‘Halal salami!’ Luca corrected.
‘Yes, a halal salami!’
We both creased over, crying with laughter as we stumbled towards Jules. As the tears cleared I saw she was sitting next to someone. For a second, I thought it was Rusby but the belly was too round, shoulders too slumped. There were rips in the stranger’s clothes, a muddy tinge to his leathery skin, wild hair stuffed beneath a black beanie. We homeless let off chemical trails; we follow each other like ants.
‘Heeeey!’ the man said as soon as he saw us.
He stood up, spreading his arms as though ready to give us a welcome-home hug. Luca slipped his hand into his pocket. I hoped it wasn’t the knife he was clenching on to, but at the same time I knew that’s exactly what it was.
‘Hey heeey!’ the man said, his face pulled wide like a squashed pumpkin.
Jules was chuckling as she sat with a bevvy and Boy on her lap. The man spoke in what sounded like Polish. The words rhythmic and beautiful. He was obviously drunk because, even in a different language, I could hear slurring. We sat down on the bench.
‘He’s been going on like this for the last five minutes,’ Jules said. ‘It’s freakin’ hilarious.’
The man was gesturing at Luca.
‘My phrrend,’ he said.
‘You know this fella, Luca?’ Jules asked.
Luca kept his hand in his pocket. The man came and squeezed his body between Luca and me.
‘Yars, yars!’ the man said. ‘My phrrend Looca!’
He began jabbering again, all fast and emotional, slapping Luca on the back. He pointed at my hat and gave me a thumbs up.
‘Very good!’ he said. ‘Superb hats!’
He chuckled. Jules smiled.
‘Cheers,’ she said, raising her can.
The man lifted his hand and Jules, seeing it was empty, passed him a cider. Then she gave me and Luca one too.
‘Igor,’ said the man, pointing at his chest. ‘Eeee-gor.’
It was like a game of charades, trying to understand Igor, his body all gestures and mimes, the occasional recognizable word. I gradually figured out that he’d been roughing it in Lincoln before coming to the coast. He’d been trying to find work but a ‘scumbag landlord’ took all his money.
‘I live in Skegness now; always chips to eat in Skegness!’
After he told us this, he seemed to remember something. He stood up and began grinding his hips.
‘I know best place to party,’ he said. ‘You must all come!’
Luca frowned.
‘Now?’ he said.
Igor nodded enthusiastically.
‘It happens all of the day,’ he said and slapped Luca on the back as though he’d won the Lotto.
Luca shook his head.
‘We have other business here,’ he said.
Igor didn’t understand. Luca shook his head again.
‘No. Come. Party,’ he said.
Igor’s eyes welled up like he was about to cry.
‘No party?’ he said. ‘My phrrend?’
‘Come on, Posh Boy,’ Jules said. ‘One night on the town ain’t gonna kill us. Besides, we’ve got time to waste, ain’t we? You said so yourself.’
Luca thought about this for a second. Then he looked over at me.
What I really wanted to do was go on my own mission, but I knew this wasn’t the time for it. I shrugged.
‘Maybe just for a bit?’ I said.
Luca clicked his tongue and stood up.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ he muttered.
Me and Jules smiled, knowing that meant yes.
The Rescue
Rusby used to take me to the vintage shop by Nottingham station. It’s a big old store with four levels filled with fur coats and crazy patterned dresses, board games and dainty crockery. Sometimes he’d let me buy something – a little brooch, a pair of velvet gloves or an ornament for the squat. He wouldn’t come in himself. He liked everything new and modern.
‘Second-hand is old tat,’ he’d tell me. ‘Vintage is old, fancy tat. Antique is dead people’s old, fancy tat. No matter how you look at it, it’s all tat.’
But he still gave me the money for the trinkets. He could have made me nick them but he liked to create the illusion that he was taking care of his princess. I fell for it; I thought the trinkets meant he cared. It was only after he left me that I realized the money he used was the money I’d earned and the value of the items was never more than a fiver.
One time I was looking through some bric-a-brac at the back of the shop and came across a metal pillbox covered in flowers. It was a tiny, beautiful thing, hand-painted with a small metal catch. I went to pay at the till but there was a ruckus by the entrance. The busker was shouting at one of the shop assistants. He was wilder than usual, his flat cap rammed low on his head, his beard a big shaggy mess.
‘I told you, I don’t care how much you give me for it, I just want to get rid!’
He was holding out his guitar to the shop assistant, a skinny pale man wearing a Star Wars shirt. It was the first time I’d heard the busker speak; he had an Irish accent with a musical tone that made his words sound soft, even as he shouted.
The sales assistant was shaking his head, telling the busker he wasn’t in charge of buying. But the busker wasn’t listening, just saying the same thing over and over again as he shoved the guitar at the poor bloke. I paid for the pillbox and put it in the front pocket of my denim jacket. Rusby was outside, smoking a cigarette.
I turned to the busker.
‘Please don’t sell it,’ I said.
When he realized I was talking to him he scowled, a deep crease in his ruddy face. But then he must have recognized me because his expression weakened. I suppose it’s hard to forget the girl who cries in front of you every time you play.
‘Don’t get involved, lady,’ he said.
He looked back at the shop assistant but didn’t speak, waiting for me to leave the shop.
When I got outside Rusby was making a deal on his phone. He spent most of his time on the phone talking to people I didn’t know. He gave me a nod and put his hand out for the change. He didn’t even care what I’d bought.
‘Because if he doesn’t get it to me,’ he said down the phone, ‘then I’ll make sure everybody knows about it.’
I stood patiently, waiting for him to finish. Then, behind me, I heard the tinkle of the shop door. When I turned around I saw the busker coming out, eyes low, his guitar clutched firmly in his hands.
Igor’s party was in the underground basement of an old bar. You could smell the damp as you walked in; the concrete floor was black and sticky, strobe lighting shooting neon beams through artificial smoke. The place was filled with sweaty bodies, music pumping DnB from large stereo speakers, and everyone moving wild and jerky, arms flailing, legs skipping up and down.
We’d tied Boy to a lamppost by the beach. I wasn’t happy leaving her there, ears pricked up and whining as we walked away.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Jules said. ‘You don’t get by with three legs unless you’re a fighter. Tough as old boots, that one.’
I looked back at Boy, big eyes staring.
‘Tough as new boots,’ Luca said.
‘Old boots,’ Jules corrected.
‘Surely new boots are tougher than old ones,’ said Luca.
They carried on arguing about the toughness of boots until we arrived. The bouncers were huge ex-army types like Big Tony, bald heads and dressed in tight black shirts. Jules wedged her hat down further; I took mine off and stuffed it into my pocket.
‘I’m the Panda tonight,’ she said, pointing to her flappy ears.
The bouncers looked confused but let us in.
Luca paid for our entry fee but Igor took the lead, escorting us through the basement as though we were the members of a rock group and he was our manager. Luca wore his trumpet case diagonally across his back as though he had the world’s smallest guitar, Jules strutting behind me with her panda hat as though she was the bac
king dancer and me at the front like I was the lead singer.
‘Cześć!’ Igor said, raising his hands to people he’d obviously never met before. Some of them glanced over with mild irritation, some with pure elation. Jules pushed past me, linking her arm through Igor’s and doing her royal wave to the crowd.
‘How do you do?’ she said in her Kate Middleton voice.
This was lost on Igor.
When we got to the bar at the back of the room Igor lifted his hand, pretending to drink from a bottle.
‘We get?’ he said.
He looked at Luca expectantly. Luca sighed and ordered us vodka mixers in plastic bottles. They were aquamarine and glowed in our hands. Igor took a swig.
‘Terrible vodka,’ he said, a grin plastered across his face.
This made us laugh, even Luca, who pulled a plastic bag from his pocket.
‘I bought these at the shop earlier,’ he said. He passed a bunch of paper glasses around, giving Igor the pair he’d obviously bought for himself which I thought was pretty generous. The glasses had love hearts all over the frames and thick dark plastic for lenses. We all put them on and suddenly the world was alive with love hearts. Every time the strobe lights hit them the hearts would ripple in glittering reds, blues and greens. It was like watching a firework display of love.
Jules took hers off straight away and handed them back to Luca.
‘Ta but no ta, mate,’ she said. ‘I see enough funny stuff without needing props.’
Luca smiled; it was the first time Jules had called him mate instead of Posh Boy. Igor spun around, trying to catch the light. I moved my glasses up so they were propped on my head like an Alice band.
‘Ta, Luca,’ I said. ‘They’re perfect.’
Jules rolled her eyes.
‘Right!’ she said, grabbing Igor’s hand. ‘We’re going for a dance.’
She poked Luca in the chest, spilling blue liquid on his REASON T-shirt.
‘You remember what I said,’ she said, targeting him with her broken eye.
She held his gaze for a few seconds and then dragged Igor off to the dance floor. They bounced up and down like they had springs in their shoes.
‘What was that about?’ I asked.
Luca scrunched his face up as though he’d tasted something rotten. He leant in close. I could feel his breath against my neck. It felt as warm as a hug.
‘I’ve been warned,’ he said.
He made round scared eyes at me.
‘About what?’
‘You,’ he said.
My expression dropped. He must have thought I hadn’t heard right because he leant in even closer and began shouting loud.
‘She said I have to be careful with you,’ he said. ‘Apparently you’re deli-buff.’
A throbbing beat swallowed his words.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Deli-BUFF.’
‘What?’
He took a deep breath.
‘DELICATE!’
He screamed the word just as the track finished. The dancers looked our way and then he had round scared eyes for real. I snorted with laughter. The music started up again and a big stupid grin spread across Luca’s face. He guided me to the corner of the room and we stood in an arched cubbyhole, leaning up against the cold brick wall.
‘Apparently,’ he said, ‘if I do anything to hurt you, Jules is going to knee me so hard in the bollocks not only will I not be able to have children but my children won’t be able to have children.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘Wow. That’s pretty serious.’
‘Pretty impossible, you mean.’
‘Still, you’d better be careful.’
He shook his head.
‘Tell me about it.’
He downed his drink.
‘Want another?’
I hadn’t finished mine but Luca went straight back to the bar. I knew we were getting merry on his dad’s credit but I tried not to let it bother me. I remembered the paintings in their living room; one of those was probably worth all the money I’d ever had. They probably wouldn’t even notice what Luca was taking. But when he squeezed his way back through the crowd Luca didn’t have any drinks.
‘It’s been declined,’ he said, lights flashing cyan and magenta across his face. ‘That bastard stopped the card.’
This wasn’t much of a surprise to me but I tried not to let it show. I shrugged.
‘Not to worry,’ I said.
‘Not to worry?’ Luca repeated. ‘How are we going to pay for anything?’
I tried to shout over the music.
‘We don’t need it!’
He shook his head, sucking in breaths as if trying to find the words to argue.
‘We’re homeless, Luca!’ I cried. ‘If there’s one thing we can do it’s get by without money!’
He stared down at me, as still as a mannequin. His button eyes were looking right into mine in that way he did, as if he could really see me.
‘Besides, we’re here now and we’re gonna find our fortune!’ I cried. ‘We don’t need anything else!’
‘Yeah,’ he said, slowly nodding. ‘You’re right! We don’t need anything. We’re here. We’re bloody here!’
I smiled. It was the first time he’d really listened to me.
‘Let’s dance!’ I said.
We moved to the middle of the floor, dancing like the night we first met, guided by the rhythm, not caring about what other people thought. Luca’s arms were batting up and down, legs akimbo, nearly knocking into everyone around him with his trumpet case. I swung my head and hips side to side, getting so hot and sweaty I had to take my jacket off, tying it around my waist before flinging my arms up and spinning around. My white skirt bloomed out like a tutu.
Luca’s forehead was dripping with sweat.
‘You all right, Luca?’ I said.
He nodded in an exaggerated sort of way. I was about to suggest he take his trench coat off but he spoke before I could say anything.
‘I’m tripping my tits off,’ he said.
He shoved his hand in his pocket and then pulled it out. There was a little white pill on his palm.
‘Igor gave them to me. Do you want one?’
I looked down at the white disc. You have to be careful with pills. If you’re not with the right people and not in the right mood they can set you in a downward spiral. That and you don’t know what rubbish is in them any more. Pure MDMA = OK. Rat poison and chemical bleach = not so OK. I took the pill and swallowed it dry.
The DJ played some banger tunes with beautiful vocals gliding over the racing beats. Luca went wild with it, grinning crazy as he swung around.
‘You’re the Little Mermaid!’ he screamed.
I tried to think of a quick reply.
‘You’re the Wizard of Oz!’
He seemed to like that because all of a sudden he grabbed me round the waist.
‘You’re beautiful, Molly!’ he shouted in my ear.
I scoffed as he pulled me in tighter.
‘Don’t be daft!’ I shouted back.
He looked deep into my eyes. Synth music filled the room. The beams were flashing in fast pulses that could set off seizures. I liked the way he was holding me. As though he was protecting me from something even though he couldn’t really protect himself.
Then he leant in and kissed me.
I wasn’t expecting it but as soon as it happened I felt we should have done it before. It didn’t even matter that his lips were all stiff as if he didn’t know what he was doing. Our mouths pushed into each other, my hand sinking into his hair as his hands clung to my waist. The curls were soft and bouncy, like pushing your fingers through foam in a bubble bath. I knew the pill had started to work already because I could feel that tingly feeling as if I was made of nothing but candyfloss. We became light as air, our feet lifting off the ground as we sailed high above the rest of the crowd, strobes of light illuminating our floating bodies. Below us everyone carried
on dancing but we were flying high.
When Luca pulled away we were back on the ground. We looked at each other for a few seconds, panting as we tried to catch our breath. The music was getting faster and faster. I pulled my glasses over my eyes, dropped my head back and shouted up to the ceiling. ‘Wahooooooooo!’
Luca picked me up and swung me around so that the room was spinning with love hearts. Sweating bodies were pushing and shoving against us and nobody cared. I felt like everyone else. Not a ghost, not an invisible nobody on the street, just another person in the crowd, like I was normal.
At home, in my room, fifteen years old, I’d looked up all the ways I could end my life: overdoses, nooses, slit wrists, carbon monoxide. Drowning.
The drowning appealed most because it felt familiar. Sinking into water – down, down, down – and never coming back up. So when my parents were at a party I tried to drown myself in the bath. I plunged my head deep, trying not to hold my breath, wanting the water to fill my lungs. Closing my eyes. Waiting to disappear.
But I always came back up, spluttering, kicking and gasping for air. The small body of water was no match for the fight inside me, the instinct to breathe. After several attempts, I lay wheezing in that bath, completely in shock.
I wanted to live.
Two panda ears bounced beside me.
‘This is brilliant!’ Jules cried.
‘I know …!’ I said. ‘Where’s Igor?’
Jules shrugged. I scanned the crowd and saw him leaning against a wall, his body bent over. He looked in a bad way, head lolling from side to side, fingers clawing at his forehead.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ I said.
Jules shrugged again.
‘Having a wobbly,’ she said.
I pushed my way through the crowd until I could hear him babbling. He was speaking broken Polish and English and repeating the number forty-four.
‘I bad man,’ he kept saying. ‘I bad, bad man.’
Jules was behind me. She took a swig from her bottle. I looked at her expectantly. She sighed.
‘Apparently he was in the KGB or summat,’ she said. ‘He’s been a miserable sod since he started talking about it.’
‘The KGB?’ I said.
How to Find Home Page 17
