Queen Dolly

by Emmy Ellis

  “D’you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “No thanks. Living with it was bad enough without going over it again with you.” I rested my cheek against his chest.

  “Pardon me for breathing,” he said. “I was only asking.”

  “Yeah, well don’t.” Changing my surly tone, I said, “So, what else did Bob have to say?”

  What do you want to know for?

  “Yeah, what do you want to know for?” yelled Belinda from inside the wardrobe, her voice muffled.

  I imagined the wet ooze from her socket face dirtying all my clothes and resisted the urge to jump up and snatch the wardrobe door open.

  “Asked if I could let you know next time I saw you that your mam asked about you. Bob said she’s gone downhill since you left.”

  I snorted, lifted my head, and looked at Gary’s face to make sure he wasn’t messing me around. “Downhill since I left? I’ll never believe that. She’s probably just missed the bloody housework being done.”

  Gary shrugged. “Bob sounded pretty genuine to me. Mind you, I don’t really know the bloke, so I wouldn’t know if he meant what he said or not.” Sniffing, he glanced around my room. “Got a TV guide? I wanna see if that film is on tonight. You know, the one about that man who murdered those prostitutes. Jack the Ripper, that’s it.”

  I smiled. Some things never changed, and Gary’s quench for blood and gore was one of them.

  “I haven’t got a TV guide, but I think it’s on tomorrow night at nine,” I said and stood. “D’you want another drink? I’ve got some Coke in the fridge.”

  Gary tutted. “Now she tells me. Bloody filled myself up with water, didn’t I.”

  Smiling, I walked over to the kitchenette and poured two glasses of Coke. Seated beside him again, I said, “Is Bob still at the pub?”

  “He was when I left, why?”

  “Fancy a drink?”

  What the hell are you doing, Carmel?

  Belinda’s squeal sailed out of the wardrobe. “She’s going to check on her mam. I told you, Doll, Annette needs forgiving, not ignoring.”

  Forgiving my arse.

  “My sentiments exactly,” I said.

  “What?” said Gary.

  “Nothing,” I said, guzzling my Coke.

  * * * *

  The Cross Keys was filled to the brim with patrons. Grey cigarette smoke lingered above the heads of those seated at the bar, eerily lit by lights hanging from gold chains. Raucous laughter mixed with mumbled conversations ebbed and flowed. The door swooshed closed behind us, shutting out the cold air. The stench of beer and pub food prevalent, I breathed through my mouth and followed Gary past the crowd.

  Bob sat in a far corner, resting his feet on the edge of a table. His greasy hair looked more unkempt than it had the last time I’d seen him, and he now sported a beard and moustache. I still would have recognised him, though—his piercing eyes gave him away.

  “Well, fuck me, if it isn’t Carmel, my favourite girl.”

  The hairs on my arms stood on end, and a shudder raced up my spine. Memories of the past flounced through my mind as if the events had only occurred yesterday. I blinked and shut them away, forcing myself to think of the here and now.

  Bob stood and dug his hand into his pocket, bringing out a handful of change and crumpled notes. “What’re you drinking?” he asked.

  “Coke,” I said.

  Bob held out a ten pound note to Gary. “Coke for Carmel, pint of Guinness for me, and whatever you’re having. Good lad.” He sat and patted the chair beside him.

  Suddenly awkward, I didn’t know whether I wanted to sit beside him or continue to stand. The urge to follow Gary to the bar grew strong, but I resisted, sighed, and sat opposite Bob.

  Bob leaned his elbows on the table, and his face moved perilously close to mine. His beer breath tickled the hairs on my jaw. I stifled a heave. Blackheads, prominent on his nose, reminded me of when I used to stab my biro against the paper in my school books.

  “So the lad there told you about your mam, then?” He nodded towards the bar.

  Well, obviously…

  “Yes.” I turned to see if Gary had managed to get served yet. Two rows of men lined the bar, and Gary was in the process of elbowing his way closer.

  “She was nearly a goner last night, kid.”

  I faced Bob again. “Really? Shame she wasn’t. How much did she take?” I studied the tabletop rather than look at Bob’s new facial adornment.

  “Dunno. As dependent as a dog on its owner, is Annette. Old H got its grip on her bad lately. Been using more than her usual dose. I’ll brain the fucker that sold me the dodgy batch.” Bob belched.

  I shuddered and imagined Mam’s syringe and how full it used to be.

  “So what does she want me for?” I asked.

  “Scared herself shitless, didn’t she. Reckon she thought she was gonna meet her maker, know what I mean?”

  Gary placed a pint of Guinness on the table, and Bob sat upright, picked up the glass, and swallowed deeply. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and I envisaged a knife slashing his throat open and Guinness pouring out along with blood.

  Taking the glass bottle of Coke from Gary, I indicated with my eyes that he sit beside me. “We’ll drink these quick and be off,” I said quietly.

  Gary glanced at his pint and sat down. “Give me a chance.”

  “Lovers’ tiff?” said Bob.

  I glared at Bob and saw him for the insipid creep he was. Everything was sexually orientated with him. Memories barged into my mind, bringing unwanted images of the little girl I used to be. The flash of the camera, the click of the shutter, the tinkle of the chains on my ‘new’ outfit, the ‘toys’…

  I blinked and stood.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour,” I said and registered the shock on Gary’s face. “You stay and finish your pint with Bob.”

  Gary’s mouth hung open, and I snapped it closed with my finger under his chin.

  “Where you going?” he asked.

  “I may as well nip and see Mam, save you rushing your beer.”

  I turned and elbowed through the crowd without waiting for Gary to protest. Some things were better done alone.

  * * * *

  Her house looked exactly the same as it always had from the outside.

  “Why shouldn’t it?” said Belinda.

  “Dunno. I just expected it to be…different for some reason.”

  I stared at the dirty net curtains hanging behind the equally filthy windows. Streaks of dried earth decorated the front door as if someone with muddy boots had attempted to kick it in.

  Angry punter?

  I stood on the paving slab in front of the door. The handle appeared to be broken. It dangled downwards.

  Someone’s wrenched that bugger.

  “Bob did it last night. Your Mam didn’t answer his knock, and he saw her through the window on the sofa. Thought she was asleep at first, but after rapping his knuckles on the window, he kind of guessed she wasn’t quite right,” said Belinda. “Despite his pitfalls, Bob realises Annette needs help.”

  “Despite his pitfalls?” I almost laughed. “He’s the fucker who’s been supplying the silly bitch all these years.”

  The sound of a door opening made me jump. I moved back from Mam’s door, but it wasn’t hers that had opened. The snotty cow from next door stepped out onto her path to my left with the fronts of her dressing gown clutched tightly in her fists.

  “Oh, it’s you. Back again, are you?” Snotty’s hair rollers bobbed along with her head. “Thought we’d got rid of at least one of you. And you can tell your mother,” she snarled, her top lip curling, “that we normal folk don’t appreciate hearing her screaming at the top of her lungs late into the night.” She flared her nostrils. “It’s bad enough that I have to live next door to a prostitute, but to hear her carrying on last night you’d—”

  I flew across the grass in front of the two houses and stood directly in front of he
r. “What she does is nothing to do with me. Never has been. And you can stop sneering at me like that, because I happen to agree with you. Why do you think I got away so young, why I haven’t been back since I left? And her profession obviously doesn’t bother you that much, otherwise you’d have reported her and got me taken away to a foster home. To someone who gave a shit about me, you pious old cow.”

  Snotty’s eyes widened, and she gripped her gown tighter. Her cheeks gained a pink hue, the light spilling from her open door affording me a clear view of her face. Her eyebrows shot up and down. They needed plucking. I took another step towards her, anger at her reluctance to help me as a child seeping dangerously into my bloodstream.

  “Oh, well… Right…” She stood for a few seconds, obviously unsure what to say or do next. Her bottom lip quivered, and a teardrop of spittle oozed from one corner of her mouth and turned into a glistening, liquid slug. With a quick shake of her head, she turned abruptly and stumbled into her hallway and closed her door.

  Fucking old bitch.

  I stood on the grass for a moment and contemplated knocking on Snotty’s door and spilling out my vengeance. Snatching out her hair rollers and shoving them down her throat. She’d lived in silence all those years and must have known what my life had been like.

  “Ignorance is bliss. If you pretend something isn’t happening, you can almost convince yourself it doesn’t exist,” whispered Belinda from behind me. She walked to stand at Snotty’s front door, a barrier against me ringing the doorbell.

  Oh, shut the hell up, girl. What do you know, eh? Leave us alone, you one-eyed freak.

  “Huh, look who’s talking, Doll.” Belinda’s shoulders stiffened, and she straightened her posture in affront. Her eye-socket head morphed into her life-face. Crocodile skin sagged at her jaw line and looked as though it would slip off if I reached out and—

  “Don’t you dare!” she said and backed up against Snotty’s door. “Leave me alone.”

  “Well shut up, then,” I said and, turning away from her, took three paces over the frost-kissed grass to Mam’s door. “I’m going in alone before you even think about coming with me.”

  A vast sigh from Belinda sailed to me and covered my face. I raised my hands and clawed at my cheeks to remove the breath-cowl. It stuck to my skin, and for a second I recalled the white glue we used at school and how, when it dried, it looked like peeling skin. The film tightened across my cheeks, my mouth, nostrils, and I fought for breath. A moan sounded inside my head followed by a primal growl. I twisted round to stare at Belinda. Her fuzzy form stood in front of me, her face a socket once more, the blood-inside-sandwich-wrap version.

  “Now you know how I feel,” she said.

  Get that fucking thing off her face.

  My lungs strained, and my knees threatened to buckle. Panicked, I ripped at my face and succeeded in pulling off strips of film. Belinda continued to breathe at me, resealing the places where my fingers had torn strips. I snatched a large hole over my mouth and sucked in air before Belinda breathed again, but she turned away from me and disintegrated. As if the cowl had never been, it disappeared with her.

  She’s losing it, Carmel.

  I bent over, placed my palms on my knees, and sucked in gulps of air. My heart thundered, and the backs of my eyeballs throbbed. “I…know,” I said. “But…it doesn’t…help…when you…”

  I know. I should keep my mouth shut, but she annoys me.

  “Shhh…she might be…listening.” Breaths steadier, I stood upright. My vision blurred, and I sensed a faint coming. “Need to…” I staggered to Mam’s door and slapped at the handle. The door sprang open, and I lurched inside the house.

  Childhood odours assaulted me. As if I’d never left, the house engulfed me in its familiarity, welcoming me in. Whispers seeped from the walls.

  Welcome home, Carmel. Come in…come in…

  Although the hallway light wasn’t on, I recognised the same shapes in the gloom. The door to the cupboard under the stairs stood open, and a shadow mound of shoes was piled in the entrance.

  Your mam must have scrabbled about in there to put the electric on.

  I closed the door. “Mam?” My voice echoed back at me.

  A shaft of light seeped from beneath the living room door. Hands out before me, I walked towards it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The light from the bare bulb in the living room rendered me momentarily sightless. I blinked. Silver spots danced, and my vision gradually returned. I rubbed my eyes then glanced towards the sofa where I expected Mam to be. But the sofa, devoid of her drug-addled body, looked as worn out and abused as I once was. Mam’s dream of making her house as posh as the back room had obviously not been realised, and a hint of sadness nudged my conscience.

  Make sure it is only a hint of sadness, Carmel. There’s no room for pity when it comes to your mam. She had no pity for you…

  I crossed the living room, dodging pizza boxes, old magazines, and empty beer cans. The door to the kitchen stood closed, and I placed my ear against it. A tap dripped loudly, which meant the bowl in the sink was empty of dirty dishes.

  Or the drips are plopping into a cup.

  I nodded, whispered, “Most probably,” and opened the door. The fluorescent strip light flickered on and off; the starter obviously needed changing. It gave the kitchen an ominous feel, made the appliances on the worktops sinister in the darkness. Nelson had been right; the tap water was dripping into a cup perched on top of a stack of dirty crockery. What looked like a splash of tomato sauce streaked the side of the yellow-white kettle, resembling a splatter of old blood.

  A quick survey of the kitchen worktops yielded sights of toast crumbs, tea splashes, and empty food packages. A ketchup bottle stood lidless, the sauce congealed and crusty around the rim. The cutlery drawer hung open and leaned listlessly to one side, the runner broken. Dirt nestled in a line along the edge of the lino where it met the cupboard bases, the once white flooring now grey and brown.

  A squeak sounded to my left, and I jumped. An altogether different squeak came from behind the door to the back room, and I knew that Mam was working. Doing her thing, massaging her client’s—

  Back and shoulders. Yeah, right.

  I turned to the larder and opened the door. The mouse of my youth—could it be the same one?—sat on its haunches on the shelf. It eyed me warily, its front paws poised in front of it, clasped together as if in prayer.

  “Praying for food, mister?” I whispered and moved to the worktop to swipe a smattering of breadcrumbs into my palm. Nearing the mouse, I expected it to flee into the hole in the back of the cupboard, but it remained in place, rigid. “Do you think if you stay still for long enough I won’t see you, is that it? Ah, I’ve played that game many times, and it doesn’t quite work like that. For one,” I emptied the crumbs onto the shelf, “you don’t have a blanket with holes to peer from, and two,” I rubbed my palms together and hunkered down, “people have a habit of knowing that you’re trying to hide. Then they give you their attention. Yet if you’d scurried off to your hole, their interest in you would wane immediately. Unless, of course, they wanted you for some reason—and then they’d come and find you.”

  I closed the cupboard door and walked back into the living room. Mam’s mirror that she used for plucking her eyebrows perched perilously on top of a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines. The urge to laugh gripped me—insane, ironic laughter—but sadness snatched the mirth away, wrenching it in its fists along with squeezing tears from my eyes.

  Angrily, I dashed them away, growling in frustration at the emotions Mam made me feel, even when she wasn’t in the room. She would forever be the octopus in my sea, many arms reaching into every aspect of my psyche.

  “What are you still doing here? Your mam is too busy to see you.” Belinda stood in the doorway to the hall, hands on hips. “I did try and stop you coming in here, didn’t I? But you knew best. Just had to come in. Overdose or not, that woman will work u
ntil she’s dead, and it wouldn’t surprise me if one of her punters came in and did her even then.”

  “You say that, yet defend her. You make no sense, Belinda.”

  She laughed. “It’s all part of my plan to confuse your already fucked-up mind. Payback is a bitch, isn’t it?”

  I stumbled past her and out of Mam’s house. The cold air whacked my sore face, seeping into the scratch marks I’d made. As I walked briskly along the street, the sound of Mam’s door closing reached me, as did footsteps on the tarmac.

  “Why don’t you go back?” Belinda said, hurrying alongside me. “He’s gone. She’s in there hauling her sad and abused body off of her bed right now. She could use a hug.”

  “She could use a shot of H, Belinda. She could use a cigarette, a cup of hot tea, a snort of cocaine. But a hug? No, she couldn’t use one of those, especially not from me.” I thundered towards the pub, my cheeks stinging as much as my eyes.

  Go away, Belinda. You cause havoc every time you’re near.

  “That’s the idea, Doll.”

  Belinda’s laugh grated on my last nerve, and I stopped walking and turned to face her. “If you’re trying to make me go to Insane Land, forget it, because I’m already there. If you’re trying to make me forgive Mam, hit the fucking road, Jack—that’ll never happen.”

  I stared at the blood swirling beneath the film of her socket face. My fingers twitched with the need to rip it open and watch the blood spill onto the tarmac, splash onto my shins, on my face, in my hair. An image of her prone on the path entered my mind, and I saw myself jumping on her over and over again until she became nothing but sodden mulch.

  “That’s quite an imagination you have there, Carmel. Shame I’m already dead.” She giggled and flicked her head back.

  You’re a crazy bitch, d’you know that?

  “Oh yeah, Doll. I know. Aren’t we all?”

  My throat constricted, and I turned from her and continued walking to The Cross Keys. Eyes downcast, I concentrated on my footsteps and counted how many it took me to reach the pub. My shoes clip-clopped, the sound reverberating in the still night. Tears spilled, burned my cheeks, and upon reaching the pub entrance, I patted them away, wincing at the salty sting.