honey stirs and manages to sit up, blood oozing from her nose. Pearl stands over her. You’re mad, Honey cries furiously. Don’t I know it, Pearl answers, and walks away.