by Clare Allan
It was Poppy decided her next assessment, 'stead of trying to get let out, she'd aim for a decent reference. I warned her: 'You got to be careful,' I said. 'They's weird that way, doctors. You tell them you's mad; that's just when they'll make up their minds you been cured.' 'Well, good,' she says. 'I'm trying to get out. That'll save me from going through the hassle of Leech's.' 'I'm just saying,' I said. 'You got to be careful.' It weren't like I didn't warn her.
But that's just the way Poppy Shakespeare was; once she'd made up her mind, do you know what I'm saying . . . Assessment day morning, in she comes, looked like a ghost she was that fucking pale and rings round her eyes like Marta the Coffin would kill for. 'No need to overdo it,' said Astrid, give her a nervous once over.
Astrid then Brian then Candid then Dawn, one by one they all gone off and one by one they all come back. 'I feel sick,' said Tadpole. 'I do; I feel sick.' Gita kept turning her magazine. 'What's up with Rhona?' said Candid Headphones.
'What do you mean what's up with her?' said Sue the Sticks, bit grumpy as well. It was nerves; she weren't normally like that.
'She smiled at me,' says Candid Headphones. 'Rhona the Moaner smiled at me.'
'Bollocks!' said Verna. 'You're so full of crap!'
'Suit yourself!' says Candid and turned her Walkman back up to blasting.
'I thought she seemed friendlier,' said Michael. 'Last Communication Group. We might have to instigate a change of name . . .'
'She never smiled at me,' said Astrid.
'Must be getting it,' Wesley said.
And Omar said something, but you couldn't hear what, on account all the pick 'n' mix tumbling about in his mouth.
I wouldn't call it smiling exactly, the look what Rhona give me. But it's true there was something going on and I ain't just saying that benefit of hindsight. I know because I said at the time, I said to Omar as he gone in, I said, 'Is it me, or what's with Rhona?' and you can ask him as well 'cause I'm pretty sure he'd remember.
Poppy thought Rhona was really pissed off. 'With you?' I said. 'Not with me,' she said. 'I don't know,' she said. 'Do you know what I'm saying, though?' 'Yeah,' I said. 'Maybe.'
We was walking down Abaddon Hill that night. It was so fucking dark you couldn't hardly see nothing. Down at the bottom, Borderline Road was like the lights round the shore, do you know what I'm saying, like when me, Mum and Shirley gone out in a boat and I seen a seagull snatch a bit of fish.
' 'Bout time they done something about these lampposts,' I said to Poppy.' 'Fore someone gets killed. It's the whole of the Darkwoods as well,' I said. 'Must be on the same wiring or something . . . That's what Tony said,' I said.
'I know,' Poppy said. 'You said.'
'They's just upset 'cause of Wesley and Verna,' I said. 'It ain't 'cause of nothing you done . . . Just looking for someone to blame,' I said. 'Fucking dribblers! Do you know what I'm saying! I said to them, I said, "Don't pick on Poppy. Ain't her fault, is it, they got discharged."''
When did you say that?' said Poppy.
'You must of been out in the toilets,' I said. 'I said, "Maybe it's time they kicked you out, Astrid. Ain't done you much good has it, being here so long!" ' I seen Poppy smile as she taken a drag. 'Can't hardly believe I said it!' I said. 'Can you imagine!'
'No,' said Poppy.
' "Maybe it's time they kicked you out, Astrid!" Fuckin 'ell!' I said.
'The thing is,' said Poppy. 'What if they're right?'
'Astrid?!' I said. 'But I stuck up for you!'
'Not Astrid,' said Poppy. 'The doctors and Tony and . . .What if I am going mad?' she said. 'Then it all starts to make sense, doesn't it? Maybe they're just trying to help me,' she said. 'Maybe I'm so mad I don't know I'm mad. Do you think so, N? Do you think I could be?'
'Don't ask me,' I said. 'I'm mad myself.'
'It's like I'm in no man's land,' she said. 'I don't know where I belong any more. It was Saffra's parents' evening last night. I couldn't go in, do you know what I'm saying. We got to the school; I just couldn't go in. Saffra's like "Come on, Mum!" but I couldn't. I couldn't even go through the gate. I just couldn't; I can't describe it, N. I couldn't face seeing everyone; that was part of it, but it was more than that. It was like I was almost paralysed. I was paralysed; I couldn't move. I'm just stood there with Saffra tugging my arm and I honestly thought, I'm serious, N, I honestly thought for a second at least, they'd have to call an ambulance. I mean, what would I have said when they came! "I can't move. I'm sorry; I just can't move. I can't go in and I can't go back." Can you imagine! But that's how it felt.'
'So what happened?' I said.'
Well I sort of snapped out of it,' Poppy said. 'We just went back home. It was awful, though. 'Cause they're all arriving, like everyone, and Saffra's in tears and I'm trying to like pull her. "I can't help it, Saffra, can I!" I said. "I can't fucking help it if I don't feel well!" I swore!' said Poppy. 'I never swear. Not at Saffra, never, not ever, not once. It was awful, and everyone's going past, and you can see what they're thinking, I mean, not that I care, but do you know what I'm saying, you can tell they all know. And I can't blame them either, I'd have been just the same. Well I don't know though actually, I would have said something. But then maybe I wouldn't; you just can't tell. I mean, I've known Kate since antenatal class. Talk about a neurotic mother! Used to ring me up fifteen times a day. "Do you really think he's eating enough?" . . . "Kate," I said. "Chill! If he's hungry, he'll eat." I know she saw me; she looked so embarrassed. They all did, N, it was like I'd pissed myself.'
41. How me and Poppy got more and more closer and told each other stuff
With every week passed me and Poppy got more and more closer. I gone round her flat like all the time, become like a second home pretty much, especially at weekends with Saffra round Dud's. She even give me my own set of keys, least she lent me them once when I gone to the shop and I never give them back. She give me loads of fucking stuff as well. 'I just want rid of it,' she'd say. Like everything, her hair straighteners, ten pairs of shoes (they pinched, but still), her juicer she'd never even used, a digital camera, a stack of CDs; everything. 'I just want rid of it!' Between that and the stuff she'd sold on eBay to pay for Mr Leech, there weren't hardly nothing left in the flat, except for Saffra's toys of course; she didn't get rid of those. She emptied her wardrobes out as well, three bin-liners full, for Oxfam she said. 'I just want rid of it, N, to be honest.' 'You don't want to waste it on Oxfam!' I said. 'That's good stuff in there!' and I taken them home, three bin-liners, one each day.
I met Dud as well, just the one time I met him, when he brought Saffra back one Sunday night. We'd been lain on the sofa all day watching vids and drinking and smoking and chatting and stuff, really nice, when the buzzer gone. 'Shit!' says Poppy. 'What time is it? Fuck! Oh my God, N! Quick! No, you stay in here. Just open the windows!' And she rushed out the room.
Well then I heard the buzzer again and Poppy shouting into the phone. 'Alright, alright! Come on up.' And even while they was climbing the stairs I could still hear her crashing around in the kitchen and I opened the windows like she said and I had a look out but I couldn't see nothing 'cept the old people staring opposite and this flashy red car what was parked in the street below. Then I heard her open the door. 'Saffra! Oh, darling! Give Mummy a hug. Did you have a nice time!' Then this man starts talking, really posh, I mean really posh, make Middle-Class Michael sound practically common. 'Poppy. Look Poppy, we need to talk. This can't go on.' 'Not now,' says Poppy. 'Not now, alright, Dud; I'll give you a call.' 'Yes, now!' says Dud. 'I'm not going till we've talked. You say you'll call . . .' 'I will, Dud. I will. I know . . . Fuck off! You can't just barge in my fuck . . .' and suddenly the door burst open and this man come in, seen me, and stopped. Fact he pulled hisself up so sharp and short it was like he'd slammed into a wall.
He was fucking good-looking, that's the first thing I thought. I'd of fancied him, I honestly would, if it weren't for Poppy was my friend and stuff, which even if they w
asn't together no more it was still like hands off 'cause that's me. But I did wish I wasn't still in my pyjamas, MAD ones as well, what I'd nicked off the ward, and I wished it especially when Poppy come through and I seen she was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, must of rushed through and changed when he buzzed. It was weird seeing her stood there next to Dud. I don't know what it was exactly; he weren't dressed smart -just a jumper and jeans, which if anything Poppy's was smarter, and he hadn't shaved neither and his shoes was all scuffed - but something about him, I don't know; it's just Poppy looked different stood alongside. Shabby almost; the whole flat looked shabby in fact.
'This is N,' said Poppy.
And I nodded. 'Alright?'
But for all he was posh he didn't got no manners. A pig got better manners than him. Do you know what I'm saying, no 'Alright?' or nothing, just turned away, 'Jesus, Poppy!' he said, like I weren't even there at all. Poppy made like I weren't there as well but she said sorry later on account she been stressed. I might of forgot I was there myself, if it weren't for that Saffra stood holding her hand and glowering at me like I'd murdered her fucking mother.
If there's one thing used to drive Poppy mad, it was every time she got a letter saying why she'd failed her appeal.
They always said the same, more or less. 'This is a letter about your appeal against our decision not to change our decision not to award you MAD money. You asked us for an explanation why we made this decision. This decision was based on the information you provided in your appeal. Your referees may also have been contacted. If you think this decision is wrong, you must write to us WITHIN ONE MONTH . . .'
'What do they want me to do?!' she'd go. 'Jesus Christ, N! What more do they want!' And the thing is I didn't know what to say, to be perfectly honest; I honestly didn't.'You just got to keep on appealing,' I said. 'That's something at least. You can keep on appealing.' She's like, 'What fucking good . . .' 'Alright, Poppy!' I said. 'Don't have a go at me!' I said. 'I'm just saying, that's all. You can keep on appealing. It ain't my fault,' I said. 'Jesus Christ!' But the thing is although Poppy always said sorry and how she was just stressed and stuff like that and it weren't my fault and I knew it weren't, I couldn't help feeling like underneath maybe she reckoned it was. It weren't like I give half a fuck if she did to tell you the truth, I mean what can you do. I done my best, do you know what I'm saying, but the fact is I wanted to help her out 'cause that's just the way I am.
'You rung them up, Poppy?' I says to her. 'They got this number, you can ring them up.'
'Have I rung them up!' she said. 'Only like fifteen hundred times. Do you know what I'm saying, N, you can't get through!'
'You got to keep trying, Poppy,' I said. 'I'm not being funny but most probably they're busy. You just got to keep on trying,' I said.
'You try!' she said.
'I will,' I said.
'I've spent fucking hours trying to get through!' she said.
'If you give me the letter, I'll do it,' I said.
'I'm not kidding, N. I mean hours, I've spent.'
'Alright!' I said. 'So just give me the letter; I'll do it.'
Well I didn't got no choice after that, I fucking had to get through. And I didn't got no phone, just to make life easy. I used to have one till they taken it off me. 'You haven't paid your bill,' they said. 'I ain't made no calls,' I said. 'I been in fucking hospital.' 'You still need to pay your bill,' they said, 'for having the facility. You could have made calls.' 'I couldn't,' I said. 'I told you, I been in hospital.' Tony offered to sort it out - to be fair to him, that's one thing he done. 'Ah, fuck it!' I said. 'Let them take it. I can't be arsed.' And I didn't miss it neither to be honest with you. You's better off not having a phone than having a phone don't ring. The only time my phone ever rung was the phone people ringing me up to complain I hadn't paid my bill. I used to lift the receiver and listen, just to make sure I still got a tone.
Would of come in handy though, having a phone 'stead of going down the phone box every time I rung up the MAD Assessments. I must of called them a million times, every morning on my way up the hill and every night on my way back down, when I didn't go round the Gatehouse with Poppy or else back to her flat which I did half the time, then I'd have to say, 'Go on, I'll catch you up. I just got to ring my friend a minute.' 'You can ring them from mine,' she'd say. 'Nah,' I'd say. 'You're alright. You go on ahead.' And she'd smile to herself- don't know what she thought! Must of thought I was having an affair or something! - and carry on down Sniff Street. Then I'd sneak the letter out my tracksuit pocket and dial the number and wait. I must of spent easy a thousand pounds, all my fucking MAD money! But then one day this dribbler was waiting outside, Indian he was, with a chestful of medals, and he seen me putting the money in and when I come out he said, 'What are you doing! You need to get a phone card. What are you doing!' And he give me one just like that, for nothing. 'I see you every day,' he said. 'I call my brother in Hyderabad. Freephone British Gas,' he said, and he stamped his foot and done me a salute.
Whenever you rung the MMA, it was always the same voice answered. 'Thank you for calling MAD Money Appeals Ltd. We are sorry but all our operators are busy at the moment taking calls from other clients. Your call is being held in a queuing system and we estimate will be answered in approximately (pause) TEN (pause) minutes.' Then they give you this music to listen while you waited and it weren't so much that I minded the music; I mean, take it or leave it, do you know what I'm saying, I ain't got a problem with classical, but when you're stood there watching your card going down, or feeding in pound coins every two seconds, ain't exactly the most relaxing time for taking in highbrow culture.
After five minutes she come back to you, told you you got another five minutes then stuck on the music again.
After two and a half she was back again and again after one and a quarter. After that she was counting in seconds. 'Thirty-seven point FIVE seconds.' 'Eighteen point seven FIVE seconds.' 'Nine point three seven FIVE seconds.' 'Four point six eight seven FIVE seconds.' With a quick blast of music between each one. 'Two point three four three seven FIVE seconds.' And every time like faster and faster and higher and higher like Donald Duck, like my mum done with records when I was a kid, used to play them the wrong speed on purpose to crack me up.
The longer you waited, the longer you thought, if I give up now, do you know what I'm saying, you've just wasted the money then, innit. You couldn't even tell what she was saying no more; it all merged together in a single shriek, 'Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii', with no beginning or end or nothing till you hung up the phone or your card run out like three months' benefit later.
So when someone picked up, do you know what I'm saying, it just thrown me a bit on account of I weren't expecting it. I didn't even wait, like two rings and I'm through. 'MAD Money Appeals,' she said - I almost dropped the fucking phone. 'This is Trish speaking. How can I help you?'
'Oh?' I said. 'Right.' 'Can I help you?' she said. 'Oh,' I said. 'Right. Gis a sec,' I said. I taken a deep breath and with my free hand I unzipped my pocket and got out the letter. One time they answer I ain't fucking ready. 'I'm calling,' I said. 'I'm ca . . . I'm ca . . . I'm . . . I'm . . . I'm . . . Ma . . . Ma . . . Mad money claim,' I said. 'OK,' she said. 'Do you happen to have your National Insurance number?' 'My what?' I said. 'Hang . . . ang . . . ang . . . Jussa sec' I scrunched up the paper besides the receiver like I'm desperately searching through mountains of crap. 'Just your address will do fine,' she said. 'Nah,' I said. 'S'OK. Hang . . .ang. . .jussa sec. . .' Then I read her the number from off of the letter. 'OK,' she said. 'Alright,' she said. 'Come on!' she said. 'I'm sorry, it's this computer; it takes forever.' 'I'm . . . I'm . . . I . . . I'm nnnervous of phones.' 'Come on!' she said. 'You never know who . . . who . . . who . . .who's lllistening, do you?' 'Ah!' she said. 'Alright, here we are.' 'I'm pppp . . . pa . . . pa . . . pa . . . paranoid,' I said. 'Oh my God!' she said. 'Poppy!' she said. 'I don't believe this! Poppy Shakespeare? Is that you!' 'Yeah,' I sa
id. 'Urn . . . um . . . yeah . . . yeah . . . yeah, it is!' Alright, girl, I'm thinking. Alright, girl, keep cool . . . 'It's me!' she said. 'Trish! You know, Kilkenny Trish?' I almost hung up then and there, I did. 'Kilkenny Trish from Harbinger Krapwort Harbinger!' Fuck, shit, bugger, I'm thinking. 'So how are you, Poppy?' says Kilkenny Trish. 'Ay-oh,' I said. 'Yeeooo knayoh!' Gone all la-di-da. Don't know why, it just happened, born actress or something. 'Are you alright, Poppy?' she said. 'How's Saffra?' 'Little daaaaahrling!' I said. 'She's a lahv!' 'And how's Dud?' she said. 'Or shouldn't I ask?' 'Ay-oh,' I said. 'Yeeooo knayoh!' 'I do!' She laughed. I laughed. I'm like what the fuck. 'You know I lost my job,' she said. 'I'm back in Kilkenny now staying with my parents.' 'Ay-oh deeahh!' I said. 'Semply awwwful for yeoo!' 'You sound really different. Are you alright?' she said.
So then of course I had to get back to why I'd rung up in the first place. 'Cause she'd thrown me a bit do you know what I'm saying, all that la-di-da business, forgot where I was and now I was worried I'd gone and blown it by coming over too normal. So I give it full throttle, do you know what I'm saying, all about how mental I was, all that slashing my arms up and puking and shit, and how Al Qaida put a bug in my brain and was playing my thoughts live to the Taliban and they wanted to turn me into a suicide bomber. And I told her how there was like seven of me. ' "Multiple personalities", that's what they call it,' I said to her. 'All different, they are, and they talk different too. And some of them sound almost normal,' I said. 'But they're the most maddest of all.'
I got to admit I thought Poppy be pleased when I told her about what had happened. I run up the hill to the Abaddon, and I sat there and waited, weren't even half-nine, like puffing and sweating and wheezing away and all buzzed up do you know what I'm saying to tell her how slippy I'd been. But the thing is with Poppy you just couldn't tell. She was so fucking moody, I'm not being funny, she was worse than Astrid, she honestly was, and sometimes it did piss me off a bit, like especially when I'd gone out of my way to help her, do you know what I'm saying, and all I got back was a slap in the face. I used to think why fucking bother.
