From my cold dead hands, p.8
From My Cold Dead Hands, page 8
‘Won’t he help us?’
I know I’m a kid, but I don’t understand how he can eat everything in the flat, drink and smoke himself doubly stupid, do things to my mum that leaves horrible bruises but leave us with no electricity or gas. And I’m so hungry; it’s like my belly is fused to my knobbly backbone. I wonder if I dare steal anything from the corner shop again, except I think they’re watching me now.
‘Him?’ There is such hate in her voice. ‘Help us? Wake up, love!’ She wipes her face roughly, though her face remains hidden. ‘The only thing he loves is himself. He’d happily bleed us dry and leave us to fester in the gutter.’
‘Can’t we run again?’ But I know the answer. Even the women’s refuge couldn’t save us. If they can’t, who can? No one. We have to protect ourselves, although I am too young to work out what we must do, and she’s so tired and ill. Last time, he grabbed me when I went to the totally secret school that Social Services had sent me to. He may be thick as pig-shit, but he knew enough that she’d follow wherever he dragged me. It’s my fault we’re back here again.
I hunt for stub ends of candles and a lighter. At least I’m bound to find one of those, the amount of stuff he smokes, and I don’t mean cigarettes…
I wake with a jolt.
‘Oh, God!’ I wipe the sweat from my forehead and see my hands are trembling violently. ‘I think I nodded off there.’
‘Are you alright?’ I can hear the concern in Tyreese’s voice. ‘It sounded like you were having a nightmare.’
‘I was, but it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real.’ Yes, the anger and hate were overwhelming. Residual emotions are still swirling in my gut, and my scalp feels like I’ve rubbed an ice cube over my head. ‘I keep getting these glimpses of things that are really horrible, except I don’t know if they are real or not. This time it was more like a hallucination.’ Again, it’s all slipping out of reach, like a mackerel darting into the depths of the sea, a flash of rainbow scales, and then deep darkness closes around it, and it’s gone.
‘Bad dreams can be pretty strong. They can leave you shaken up.’
‘I know, but this is different somehow. I can’t explain it. I’m seeing people and situations that aren’t anything to do with here.’
‘We’re almost back at the house. Perhaps you need to talk some more with your doctor. Surely he can explain what could be happening?’
‘Maybe he’ll tell me I died in London, and now I’ve come back as someone else.’
I register the look of shock on Tyreese’s face. ‘What?’
‘Sorry. That was a joke.’ I’m still staring at his face. ‘A bad taste joke in hindsight.’
‘No shit,’ he mumbles.
We turn into the driveway. I can see the house in the distance behind a row of squat trees. Seeing it anew is strange. I know it, and yet I don’t know it. Recognition is seriously lacking. Dropped at the carport, I make my way in and get lost trying to find the downstairs bathroom.
Dad is standing by the table in the kitchen. He’s tapping on the window. The view is over the pool and the decking. No clouds sully the deep-blue sky, and the water looks like polished azure glass, so still and smooth I believe I can walk on it.
He looks over his shoulder at me as I make a ham, cheese and mayonnaise sandwich. ‘I saw you go off with Tyreese this afternoon. Dolores told me you’d gone to talk to Lucy. How did that go?’
‘Not particularly well. I’m waiting to find out. I asked her to go shopping with me, you know, some mother and daughter time?’
‘She said, yes?’
‘She said maybe.’
‘Well, that’s a start. Did you see Nick?’
‘Briefly.’
‘How was that?’
‘Strange. He kept his distance if that’s what you mean. You did warn him off me, didn’t you?’
‘For your own good. You can’t deal with him and sort yourself out at the same time.’
I nod. ‘What’s really peculiar is that I had memories of the cat again. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m going mad.’ I laugh, but even in my ears, it sounds shrill and nervous. The way that Tyreese stared at me as I walked off said it all. I should never have said that because the idea is now stuck in my head.
‘Don’t you go down that route, Cassie. You’re not mad, just disorientated. I know your memories will return, and then you’ll be back to normal.’
‘Oh, we had an accident while we were driving over to the lodge–’
‘An accident? Did Tyreese crash the car because if he did–’
‘No, no. Some guy in a white Chevy came at us on our side of the road. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Tyreese, I’d probably be back in the hospital, or worse.’
‘My God, what happened?’ Dad tugs me into his arms and speaks into my hair. ‘Don’t frighten me, Cassie. I’ve already almost lost you, and I surely don’t want to experience that again.’
I mumble into his shoulder. ‘Tyreese got us out of the way. A pretty nifty bit of driving, although the car got scratched down the side.’
‘Down the passenger side?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hell-fire, Cassie. You called the police, didn’t you?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Why in Heaven’s name didn’t you?’
‘Because we weren’t injured, and he was long gone before we thought about it. We were too busy trying not to end up tipped in a ditch.’ I smile up at him. ‘You should give Tyreese a bonus.’
‘Hmph.’ Dad smiles back at me. ‘Maybe, I will. And I don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight for a while. You’re too accident-prone for my liking.’ He taps the window again. ‘Well, if you’re really feeling okay, I think it’s about time you got back on Caesar. It’s just like riding a bike; you never forget how.’
‘I kind of think I have,’ If anyone mentions “riding a bloody bike” again, I’m going to rip out their lungs with my bare hands. And what about accident-prone? Surely being on the back of a whopping great big horse might not be the way to go right now?
‘It’ll do you a world of good,’ says Dad.
‘Have we got time?’ I’m really hoping we haven’t.
‘It doesn’t get dark until just gone nine. We’ve got plenty of time. And anyway, you used to ride at night in the arena as it’s got stadium lights.’
‘Wow, I must have been dedicated.’ I lick my fingers clean, but I notice my hands are shaking.
‘You were beyond dedicated. I’ve already asked Dolores to lay out your riding gear. It should be on your bed by now.’ He shooshes me away like I’m a silly chicken. ‘Go on.’
When I return, I find him pulling on his own riding boots. I tweak at the bum on my well-worn jodhpurs, amazed and horrified at how they can inch up into places they really shouldn’t. The helmet that’s tight under my chin seems scant protection, but at least there’s something between my head and the ground, which I feel might soon be coming at me a lot faster than I would like.
Tyreese has led Caesar into a nearby field. Out of his box, I’d expect him to be smaller, dwarfed by the sky and the field, except the closer I get to him, the more he looms over me. His ears are nearly flat, and he tosses his head so the reins jingle. He obviously still doesn’t like me, and the feeling is mutual. Tyreese pulls the reins tighter and nods. ‘I’ll help you up if you want me to, Mrs Davenport.’
‘Go on now, Cassie.’ Dad smiles at me. ‘You can do this.’
My legs are wobbly with fear. I hook my foot into the stirrup, and then suddenly, I’m flung up into the air and only manage by sheer luck not to pitch bodily over the other side of him. I grapple with the saddle and grab hold of a bit of mane. Caesar doesn’t like this much, and he sidesteps. My right foot is now dangling. I struggle to slip it into the stirrup, which is now bouncing against his round belly.
‘Woah, there Caesar,’ says Tyreese. ‘There’s a good boy.’
He rubs the horse’s soft nose, and I get my foot where it should be. He hands me the reins, and I fumble about with them. Am I meant to hold them tight and yank his head right back or let them hang around his neck like a leather thong? I kind of do both, and he jerks around. My foot bangs into his side, and this must be a signal or something because he rears up a little on his hind legs, and then he’s off like a bleeding rocket! I’m bouncing up and down, my arse slapping that hard old saddle and my arms wrapped tightly around his neck in a rictus. I don’t think a crowbar could break my hold on him. I can smell him, a thick heavy horsey scent. My legs are flapping like a bad-tempered goose, and each kick only spurs Caesar on. Now I can hear voices calling behind me. I crane over my shoulder. The change in movement nearly throws me off, but it’s enough to realise that Dad and Tyreese are waving and shouting. What did Dad say earlier about ‘loose knees’? Holy crap!
We’ve hurtled out of the field and are going like the clappers down a gravelly lane toward buildings. I recognise the stables. I force my head up, then belatedly realise that isn’t a good move either. I only just duck in time as we sweep under the doorframe and come to a skidding halt outside of his box. I’m practically sitting on his nose by now, but he calmly throws back his head and takes a big bite from a suspended hay bale. I half fall off him and then get out of his way. He turns his head and peers at me while still munching and crunching, shaking his head a few times for good measure.
I’m not a mind reader, yet I can hear what he’s thinking; ‘Don’t try that again, or else.’
‘Dog food!’ I stick my tongue out at him.
Tyreese puffs in first. ‘Are you all right?’ He bends over and rubs at his side.
I wipe at my eyes. ‘I think we can all categorically conclude that I can’t ride. What do you say?’
He looks a little shifty. ‘You lacked a certain finesse.’
‘Really? And let me tell you, if anyone mentions bikes again, I will do them serious damage.’
‘I think I’ve got the message.’
‘Tell my father as well, will you.’
‘You’ll have to tell him that yourself.’
Up the lane is a figure, walking slowly. I feel a surge of guilt. My dad might be young-looking and sprightly, but he’s still in his sixties and running after his hopeless daughter might not have been good for his health. I hurry toward him.
‘I’m so sorry. It’s not there, at least not where I can access it.’
His laugh is wheezy. ‘Well, you certainly didn’t look your best out there. Maybe another day?’
I don’t want to crush his hopes, but I can’t see myself climbing back on Caesar’s big old bony back any day soon. ‘Maybe.’ That’s not a lie. ‘These jodhpurs don’t do anyone any favours.’ I tug them down.
‘You have a lovely figure. Like your mother.’ He stumbles, and I catch hold of his elbow. ‘Sorry, not looking where I was going.’ He looks at me intently with such a strange expression. ‘Come on. I need a coffee after all this excitement.’
‘I know you’re disappointed, Dad.’
‘The doc said it will take time, and I mustn’t push you too hard. This was just a little too soon.’ He reaches out and pulls me into a hug. His scent isn’t that different from Caesar’s.
9
Is this really me?
Even though I felt shattered, I think I backstroked around my enormous bed about a hundred times last night. First, I was star-shaped, then curled in a foetal ball, then diagonal across one side and then the other.
… ‘If anything happens to me,’ says Mum, ‘you need to get to this Post Office Box at Victoria station.’ She hands me a key with a plastic label.
‘What do you mean, if anything happens to you? What might happen to you?’
‘Apart from the no. 38 bus to Hackney, I meant acts of God or whatever. Listen to me. This is important. Don’t lose this key; it’s the only one I’ve got left. The box has got stuff in it that you need to know. No matter what, you’ve got to get to it and read what’s inside.’
‘Why don’t you tell me now?’
‘Because I’m a coward.’
‘Mum, you’re one of the strongest, bravest people I know.’ I can’t comprehend why she should say such a terrible thing. ‘You’re not a coward.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, in this case, I am.’ She reaches out and cups my face. ‘I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.’
She walks quickly away from me before I can ask her more, and I’m left feeling that the world has shifted under my feet. Instead of ground, there is now quicksand that is already sucking me down. What could possibly be in that Post Office Box?
The bedclothes are squished down the back of the headboard. Half the cushions are strewn across the floor so far; I must have been using them as frilly throw toys in the night. Was that a dream or a memory? Victoria station? Something in a Post Office Box? Maybe I’m re-hashing some dumb show I saw as a kid on TV? That would explain the disparity between my reality and these visions?
There is a gentle tap on the door, and it slides open. Dolores enters but this time, there is a glass of juice along with the coffee pot.
‘Good morning, Madam Davenport,’ she says, glancing around the room.
‘I had a bad night.’ I struggle to pull the covers out from where the headboard is hanging onto them. ‘I don’t know if you heard, but I tried to ride Caesar yesterday.’
‘Was it a success?’ Her face is serious, not even a hint of a smirk. If she saw me, she must have laughed her socks off. I’m sure I would have if I was her.
‘Not exactly. He bolted for his stable, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I think my dad will be upset, but I never want to go anywhere near the brute again. He doesn’t like me, and I really don’t like him.’
‘I find that hard to believe. That horse is your life. He is your, how do you say, your everything.’
‘Not anymore.’
Dolores unclips the legs of the small tray table and places it over my midriff.
The picture on the cup comes into focus, and I stifle a snigger.
‘Is this a joke?’
Princess Diana and Charles. An image of their engagement, she in a blue dress, her head tilted shyly, a bit of a stoop, so she doesn’t look taller than him. He’s a bit stiff and slightly glazed but no more than most of the royals. And let’s not forget a world of surprise to follow. Poor bitch!
‘This is your favourite cup. You have it every morning, without fail. You adore the royal family.’
Dolores places the coffee pot on a mat on the bedside table and hands me the cup, which rattles slightly in the saucer. The coffee slops over the side.
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, madam.’
‘No worries. I wasn’t holding on to it properly. Listen, do I always have black coffee? Because I have this idea I usually start the day with a mug of tea. With milk and two sugars and not a royal in sight.’
‘Never, madam. You only ever have black coffee and then a cigarette to clear your head.’
‘I smoke?’ More coffee slops. ‘No, no, no! This isn’t right. I’d never smoke. I know that much about me.’
I struggle to disentangle myself from the tray and the bedclothes that have wound about me like an amorous anaconda.
‘Madam?’ Dolores places the tray on the chest at the foot of the bed. Then opens the drawer in the bedside cabinet. There are loads of pieces of paper, but beneath it, I can see the pack, already opened and a lighter with a Union Jack on it. Who am I? A groan slips out, and I place my head in my hands.
‘This is not me,’ I mumble through my fingers. ‘None of this is right, Dolores. I don’t know how to explain this. All the things I’ve seen and been told about have nothing to do with me. It’s like they’re to do with someone else entirely.’
‘If you will forgive me, madam, I agree that you are not acting like your normal self. At all.’
‘First off, please stop calling me “madam”, I find it really creepy and second, have I gone mad?’
‘I certainly hope so.’ She bobs a curtsey and sprints from the room.
I pull open the drawer and crush the pack of cigarettes, then return it to the drawer. I want a reminder that this is something that I will never do. Pushing open the doors to the balcony, I sit for a while on the chaise longue and drink my juice, which is grapefruit and beautifully acidic. The colours have changed, are sharper, more defined. It will be hot today. The pool is a welcome thought but do I have a swimming costume? At least one that I will be happy to wear.
There are many places to scrabble through, but my search finds a black one-piece suit with turquoise stripes down the sides. I lock the door in the bathroom and try it on. It’s flattering with high legs and padding that pushes my boobs up into nice pert mounds. At last, I’ve found something that is acceptable. I also find a phone in a bureau drawer and a charger. I’m intrigued as to whether it holds any secrets, so I put it on to charge.
I’m not expecting the phone to ring, as it’s more of a plaything at present. It’s an iPhone, and I can’t get over how beautiful it is. I’m back in the world of technology and feel connected, even if it’s only to cyberspace. I’m wondering if I’ve got a computer somewhere, but I haven’t discovered its whereabouts yet. I hope I have a posh laptop of some sort.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Lucy. I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. Okay. I’ll come out with you. I think this could be interesting. We can drive up to Atlanta this afternoon, do a bit of retail therapy and then eat out. I know it’s Saturday, so we’ll just have to use our elbows. How does that sound?’
To say the least, I’m flabbergasted to get a call from her, and of course, there’s no nice preamble, just straight to the point.
‘I don’t have any money,’ I say, ‘and I can’t borrow from you. I never thought we might go today.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad has given me his card. I’ll drive us. Be ready by about two-thirty, and I’ll pick you up in the carport.’ The phone goes dead. Not even a “goodbye” or “see you later”.
