Queen Dolly

by Emmy Ellis

  “Are you tired, love?” Margo asked.

  I nodded.

  “Do you want to go home? Won’t your mother be worrying where you are by now?”

  I shook my head.

  “Are you sure?” Margo shook her head slightly at my response, her mouth a grim line. “Well, in that case, maybe you could have a little sleep on my sofa? Nelson might like that too. She’s had an exciting day, getting a new dress.”

  Nelson sat on the breakfast bar against the wall. Margo had brushed her ratty hair, and a pink ribbon adorned the two pigtails either side of her head. She looked a different dolly altogether, if you discounted her cracked face and poorly eye.

  Yes, we can have a nice sleep on the sofa. We could, couldn’t we, Carmel? Your mam doesn’t want us home until tonight, and where else would we go if we left here?

  “Nelson would like a little sleep.”

  “Oh, good. Do you want a blanket?”

  No, it’s warm enough in here, what with the fire being on.

  “No, thank you,” I said and slipped from the high stool. Taking Nelson’s hand, I walked into the living room and flopped onto the sofa. Maybe the medicine from yesterday still circulated my system, maybe the kindness bestowed on me proved too much. I closed my eyes and hot tears scalded my cheeks before blessed sleep claimed me.

  * * * *

  Isn’t Belinda’s mam nice, Carmel?

  “She is,” I said and hefted the black bag beside me—a struggle, it was heavier than I thought it would be—mindful not to let it drag on the floor. My elbow and shoulder bore the strain.

  What are you going to tell your mam? About the clothes, I mean.

  “Dunno. I’ll think of something.”

  If you get to keep the clothes, what will you wear tomorrow?

  “Dunno. There’s so much to choose from. Will you shh for a minute?”

  Memories of hours gone by ran amok in my mind. I’d woken on the sofa to the sound of running water and Margo humming. I sat up, stretched, and followed the sounds. Margo leaned over the bath and swished water around, creating an eddy. Thick white bubbles grew up the sides of the tub like Mam’s hair mousse on the rare times she expressed it into her palm. I reached out and touched Margo’s shoulder.

  “Oh!” She jumped, stood upright, and faced me. Water dripped from her hand. “Awake, I see. I’ve run you a bath, thought you might like one after that sleep.”

  Oh my.

  Margo left the room, ensuring a huge pink towel hung on the back of the door, and urged me to use whatever shampoo and soap I liked. Before my bladder betrayed me, I snicked the lock across the door and made it to the toilet in time.

  That bath, I’ll never forget it.

  I also never forgot to wind the plug chain round and round the tap afterwards.

  While walking home, wind whipped my face, wafting the scent of the posh shampoo I’d used from my hair. I felt the cleanest I’d ever been, smelled like the poshest lady. You know, all perfumed and pampered.

  The journey home went by too quickly. I didn’t want to return to reality, smell the stink of Mam’s house, see the filth of it. Belinda’s mam had cleaned her home so it resembled the house of times past. I imagined I was her daughter, and we’d shared the chores, had fun. My palm against the door handle of our place infused my body with dread.

  Wonder what mood she’ll be in, Carmel.

  “Dunno,” I whispered.

  The darkened hallway brought desolation to my soul—an ebony shroud of depression. I plunked the black bag by the door, clutched Nelson to my chest, and closed the front door. Dust, mould, those smells of home, how I hated them. I’d smelled Mr Sheen for the first time at Belinda’s house, sprayed that furniture polish and inhaled deeply, marvelled at how it made the coffee table gleam with one swipe of the soft yellow cloth.

  “That you, kid?” Mam’s sleepy voice yanked me away from my thoughts.

  “Yes, Mam.”

  “Where have you been?”

  I walked into the living room and perched on the chair by the window. Mam was on the sofa, remnants of the day’s make-up on her face along with a tired scowl.

  “Around. Walked about mostly.”

  Mam’s frown deepened. “What’s that smell?”

  My tummy rolled over. “Oh, I went swimming, used some shampoo that someone left.”

  “Swimming? With no costume?” Mam bolted upright, reached for her cigarettes, and levelled her frightening gaze at me. “You must think I was born yesterday, girl.”

  I squirmed in my seat. “No, honest. I found a bag of clothes outside the charity shop in town. There was a costume in there. That’s what gave me the idea, see.”

  Mam narrowed her eyes, lit her cigarette, and seemed to consider what I’d said. “So, the costume will be wet when you show it to me then? And smell of chlorine.”

  A pain shot into my stomach; those nasty fists squeezed it tight. “Want me to show you?” I asked, my mind ticking over, frantic, scared.

  “You bet I fucking do. Go and get the bag.”

  “I need a wee first,” I said. Before she could protest, I lurched out into the hallway, opened the black bag, and retrieved the swimming costume. Stuffing it into my knickers, I raced upstairs. The cold tap on, I shoved the costume under the stream of water. The smell of bleach rose from the material—I’d smelled that for the first time at Margo’s house, too—and I wrung out the costume as well as I could. Toilet flushed, I ran downstairs and thrust the costume into the black bag. Dragging it into the living room, I sat on the chair again and pulled the sack towards me.

  Mam inspected every piece of clothing I gave her, some damp from the costume having rested against them. She brought the cozzie up to her nose, sniffed loudly.

  “Let you off. Reckon you did go swimming, then. I tell you, you got quite a stash here. A lucky find, kid. Well done.” She lay back on the sofa, reached out for an ashtray, and balanced it on her stomach. She closed her eyes. “Just makes me wonder what you dried yourself with. And where you stashed that big bag when you went swimming.”

  I busied myself placing the clothes back in the black bag. I sat for some time, waiting to see if Mam had anything else to say, whether she expected me to answer her musings. Seemed she didn’t, so I sat Nelson on top of the clothes and carried my booty to my room.

  I tried everything on, held Mam’s old make-up mirror out in front of me to see what each outfit looked like. Although I couldn’t see myself in full, the glimpses I did gain were enough. I needed a belt for some of the trousers and skirts—I’d snuck Belinda’s silver one inside the bag when Margo had turned away—but other than that, the clothes fitted. I didn’t recall seeing Belinda in any of them, except for a white towelling T-shirt with an embroidered butterfly on the left breast. I folded the dry clothes and placed them in a pile at the foot of my bed. The damp ones, I hung over the back of a rickety wooden chair that sat in the corner.

  “Carmel?” Mam’s shout invaded my pleasurable task.

  Dressed in pink jeans, a matching jacket, and a white blouse, I skipped to the top of the stairs. “Yes, Mam?”

  Mam’s eyes widened. A small smile played out on her lips. “Well now, don’t you look the business? People will think we’ve come up in the world. Anyhow, I wanted to ask you something. Get down here.”

  Sorrowful that she’d interrupted my game of dress-up, I descended the stairs, following her into the kitchen.

  “Tea,” she said.

  I got on with the task. Mam sat in her usual chair at the small table.

  “Did you go up the shop today, kid?”

  “This morning.”

  “See Mr Hemmings, did you?”

  “No. No one was behind the counter.” I spooned sugar into Mam’s cup then poured boiling water over the teabag.

  “My, my. Bit lax, eh?”

  I didn’t know what she meant, what would be the correct answer, so I turned and smiled at her. Facing her cup once more, I squeezed her blood out of the teab
ag, turned the water almost black. Good job she liked her brew strong, else I’d get a smack on the side of the head for presenting her with dark tea.

  “What did you buy?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” I poured in milk, stirred.

  “Why, because no one was behind the counter?” The click of Mam’s lighter jabbed at my nerves. I knew she was building up to something, and not knowing what it was had me fretting.

  “No one could serve me, so I walked out with a loaf of bread and some milk.” I handed Mam her tea. She took it then slapped me on the back, laughter spilling from her filthy maw.

  “You clever little sod. We’ll make a crim out of you yet. Fucking good day you’ve had, then. Free food and drink, and a bag of clothes.”

  I looked at the tabletop, worried whether Mam knew where I’d really been all day and was testing me to see what I’d say. Her free food and drink comment made my tummy squirm, and my bladder throbbed.

  “How much did swimming cost?” she said and sucked on her cigarette as if it were a drink’s straw.

  Here it comes…

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? So how the fuck did you go swimming?” Mam sipped her tea.

  I continued to stare at the table, at four crumbs that had fallen there God knew when. If I drew a line between each crumb it’d make a square.

  “I tagged along with a group of kids that went with their dad.”

  Mam laughed—and I mean really laughed. “Fuck me, kid. You’ve cheered me up no end today. Started out a bit shitty this morning, got some bad news about Mr Hemmings, but Jesus, you’ve given me some laughs this evening.” Mam took a sip of tea then pulled on her cigarette. “So, you’ve still got that fiver left, then? Or did you need to buy some dinner?”

  “I still have the fiver.” What had happened to Mr Hemmings? “And I made friends with the kids at swimming, and their mam bought me a plate of chips in the cafeteria.”

  Mam choked on her smoke exhalation.

  Wish she’d choke for real.

  “Oh, my fucking God. You are priceless sometimes. There was me thinking you’re useless baggage, when all along you’re a proper little felon. Funny as fuck, you are.”

  For the first time in a long time, Mam yanked me forward and hugged me to her breast, pushed me down to sit on her knee. Confusion brought tears to my eyes, and I blinked them away. Aware that Mam could change tack at any second, I sat still, my body poised to leap away should the need arise. Conflict waged inside me. Mam was pleased I’d supposedly done all those naughty things. By doing them and telling her, she hugged me. Yet Mrs Draper spent a lot of time letting us know that honesty was the best policy. What was right?

  “Carmel, I’m gonna let you keep the fiver as a reward. Besides, I made a packet today.” Mam removed her hands from around my waist, shoved against my back. I stood up, faced her. “Wanna hear what happened to Mr Hemmings?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, the dirty old bastard had some pictures of little kids, see.” My frown must have spurred her next explanation. “Not just normal pictures of kids. No, he had rude ones, like, kids with no clothes on. That’s not allowed, you know. The police took him away because he’s a pervert.”

  Sickness invaded my gut—not from what Mam told me, no, I didn’t really grasp the importance of her statement—but because dear Mr Hemmings was in trouble with the police.

  “Shocking, isn’t it?” Mam asked and continued without waiting for my answer. “No one knows who the kids are in those pictures because they were taken with no faces in them. Or so I heard, anyway, but Mr Hemmings, he’s in the shit, all right. Best thing is, it won’t come back on me and Bob. What d’you reckon to that, eh? Someone’s put the frighteners on the filthy old perv. Fucking classic, it is.”

  “It’s great, Mam,” I said, uncomprehending of frighteners, pervs, and classics. Would that mean I wouldn’t see Mr Hemmings again? Did the police put people in prison for having pictures of children with no clothes on?

  Mam must have read my mind—she was good at doing that—and said, “His wife’ll probably sell the shop. The shame. We probably won’t see the chubby old sod ever again. Shame for Bob, as well. Good customer, was Mr Hemmings. Still, there are more like him out there that are after what we can give them. We’ll have a posh house in no time, girl.”

  Mam beamed, her filthy grin infectious, and, despite my confusion, I smiled too. Giggled. A whole posh house? That would be grand, that would.

  “Anyway, kid. Bedtime for you. And you’ll be wearing one of those new nighties, I reckon.”

  I nodded. Mam in this kind of mood was sometimes worse than her bad ones. With the bad, I knew what to expect. With the good, I walked on a tightrope. Before she could change from sunny day to tornado, I scooted out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into my room.

  With a soft nightshirt against my skin and the smell of posh shampoo in my hair—I’d pulled my hair across my face to better inhale its scent—I thought about Mr Hemmings all alone in a dirty prison cell, rats for company. I puzzled over having a mam that I loved and hated in equal measure. At how she could inspire fear one minute, and confusion with her nice side the next. Pulling my legs up against my body, I squeezed into a tight ball.

  And let the tears fall.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Monday arrived. What should I wear? Such indecision. Gone were the days where I had an either or option. I used to wear the same clothes for weeks on end. Funny how no one commented or took the piss out of me for that. Perhaps I was so insignificant to the other kids that my attire didn’t warrant a mention.

  Finally, I decided on the pink denim outfit and the towelling white T-shirt with the butterfly. Although obviously worn, Belinda’s socks still appeared new to me, and I relished the thought of changing from my outdoor shoes to my plimsolls without fear of someone seeing my toes poking out. My own shoes were all that ruined my outfit that day. A size too small, the black patent leather scuffed across the front, I realised I’d have to look in the lost property box more regularly if I hoped to find a better pair.

  Still, the walk to school seemed shorter, the sun brighter, the sky a sharper blue. I wanted people to look at me—what a change from previous days when I’d kept my head down and avoided eye contact—wanted them to notice the girl with the washed hair (that still smelled of posh shampoo) and the clean clothes. No one paid me any mind, though. On their way to work, lost in their own worlds, the people of our town bustled along as if I didn’t exist. Which I barely did, really.

  Gary sat on the wooden bench in the cloakroom, waiting for me.

  “Carmel! I called round for you after school Friday, but no one answered the door. Someone was in, though. Heard noises through the letterbox. I peeked through and saw some bloke carrying you down the stairs.”

  He called round? For me? I knew we were friends at school, all right, but for him to actually seek me out afterwards, well… My eyes stung. I blinked.

  “Oh, I went to bed early. Mam gave me medicine to make me better after I fell over, you know, on the playground. I don’t remember a bloke carrying me.”

  Gary frowned and jumped up from the bench, stood while I proudly changed into my plimsolls. I wiggled my toes in the socks.

  “Yeah, well, that’s what I came round for. To see if you were all right. And you are, so that’s okay. They new clothes?”

  My tummy flipped, and butterflies danced within. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.” Finished changing, I looked at Gary. Smiled.

  “You look right good,” he said and walked into class with his head down, the back of his neck red.

  * * * *

  My mind tended to wander during boring school assemblies. Mr Kendry’s voice droned, hummed like a bee. He looked like a bee, too, with his big round torso, short arms and legs. His tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, their lenses thick, rested on his bulbous nose. Everest, we called him, you know, after the company that made double-glazing.

  Today’s lecture focus
ed on being kind. Some children had apparently formed a gang. Mr Kendry knew who the gang members were, never fear, and he was watching them. We should mark his words…

  My gaze roamed around the room at children’s paintings on the walls. The theme: endangered animals. Tigers, elephants, monkeys, all depicted in various ways by many minds. Funny how one creature formed into a different creature on the page depending on whose mind conjured the image.

  The tiger pictures fascinated me the most. Rounded faces, pointy faces, big teeth, little teeth. Thick stripes, thin stri—

  “You should be paying attention, you little bitch.”

  Belinda sat next to me, though I didn’t turn to look at her, just shifted my position. Uncrossed and re-crossed my legs.

  “Mr Kendry has good advice on how to stop being bullied. On how to stop being a bully. Seems you’re not listening.”

  A tiger with purple—purple?—eyes glared at me from the wall.

  “I can’t believe you have the cheek to wear my clothes, go to my house, be with my mam.”

  The assembly hall grew warmer. The air thicker.

  “You’re a horrible little girl, Carmel, d’you know that? Do you know what a nasty piece of shit you really are?”

  I raised my hand, placed it beneath the right side of the pink denim jacket, and traced my fingers over the butterfly on my T-shirt. The embroidery tickled my index finger, numbed the skin.

  “No one loves you. I wonder what that feels like? I mean, I wouldn’t know. Everyone loved me. What does it feel like, Carmel?”

  Mr Kendry’s buzz grew in volume, and the heat turned up a notch.

  “I know all about you now. See everything that goes on. Stinky house, dirty mam, crappy doll. No wonder you didn’t want me to come to your house for tea.”