by Clare Allan
I seen it coming a mile off, but I still couldn't never believe how perfect he done it! Elliot's hand come from under the chairs and grabbed Tony's leg round the ankle. And without even realising what he done, on account of his still being half-asleep and half-doped up to the eyeballs, he started trying to pull the ankle towards him. I'm not sure what give the game away, maybe the fact the cup didn't feel right, being no more thicker than a blade of grass, or maybe the way it pulled as he tugged, 'stead of coming towards him full of sweet coffee, but suddenly this terrible shriek come from under the vinyl cushions and the hand shot back with a crack and a yelp as he whacked his elbow hard on the leg of the chair.
Well I was just pissing myself; I couldn't help it, and before very long I'd set Tina off too and the more we tried not to the more it just seemed even funnier and every time one of us managed to stop, the other one would set them off again and I never seen Tina so out of herself, and the coffee cup shooking so bad it was flowing down the sides.
But Tony Balaclava never said nothing. Just straightened his trouser leg, took the cup off her and put it on the table. And Tina and me we stopped laughing then, like instantly like turning off a tap. And that's when Tony turned to me and said how he wanted a word.
9. What Tony said
As I followed Tony down the corridor, all I could think of was what it could be he wanted. Rational speaking I knew they weren't going to discharge me. I might not of been the most maddest dribbler attended the Dorothy Fish (though speaking objective I ain't saying I weren't) but I weren't the most normalest, not by a very long margin. And even despite of all my anxieties, I knew even then no one in his right mind would of worried for half of one second, 'bout getting discharged. The fact of it was though, I weren't in my right mind, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help worrying, and the more I worried the more I got certain, I was going to get discharged. And I got so certain, tears come in my eyes, and the floor started swimming, and Tony in front like Jesus walking on the water.
Well I needed to get a grip of myself, so what I done was I started to count off the doors as we gone past. There was the staff room and the locker room and two rooms for doing one-to-ones in and the room where they held the weekly meeting, and each time we gone past a door I give it a number and said what it was for and that way I distracted myself and I started to feel a bit better. There was the woodwork room where Dawn done her tables and the art room as well for making candles, 'cept the woman been off sick for about ten years. Then after that the Quiet Room and the large group room like for Life Skills and stuff, then a couple of small group rooms and after that . . . the doors they just gone on forever and I begun to wish I'd wore my other Nikes 'cause the ones I had on was rubbing the side of my toe.
We walked on and on past door after door but Tony never stopped outside none of them. And he never spoke neither, but every so often he'd spin round his head like a bird without moving his shoulders, and give me a quick look just to make sure I was there.
Then suddenly Tony stopped, so sharp I jarred my knees with trying not to walk in the back of him. And he unhooked his keys and opened the door, and as he waved me in front of him, I seen we was outside the interview room, where I come every week for my one-to-one and I couldn't see how it had took us so long to get there.
The dirty-pink chairs was a step up from those in the common room, with cloth-covered seats what itched your arse through your trousers. Between the chairs was this small square table, chipped on one corner, and on top of that an empty box of tissues. I seen it all in detail like a camera done close-up.
Tony sat crouched forward with his elbows on his knees and his leg muscles twitching inside of his skinny black jeans. He didn't say nothing for maybe a minute and all you could hear was the rain outside tap-tapping against the window. Then suddenly he clasped his hands. 'So how are you, N?' he said.
I give a shrug, I weren't going to say nothing more till I knew what he wanted. Now we'd stopped walking my fears had woke up and begun to wriggle about like a pile of puppies.
'Well I won't beat about the bush,' he said, and he rubbed his hands like a football rattle; I practically shat my load. 'How would you like to do a job for me, N?'
It was like coming round, the nurse's face, then the rails, and the curtains, and the drip and the lights and I started to realise I weren't being discharged after all.
'Shakespeare?' I said when Tony told me. 'Fuckin'ell! Bet she's smart!'
He smiled at the carpet, like this flicker of a smile, like a lighter running low on fluid.
'So what am I s'posed to show her?' I said, ('Careful, girl' I says to myself. 'You ain't out of this one yet.') 'I don't know nothing, do I,' I said.
'Just show her around the place,' he said. 'Introduce her to people; that sort of thing.'
'Nah,' I said, and I shaken my head. 'Ain't up to it, Tony. Sorry; I'm not. Does my head in, that sort of thing.' (Like still looking for the trap, do you know what I'm saying.)'What you asking me for?' I said.
'Because,' he said, 'we think it might help. You need to connect with people, N . . . And for Poppy as well. She's new to all this. Imagine how she must feel,' he said. 'She needs someone in the know . . .'
'Don't trust no one though, do I,' I said. 'Not after . . .'
'You know you can always ask for time. That's what we're here for, N,' he said. 'I know it might seem like we're always busy, but we are here to help; you just have to ask.'
And he gone on and on about how much they cared and how it might seem like they didn't but they did, and on and on and on till he done my head in.
'Alright!' I said. 'Alright, I'll do it!'
'I'm sorry?' he said.
'I'll show her around.'
'Oh right,' he said. 'Yes, thank you, N.' It was like he'd forgot all about it. Then he give me the info, like when she was coming and where to meet and stuff.
10. How I never got a chance to say on account of Pollyanna
The corridor shrunk like a concertina and in less than no time I was back through the doors to the common room. I knew right away Tina must of told them 'cause it all gone hush and the only sound was the double swing-doors flap-flapping behind my back.
The flops was slumped in their chairs like usual, bug-eyed with meds and madness, but as I gone past their heads turned to follow, like dogs looking after a biscuit, and as I sat down, I seen them all shifting to make sure they got a good view. The day patients tried to act normal like nothing had happened, and even though they was burning to know, so I reckoned I'd wind them up a bit, not nasty or nothing but just for a laugh, so without saying a word I lit up a fag and sticking my feet on the edge of the table I sat back and puffed like I didn't got a care in the world. And next to me Astrid, who'd made up her mind they'd kicked me out already, she started to look a bit huffy at that, like I done her down or something.
I give a great yawn, so open and wide, the furthest flop seen straight down my throat to the breakfast still sat in my stomach. Then I slouched myself sideways, like right towards Astrid, with my head on my hand and my elbow on the arm of the chair, and very slowly, very slowly, I let my eyes close, like I just couldn't help it, I couldn't stay awake another second.
I sometimes think life would be more easier if I weren't so sensitive to people's feelings. I don't know if I was born that way or if it's because of all stuff that's happened but sometimes, do you know what I'm saying, it's like I got fucking radar! I mean, I hadn't hardly shut my eyes before I knew something was wrong. It weren't the fact that Astrid tutted, or the fact that nobody spoke, or the fact I could feel them all sat there staring and there's me grunting and grumbling away like fast asleep in the middle, it was more I just suddenly tuned in that something weren't right.
'What?' I said.
They're like, 'Ain't you heard?'
'Heard what?' I said.
They're like, 'Pollyanna!'
'Heard what?' I said.
'Last night,' they said.
'At two in the morning,' said Middle-Class Michael.' Suicide Bridge, so we understand. Apparently, a cyclist found her . . .'
'Called on his mobile,' Astrid said.
'Lucky she didn't hit him,' said Wesley.
'Shut up, Wesley!' said everyone. Except for Rosetta. Rosetta didn't say nothing.
'Can't believe you just sat there,' said Astrid.
'Fuck off' I said. 'I didn't know, did I!'
'So what did Tony want?' she said.
'Nothing,' I said and I rolled my eyes, like who'd give a fuck about that at a time like this.
'Rosetta's got a letter,' whispered Tina.
'She was going to read it when you came in,' said Astrid Arsewipe, pardon me for breathing.
So everyone's like, 'Go on, Rosetta! Read it! We want to hear!'
Then the flops joined in. 'Go on, Rosetta!', the ones that could shout did anyway, and the ones what couldn't mouthed the words and Schizo Safid drummed on the arm of his chair.
'I'll read it if you like,' said Middle-Class Michael.
So Rosetta unzipped her handbag and got out the letter. Weren't much, just a page from a spiral-bound notebook, folded in half with her name on and underlined. She stood up holding it out in front like reading in church or something.
'Get on with it!' I says to myself. It's not that I weren't upset, upset me as much as anyone, more I should think, with all of my issues; I mean, not just my mum but my dad as well before I was even born, and my nan, and Mandy down Sunshine House, who I found as well, do you know what I'm saying. It was more just her timing could of been better, the one time I got something to say, but that's rappers all over, got to be centre stage.
So Rosetta read the note out and everyone listened. She done it alright, never cracking or nothing and I looked at the empty chair as she read with the 'P' on the back wrote in red marker pen and the fag-burnt arms and the stuffing come through and I give it a bit of a stare.
My friend when you receive this letter
I will be gone. I think you know
How much you mean to me, Rosetta,
But also that I have to go.
My hope has died, not merely faded;
My light extinguished, not just shaded.
I feel completely unprepared
For life outside. I'm old and scared.
I feel no pain, nor even sorrow,
But rather one enormous blank.
As fish thrown out the goldfish tank
Know only that there's no tomorrow.
Goodbye my friend, don't grieve for me;
I'm going to where I want to be.
I I. What everyone said about the note and how they started rowing about the rhyme
When Rosetta had finished she bowed her head and stood there for a moment and the flops all bowed their heads as well and us day dribblers too, except for Dawn, who'd come in for her coffee break somewhere around the middle, and forgot Pollyanna ever existed anyway. Then Rosetta sat down, refolded the note, and zipped it back in her handbag and she sat there quiet for a bit with the bag on her lap.
'She post it through your door last night?' said Astrid. Rosetta nodded.
'I should have called round,' whispered Tina. 'I knew I should have.'
'There weren't nothing none of us could do,' said Astrid.
'It's down to them!'
'I called round last night,' Rosetta said. 'When I left here I went straight round. I knocked and knocked but there wasn't any answer. I was thinking she must have gone round to her sister's. I never thought for a second . . .'
'It's down to them,' said Astrid. 'Ain't that right, Brian?'
But Brian didn't answer, being outside washing his hands.
'Excuse me,' says this whiny voice, and we all looked up and there was Professor McSpiegel.
He was stood by the pillar behind Pollyanna's chair, with this black bin-liner all stuffed full of papers and more papers under each arm as well, all covered in writing and all in a jumble and upside down and back to front, not that that made no difference to him, being happy to read however it come, left to right and right to left and diagonal and foreign languages too.
'Excuse me,' he said. 'I wonder, could I see it?'
'See what?' said Astrid.
'The note,' said Rosetta. Rosetta got respect for Professor McSpiegel. 'You want to see the note?' she said.
'If you don't mind,' he said. 'I'll be very careful. I just want to look at the rhyme scheme.'
White Wesley cracked up. 'You hear that man?'
Rosetta unzipped her bag and took the note out. She handed it to Professor McSpiegel across the empty chair.
'It weren't even rhyming anyway,' said Astrid folding her arms.
'I think it was,' said Middle-Class Michael.
'Not rhyming,' said Astrid.
'I think so,' said Michael.
'Don't hassle,' said Wesley. 'What difference it make?'
'I'm sorry,' said Dawn. 'What difference does what make?'
'The rhyming,' said Astrid, never spoken to Dawn, or not unless she was making a point. 'He wants to see the rhyme scheme,' she said. 'And I said to him, said it weren't even rhyming.'
'What wasn't?' said Dawn.
'The note,' said Elliot, peeped out from under his chair.
'I thought she had!' said Professor McSpiegel. 'She's modelled it on Pushkin!'
'She hasn't!' said Michael. He got up to see.
Rosetta stood waiting.
'It weren't even rhyming,' said Astrid.
'Look here,' said McSpiegel. He shown Rosetta. 'You see the endings?'
Rosetta nodded. 'Why did she do that?' she said.
'It's a sonnet you see,' said Professor McSpiegel, which actually I knew without being told or I did once I'd remembered. Fact is I written a poem myself, must of been nine or ten at the time, 'bout this fox in the garden of Sunshine House, not that I never seen a fox, not that we had a garden neither, more just a yard full of pig bins. But my teacher, Mr Pettifer, said it was one of the best poems he'd ever read by a kid my age, or something like that, and he sent it in for this competition and it come back highly commended. 'There's a poet in you,' Mr Pettifer said, 'bout the only nice thing any teacher said ever; he was alright, Mr Pettifer. My mum was fucking over-the-moon, decided we got to celebrate. 'I always knew you were gifted,' she said. 'Come on, you choose, what shall we do?!' I'd only been home about five minutes. Last time I'd seen her she was laying on a stretcher with an oxygen mask clamped over her mouth and her skin like the colour of Blu-Tack. We gone for a Mexican I think; they had this place they stuck sparklers in your pudding and sung you 'Happy Birthday'. We taken it in turns, me and Mum, like every time we gone there, but they never realised, or if they did they never said nothing anyway.
Professor McSpiegel finished his bit and give the note back to Rosetta. I can't remember what he said on account I weren't paying attention but I know it was all big words and bollocks, like how many beats you got to have, which I never knew none of that when I wrote my fox poem. Then he smiled and give her a pat on the arm and walked out the common room dragging his bin-bag behind him.
'He's off his fucking head,' said Astrid. 'It weren't even rhyming anyway.'
'It's a sonnet,' Rosetta said. 'Some of it rhymes.'
'I thought it was a sonnet,' said Verna, who done a year of college or something, or reckoned she knew anyway.
'Some of it!' said Astrid Arsewipe. 'Either it does or it doesn't.'
'Do you know,' said Dawn, 'the strangest thing; I fancy making a table!'
'Some of it rhymed,' Rosetta said.
'Do you think I could make one?' Dawn asked Wesley.
'Yeah, man,' said Wesley. 'Do one for my bruwer.'
'I don't know,' said Dawn.
'It weren't even rhyming!' Astrid said. 'Not rhyming,' she said. 'Not like she normally done.'
12. How Tony Balaclava come through and landed me right in it
Well I kept myself out of the rhyming row, what carried on all th
rough the morning and dinner time too when we filed in the canteen to eat our fish and peas. 'Just show her the note,' said Sue the Sticks, formerly known as Slasher Sue, before she give up self-harming. 'Just show her the note. She's giving me a headache.' But Rosetta wouldn't show her the note, and she kept her handbag under her arm holding the straps with both hands.
It was right after dinner and we'd gone back out to the common room, and we's sat in our chairs with our feet on the tables smoking our fags and finishing our coffee. And it's still pretty tense with the row, but relaxing a bit, 'cept for Astrid who's still got the hump 'cause of what Sue the Sticks said. When suddenly the doors swing open and in comes Tony Balaclava.
'Uh-oh!' I says to myself. 'That's me in the soup.' I hadn't forgot about the new girl of course, just 'cause I hadn't said nothing. But the fact of it was with all of their rowing there hadn't been no chance to tell them. And now Tony come in, do you know what I'm saying, and I still hadn't said and I weren't sure how they'd like take it.
The moment he come in, the room gone quiet and the flops all turned to look at Second-Floor Paolo. Now I got to admit that up to then I'd never noticed Paolo, being more took up with Rosetta and that and how she must be feeling, but as the flops all turned to look, we turned to see where they was looking, and there he was with St Paul's by his ear and Canary Wharf just a bit to his right, and Fat Florence wedged in the chair to his left with her hand round his like he'd stuffed it into a Cafe Diana sponge pudding. He looked so different I had to look twice to be sure it was even him, same Second-Floor Paolo been curled up under the dead plant the day before. But that's who it was.
