The Laundry Basket

by G. M. C. Lewis

  “You lost me,” says Bruce.

  “Suffice to say, Bruce, she wanted me to take responsibility for her problems and I wanted to unburden her of her problems as much as that’s possible to do, in return for her love. Sounds like a match made in heaven, but unfortunately it didn’t work out and we spent ten years ripping each other to pieces, trying to work out what had gone wrong.”

  “Well I’m sorry to hear that, Hendo.”

  “Well we live and learn, do we not? What about Lara? She still about?”

  “Yeah, she’s still around.”

  “She still hooked up with Jake?”

  “Not really – not seen him about.”

  They hear the back door slam and then the sound of high-heeled shoes on the stairs.

  “Speak of the devil,” says Bruce.

  Lara walks into the room wearing a smart black coat, white blouse, black pencil skirt and white heels. She has blond hair and blue eyes and he has to admit that she would be very pretty if she weren’t so gaunt.

  “Is Cass getting gear?” says Lara.

  “Aye, but I don’t know if there’ll be enough for the whole house,” he says.

  “Don’t worry big boy, I’ve got money.” She pulls out some notes from her pocket.

  “Busy at the shops today,” says Bruce.

  “Yes, and I got you this.” She pulls an inconceivably large book from her coat.

  “Is it the fourth one?” says Bruce excitedly.

  “Yes mate – Goblet of Fire, as requested.”

  “Oh sweetheart, you are good to me,” says Bruce, caressing the cover.

  Lara isn’t done and suddenly pens, pieces of fruit, items of underwear, bits of wire, two mobile phones, five miniature bottles of spirits and four packets of cigarettes appear on the floor, all seemingly magically produced from her coat and tiny handbag.

  “Apples and bananas?” says Bruce. “Couldn’t you have got some pies and burgers?”

  “They’re good for your health, Brucey boy, me old muckah, so get ‘em down ya.”

  “Can I trouble you for one of those fine cigarillos?” says Hendo.

  “Sure,” says Lara and throws him a pack of cigarettes.

  “Ta.” He opens them quickly and takes one out, then slips the rest in his pocket.

  “Ah, ah. One comes free, but the packet costs four quid,” she says.

  “Oh sorry love, I thought we were sharing out my gear when it gets here.”

  “Whatever. I’m getting changed.” Lara walks out. Hendo looks at Bruce and they both smile, thinking the same thing: What a woman, what a nutter! He’s starting to feel better, but then the memory of last night claws back round to the front of his head. He’s not heard from Ben and he should really try and do something before he drops off the planet.

  “Lara,” he shouts, “is there any credit on these phones?”

  “They need unlocking,” comes the voice from next door. “But you can use this,” she says as she walks back in, wearing a shell suit and trainers, and tosses him her phone.

  “Thanks hun.” He walks downstairs, still smoking the cigarette, and finds Anna’s number from his phone and calls it. She answers, says she’s driving, so he says to call her as soon as she’s stopped. She says she’ll pull over right away, so he waits. It’s dark; another day gone without sunlight. Birds are singing somewhere. His phone rings and he realises he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. Three times, four times.

  “Hi Anna, thanks for calling back,” he says.

  “What’s going on?” Her voice sounds shaky.

  “It’s Ben. I’m just a bit worried. We went to the game last night and there was a bit of trouble and we got separated and he didn’t come home. I’ve been calling his mobile, but he’s not answering.”

  “Yeah, me too. Oh God, I was so worried for a second there. Have you any idea what might have happened?”

  “I don’t know. He’s probably just been arrested and spent the night in the lock-up – there was quite a bit of trouble. I just thought I should let you know – I’m not going to be about for a few days, so I thought I should just let you know what’s going on.”

  “Hey thanks, Hendo, I really appreciate it. I’m sure he’s fine, he probably just went to stay with some mates and forgot his charger.”

  “I’m sure that’s it,” he says. He’s actually starting to feel a lot better about the situation himself too.

  “Well thanks again, mate,” she says.

  “Yeah, seeya hun.” He hangs up, drops his cigarette and extinguishes it underfoot.

  Returning upstairs, he finds Cass has arrived and preparations are being carried out in earnest.

  “Ah, wonderful Cass,” he says. “First-class tickets to nirvana all round and don’t spare the horse.”

  “Very good Sir,” says Cass as he heats his spoon, “very good.”

  *

  “What’s with the hat?” says Lara.

  Several hours have passed and Lara has moulded herself to Hendo’s side on the couch. Cass and Bruce have sunk into armchairs so low that only the tops of their heads are showing. They have not spoken for a long time.

  “It’s a sombrero, from the Spanish sombra, meaning shadow. A sombrero is a shadow maker,” he says. After a long pause she says:

  “Yeah, but what’s with it?”

  “Oh, I was doing a spot of busking.”

  “Are you going to play me a tune, then?”

  “Are you going to pay me?”

  “No, but I promise I won’t steal anything off you. How’s that?”

  “You’re a hard bargainer. OK.” He drags himself forwards and gets the guitar, unzips it from its case, then, holding the instrument awkwardly in front of him, begins to play. The guitar is out of tune, so he stops and fiddles with it a while, then starts again. It’s still out but he presses on this time. He’s singing the inescapable Tom Waits again. He gets to the end of the first verse of ‘Sins of my Father’:

  “Night is falling like a bloody axe

  Lies and rumours and the wind at my back

  Hand on the wheel gravel on the road

  Will the pawn shop sell me back what I sold?”

  And then he breaks. He can’t get the chorus out. He begins to sob and his fingers scratch down the strings and stop.

  “Oh,” says Lara. She pats him on the shoulder and then pulls herself up from the couch. He grabs her hand and, with tears streaming down his face, says:

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  “No,” she says flatly. She takes his hand gently from hers, then reaches down and picks up the shadow maker and puts it on his head.

  “Goodnight,” she says as she walks to her room, closes the door and twists the key in the lock.

  Part 2

  Shell Suit

  The fat man draws Lara near to him. She’d seen him checking her out on the platform and positioned herself in the carriage within firing range of his mucky paws. Don’t look for work if the work will come to you, she’d often told herself.

  She’d got his Blackberry within two seconds of bouncing into his rounded belly, but the only other pocket she could get access to contained a solitary, slightly damp handkerchief. She was satisfied with the phone, though; despite its grubbiness, it was a fairly new model and it would ensure that she wouldn’t go without tonight. There was also a middle-aged Indian woman directly behind her who got off at Canary Wharf minus her iPhone and three pound coins. So, by the time Lara got off at Bank, she was off to a flyer. She changed to the Central Line and headed to St Paul’s, which was a new foraging area for her. She would not be going near to Oxford Street for some time now; that great big security guard’s hand on her shoulder had given her the fear something terrible last week and there was no way she’d run the risk of bumping into him again. She never had to run. If you were running, you were doing something badly. But she’d run like hell last week and the bastard h
ad chased her for a long time. Lara had the jump on him but the security guard had got the stamina on her, and she’d thought her lungs were going to explode when she finally lost him by stepping into a doorway, then stepping back out and walking towards the sprinting hulk in a nonchalant window-shopping manner. It was a gamble but it paid off and he ran straight past her full pelt. Sometimes, on a busy street like Oxford Street, a change of rhythm can be as effective as a change of appearance in giving someone the slip.

  Lara tries Dorothy Perkins first; Dotty P’s are usually pretty soft touches. She wanders round the shop, browsing the various items but specifically looking for something from their new range that is expensive. Finally, after a long search, she goes to the changing rooms. The shop assistant outside the curtained cubicles says:

  “Good morning, how many items would you like to try on?”

  “Three,” she says, showing the assistant the three jumpers. The assistant gives her a large plastic tag with the number three imprinted on it. As soon as she is in the cubicle, she puts the three jumpers and the tag she is holding on the small bench and takes out a fourth jumper she has tucked neatly into her coat. She strips it of price tags and labels and then, having located the elongated electronic security tag, she uses a small penknife in her bag to get in the gap and jimmy it open. The tag is old and tired and offers little resistance. She removes her black coat and blouse and puts the jumper on, then puts the blouse and coat back on over the top, picks up the other three jumpers and the tag and steps back out of the cubicle.

  “Well, what did you think?” says the assistant amiably.

  “I really like this one, but I’m not sure if it’s a good fit for me – I mean, I like the design, but it’s not that comfortable round the neck. You’ve got to be comfortable,” she says.

  “Oh, that’s quite right Miss, it’s the most important thing,” says the assistant supportively.

  “I think I’ll get it, but I’m just going to have another little look around,” says Lara. She wanders round the shop a little, slides the electronic security tag under a pile of jeans and then, when a few more customers have walked in, steps back out onto Cheapside. She crosses at a pedestrian crossing and enters a coffee shop directly opposite Dotty P’s. Using the three pounds she stole from the Indian lady on the tube, she buys herself a latte and installs herself in a window seat. She asks the man behind the counter if he’d mind watching her things, then goes to the rest room and removes her coat, blouse and new jumper. She puts her blouse and coat back on and, with new jumper in hand, returns to her coffee.

  At exactly 10.15am, the girl on the till at Dotty P’s goes for a tea break and is replaced by the changing room assistant. Lara crosses at the pedestrian crossing and re-enters the shop.

  “Hello again,” she says to the amiable young girl. “I’m so sorry about this, but I bought this jumper earlier today – I really liked the design – and I got back to the office and put it straight on and I’d been wearing it for maybe ten minutes…” Lara is making a show of scratching at her neck.

  “… And it wasn’t quite comfortable?” completes the girl, smiling.

  “Exactly,” Lara smiles with relief. “I just liked the design so much and… so stupid of me…” she says, shaking her head.

  “Not at all, Miss – it’s the most important thing,” says the shop assistant, as she raises her eyebrows at Lara knowingly. “If you can just give me the receipt and I’ll sort out a refund for you.”

  “Oh no,” Lara looks momentarily crestfallen. She looks in her handbag and says, “I think I had it in the carrier bag and the cleaner was emptying our bins and I think he must’ve just tossed the bag in with the rest because I can’t… seem… to…” she trails off. “Oh dear, so stupid,” she says. “Oh well, nothing to be done,” says Lara, as she looks back up into the sympathetic face of the shop assistant.

  “Listen, I’m not supposed to give refunds without a receipt but I can see this is an honest mistake. Hang on a second,” says the shop assistant as she walks towards the back of the shop. Lara holds her breath. When she sees she is just checking the price of the jumper, Lara surreptitiously pops a security tag from a pair of knickers she had subconsciously picked up and drops them in her bag. The tag falls in with the other knickers and moments later the penknife is back in her pocket.

  “You are so kind, thank you so much,” says Lara to the assistant as she comes back to the till.

  “That’s fine,” says the shop assistant magnanimously. “It’s forty-nine pounds.” She punches the ‘No Sale’ button on the till and counts out forty-nine pounds. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you so much, that’s so very kind,” says Lara and begins to walk out of the shop.

  “Miss?” says the shop assistant.

  “Yes?” says Lara.

  “The jumper.”

  “Oh dear me, so stupid, so stupid,” she says, putting the jumper back on the counter and walking back out of the door with a final thank you and goodbye.

  Lara buys a pack of cigarettes and smokes one in the shadow of St Paul’s Cathedral, then carries on with her work. She runs the strategy again over the lunchtime period but the next shop assistant will only allow her to exchange the goods, so she immediately goes to the sportswear section and gets herself a new shell suit. If she didn’t have to work, she would wear nothing but shell suits day in, day out. They are undoubtedly the most comfortable clothes you can buy. She steals her lunch using a Tesco self-service machine (great inventions) and then remembers she needs to pick up a book for Bruce, so pops into Waterstones at London Wall to do the necessary. She decides that if the next Harry Potter is physically bigger than this one, Bruce will have to go to the library for it.

  Lara picks up another phone on the way home and goes for a pint of Guinness at the Hobgoblin while she waits for Abdul to crack it and the other two phones she’d picked up earlier. The pub is quiet and on the television is a programme where city people with extraordinary sums of money at their disposal look at houses in the country that they might move to. She follows the couple around the screen as they look at various beautiful mansions: one mirrored by the edge of a lake, one concealed deep within an oak forest, another perched on the soft contours of a rolling hill. She realises how out of place she would look in her shell suit, stood next to this man in his Barbour jacket and green wellingtons. She also realises that, after thirty years in London, she wants nothing more now than to go back to Devon; the place where she was born, but has never really lived.

  Lara decides that if she cannot find a man in a Barbour jacket and green wellies to go with her, she will take her shell suits and go on her own.

  Abdul has cracked the phones, no problem. He says:

  “Lara, I couldn’t help but notice, your ‘uncle’ has got some seriously fucked up stuff on that phone – I’d wipe the contents before you sell it, I mean, give it back to him.”

  “OK, I’ll take a look.”

  “If you want, I can wipe it for you now.”

  “That’s OK, Ab, I’ll make sure there’s nothing important on there that my uncle would want to keep and then I’ll wipe it myself. Hey Ab, you ever thought about movin’ to the country?”

  “No darlin’, no jobs there, innit.”

  “I guess, not sure the Barbour would suit you anyway.”

  “Eh?”

  “Ignore me, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Drink plenty of water darling, you hear me, plenty of water!”

  “You’re crazy, Abs!” she says, laughing. “Hasta la vista, baby!”

  When Lara gets back to the squat, she finds Cass is out and Hendo is there with Bruce. Bruce loves his new book. Soon enough, Cass shows up with the horse and not long after that they’re all lined up and feeling fine. Cass and Bruce pass out, but Hendo is full of talking. He gets out some grass and he and Lara smoke a joint. He keeps going on about how ‘the brown and the green will keep you serene’ and it makes her want to laugh and think about the countrysi
de at the same time, so she goes to the toilet to get her head straight. As soon as she closes the door, she feels exhausted and a bit sick. She squats down in front of the sink. Lara thinks about how the brown and the green will make you serene and she laughs a little. She puts her hand in front of her mouth as if to catch it and then she bursts into hysterical laughter, with one hand on the sink and one hand in front of her mouth. She laughs so hard she thinks she might pass out, but finally, thankfully Lara calms down.

  She takes a couple of deep breaths and thinks all of a sudden that she likes Hendo. He seems solid. Maybe she could feel comfortable with him in the countryside. Comfortable, like she was wearing a shell suit.

  She stands up, walks out of the toilet and goes over to Hendo, who is lying on the couch and curls up next to his side.

  “What’s with the hat?” she says.

  Suits

  The nausea seems to be passing. He rises slowly, careful not to set his head spinning again, using his arms as levers against the sink as well as his legs. A square in the centre of the mirror is heated from behind and stays mist-free. He used to love these little details that delicately intimated the luxury he had managed to afford for himself and his family: the fridge that makes two kinds of ice, the garage door that opens automatically when his car approaches, the voice-activated entertainment system, the roundabout at the front of the house with the little maple tree in the middle. But, as he looks into his half-shaven face in the small heated square of mirror, he feels unease within himself that he has allowed a collection of frivolous crap to become his trophies, to emulate his worth, to validate his life.