by Phil Earle
‘What’s this, Bex?’ Patrick shouted. ‘No one told me they changed the date of Halloween!’
Naturally, Naomi took exception to what he said and hurled a cushion in his direction. ‘Shut up, dickhead. Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?’
From there it was just another couple of insults until they were both on their feet, pacing towards each other, two carers apiece hanging off their arms.
What was it with this place? I couldn’t keep up with it or handle how volatile it constantly seemed to be.
Breathing deeply, I retrieved the tobacco from my pocket and busied my hands.
The chaos didn’t last long, as the new woman strode into the middle of the room, wedging herself between the pair of them. She was smaller by some distance, but there was an air about her, and with a single word and a pointed finger she put them firmly back in their boxes.
Her face was stern but not threatening, and as soon as peace was restored she softened, especially when her gaze landed on me.
‘Brilliant,’ she beamed as she pulled off her jacket, tossing it carelessly on the back of a settee. ‘Right, everyone, so sorry I’m late. Yet another meeting. I’m guessing I’m probably the only one to have not met her yet, but this is our new resident, Daisy Houghton.’
There were smiles and greetings from everyone, which made me feel self-conscious, picking nervously at the tobacco peeking out of my cigarette.
‘We’re delighted to have you here,’ she went on. ‘My name’s Bex and I’m apparently in charge of this place.’
Patrick of course saw this as the perfect opportunity for more insults, but everyone seemed to ignore him and Bex continued.
‘You’re probably wondering why everyone is here, and in part it’s to welcome you, but it’s also part of our daily routine. Monday to Friday, three o’clock, come hell or high water, we get together in here. We call it our “community meeting”. Sometimes we don’t talk much, sometimes we don’t shut up for forty-five minutes, but whichever it is, it has to happen. I suppose what I’m saying, Daisy, is that many things are optional here, but community meeting isn’t. And if you choose not to come then we’ll just come to you.’
‘They bloody do as well,’ moaned Naomi. ‘Everyone’s teacups are still in my room from last week.’
‘And strangely enough you’ve been here every day since,’ laughed Ade, sticking her tongue out at her.
‘Daisy, I don’t want to put you on the spot,’ said Bex, ‘but is there anything you wanted to say by way of introduction?’
I crinkled my nose and shook my head. Why would I do that? Did she think I was proud to be here?
She seemed fine with that. Patrick wasn’t, though.
‘She’s been a barrel of laughs since she arrived,’ he moaned. ‘Serious case of verbal diarrhoea, this one.’
Bex saw this as the perfect opportunity to turn her attention elsewhere, much to my relief.
‘That’s no problem, Daisy. Take all the time you need, and know that everyone, staff or resident, is here to help you.’ She turned to Patrick. ‘So, Paddy. As you’re so keen to talk today, maybe you can guide us through what went on last night?’
His chest swelled with pride, seeming to take pleasure in being the centre of attention. ‘What?’ he crowed. ‘What’s a few glasses of vodka between friends?’
‘Oh, I didn’t know about the vodka. I … er –’ and she looked to the rest of the staff in mock-surprise – ‘I don’t think any of us knew you’d been drinking, but we’ll be sure to have the vodka from your room straight after this.’
Patrick blushed a deep angry red.
‘What I’m talking about was what went on during dinner last night. Anyone care to fill me in?’
There was a rush of voices as Naomi, Patrick and even Susie all raced to get their points across. It was like listening to a bunch of pre-schoolers fighting for teacher’s attention.
Bex, to her credit, was patient with them, listening to their wildly varying stories, not smiling or laughing at the ridiculous lines they were coming out with. Floss and Ade weren’t quite so controlled, Floss hiding her face behind a cushion as Naomi wailed about how she’d been disrespected. You couldn’t see her face, but you could make out her shoulders shaking with laughter.
Once the witness statements had been made, Bex wasted no time in setting everyone straight, and although her words were direct, there was no sense of anger in any of them.
‘It sounds to me like everyone forgot the basic rule about what we’re trying to achieve here. It’s all about respecting people. Naomi, you know why you were given wooden cutlery – it’s something we’ve discussed here time and again. We can’t allow you to take knives from the kitchen and hurt yourself with them. We care about you too much to let that happen.’
Naomi stared at her, unblinking, but the way she sucked her teeth, her head tilted slightly to one side, showed she didn’t want to hear it.
Bex turned to Patrick, who was sat back, arms spread across the width of the settee. He was trying to look brave, but on his own on the four-seater he just looked lonely.
‘And as for you, Paddy … well, you need to consider your part in this too. Do you not think it would’ve been respectful to keep out of Naomi’s conversations? Don’t you think it might be difficult for her to see her privileges taken away? The last thing she needs is you crowing about it.’ She flicked her eyes between the two of them, before looking at the five of us in turn.
‘Daisy arriving is an important moment for us as a group, so let’s use it, shall we? Let’s focus these next few days and weeks on showing each other some respect. Try and help each other, not rip each other’s eyes out, yeah?’
There was a begrudging ‘yeah’ from the two of them, plus a more enthusiastic response from Susie, who looked less interested in Jimmy now and seemed more interested in hugging Bex.
Nothing further was said about the incident. In fact, as Bex took a seat next to Patrick, squeezing his hand warmly in the process, the tone of the meeting seemed to turn on its head and the next fifteen minutes were spent discussing the summer holidays that lay ahead.
It was so frantic, the pace at which things changed. Only minutes after the heated conversation ended, both Naomi and Patrick were getting excited about a trip that Maya was planning for the next week. And by the end of the meeting they had the whole of their holiday mapped out, with most of it being spent together.
It was head-spinning stuff. Stuff you couldn’t have made up. Not if you expected people outside the walls to believe it was true.
Chapter 28
No one was disappointed to see the end of the meeting and as we left the lounge I half-expected to hear Naomi and Patrick renew hostilities. But the ceasefire seemed to be holding firm for now.
Eric, though, wasn’t feeling quite so friendly towards Patrick.
‘So, Paddy, do you want to tell me where the vodka is in your room? You do know we’re going to have to take it, don’t you?’
It was Naomi who answered for him.
‘Why can’t you lot just leave it alone for once?’ she spat. ‘It’s the way you treat us that makes us need a drink in the first place!’
Eric ignored her, his gaze still on Patrick, who didn’t look in the least bit concerned.
‘You can look for as long as you want. You’ll never find it.’
‘Are you giving us permission, then? Do you want to come and watch us do it?’
‘Nah, just make sure you leave the place tidy. I had the maid in earlier in the week and she’s worked wonders with it.’
Eric rolled his eyes and turned away. He’d obviously heard Patrick’s patter before.
‘Oh, if you get chance,’ barked Patrick, ‘there’s some socks that need pairing as well.’ He waited a few seconds until Eric turned the corner, before uttering, ‘Dickhead.’
Naomi thought it was brilliant, slapping P
atrick on the shoulder before turning to me. ‘We’re going for a smoke,’ she said. ‘Fancy coming and working your magic for us?’
The thought of sitting in my room didn’t appeal, and as Jimmy and Susie seemed to be following them as well, I agreed, falling in behind as we headed towards the balcony.
It was still sunny out and the balcony offered some shade and a slight breeze.
The others slumped on the wicker chairs that littered the area and although there was space next to Patrick – this seemed to be a bit of a theme – I leaned against the wooden beam. It may not have been comfy, but it felt a lot safer.
‘Such a waste of forty-five minutes,’ Naomi moaned as she tossed her tobacco towards me. ‘Do the honours, will you?’
I smiled weakly and pulled a cigarette paper from the packet.
‘Oh, and do one for Paddy as well, will you?’
‘Cheers, mate.’
I couldn’t work out the allegiances but tried to look uninterested. As long as I blended in, everything would be fine. They’d leave me alone and vice versa.
I bashed a couple of rollies together in smart time and handed them over. They turned them round, looking at them from different angles, before giving me approving nods.
‘Told you she was handy, didn’t I?’ Naomi cooed, proud that she’d been the one to discover this ‘talent’ I had.
‘Aye, not bad. Just as well, I suppose, cos she doesn’t seem to be much use for anything else.’
It was another typical Patrick comment, but it was one that didn’t slide away, as for some reason Susie took exception to it.
‘And what would you know, Paddy?’ she asked. ‘Daisy’s only been here a day and you reckon you know all about her. It’s rubbish, that is.’
I was grateful for her support and if I wasn’t trying to blend into the background I’d have spared her a smile. It must’ve taken guts to say anything at all, especially when she was nearly a foot smaller than him, her voice a mousy squeak against his growl.
‘I’ve seen enough like her to know she’s no different. Give her a couple of months and she’ll get shipped on just like Patty did. Sad cow.’
My face burned. I had no idea who Patty was or what had happened to her. I didn’t even know if the sad cow was me or her. But I told myself not to listen, choosing to roll and light a cigarette of my own.
‘Nice Zippo,’ said Jimmy. ‘Used to have one myself but gave it to a lass.’
‘Groupie, was she?’ Naomi asked, her voice full of sarcasm.
That didn’t seem to register with Jimmy though. ‘Not really. I didn’t get off with her or nothing. She was just this girl who started hanging around after gigs. She appeared wherever we were playing.’
‘You sure it wasn’t your mum?’ Naomi found herself hilarious. ‘You do realize there are rules against calling your mum a groupie, don’t you?’
Patrick saw this as his chance to weigh in as well. ‘Was this before or after you met Simon Cowell, Jim? I can never keep up with the timeline on this. Had you signed the deal by then? Or was this before you went platinum?’
Jimmy switched off. He didn’t look angry or embarrassed. Instead he got to his feet and pulled his mobile from his pocket. After staring at the screen for a moment, he looked at the others and pointed to his phone.
‘Yeah, yeah –’ Patrick nodded – ‘we know. You need to take this. Go for your life, kidda. After all, it could be your manager again. World tour this time, who knows.’
‘Europe first,’ beamed Jimmy, no trace of a joke in his voice, and he planted one of his long arms on the balustrade before vaulting to the grass below, pressing the phone to his ear and talking loudly.
‘That boy is an absolute friggin’ loon,’ barked Patrick. ‘I swear it’s getting worse not better. He’s taking calls from that “manager” of his every day now.’
‘He’s not hurting anyone, is he?’ whispered Susie.
‘Hurts my bloody ears, he does. Forever drumming on tables and going on about life on the road. He needs to be careful they don’t ship him out of here for somewhere more serious. They lock others up for a lot less – the sort of places they don’t let you out of. Not until they’ve taken a chunk of your brain away first.’
Susie looked over at Jimmy, her face so washed with concern that I had to chip in too.
‘It can’t be complete fantasy, though, can it?’ My voice sounded brave and certain, more so than I actually felt. ‘I mean, he’s on the phone to someone, isn’t he?’
Naomi laughed. ‘Did you hear the phone ring?’
‘Well, no, but he’s probably got it on vibrate or something.’
She shook her head, looking at me like I was as nutty as him. ‘Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, you have a lot to learn. Firstly, that phone of his is at least ten years old. There’s no way he could even send a text on it, never mind set it to silent.’
‘And secondly,’ interrupted Patrick, ‘and probably more importantly, there’s no frigging battery on the back of it.’
He had barely got his words out before collapsing into a fit of laughter. Naomi joined in as they high-fived each other, finding new words to describe just how crazy Jimmy was.
I turned to Susie as they howled. ‘Is that right?’ I asked. ‘His phone does work, doesn’t it?’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Never has from what we can see. He left it in the lounge once and there’s a gap where the battery would fit.’
I exhaled slowly and looked over to Jimmy, who was in the garden, phone still clamped to his ear. Whoever it was talking to him, he believed it entirely, and obviously loved them as well, as I could still see the beam of his smile as he chatted away.
A cheer from Patrick brought my attention back. He’d whipped a plastic bottle from underneath his jumper and I knew he was far too excited for the contents to be just water.
‘You know I said they’d never find the vodka?’ he bragged. ‘Here’s why! I put it all in here.’
You’d have thought he’d invented the wheel, not learned how to pour liquid from one container to another, and after a long swig from the bottle, he passed it on to Naomi, who did the same.
She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and paused, gesturing to Patrick to see if she should pass it on to me.
His mouth curled into a frown before thinking better of it. ‘Yeah, why not? Let’s see if she’s a better drinker than she is a talker, eh?’
Naomi thrust the bottle into my hand and told me to knock myself out. For a second the devil in me took over, wondering how much cooler it would be just to pour the vodka on to the ground, or better still to take a mouthful before spraying it all over him, anything to pay him back for the way he spoke to me and to the others.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t that brave. Instead I took the bottle to my lips and swigged hard, hoping that whatever was in there would take the edge off things and make the day pass that bit quicker.
It wasn’t the worst thing I’d tasted, no worse than the watered-down beer I’d drunk at so many parties.
‘Easy, will you?’ Patrick moaned, lurching forward to snatch the bottle from me. ‘No need to take it all, you greedy cow.’
I held my hands up in mock surprise, ignoring the heaving of my stomach. I wanted to tell him to make his mind up. Did he want me to be one of them or not?
‘I’m hardly going to get trashed on this now, am I?’ he moaned. ‘Not on this thimbleful.’
‘Won’t they know you’ve been drinking anyway? Smell it on your breath?’
Naomi shook her head in despair. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, you have. That’s why you should only do vodka. Gin or whisky you have to hide with chewy afterwards, but vodka, they can hardly smell it. You won’t even need a Polo to put them off the scent.’
Whether it was true or not I had no idea, but they believed it. It seemed to be one of their rules, their ways of surviving life here, and as
they rambled on, imparting other scams to keep the carers at bay, I sat back, listened and rolled myself another fag. Whether it was true or not, once you had a bit of vodka inside you, it was certainly entertaining.
Chapter 29
They might have been volatile and erratic, but both Naomi and Patrick seemed to have life at Bellfield mastered, and for the next few days their methods suited me fine.
The education unit in the new part of the building was closed for the summer, so with no lessons to attend the days were long and lazy.
I did everything I could to minimize the amount of time I spent up and about, and was helped in no small part by the medication they continued to feed me.
The side-effect pills seemed to have kicked in, because there was no repeat of the weird spasms, but as for the other meds? Well, they knocked me on my arse.
Mornings were the most difficult. I seemed to wake up each day in the middle of the most horrific fog, a clinging heavy cloud that immersed me, messing with the simplest of thought processes. It was then that the anxiety gripped hardest. Although the new-paint smell was dying (thanks to a number of industrial-strength incense sticks), the daily realization that Dad had gone was too much to deal with, and was followed quickly by a sharp dose of finger pointing and guilt.
For at least the first half-hour of every day, I’d lie there, waiting for the panic to creep up and grab me. It’d niggle and tease, threatening to bite whenever it chose, but strangely, despite the constant threat, it never quite did. I put this down to the pills. I was sure it had nothing to do with me.
By the time I was showered and hidden inside another of Dad’s shirts, it would be mid to late morning, but however long I lingered I was always the first one to rise. The carers were so pleased to see me I thought they were in danger of breaking into a Mexican wave. The really bored ones even made me breakfast, or at least a cup of tea while I battled with the toaster.
It was always lunchtime before all five of us were up, and we’d gather in the lounge, waiting to hear what was planned for the afternoon. With the sun wilting everything in sight, this meant late afternoons on the beach, and although we were hardly talking about the tropics – this was England, after all – it was still fine by me.
