by Emmy Ellis
“Belinda!”
She turned towards me. “Carmel. Hiya!”
I came abreast of her, and she said, “My mam and dad are shouting, so I came out to play. My dad said you’re not allowed round my house no more. I’m well sad about it. How come you left so fast?”
“Needed to get home. It’s my birthday today, and my mam had a present for me.” I clutched Nelson’s hand but kept her dangling behind me.
“Whatcha get?” Belinda’s beautiful blonde hair looked so pretty with its curls—much like Nelson’s would once I had a chance to brush it and make it nice.
“I got a doll just like yours. Wanna see?”
“Go on, then.”
I brought Nelson from behind me and held her up. A dark stain ruined the back of the doll’s dress. When Mam next slept, I’d wash it.
Belinda laughed. “That’s not like my dolls. That’s old and broken and really, really horrible.”
I frowned and turned Nelson to face me. She was maybe a little tatty, but she looked all right to me. “She is not horrible. You are.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
We stared at one another for a long time, our breaths ragged with anger. Belinda’s cheeks stained red, as did the tips of her pierced ears. Her bottom lip stuck out, and her eyes brightened with unshed tears. She curled a lock of hair around her fingers and stuck the thumb of her other hand into her mouth.
Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled around her thumb. “My dad thed you sthink. I reckon he’s right because you got a sthinky old doll and a sthinky old house and a sthinky old mam.”
I blinked, squeezed Nelson’s hand. Raised my arm. I swung my dolly in the air and struck Belinda’s face with it. She removed the thumb from her mouth and wailed, her mouth gaping. Her tonsils waggled. She stopped abruptly, swiped the back of her hand across her nose, and sniffed.
“Aw, I hate you, Carmel.” She stamped her foot and spat at me, spittle landing on my cheek.
I cuffed it with the sleeve of my cardigan—wasn’t the first time I’d been spat on. She turned and ran out of the play area and onto the opposite field.
I gave chase.
I can’t explain the exhilaration that coursed through me. Though angry, I sensed elation and something I can’t define—freedom? A release of inner turmoil? The uneven ground proved no obstacle. I flew across the grass as if wings of vengeance lent me speed. Belinda didn’t fare so well, her chubby, well-fed legs unable to carry her steadily. She stumbled, falling to the ground on hands and knees. The ends of her pretty long hair flung forward and rested on a patch of soggy mud. Now her hair was soiled like Nelson’s.
Coming up behind her, I wanted to kick her on the arse, but she turned and sat on the grass, facing me.
“Carmel. I’m sorry,” she said, concentrating on her hands nestled in her lap.
She fiddled with her fingers, wringing an unseen cloth. I didn’t answer, and she glanced up at me, widening her eyes, just like Jerry’s on the cartoons when Tom caught up with him. Maybe I looked like Mam just did back home, a big old scary dragon? I pursed my lips in anger at the thought of being like Mam.
“Say sorry to Nelson, then, and I’ll be your friend again,” I said.
Belinda pouted and stared at the dark sky as if in thought. She stood and planted her hands, complete with sausage-like fingers, on her hips. “I’m not talking to a doll. Not one that looks like that, anyway. Scabby old thing.” Her nostrils flared, and she took four steps backwards. “Scabby, just like you.” She laughed then poked out her tongue and turned, running towards the edge of the playing field.
Anger blackened my already tainted soul by covering me in its shroud, whispering into my ear that Belinda was a bad, bad girl. Tears threatened. A quick glance at Nelson had my ire rising to a new level. No one called my doll scabby. No one.
Go get her, Carmel. Get her and hit her for being so mean.
Belinda had a head start on me, but my legs were whippet thin and my agility and fitness so much better. Dodging slaps from Mam and running out of the house to safety was commonplace for me. I caught up to Belinda within seconds, heard her laboured breathing as she struggled to keep running.
Three large circular chunks of concrete stood a few metres ahead of us at the edge of the field. They must have been used to anchor something into the ground. A long, rusty metal spike protruded from the centre of each one. Council men had perhaps pulled them up and forgotten to take them away. I registered them in my mind and continued chasing after Belinda.
A few feet away from the concrete, I caught up to her and shoved her shoulders. She squealed and stumbled, her hands windmilling beside her. Slow motion took over my sight, and I clutched Nelson. My breath sounded loud, as if amplified on speakers set in the tree branches. My heart battered wildly, and Belinda fell forward…forward…
She hit the concrete and screamed—a horrific sound that fascinated me for a second—and I turned Nelson to watch with me as one of the metal spikes poked through the back of Belinda’s skull. I turned round in a full circle, noting the still-deserted park. The trees—conspirators now, witnesses to what I’d done—loomed majestically around the edge of the field, a complete circle of wood and foliage. Black in the darkness, their leaves rustled as the wind sifted through them—laughter. I reckoned they laughed at what had happened. The stars winked, and Mr Moon gave one nod of his noble head, his smile wider than any time before.
Satisfied only nature had been a spectator, I returned my attention to the scene on the ground. I bent Nelson’s legs into a sitting position and placed her against one of the other concrete chunks to watch me. I stood at Belinda’s feet, taking in her splayed body. Arms akimbo, legs slightly parted, head fixed on the spike, my former friend made no sound. Her hair around the spike changed from blonde to red; those long tresses spread out, shrouding the concrete upon which her face rested.
Straddling her, I knelt and hooked my arms under hers, clasping my hands across her chest. And pulled. Pulled so hard I had to grit my teeth. Animalistic noises growled in my throat with the effort. Moments passed. I panted, thought of all the wrongs done to me, and with one last yank Belinda’s head popped free of the spike. The force of the pull flung me backwards. I let go of Belinda, and she fell forwards, face scraping the spike but landing on the concrete lump next to it.
Turn her over, Carmel.
I stood, moved beside Belinda, and tugged at the side of her sweater, turning her onto her back. Her body thunked onto my shoes, and I freed my feet from her weight.
Twisted and broken, she rested much like Nelson had in the metal rubbish bin. Though Belinda’s face was bloody and messy, I saw she’d lost an eye—the spike had driven right through it—and when she’d fallen forward again the spike must have carved a diagonal slash across her face. Her mouth a grimace, she reminded me of all things horrific.
I want a cuddle, Carmel.
I picked Nelson up and hugged her to me; she felt good in my arms. I looked at Belinda again and idly wondered where her eye had gone, stared at the gory cavity it had once sat in. Her knees, dirty where she’d fallen on the mud… Her calves at odd angles… The buckle on one of her shoes, obliterated from sight by a chunk of mud and grass, wasn’t in keeping with the Belinda I knew, usually so clean and tidy.
You still got that fifty p in change, Carmel?
“Yes.”
Can you show me the shop you told me about? Get some sweets?
“Yes.”
You don’t want to worry about her. She was nasty and called us scabby.
I took one last look at Belinda, turned away, and ran back across the playing field, through the park, and out the other side. The sense that the trees and Mr Moon, the stars, and the night birds all observed my journey invaded my mind, but I shoved them away, uneasy now that something had seen the accident. I held Nelson’s hand and slowed to a walk once we reached the pathway that led to the shop.
“Shop’s along here, Nelson.”
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What sweets will you get?
“Dunno until we get there.”
We walked in silence for a time.
You don’t need nasty friends like her.
“I know.”
Besides, look who’s scabby now.
“Yes.”
I inhaled two deep breaths, and a giddy laugh bulged in my throat then spilled out of my lips like vomit.
“Nelson?”
Yes, Carmel?
“I didn’t get to push you on the swing.”
That’s okay. Maybe next time?
“Okay.”
* * * *
I loved our local shop. I spent so much time there—you know, keeping warm, wasting minutes—that the staff knew me by name. If a new person started working there and I came up to the counter, one of the others would say, “And this is Carmel. She’s one of our best customers.” I’d beam inside but allow only a small smile. I really was quite a shy little kid. Now I had Nelson to introduce to them, and it made me feel important, like they appeared to me.
Shivers juddered my body more than usual, and the shop’s warmth toasted my frozen fingers. I stretched them from the claw-like position they’d been in from clutching Nelson and knelt to the side of the doorway, retrieving the coins from inside my sock. The overhead heater blasted the back of my neck. I wished we had heating like that at home to make the air less frigid, more comforting.
Money and doll in hand, I walked the shop aisles to see if anything had been cut in price. Nothing had. I walked to the counter and gazed at the shelves behind, laden with huge jars of sweets. Lemon drops, Barley Sugar Twists, Sherbet Pips. So many different things to choose from. My head ached.
The smell of newspapers, bread, and tobacco filled my nostrils, and I closed my eyes to breathe in the many scents.
“Well, hello there, Carmel. And how are you this evening?”
I opened my eyes and smiled a little. Mr Hemmings, the shop owner, propped his elbows on the counter and leaned towards me, his chubby face and double chin hidden by a full, brown beard. His eyes always seemed to sparkle, and he winked like the stars had at the park.
“I’m okay.”
Mr Hemmings frowned. “What have you done to your hand?”
My hand?
I looked down. A streak of blood smeared the back of it. “Nothing. Probably just scratched it or something.”
“Here. Spit on that and give it a wipe, eh?”
Mr Hemmings held out a clean, pressed handkerchief. Crisply white, it looked to me like it had just come out of the packet. I didn’t want to spit on it, wipe blood and get it all dirty. With Nelson cradled in my arm, I cleaned myself then held the handkerchief out to Mr Hemmings.
He stood upright and clasped his hands across his barrel chest, resting them on the top of his protruding gut. “No, no. You can keep that. Plenty more of them upstairs in my flat.” He smiled, showing long front teeth much like a rabbit’s. “So, what have you got there?”
I stuffed the hanky in my cardigan pocket and held Nelson up. “This is Nelson. She’s my new dolly. Mam got her for my birthday today.”
“And isn’t that a big girl you are now? And Nelson. What a lovely name for such a beautiful dolly.”
I smiled, so wide. “She’s my best friend.”
“I’m sure she is. I’d like to have a best friend like Nelson. Well, now, as it’s your birthday, would you like to choose some sweets from the jars?”
I nodded and held out the loose change. “Mr Lawton let me have these.”
I pondered on what I should buy. Rainbow sherbet and a lollipop to dip with, or the lemon drops? Maybe even fifty little sweets? I stared at the penny sweets, arranged in rows of small tubs on the counter.
“That’s kind of Mr Lawton then, isn’t it? Have you decided what you’ll have?” Mr Hemmings smiled again and drummed his still-clasped fingers against the backs of his hands.
“There are lots of sweets. I don’t know what to have.”
He laughed, a rich bellow, and placed his palms on the counter. “What are you choosing between? What are your favourite things?”
I bit my bottom lip and thought about it.
Fifty penny sweets and the sherbet and lollipop.
“Well, I want fifty penny sweets, because then I get to choose all different ones. But I like sherbet and lollipops, too, and I dunno what to pick.”
The shopkeeper reached under the counter, brought out two small white paper bags, and placed one by the cash register. The other he snapped open and began putting in one of each penny sweet. My mind panicked. I hadn’t said what I wanted for sure, and now he’d filled the bag—way over fifty sweets—and I didn’t have enough money to pay for all of them. Next, he opened the second bag and turned to reach for the pink jar of sherbet. Placing the open bag on his scales, he poured the delicious granules into it. The weighing needle moved past the quarter pound mark. My heart thudded. The purchases would cost much more than fifty p. The urge to run grabbed me, but instead I remained still and squeezed Nelson’s arm.
“What colour lollipop would you like?”
Did I want the sherbet and lollipop, or the penny sweets? I didn’t know, I just didn’t know, and the indecision gnawed at my belly. Warm liquid snuck down the insides of my legs, and fiery heat streaked over my cheeks. I hoped Mr Hemmings wouldn’t notice.
“I’d like a pink lolly to match the sherbet, please.”
“Pink it is, then.”
He reached again to the shelf behind him and took down the jar of lollies, digging his hand inside and fumbling around in search of my lollipop.
“There we go. One pink lolly.”
He handed it to me, as well as the bag of sherbet and the bag of penny sweets.
“Fifty pence please, young lady.” Mr Hemmings held his hand palm upwards, and I reached up to the counter and placed my sweaty coins in his hand.
“I’ll have the sherbet and lollipop,” I said. I wanted the penny sweets so badly, but the sherbet held more appeal. It lasted such a long time.
“There’s upset I am, then, Carmel. Mr Lawton’s money bought the sherbet and lolly, and my present was the sweets. Won’t you take the sweets as a birthday present from me? After all, you’re my best customer, aren’t you?”
My tummy flip-flopped. I grinned so hard my eyes shut, and even though the piss on my legs had begun to dry and itch, I didn’t care. Didn’t care.
“Thanks, Mr Hemmings.”
He laughed again—such a wonderful sound. “That’s quite all right, young Carmel. It isn’t every day you have a birthday, is it? Do you want a small carrier bag for your things there? Quite a handful you’ve got, what with holding the pretty Nelson too.”
I decided in that moment that I loved Mr Hemmings. Really loved him.
“Yes, please.”
Purchases in the carrier bag, he handed it over the counter to me. “Now then. You go along that aisle there,” he pointed to where the newspaper stand stood, “and you pick yourself a nice magazine to read. You can sit on the stool behind the counter with me—only because it’s your birthday, mind—and read it until it’s time for you to go home.”
This time I held the piss inside.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I pushed down the handle, and the front door opened—the men had gone. I stepped into the hallway and imagined heat blaring down on me like in Mr Hemmings’ shop. A shiver scampered over my skin; goose bumps jumped up to say ‘Boo!’, and I hunched my shoulders. With Nelson pressed safely against my chest, I crept up each step on silent feet. Mam mustn’t hear me.
I made it to my room without incident, hid my sweets under the bed, and climbed onto it with my clothes on. Too cold to get undressed, I pulled the ratty sheet and my blanket over my head and breathed out through my mouth to warm my cocoon.
I shifted to get more comfortable, and the stench of dried pee from my socks and knickers wafted around under the covers. I’d have a strip wash in the morning. Even if the unscented soap
didn’t make me smell nice it would clean away the odour. I thought of the pretty pink soap at Belinda’s again. I tried to recall the name stamped across the top of it and frowned in concentration. Camay—that was it. I’d buy some Camay when I grew up, so many bars I’d fill a whole shelf with them.
I didn’t analyse the accident, only thought that I wouldn’t be going to Belinda’s anymore, would never use the fluffy face cloth or wear the petticoats again. Still, I’d yet to try out my own petticoat. I’d wrap my blanket around me tomorrow and see how it looked. Nelson could have a tea towel around her, and we’d be queens together. This time, though, I’d be the best queen of them all, me being older and bigger than Nelson.
Saturday tomorrow. Mam would take her medicine and nod out for most of the morning, maybe wake and send me to the shop for some bread or milk. Saturday afternoons and evenings, business increased. Afternoons, I stayed indoors. Maybe Mam’s class of customers or the acts she performed weren’t as sordid as those in the evening, but either way, I didn’t mind. I’d stay in my room and play queens, and afterwards, I’d have a little sleep to catch up on all I’d lost during the previous week.
* * * *
I woke to the sound of Mam screeching up the stairs.
“Carmel! Get your arse out of bed now. I need you to run to the shop and get some milk. I’ve fucking run out and I haven’t got any for my cup of tea.”
Rubbing the crust of sleep from my eyes, I grabbed Nelson and ran onto the landing. I’d wash when I got back. Maybe I’d clean Nelson’s dress and hair too.
Mam stood at the bottom of the stairs, the anger from the night before gone. She didn’t look as kind as she did when she’d had her medicine, but it at least seemed like I wouldn’t get hit. A cigarette dangled from her bottom lip. She held the banister rail with one hand, the other palm flat against the opposite wall. She said, “Be quick, kid. You know what I’m like without my cuppa first thing in the morning.”
