by CJ Morrow
Ella went downstairs and waved Sam and Charlie off. She stood at the main entrance watching them as they drove away. Just before she stepped back inside her upstairs neighbour came in. She’d met him once or twice on the stairs. He was a little older than her and hot, very hot. She knew he lived in a rather more spacious flat than she did; he had at least two bedrooms.
‘Hi,’ he said, giving her a great big, beaming smile.
‘Hi,’ Ella beamed back. Well, a smile like that from a hot guy would lift any girl’s spirit.
He went up the stairs and Ella followed him. Just before he went up the next flight of stairs he turned and smiled at Ella again, it was almost a laugh.
Wow, that felt good. Who knows, maybe her prayers were being answered already.
She went back into her bedsit, closed the door behind her, locked it, leant on it. Sam was right, things could only get better.
She went into the bathroom; saw herself in the mirror for the first time that night. A big brown stain on her left breast, it looked as though she was leaking chocolate milk. No wonder Charlie had looked so embarrassed and why hadn’t Sam told her?
‘Oh my God,’ she said aloud.
But it was much worse. No wonder the guy upstairs had smiled to the point of laughter. What the hell must he think of her? Kermit the Frog outfit, chocolate breast and the biggest, brownest, chocolate clown moustache smeared across her face.
‘Oh God.’
Three
There were six boxes in the stack. Ella knew what was in the bottom three – she had packed them – mostly bills to be paid, credit cards to be stopped and bank statements. The top three she hadn’t packed, just retrieved from the top of her mum’s wardrobe and brought them back with her. She’d spotted paperwork and old photos in the top of two of the boxes; the third was taped shut.
It was difficult to know where to start. The taped box was green and someone – her mum she supposed – had drawn a big smiley face in red marker pen on the side. Should she start with that one? Decisions, decisions. This was why she hadn’t begun this job already. Which one should she start with? She looked at the smiley face and smiled back at it. Then she watched in astonishment as the box slowly slid off the pile and onto the floor.
‘It has to be you then,’ she said, dropping down beside it and starting to unpeel the tape. It was thick, black waterproof tape that even when peeled off the box still retained far too much of its stickiness. It managed to attach itself to her hand, and her hand to her jumper. The more she pulled it, the more it stuck; finally it gave way and then rebounded. Suddenly her sleeve was stuck to the neck of her sweater and no amount of yanking seemed to loosen it. If anything, it was getting more stuck; the two sticky faces of the tape were welding together.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Ella yelled out. At that exact moment there was a loud rapping on the door. ‘What now,’ Ella yelled. She rose from the floor; her hand attached to her neck and peered through the spy hole. It was her hot neighbour from upstairs. What the hell could he want?
She stood behind her front door wishing him away. She cringed at the memory of greeting him the previous night with a hot chocolate clown-face moustache.
He rapped the door again. He wasn’t going away. He had probably heard her yelling so knew she was in.
Slowly she opened the door, careful to keep the hand that was stuck to her neck hidden behind it. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘I took delivery of a parcel for you yesterday when you were out.’ He smiled broadly at her; he was even more gorgeous when he smiled like that. He held out a large box.
‘I’m not expecting anything.’ Ella hesitated.
He glanced down at the parcel then at the number on Ella’s door. ‘Definitely for you.’
Ella looked at the parcel and shuddered. She put out her hand and tried to take it from him but it was far too big and heavy for one hand.
‘I think you’ll need to open the door wider and use both hands,’ he said, half laughing.
‘Um, right.’ She opened the door a little bit more. ‘Maybe you could just put it down on the floor and slide it in.’
He looked her up and down for a moment, then suddenly seemed to realise that she might need help. ‘I’ll bring it in,’ he said, all brightness and smiles.
‘No. Really. That’s okay, just put it on the floor.’
‘I’m ready now, Hal.’ A seductive female voice called from behind him. Ella looked over her neighbour’s shoulder and saw the owner of the voice. She was the proverbial uber-glamorous, leggy blond. Her teeth sparkled when she spoke. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘Didn’t realise you’d still be messing around with that.’
Oww. Ella suspected the that referred to was her and not the parcel.
‘It’s a bit heavy. I’m just going to take it inside.’
‘Well do hurry, Hal, or we’ll be late,’ Leggy Blond said, pushing up close behind him.
‘No, there’s really no need. Just leave it on the floor. I’ll sort it out myself.’ Ella could feel a cold sweat rising along her hairline. Behind the door she frantically tried to pull her hand away from her neck; it just wasn’t budging.
Leggy Blond nudged Hal in the back knocking him off balance, he lunged forward and knocked Ella’s door flying open. Now Ella stood exposed, her wrist glued to her neck, thick black tape visibly secure.
‘Bondage,’ said Leggy Blond, laughing. ‘Well, whatever gives you your kicks. Come on Hal, dump it and let’s go.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, giving Ella the same look you might give to someone caught with their pants down in a field. ‘I’ll just leave it here.’ He put the parcel on the floor and slid it towards her with his foot.
‘Could have done that in the first place,’ Ella said, but Hal and the blond were already half way down the stairs; laughing loudly together, no doubt at her expense.
She kicked the parcel against the wall and closed the door, then turned to see herself in the mirror.
‘Oh God,’ she screeched again. Not only was her hand stuck to her neck, but a line of black tape ran down the zip of her jeans and a ball of tape dangled between her legs. How could she have not seen that? She slid down the wall, sunk down to the floor. It seemed she was destined to make a fool of herself in front of her hot neighbour – and his leggy girlfriend.
She sat there for a few minutes, her cheeks burning in humiliation. Bondage. The thought horrified her. Finally getting up she moved towards the kitchenette and rummaged in the drawers for scissors, then cut herself out of the black tape. Once free she went back to the parcel, turned it around and was about to open it, when she read the label. The name of the previous tenant glared at her in bold blue font. All that humiliation for nothing. She’d have to return the parcel to sender later. She kicked it into the corner and went back to her smiley face box.
Rather than peeling the tape now, she used the scissors to cut through it, shame she hadn’t done that in the first place. She thought of Hal and his girlfriend, no doubt regaling their friends with the story. Why was life so shit?
Once the box was finally open the contents brought a lump to her throat. Baby clothes. Just a few items, all tiny. What the hell had her mother kept them for? She took them out gingerly and piled them on the sofa. She found a small book underneath, its cover well worn. She opened it. On the first page in her mother’s handwriting were the words: Child of Delight. She turned the page. A baby photo. Her mum’s smiling, youthful face, and Ella’s newborn one, side by side. In the background a hospital bed, clinical green curtains. The date on the bottom of the photo – Ella’s birthday – the actual day she had been born. She must have been hours old. Her mother looked radiant, her eyes shiny with happiness. Ella wondered if the photo had been taken by her father. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
It wasn’t a proper photo album, more like an old fashioned autograph book, the photograph was hand glued onto the cream page.
She turned the page. Another photo of Ella, this time taken on a self
-printing Polaroid camera, the image faded with age. Ella standing up but not on her own, a pair of masculine hands holding hers. She was laughing, looking pleased with herself. Underneath the photo the date – Ella’s first birthday.
She turned the page. Ella on her second birthday, this time both her parents clearly visible, Ella between them being swung in the air. Three laughing, happy faces. In the background what looked like an allotment. Ella wondered who had taken this snapshot.
Ella on her third birthday – a hat, a cake. Her dad’s hands tight around her as he lifted her to blow out the candles.
Her fourth birthday – on her dad’s knee.
Her fifth birthday – on a swing, her mum’s laughing face as she pushed Ella.
Her sixth birthday – Ella’s face squashed between her parents’ faces.
Her seventh birthday – a zoo trip, her dad holding her up to see the penguins.
So far they were just happy family photos documenting every birthday. But there wouldn’t be any more with her dad in. Ella remembered that day at the zoo. Remembered the big row on the way home, remembered not understanding why her parents were shouting at each other. Remembered the next morning when her mother told her daddy had gone and there would be just the two of them now. And that’s how it had been; Ella and her mum. Now it was just Ella. Why was life so shit?
She turned the pages, a different photo of Ella every year, sometimes with her mum, sometimes on her own. Every year and Ella hadn’t known that they were in this little album: Child of Delight. The last photo – a selfie taken on Ella’s phone which her mum insisted she download and print – was taken just after her mum had been diagnosed. They’d had no idea then what the future would bring. Just as well.
She hadn’t had her birthday this year so there wasn’t a picture missing, not yet anyway. Ella turned the page over; there were plenty of empty pages. She closed the book, put it back into the box, piled the baby clothes back on top and pushed the lid down. If she’d had any black tape she would have taped it shut.
The next box had a few framed photos on the top, Ella was more than familiar with these, she’d seen them everyday at her mum’s, on the mantle piece, on the sideboard. She thought about that lovely oak sideboard, wished she could have shoehorned it into this miniscule place instead of storing it in Sam and Charlie’s garage. She sighed and forced herself to remember Sam’s ‘things will get better’ phrase. She had to believe they would.
There were other albums in there too, ones Ella had seen before. She flicked through the photos quickly, careful not to linger too long. She loved the photos of her mum laughing with her friends, laughing with Ella – the two on them on holiday, on holiday in a group. Ella’s eighteenth birthday party, her mum’s fortieth, fiftieth. She slammed the cover closed. ‘Must not get maudlin,’ she said to herself, her voice sounding croaky. ‘Things will get better,’ she repeated her mantra.
She pulled out another photo album, an old one she’d never seen before. There were endless pictures of her as a baby, even the typical naked baby shot, the one her mum would have shown to Ella’s future husband if there’d ever been one. Her dad popped up in the photos. There was a picture of them both outside an old cottage. Ella had vague memories of it, some relatives of her dad’s, visits that her mum dreaded which stopped when he left.
Ella shut the album, put it away.
She stacked the three boxes back in the corner tightly against the wall, she wouldn’t need to go in them again, but she wasn’t sure just what she would do with them. Then she had an idea.
She went to her wardrobe and rummaged around for the tablecloth she’d brought back from her mum’s. It was blue and white, embroidered on the edges, very pretty; Ella didn’t remember her mum ever using it. She threw it artfully over the boxes. Perfect. It was just the right height for a table lamp. She didn’t have one so she put a scented candle on top. It was the one Sam had bought her as a moving in present – wasted on the grotty bedsit.
‘Ta da,’ she laughed out loud, holding out her hands. ‘That’s better, and now I’m talking to myself.’ She shook her head, made herself a cup of coffee and sat down to work on the next box.
By mid afternoon she had cracked open a bottle of wine, probably not the best of ideas but she needed something to help her work through the boxes. Anyway, it was Saturday.
She put on a Human League CD that she’d found in one of the boxes. She got up to dance, flailing her arms around, enjoying herself, all by herself. ‘Don’t you want me baby?’ she sang at the top of her voice. She had to be careful not to disturb the carefully made piles of bills and bank statements as well as her to-do list, which now ran to three pages. Finally she fell onto the sofa exhausted. And dozed off.
When she awoke the music had stopped, the light was fading outside and her stomach was rumbling. In her mini-fridge she found a low fat yogurt, half a tin of beans and another bottle of cheap wine. She had meant to go shopping. Too late now she thought, and she suspected she might be over the drink-drive limit.
Pizza. That would be good. She could wander down to the place at the end of the road – DONNY’S PIZZA AND KEBAB HOUSE EAT IN TAKE AWAY WE DELIVER. The sign always made her laugh, all the letters were the same giant size and in lurid purple with no punctuation. She’d never used Donny’s, but there was always a queue, especially late at night.
She pulled on her boots and coat, grabbed her purse and keys and let herself out of the flat.
It was only about seven-thirty but already there was a queue at Donny’s. She joined on the end, craning her neck to study the menu through the window. Hawaiian, that’s what she would have, with a cheese crust. And cheesy garlic bread. And rocky road ice cream. And lemonade, a great big bottle. Well, it was Saturday night and a girl had to treat herself sometimes.
The man in front of her turned and smiled, he had an array of yellow teeth, two were missing. She flashed him a very brief, polite smile then stared past him.
‘You come for your...’ he nodded his head from side to side. She wasn’t sure if he was drunk. Who was she to judge?
‘Pizza,’ Ella said, really not wanting to get into conversation with him. She could smell the smoke of a thousand stale fags on him, mixed with old beer and earth and dirt and something else horrible. She felt her throat flinch involuntarily. She tried not to gag.
‘And hash brownies,’ he said, laughing.
Ella didn’t answer. Did he actually mean what she thought he meant? Surely not. She kept looking ahead, ignoring him while trying to make it look as though she wasn’t.
The queue moved forward. Smelly, gappy teethed man was inside the shop. He lit a cigarette. From behind the counter someone shouted at him to put it out. He grumbled, flicked it behind him, it caught on Ella’s coat. She jumped and quickly wiped it off her front, burning her hand in the process and squealing sharply.
‘Oops, these things happen,’ smelly, gappy teeth man said and lurched forward to wipe down the front of her coat. Ella jumped out of his reach. ‘I was only trying to help. Sod you Miss Snotty Gob.’
Oh God this was what Ella had been trying to avoid. It always happened to her; the freak always found her.
‘I said I was only trying to help,’ he was shouting now; his head wobbling wildly from side-to-side.
Ella tried hard not to react, not to show the disgust or the fear on her face.
‘Back off,’ a voice said from behind Ella.
‘Okay, okay. Just trying to help.’ Smelly man stepped away, the queue moved forward and he was suddenly at the counter.
Ella turned to see who her knight in shining armour was – not that she needed one, she wasn’t a completely useless woman.
It was her hot neighbour from upstairs. Well it would be, wouldn’t it?
‘Thanks,’ she muttered into her boots, embarrassed, yet again.
‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Anytime. We keep running into each other, don’t we? I’m Hal.’ Well, she already knew that. He put his hand ou
t to shake hers.
‘Ella.’ They shook hands in the queue outside Donny’s Pizza and Kebab House. Behind her someone sniggered.
‘No doubt we’ll meet again,’ he said as he walked away.
Ella put her order in. Smelly man had gone and so had Hal and the food looked great, and the place clean.
‘Hash browns with that? On special,’ the guy behind the counter asked. Did he just wink at her? Of course not.
‘No thanks,’ Ella said and even to her own ears she sounded indignant.
It was starting to rain as Ella left the take away with two boxes and an ice cream carton balanced in one hand and a large bottle of lemonade in the other. Her purse and keys were stuffed into her pocket. She should have brought a bag, but t didn’t matter, she didn’t have far to go and the pizza smelt so good her mouth was watering. She put her head down and quickened her pace.
Bang.
She walked straight into Hal’s girlfriend.
The lemonade bottle fell from her hand, hit the pavement with a thud and the lid shot off like a champagne cork. The lemonade erupted volcano-like, spewing a sticky fountain high into the air. Ella stepped back and avoided it. Leggy Blond wasn’t so quick. The lemonade hit her full in the face and hair. Ella stood staring; she didn’t know what to do. Leggy Blond screamed and screamed but seemed unable to get away.
Finally the lemonade fountain stopped, the bottle now half empty. Hal, who Ella hadn’t noticed before, grabbed the lid and put it back on the bottle and, with a wink, handed it to Ella.
‘What sort of moron are you?’ Leggy Blond screamed.
‘Sorry,’ Ella said and scuttled back home, leaving her dripping on the pavement. She could hear Hal trying to soothe his girlfriend.
Ella allowed herself a damn good laugh once she was safely inside her bedsit.
Quite an evening, and Donny’s pizza tasted damn good too.
Sunday found Ella back in the boxes. Her to-do list was growing but she was winning the battle. Ella had fantasised that there might be a bit of money stashed away in secret bank accounts – but it turned out, that’s all it was, a fantasy. If she was lucky there might be enough in her mum’s only account to settle all the bills. If she wasn’t, she’d be dipping into her own miniscule savings. She also knew that there was no windfall insurance policy just waiting to pay out either; her mum had never had enough spare cash to fund one. Ella tried hard not to be disappointed, and then felt guilty for even thinking it.
