Man Hating Psycho

by Iphgenia Baal

  B__ turned his back on S____ and Security, and dropped to his knees at D______’s feet. Teenage melodrama in a bowling alley. Sweet. Everyone, even Security, waited to see what D______ was gonna do.

  — Come on, D______ said, — we’re going.

  She pulled B__ to his feet and dragged him over to the booth.

  — You okay? someone asked.

  D______ didn’t reply.

  They grabbed their skateboards and headed for the exit. We downed our drinks, gathered our things and followed suit. I stepped out of the booth, looked at S____, straw still in mouth. She was watching D______ and B__’s every move. I nudged A_____ to alert her.

  I saw the sign, I saw the si-ee-i-ee-ign…

  — Uh oh, said A_____.

  I saw the sign, I saw the si-ee-i-ee-ign…

  D______ and B__ had the swing doors open when S____ climbed onto a chair.

  I saw the sign, I saw the si-ee-i-ee-i…

  — Listen, kid, you’ve got to get down, said Security — Showtime’s over.

  I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign!

  — I’m pregnant, S____ said.

  I don’t remember how the rest of the evening went other than that at the end of it, I walked home with T__ who lived kinda near me.

  — Poor D____ , I said.

  — B__’s a fucking weirdo, T__ said.

  — Do you think S____ is really pregnant? I said.

  — Do you think she would lie about something like that? T__ said.

  We exchanged a look of silent agreement.

  — Do you think B__ and D______ will split up or stay together? T__ said.

  I ate dinner with my parents without breathing a word of what had happened, half because I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened and anything I said would only prompt questions I didn’t have the answers to, and half because I knew that the grown-up-ness of it (Adultery! Babies!) would most likely upset them.

  After dinner, the obligatory phone calls began.

  A_____ called to say she was with D______ who had decided to forgive B__ and make a go of it. She said B__ said S____ was lying about being pregnant because they’d actually only slept together once and that was months ago so it was almost impossible.

  M___ called to say she had spoken to A_____ and didn’t believe S____ about the baby either. She thought we should all stop speaking to S____ because she was a ‘psycho’. M___ rang off saying she was going to call S____ to tell her to stay away from all of us.

  I called V______. Out of all of us V______ was the least interested in sex, so although we talked about what happened, the only feeling she expressed was how insane she thought everyone was. She tried to move the conversation on to other things but I forced it back, thinking I should let V_______ know the consensus: S____ was out. Upon receiving the news V_______ stayed quiet for a minute then said, ‘alright’ but that, by-the-by, she didn’t think S____ was lying. There was something in the way V______ spoke that arrested me, and for the first time I considered the possibility that S might telling the truth. An actual baby. Fucking hell.

  I called A_____ back to say, ‘what if S____ isn’t lying?’ and, ‘don’t you think we should find out?’

  It was decided a few of us girls would meet the next day and go round to S____’s with a pregnancy test and make her do it, but that we wouldn’t mention it to D______ or B__ until we’d found out either way.

  The pregnancy test intervention never happened. In fact no one saw or heard from S____ for weeks. She didn’t show up at school and when we tried to call her house, the call either rang out or L_______ would answer to say S____ wasn’t available.

  With S____ not around things went back to normal. D______ and B__ seemed more together than ever, although everyone was careful not to mention S____ in their company. Course we talked about it amongst ourselves all the time, but eventually ran out of aspects to speculate on. S____ was a bitch, probably wasn’t preggo, was hiding because she’d humiliated herself and we probs wouldn’t see her again. Despite a fair number of us being teenage girls, we were decidedly ill-versed in teenage girl behaviour.

  It was around this time that I started drifting away from the group. I got a boyfriend, Ricardo, who no one liked but was probably one of the best boyfriends I’ve had. (To this day I am glad I lost my virginity to him over any of the twats that followed.) My friends called him Ricardo Retardo, which he didn’t mind but I didn’t like. And then there was the magic mushrooms.

  We got the shrooms off M___’s dad, who sent them from America. Freeze-dried, vacuum-packed to be made into tea. We waited for a free house to do them, which came round one Easter weekend. The tea was made, the spliffs were rolled and we went out to the garden.

  We sat sipping mushroom tea, asking each other every ten minutes or so whether we felt anything. Eventually I did. It was like reality was twinging, which I interpreted as a muscular spasm of my eye muscle rather than anything spiritual or other-worldly. Then things went like when you sit right in front of the telly and can see the thousands of kaleidoscopes that make up the screen.

  — I can definitely feel something, I said.

  The others started to laugh. They laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed until I started to feel uncomfortable.

  — What? I said. — What’s so funny?

  — We’ve given you an extra strong dose, someone said.

  They were creasing, finding it hilarious (probably tripping a bit themselves) but I didn’t find it funny. I still don’t. Not that anything bad happened. It was an amazing first trip with blue owls and tin foil cherry blossom and my skin turning the colour of molasses. What I didn’t like was them telling me they’d given me an extra strong dose just as I was coming up. A much nastier thing to do than just doing it, but happily I didn’t freak out.

  A couple of days after the mushrooms, I met up with Ricardo and told him what had happened. He listened and when I was done he said, — I don’t think these people like you very much.

  It was a weird thing to hear. I’d assumed ‘these people’ would be my friends for life but suddenly the thought occurred to me that they might not be. Also, that I’d never really chosen them. Our parents sent us to the same schools. We were forced together. But school was done and there was a whole world of people out there…

  I won’t say it was a clean break (when is it ever?) but as summer rolled on I saw less and less of ‘these people’ and by the time Autumn came round I wasn’t hanging out with them at all. I broke up with Ricardo and got a new boyfriend. He was older than me so his life was much more interesting than mine and I adopted it wholeheartedly. Pretty soon I’d as good as forgotten my old friends altogether, so, imagine my surprise when, walking through Camden the following Spring, who should I see but S____? Spliff in mouth, charging along the high street like a crackhead, pushing a buggy. S____ didn’t notice me and I considered letting her pass unheeded, but curiosity to see the contents of the buggy got the better of me.

  — S____! I called out to her.

  — Fucking hell, how are you? S____ said, skidding to a halt.

  — I’m alright, I said. — You had a baby!

  — Yeah, that’s what happens after you’re pregnant, S____ said.

  — We thought you were making it up, I said.

  A flicker of something crossed S____’s face but I couldn’t tell what.

  S____ pulled back the hood of the buggy and presented the child.

  — She’s called D______ , S____ said.

  I didn’t say anything but failed to disguise my surprise.

  — I live round the corner. You should come over. B__’s home, S____ said, a fat little smile flickering across her thin lips.

  — You’re alright, I said. — I’ve gotta go.

  — Well, why don’t you give me your number? S____ said. — It’s been too long.

  My teenage concern that S____ was ʻuncoolʼ resurfaced momentarily. Bumping into her was one thing but did I actually want to hang
out with her? Be friends? But then I remembered that S____ being ʻuncoolʼ was a verdict that had been reached by a group of people who were pretty uncool themselves. Feeling grown up and gregarious, I dictated my number to S____ , who punched the digits into her phone then read the number back to me.

  Over the following months we texted a few times. S____ sent pictures of the baby. I replied to say they were cute. She invited me round. I made sounds that sounded like I was up for it but never went so far as to confirm a date.

  It was about a year later that I caught my boyfriend in bed with someone else. Not yet having developed the self-worth which makes it possible to espouse and practise more liberal positions on monogamy, I went from being in love, well-travelled and popular to being single, broke and homeless.

  I sat on the doorstep of my ex-boyfriend’s house trying to sort somewhere to go. Having ditched my old friends I couldn’t very well call them up out of the blue and ask to move in and all the rest of my address book were my boyfriend’s friends, so no go. I got to S____’s number, remembered her saying that her dad had bought her a three-bedroom house in Camden. It was getting cold. It was getting late. I called her, explained my predicament and was relieved when she said I was welcome to come over. There was a spare room, which I could have for as long as I wanted. I got off the phone and two seconds later she’d texted through the address.

  I replied, thanking her and giving an ETA of two hours max. I steeled myself for facing my ex then went inside to gather my possessions. Gathering my possessions unsurprisingly turned into a massive row that ate into the whole two hours before I finally fled. I caught the train to Camden, composing a long text to the ex, detailing just how few orgasms I’d had during sex on the journey and sent it as I emerged onto Camden High Street. I followed S____’s directions to thirty-four Rousden Road.

  As I turned into the street I could heard a baby screaming. S____’s baby? I reached number thirty-four and yes, the screaming was coming from inside. The front door to the house was ajar. I went in. The baby’s screams got louder still. I closed the door, flicking up the latch to lock it behind me.

  — Hello? I said.

  — Hello, a voice said.

  It made me jump. I looked up and saw B__ sat at the top stairs with his head in his hands.

  — Hey B__! I said. — I didn’t realise you’d be here.

  B__ looked up.

  — I’m not, he said.

  Baby still screaming.

  — You’re not what? I said.

  — I’m not here, he said. — Or at least I won’t be in a minute.

  Baby still screaming.

  — Is the kid alright? I said.

  — Am I? he said.

  — Hmmm, I said, — Well, S____ said I could take the spare room for a bit. Is that cool?

  — Nothing to do with me, B__ said.

  — Alright, I said. — Where’s S____?

  B__ shrugged then put his head back in his hands.

  Baby still screaming.

  — Is D_____ ok? I said, remembering its name.

  There was a knock on the door.

  — That’ll be Dad, he said.

  Picking up the rucksack at his feet B__ took the stairs two at a time.

  I opened the door to a man who middle-age had rendered entirely nondescript. He walked past me into the house without even basic acknowledgement.

  — Come on then, let’s get you off, B__’s dad said.

  — I’m sorry Dad, he said.

  Baby still screaming.

  B__’s dad picked up a book from the hall and tutted loudly.

  — Someone needs to take proper care of that child! B__’s dad said at a level just short of shouting, aimed along the corridor.

  — Don’t Dad, just don’t, B__ said. He looked scared.

  With no idea what was going on and bristling at the insult of this old sap blanking me, I stood in the way while B__ and his dad carried his bags out to an Audi Passat double-parked outside. They made several journeys back and forth. Then B__ got in the car and B__'s dad returned to the front door alone.

  — Are you a friend of S____’s? he said.

  I shrugged.

  — I guess, I said.

  — Well, B__’s dad said, raising his voice again clearly hoping S____ could hear, — You tell that drugged-up trollop she should be expecting a call from social services any day now. The Morleys don’t go down without a fight.

  He shook his fist in an unconvincing display of assertiveness then slammed the door shut.

  Going through into the kitchen I find a purple-faced baby strapped into a high chair. Multi-coloured slops splatter its face, the tray in front of it and the floor and walls around it. When it sees me it stops crying, gives a little sigh, whimpers, then starts crying again.

  — Hey mate, I said. — Hey.

  I unstrapped the baby and lifted it out of its chair. It leant its hot head against my neck.

  We go from room to room and finally discover S____ upstairs. I almost don’t see her because she’s lying in a pile of clothes with a tea towel over her face in a dark room that reeks of skunk. Actual skunk and smoked skunk. Also the way a person who smokes skunk smells, which is like skunk.

  Baby D______ sees S____ and starts bawling louder. I try and hand the baby to its mother.

  — I think she wants you, I said.

  — Just put her on the bed, S____ said, pulling the tea towel off her face.

  I put the baby down. It carries on crying and wriggling, legs bicycling the air.

  — Are you okay? I said — What the fuck’s going on?

  S____ sits up and reaches over to retrieve a giant spliff from the ashtray and lights it. She takes two short, sharp inhales then one long toke.

  — Fucking bastard’s left me, she said, doing her best Pat Butcher impression.

  Baby D______ is still screaming and thrashing around. She starts to slide off the bed. I catch her just as she goes over the side. I hold the child in my arms and bounce her gently up and down.

  — Shush, I said, — Shush.

  — I think she likes you, S____ said.

  S____ dropped the still-burning spliff into an ashtray, lay back down, tea towel over face… And somehow I end up being the one left holding the baby.

  TAYLOR WIMPEY ‘99’ HORROR

  99. Elegant articulation of contemporary horror

  98. Diverse urban horror

  97. Local artisan horror

  96. Refined city haven horror

  95. Curated selection of horror

  94. Property investment portfolio horror

  93. Friendly addition to bustling horror

  92. Independent boutique horror

  91. Creative hub horror

  90. Abundant green space horror

  89. Tranquil outdoor horror

  88. Award-winning horror

  87. Iconic landmark horror

  86. Exclusive postcode horror

  85. Desirable lifestyle horror

  84. Comfortable practical horror

  83. Thoughtfully designed horror

  82. Stunning feature wall horror

  81. Timeless horror

  80. Perfectly-positioned horror

  79. Double-dug basement horror

  78. Dedicated to lateral living horror

  77. Michelin star horror

  76. Third party service horror

  27. 24-hour concierge horror

  74. Secure mail and delivery service horror

  73. Electronic controlled access horror

  72. Video door entry system horror

  71. Secure cycle storage horror

  70. CCTV horror

  69. Private courtyard horror

  68. Comfort cooling horror

  67. On-site facility horror

  66. Residents’ lounge horror

  65. Sommunal games room horror

  64. Open-plan studios for fast-paced horror

  63. Generous duplex apartments for family horror
r />   62. Penthouse horror

  62. Floor-to-ceiling horror

  60. Private terrace with decking horror

  59. Sunken garden horror

  58. Double-glazed horror

  57. Sliding door horror

  56. View of the city’s financial horror

  55. Programmable mood horror

  54. Multi-functional horror

  53. Antique bronze finish horror

  52. Free-standing brass-wrapped island horror

  51. Investment interior piece horror

  50. Premium fixture horror

  49. Glass balustrade horror

  48. Designer door furniture horror

  47. Engineered hardwood horror

  46. Fitted broadloom horror

  45. Sleek brand-conscious horror

  44. Composite natural stone kitchen horror

  43. Tiled splash-back horror

  42. Gloss lacquered storage horror

  41. Induction hob with extractor hood horror

  40. Fully-integrated stainless steel horror

  39. Fully-integrated eco horror

  38. Fully-integrated fridge-freezer horror

  37. Washing machine and spin dryer horror

  36. Free-standing glass-fronted horror

  35. Segregated waste disposal horror

  34. Master en-suite horror

  33. High-end porcelain in wet area horror

  32. Underfloor heating horror

  31. Statement black fitting horror

  30. Twin basin horror

  29. Heated towel rail horror

  28. Dual flush WC with concealed cistern horror

  27. Walk-in shower horror

  26. Frosted glass bathscreen horror

  25. Wall-mounted mirrored vanity unit horror

  24. Glass-interior shelving stainless steel cabinet horror

  23. Bespoke fitted wood-effect veneer wardrobe horror

  22. Bespoke matching drawer set horror

  21. Automated blind horror

  20. BT socket and 5-volt powerpoint horror

  19. Hyperoptic broadband horror

  18. Access to shared satellite (subscription required) horror

  17. Commerce-meets-culture horror

  16. Entrepreneurial artistic horror

  15. Weekend brunch and cocktail horror