Wednesday 4th of November. Third day. The pavement. This is my home now. People stare at me like I don’t have a right to sit there. I watch them sloshing through puddles in their expensive leather boots. Like my mum used to say, “some girls don’t know they’re born.” They walk arm in arm with their boyfriends, warm and comfy in their jackets and woolly scarves.
I told my mum to eff off. It was too much to swallow. Her parading Kurt the Creep like some toyboy, a shiny new porsche with a diamond spoiler.
“Shut up you bitch,” he yelled. He slapped me.
I can see their faces shut before they reach me. I watch a couple outside a travel agent eyeing last minute deals. They’re lost in their happy world until they turn round. Frozen. They pretend they haven’t seen me. Hand-in-hand, they dodge the kerb, their take-away lattes swilling in their hands. I hated coffee at home. Hated the smell of it whenever my mum was stirring her cup in the kitchen. Now, I’d give anything for something hot. I’m starting to imagine it running down my throat and warming my belly and then when I’m finished drinking it, the cup still being hot in my hands. Makes me cry to think about it.
My mum just stared at me. Waited for me to leave. I didn’t. I slapped him back, harder. He raised his hand but she cried “enough” and he stopped. “Get upstairs! I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night!” she screamed. That’s when I packed my rucksack.
My hair’s starting to get greasy and itchy from not washing it. I tie it back in a ponytail or wear Stephen’s baseball cap to hide the tufty bits that have started poking out in all directions. I like to have my brother’s cap near me when I’m sleeping in the dark. I know it’s daft but it’s a comfort – helps me sleep. I never thought it could get this cold. Under my sleeping bag I wear two t-shirts, a jumper and my big grey hoodie but I wake up nearly every hour. It’s not just the cold. The rumbling and aches in my stomach keep reminding me that I’ve been living on coke and cereal bars for the last two days. I thought about calling Stephen last night with my last twenty pence of credit. I swore I wouldn’t. I swore I’d never speak to any of them again.
I didn’t plan it. Rage got me on the first bus that stopped. I found a seat at the back of the bus and rubbed a circle in the dirt-streaked window. I stole the Creep’s whisky before I left. Well, I was doing her a favour.
The alcohol burns down my throat like sweet lava, trickling into every vein, pumping me up like I’m on fire. Right now, I could do anything. Be anyone. I gulp the whole bottle. Pockets jangle as they walk past me. The ground begins to move and I’m hanging upside down like I’m clinging to a magic carpet. I’m swaying this way and that. Sometimes I feel the rush of air from someone passing and I lift my head a little to see but it flops back down as soon as they’re gone. Black.
Thursday 5th of November. Daylight. Someone is hoisting me up.
“Hello”, he says, “are you OK?”
I’m looking at his face but I don’t recognise him. “Yes, I think so,” I say, but it comes out all funny. My throat feels gritty. The smell hits my nostrils. I’m sitting in front of a shop window and someone has spewed beside me, or I have. There are hamburger cartons and half eaten kebabs next to my bag. My feet are numb.
“You hit your head,” he says. “Are you sure you’re ok?” I feel my brow. There’s a small bump to the right of my left eyebrow. It hurts when I press down.
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
“I saw you here last night,” he says. “My name’s Jamie. Let’s get some food. Warm you up.” He hoists me to my feet.
I was in the kitchen, making hot chocolate when the Creep came in from the pub. I could tell he’d been drinking because I heard him staggering in the hall. It was late – after midnight. Everyone was in bed but I couldn’t sleep. I was grabbing some cookies to take upstairs. He caught me in the act.
We walk the length of the high street. My teeth are chattering so badly I can’t speak. We go down some steps and there’s a narrow lane in front of us. Jamie says “in here” and I’m inside a church hall. There’s a long table at one side and people queuing up with cups and bowls in their hands. He watches my mouth try to answer and says “you go and sit down over there. I’ll get the soup.”
The Creep came up behind me as I reached for the biscuit tin. His breath was all beery. His skin smelt of sweat and stale smoke. He put his arms round my waist. Groped underneath my skirt.
“Get that inside you,” says Jamie. He pushes a big white plate of broth in front of me. It smells delicious. There’s big chunks of chicken, carrots and turnip in it. It’s the only proper thing I’ve had to eat in days. Normally I’d eat self-consciously in front of a stranger but I’m so hungry I gobble it down in seconds, splattering the soup over the table and down my hoodie.
“Sorry”, I say, “I usually have better table manners.”
Jamie laughs. “Yeah, you look like you need fattening up…gotta look out for yourself you know. Haven’t seen your face around?”
“No, I just got here a few days ago.”
“Where you from?”
“Nowhere special.”
“So why you sleeping rough?”
“Step-dad. He’s a real tosser.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”,
“It’s ok. I just don’t fit into the family album.”
He starts to play with the salt on the table. Then he drums on his leg like he’s waiting for a bus.
“What about you? Where’s your family?”
The minute I ask I wish I hadn’t.
“My parents died… car crash.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s ok. My auntie took me in but she couldn’t handle it…like…the drinking and stuff. She told me to get my head down. Work hard at school…get myself a decent job. Now look at me,” he laughs.
For a minute, it’s like I’m back at home, my mum nagging at me.
“Like everything’ll be ok if you just get a job,” I agree sarcastically,
He laughs “yeah, totally.”
I laugh too but my heart sinks as I picture my mum again, the way she was before the Creep came on the scene.
“I got chucked out of the hostel for drinking, then I got turfed out of the b and b,” Jamie says laughing it off. “Anyway, better go…social worker. Look after yourself aw right? What’s your name, by the way?”
“Donna. It was nice to meet you Jamie…I mean…thanks for helping me out .”
“See you around, Donna.”
It feels funny telling him my name. I don’t usually talk to people I don’t know. I use the toilet in the church hall, brush my hair and put my hat back on then I run my hands under the tap. I’m beginning to cool down again. Hot water spurts out. I can only leave my hand there for a few minutes. It’s enough to get the energy flooding back into me. I check my mobile phone. There’s not much charge left in it but one message bleeps through. It’s from Stephen.
Stephen’s feet creaked on the hall floorboards. The Creep and I stopped dead. “What’s going on?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing. Just a play fight,” I said. Go back to bed.” We stood silent staring each other out until we heard Stephen’s door close. When he lunged at me, I yanked his hair. “Bitch,” he yelled. He bashed my head off the cupboard door. I flew back across the kitchen floor. He looked worried just then. Thought I’d really injured myself. I don’t know what was worse – the pain in my head or the concern. I looked at him straight in the eye and said “if you think I’m going to keep silent about this, dream on.” “No, I don’t think you are, I know you are,” he said.
At 5 o’clock, the hall shuts. I walk up the high street looking for a bench. There is an old lady sitting across from the war memorial. Every few minutes she looks in her polythene bag like she’s forgotten something. She is wearing a wine coloured coat with square buttons and a navy straw hat with big holes in it. I sit down next to her, my rucksack at my feet. “Lucky white heather!” she shouts. “Pound a bunch.” She pushes it in front of my face. The heather has dried out so it resembles a dirty weed. “I’ve no money,” I say, showing her my empty pockets. She puts the heather back in a polythene bag, shaking her head. I watch as she staggers towards the zebra crossing.
I tried to tell mum about the fight but the Creep had got there first. She was sieving flour into a bowl and some of it was falling on the floor. “He told me you were just playing,” she said, “you’re just being sensitive.” There were sprinkles on the tops of her slippers and a bit of it on the worktop. I didn’t tell her the secret bit. The bit that mattered.
It’s getting dark. I’ve been sitting on this bench for an hour and my feet are beginning to feel like lead weights. I put my phone away. I don’t need it now. I lift my rucksack, about to get up when Jamie appears.
“How did the appointment go?”
“Aw, you know, she puts up with me. Gives me a lecture.”
“Oh.”
He shrugs his shoulders as I try to think of something positive. “You know, same old..anyway…how are you?”
“Cold.”
“Here have my…”
“Nah, you’re ok.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, just watching the traffic go past. Jamie stares at his scuffed trainers.
“Look, Donna…”
“What?”
“Well…don’t be like me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I make an arse of things…”
“But I thought you…”
“Everything’s temporary in my life.”
“But you’re ok…aren’t you?”
“I’m getting from one day to the next.”
“So…”
“If someone can help, don’t leave it too long.”
“We’re getting married,” my mum said. Just like that. Rolling off the tongue. “Kurt’s going to come and live with us.” You’re going to be a flower girl, Donna,” she said. I told her I’d rather eat my own sick. She starting shouting at me. And then I told her the truth.
Jamie leaves and everything goes quiet around me. I can feel the night creeping in around my shoulders. I’m getting colder by the second but I don’t know where to go.
“You’re just making it up” she said, “you’ve been watching too many late night films…filling your head with weird ideas.” Her face got redder. I wanted to prick her rage to let it all out. I could feel her about to burst. “You’re just jealous. You don’t want me to be happy with anyone except your rotten father.” That’s when I lost it.
The old lady with the straw hat is still waiting by the zebra crossing. She takes out a clump of heather and puts in the bag again, all the time murmuring to herself in soothing tones like a child being rocked to sleep. She is as fragile as a twig, standing there on the edge of the crossing with the cars rushing past her. Each time a car passes, her coat flaps up at the back, pushing her nearer and nearer to the middle of the crossing.
As I hear another car beeping at her, I run to the crossing and take her arm. She looks at me with the face of a confused child as we walk across. When she gets to the other side, she opens her bag and looks at me as she thrusts a handful of weeds in my direction. I shake my head but hold out my hat. She fingers it suspiciously as I point and say “to keep out the rain”. She hands me her straw one and smiles as I put it on my head.
I leave her to her mutterings and crouch in the library entrance. I unzip my rucksack and take out my phone. The text from Stephen is still there. I read it and re-read it. Hands trembling, I start to dial.
Copyright: Catriona Yule
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