by Clare Allan
39. How me and Poppy gone up the tower looking for proof
That Saturday me and Poppy met outside the tower. The queue for the fireworks gone twice round the car park and halfway down Abaddon Hill but Wesley had saved us a couple of places right at the front; he'd been sat there since Friday, him and Swiller Steve and Chip and a mountain of empty beer cans. 'Here they are!' White Wesley said as me and Poppy stepped into the light of the entrance. 'Alright girls?' he said. 'Look at you!' 'Look at what?' I said. 'Dig da outfit!' he said. 'You got make-up on?' 'Fuck off!' I said and everyone laughed. Chip give me a wink but I made like I hadn't seen.
Behind us the queue had all started up harping. 'Oi, you! Wait your turn like the rest of us! Can't you see there's a queue, or what!'
'Do you think we should go to the back?' said Poppy. 'Why?' I said. 'Well. . .' she said. 'No fucking way!' I said.'Darkwoods dribblers, innit!' I said. 'Always blaming somebody else. They could of slept out if they wanted,' I said. 'It's first come first served,' I said, 'cause it was and besides of which I couldn't walk no further in my heels.
At seven exactly, not a second before, Sharon unlocked the doors. He held up five fingers. 'Five at a time.' And he counted us off as we gone in the lobby. Wesley then Swiller Steve then Chip, then me, then Poppy and locked the doors behind us. We all had to write in the visitors' book with the name of what flop we was visiting. 'Put Mitchell the Meds,' I said to Poppy. 'I'll put Mitchell the Meds as well. I always visit Mitchell,' I said. 'Or Lee if Mitchell's taken. They's only allowed two visitors each. Look,' I said and I turned back a page and shown her my name from the year before, then the year before that as well. 'Year before that it was Lee,' I said. 'Fucking Margery barged her way in. Year before that it was Mitchell,' I said.
'Get on with it!' growled Security Sharon. He ripped the corner off a foil sachet with his teeth and sucked the drink out.
The lift was piled full of carrier bags. 'What da fuck?' White Wesley said. Then the bags begun to rustle and shift and first a foot appeared then a hand round the side and then the face of Professor Max McSpiegel. 'Is this the seventh floor?'he said. 'Oh dear,' he said. 'I keep going down. I'm trying to get up to the seventh,' he said. 'But this script has got a life of its own. The bags keep pressing against the buttons.'
'We ain't gonna fit in dere,' said Wesley. Sounded like Dizzee fucking Rascal. 'We'll have to wait for de other lift, innit.'
'Perhaps if we piled them up some more,' McSpiegel said and he picked one up what had fell out the side and piled it on top of the others. But as soon as he done it another fell out exactly the same and when he picked that up another fell out and there weren't no holding them back.
'We'll have to wait for de other lift, innit,' White Wesley said, pushing the button again. But there weren't no way I was missing the fireworks standing around for a lift never come, so me and Poppy squeezed down the side, legs spread, arms wide to make like a fence and Professor McSpiegel stacked them behind, do you know what I'm saying; you could feel them all pushing but we never shifted an inch. Then Max McSpiegel stood at the front with his arms stretched side to side. And Chip chucked the last few over his head and pressed number seven. 'See you up there,' he said and he give me a wink as the doors shut.
It must of been 'cause of the bags I reckon but the lift gone so slow, do you know what I'm saying and in jerks as well like Middle-Class Michael was hauling us up on a pulley. Every time the lift give a jerk, one of the bags jabbed into your back or against your leg or so hard in your neck it felt like it lopped your head off. 'What you got in them?' Poppy said.
'Ah!' said Professor McSpiegel.
'It's his book,' I said, 'innit, Poppy,' I said. 'His History of the Abaddon; that's what it is.'
'Ah!' said McSpiegel. 'But which chapter? That's the question.'
'Seeing as how we've helped you,' I said, ignoring him, 'cause once he got going . . . 'Seeing as how we've helped you,' I said. 'Maybe you could help us an' all.'
'Delighted,' said Max McSpiegel.
'Me and Poppy are looking for proof.'
'Ah!' said Professor McSpiegel. 'Proof!'
'We got to prove she's mad,' I said.
'Mad,' said Professor McSpiegel. 'I see.'
'It's not that I don't know about madness,' I said. 'Do you know what I'm saying. I know all there is to know,' I said.
'I been a dribbler since before I was born. My mum was a dribbler and her mum as well and all the way back to Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden and . . .'
'The thing is,' said Poppy.
'The thing is,' I said. 'It's proving it. I never had to prove it,' I said. ' 'Cause it's true, do you know what I'm saying. Everyone always known I was mad since before I was even born,' I said.
'But I'm not mentally ill,' said Poppy. 'I just need to prove I'm mentally ill to get me a lawyer to prove I'm not . . .'
'Poppy,' I said and I give her a nudge. Two carrier bags come toppling out like over between our shoulders. 'He don't need to know all that,' I said. 'All she's saying, Professor, is . . . Well put it like this, Professor,' I said.'How do you prove you's mad?'
'How does one prove one's mad,' said McSpiegel. 'Hm!' he said; he'd of stroked his chin if he didn't got his arms stretched either side to hold up the carrier bags. 'Hm!' he said. 'Presupposing of course, one accepts proof itself as a viable concept . . .'
'What?' I said.
'Presupposing . . .' he said. 'I mean, can one prove anything?' he said.
'Ain't got no choice,' I said. 'We got to.'
'Ah!' said Professor McSpiegel. 'You see. Reality's one thing. The truth quite another. Proof, if proof exists at all, might be seen as the bridge in between them,' he said. 'But is such a construct feasible?'
'Fuckin'ell!' I whispered to Poppy. 'No wonder his book's so long.'
'I'm not being funny, Professor,' I said, 'but all we's asking, do you know what I'm saying, is how to prove you's mad, just like . . .'
'Precisely,' said Max McSpiegel.
'Supposing you had to,' Poppy said.
'Ah,' said McSpiegel. 'But can one be compelled to perform the impossible? Alright,' he said. 'For the sake of argument, let us suppose that rather than proof, which may lie beyond our reach, we are striving instead for the appearance of proof. A sort of Platonism . . . ' he said.
'For fuck sake,' I gone and I turned my head like sideways to look at Poppy. But Poppy was turned to Professor McSpiegel so all I got was the back of her head and a great wodge of papers jabbing my cheek.
'According to Plato,' goes Max McSpiegel, 'what surrounds us is not reality but the appearance of reality, not the truth itself but a reflection of the truth. Imagine,' he goes, 'that this lift is a cave, and we're all chained together . . .'
'Might as well be,' I said. Poppy still didn't turn round.
'And imagine it's dark, maybe just a small fire throwing shadows on to the walls. We've never been outside the cave, so what are in fact merely shadows, reflections, we take for reality. But suppose one of us escapes . . .'
'Hang on!' goes Poppy. 'I heard of that! One of the men escapes from the cave and . . .'
'Alright,' I said. 'I'll tell you what. Why don't I just get out and leave you to it. Seeing as you's so fucking smart,' I said.' Can't see what you need my help for.' Poppy turned at that; I could feel her turn but I never looked, just folded my arms, which I shouldn't of neither, could of been killed — started a fucking avalanche, bags come tumbling down both sides, crashing and smashing and tearing theirselves . . .
'Might as well just get out,' I said, when they'd finished and all gone silent. I couldn't get out 'cause the lift was still going, but anyway that weren't the point. I say it was going; the higher we gone, the slower and jerkier it got. Like a couple of inches and stop for a breather then half an inch, then a couple of inches; reckoned Middle-Class Michael might keel over and die of a heart attack any second.
It taken the nurses best part of an hour to fucking let us in. Poppy was helping Prof
essor McSpiegel, carry his bags one by one out the lift and pile them up on the landing. I stood with my back to them pressing the buzzer again and again and again and again and hammering on the glass and swearing. I seen that Caina go past three times but she never even looked, do you know what I'm saying. I mean, they's getting fucking paid!
'They may be reflections,' I heard Poppy say. 'But they're heavy enough! My arms are aching.'
Professor McSpiegel give a laugh, not a proper laugh, just like 'Hoh, hoh, hoh!' I nearly fucking puked.
When Ptolomea answered the door, she said 'Yes?' I said, 'We come to see Mitchell.' 'Alright,' she said and she pressed the release then stood there, arms folded, chewing. 'Two visitors per patient,' she said. 'Yeah?' I said. 'Me and her!' I said. She scowled as I shown her the pass. Anything, she'd of give, anything to have it said something different. But there it was, VISIT APROVED in red letters. She stared so hard she gone permanent cross-eyed, trying to rejig it, make it say FUCK OFF.
'Do you know which room Mitchell's in?' said Poppy as we gone down the corridor.
'Shall I ask?' she said, 'cause I never said nothing.
'N?' she said.
'Oh, sorry!' I said. 'You speaking to me now?!' I said.
'I'm sorry?' said Poppy.
'Forget it,' I said.
'Look, N,' she said. 'Oh for fuck sake!' she said. And she give a great huff, proper strop!
We was outside the dorm but I couldn't go in, could I, not with us not talking. So I made like I was reading this notice sellotaped up on the wall. 'Abaddon Patients' Rights,' it said. 'Roberta visits the seventh floor on the third Friday morning of every fourth month and the second Wednesday of every third month except when the twenty-first falls on a Sunday . . .'
'N,' she said.
'Get off me!' I said. We stood there ten minutes in silence.
'Look . . .' she said.
'Alright!' I said. 'I'm only doing it for you,' I said.
'I know,' she said. 'I know. I'm sorry.'
'What you having a go at me for? I'm trying to help you out,' I said. 'Get you some proof, do you know what I'm saying.'
'You've been really helpful,' Poppy said.
'And my feet are killing me!' I said.
She patted my arm. 'Come on,' she said. I could swear I heard her sigh.
The other lift must of done twenty trips in the time it taken us thanks to Max McSpiegel. The men's dorm was full to overflowing with Darkwoods dribblers pushing and shoving and crowding the windows and stood on the lockers and hung from the rails round each bed, like dirty washing. Every few seconds one fell to the floor, sworn a bit, rubbed his hands on his jeans, then jumped back up again.
I couldn't see Wesley nowhere at first, then I spotted him. Him, Steve and Chip, in a row on top of the wardrobes. Wesley was writing his name in the air again and again with a sparkler he'd bought off these two Rumanians going round.
'Come on up!' they called.
'You joking?!' we said.
'Nah!' They reached down. 'Come on! We'll give you a haul.'
'Haul yourself!' said Poppy. 'I may have put on, but I don't weigh that much!' And she can't of done neither; my whole life before and let alone my whole life since, I never seen nothing so nimble and swift as the way Poppy Shakespeare jumped up on that wardrobe — not Nadia Commonitch I mean, neither; not nobody, not nothing.
'Come on, N!' shouts Poppy. 'Come up!' She got a sparkler now as well. Like whose idea was this!
'I'll help you up, N,' says Chip, jumping down, almost landed on top of Angelorna, squeezing herself through the crush of bodies to hand out apples and parking.
'No way!' I said. 'I ain't going up there!'
'Come on!' they said.
'I ain't!' I said. 'I'll sprain my ankle.' But in the end I didn't got no choice the way they all gone on. Chip give me a leg up and Wesley pulled and Poppy got hold of my arm and pulled and 'Christ!' I said. 'Good job Astrid ain't coming up here!'
After the fireworks - 'They're amazing!' said Poppy.'I've never seen them before from above! Aren't they incredible, N!' she said. 'It's like looking down on fountains or something. That must be Primrose Hill,' she said. 'And Highbury . . . And Ally Pally, down there . . . This was such a good idea, N!' I shrugged. 'I said they was good,' I said. After the fireworks we stayed on the wardrobes, chatting and eating our parking . . . 'So come on!' said Poppy; we'd been drinking a bit - three quarters of vodka in cartons of orange. 'So come on! How do you prove you're mad?'
'You're the one going to the Dorothy Fish!' said Swiller Steve, taken the hump a bit. 'You're the one going, what you asking us for?
'I was waiting for Poppy to come back at him, and when she never, I give her a look. And that's when I seen she got tears in her eyes. I'm like what?, do you know what I'm saying! You never seen nobody swing so fast, not even Pollyanna before she got stuck. Two seconds ago she's all laughing and joking and loving the fireworks, flying she was, and now CRASH! like you'd ripped her wings off.
'She's alright, man,' White Wesley said. 'She's new. Still finding her feet, no offence. How do you prove you're mad?' he said. 'Well you do mad things, innit,' he said. 'Innit, Poppy!'
But Poppy didn't answer; she was crying now, proper tears. I'm like, Jesus! Do you know what I'm saying! It must of been what Swiller Steve said 'cause there weren't nothing else it could of been, but, it weren't hardly nothing what Swiller Steve said. Darkwoods dribblers was always sniping. 'For fuck sake Poppy, get a grip on yourself!' I'm thinking.
'You alright?' said Chip. You could see he didn't get it neither; none of us didn't. Swiller Steve sat looking down at the top of the wardrobe.
'I'm sorry,' said Poppy.
'Here,' Wesley said, and he give her a bottle of Mellizone. 'Have one of these, take the edge off,' he said. I ain't saying nothing but I swear she taken two if not three 'cause I seen her.
After that visiting time was over. Ptolomea come in, stood propping the door wide open with her big fat arse. We had to queue half an hour for the lift and the whole time I never said nothing. And I never said nothing all the way down the hill and when we got to the turning I never said nothing, just 'See you on Monday,' that's all I said. I never said nothing about her crying, not once, and I done it deliberate.
40. How Poppy come along pretty remarkable good
I'm not being funny but Poppy come along good. Fact she come along pretty remarkable good if you think of how normal she started. Course she had a good teacher, ain't saying it don't help, but right from the start she was adding in stuff of her own like off of her bat. I might of suggested sorting her clothes out, ditching the hipster jeans for a start, and the snakeskin boots, do you know what I'm saying, just like basic dribbling the end of the day, but it was her started gnawing her nails non-stop, like a gerbil gnawing the bars of his cage, and when there weren't no nails left she gnawed at the skin and fucking disgusting it was as well. 'Give it a rest,' I'd say. 'Jesus, Poppy! You's putting me off of my fatty lamb stew!' And she'd stop right away like I'd give it a kick, the cage not the gerbil, do you know what I'm saying, like Mandy's gerbil down Sunshine House, used to gnaw half the night but I ain't going there 'cause I got to get on with the story. Then inside of two seconds she'd start up again.'Poppy!' I'd say and she'd look at me startled; she never even realised, it seemed like sometimes. 'Sorry,' she'd mutter and wander off, smoke a fag out in the common room with her tracksuit bums slipped halfway down her arse, never ate nothing neither, aside of her fingers, that is.
Course two steps forward, one step back, do you know what I'm saying; weren't plain sailing. Sometimes it seemed like she'd lost her nerve. 'What the fuck am I doing, N?' she'd say. 'Look at me! What the fuck's going on! I wouldn't of got out of bed like this two months ago! I mean, look at my hair!' And she'd stand and stare at herself in the mirror, hair hung down like a spaniel's ears, and this look on her face, like 'What is that I've trod in!' . . . 'You just ain't used to it, Poppy,' I'd say. 'That's all it is. Do you know what
I'm saying. It's 'cause you been living like a sniff all your life; you can't see nothing just how it is. I'm not being funny,' I'd say to her, 'but you don't even look that bad, to be honest. You might scrape Low Low Middle,' I said. 'I'm just saying my opinion,' I said. 'You might scrape Low Low Middle,' I said . . . 'I look like a psychopath!' she said. 'You don't,' I said. 'That's what I'm saying. You got to take your sniff specs off. Take your sniff specs off!' I said. She taken them off. 'You see,' I said. 'You look practically normal now,' I said. She frowned. 'I bloody well hope not!' she said. 'You going to be out there all day!' shouted Fran. I give her 'Fuck off!' 'You get used to it,' I said.
That's all I said — I mean, not even that, to be honest, just give her a bit of support. And I weren't no different from anyone else. They was all like, 'Remember when you come in! Stiff as a pole you was, stiff as a pole. Ain't that right, Vern, stiff as a pole. You look much better now. You'll get your money! Taken Michael three attempts!'
'That was to increase the rate,' said Michael. 'They didn't turn me down; they applied the wrong rate. They admitted their error in the end. It was quite a different . . .'
'Whatever!' said Sue. 'All I'm saying, Poppy, is you'll get there. I was like you when I first come.'
'No you weren't!' says like everyone.
'I was,' said Sue. 'I was just like Poppy. Couldn't show what I was feeling inside. That's why I used to slash my arms up. Always dressed stylish over the top. Nice little jacket, boots, you know! But inside . . . Remember how angry you was! Blowing off all over the place!'
'She was awful to me!' says Astrid Arsewipe. 'I was scared to open my mouth! I was!'
'Brian seen through it,' said Sue the Sticks. 'Right from the start he said to me, "There's a sweet girl in there, Sue!" That's what he said. "There's a sweet girl in there!"'
'I seen it,' said Wesley.
'She ain't saying you didn't, is she!' said Astrid, got the hump with Wesley for something. I can't remember what.
