Being Emily (17 page)

I DID WANT
to come hame, but back in Glasgow the summer stretched ahead of me like a desert, dry and dusty and arid.

Maist folk are desperate for the summer, look forward tae those two weeks in the year when they feel human, laid out on a beach or planked round the hotel pool, sun warm on their bodies, but I’d always felt a sense of dread when the summer holiday loomed intae view. I liked school, the routine of it. And even at Art School you still have things you’re supposed to be daeing, a place in the world.

But now I’d need tae earn some money. Even though Janice made sure we got all the benefits we were entitled to and had secured every student loan and bursary in existence for me, I still needed tae make as much as possible during the holidays to tide me over the next year. And if I was gonnae
have tae leave hame – and I couldnae really see any way round it – then I’d need mair to pay for a flat.

So I spent every hour I could in the supermarket, took on extra shifts: late shifts, early shifts, every shift no one else wanted. I knew when I looked in the mirror what a toll it was taking on me – my eyes looked like a panda’s and my skin was breaking out in rough red patches. No enough sunlight or fresh air, food snatched at odd times of the day and night. But my bank balance was building up; I was working that many hours I’d nae time tae spend anything and every week when I put the money in my savings account I felt a warm glow at the thought of being able tae support mysel through the next term. Every now and again Janice would drag me round to hers for a home-cooked meal and tell me I needed to cut doon my hours but she was too busy to sort out my life. And I was that caught up in the treadmill I’d made for mysel that when Monica phoned and asked me to go and meet her and Jemma for coffee, I realised I hadnae seen my so-called best friends for months.

Monica was her usual neat self but Jemma looked like a supermodel. Tall and slim with her hair beautifully cut in subtle layers, she was wearing the kind of cropped trousers that make most folk look daft. Somehow that first year at uni had changed that skinny gawkiness of hers intae slender glamour.

Then there was me. I knew I wasnae at my best; I’d come straight fae work, stuffed my overall in a poly bag and rushed across in the subway without having time to wash my face, but even so. I could tell by the look in their eyes.

It’s so good to see you
. Monica hugged me and Jemma squeezed my haund as I sat doon.

How’s things?

Good
, said Jemma.
Passed the exams okay
.

She came top of the class, Fiona. But she’s too modest to say
.

Ach
, said Jemma.
It’s no big deal
.

Away you go
.

Anyhow Monica has even bigger news. Not only has she passed
all her exams with flying colours, she’s got a boyfriend
.

Monica blushed.

Who is he?

A boy on my course. Charles
.

I’m amazed you ever have time to see him – you must have that
much studying to do
.

Oh you know, we go to the library together. And he goes to the
chaplaincy at lunchtime. That’s how we got talking
.

The chaplaincy?

You know the Catholic chaplaincy – they have mass at lunchtime
.

When we were at school Monica was the maist devout of us – lighting candles, daeing novenas. Her mother went tae mass every morning afore her work in the family’s takeaway, and there were holy water fonts and statues in every room of the house. I wondered if Jemma still went.

The waiter came and I ordered penne amatriciana and a coffee. I’d been looking forward to seeing the others, but I was now beginning to feel a bit spare; they obviously still phoned regularly and met up, were part of each other’s lives, while I was an outsider, a shadow left over from some other time and place. No their fault but – mines.

Jemma drained the last of her coffee, put her cup back on the saucer.
So what’s new, Fiona? We saw you’d won another prize
at the Art School – it was in the free paper. That’s fantastic
.

I nodded, didnae know what to say.

What else have you been up to?

Nothing. I’ve been working in the supermarket every hour God
sends
.

Monica leaned her elbows on the table, and cupped her face in her haunds.
Fiona, we’re worried about you. You look so
tired and drawn. You’re working too hard
.

Her soft voice was so loving that my eyes started to prick with tears. I swallowed them, looked doon at a trace of sugar on the table.

I’m fine. It’s no for long. I need tae get money for next year
.

We all do. I’m working and so is Jemma. But you need to relax
sometimes too
.

Believe her
, said Jemma.
Coming from Monica whose idea of
relaxation is helping with a soup run for homeless folk or mibbe
doing some algebra problems in her head, that is really something
.

Monica smiled.
Very funny. And how is Amrik?

Amrik and me are … over
.

I’m so sorry, Fiona
. Monica touched my wrist.

It’s cool. He went tae London
.

And do you have a new boyfriend?

Drifting. That feeling of drifting that had been so strong with Patric’s friends in London, came back. I was adrift in a sea, but this time Monica and Jemma were the secure jetty I somehow could not find anchor with. I wanted to, longed to sit there and confess all – Amrik and the miscarriage and everything from start tae finish, but it was impossible. There were too many gaps between us and it was too late to fill them in.

No
, I said.
There’s no one. But I do have some news
. And I started tae tell them all about Mona and her baby.

One Sunday around the middle of August it dawned on me that Patric hadnae phoned for a while. I was that exhausted by work I’d never realised the time passing. We used tae have a long blether every week or so, but since I’d got back
there had only been a few hurried calls fae his mobile while he was on the way somewhere. I needed to hear his voice, reconnect.

It was hauf eleven and my shift didnae start till two. The twins and Declan had left for the town and Da went for a cup of tea in the chapel hall after ten o’clock mass so I’d probably have the place to mysel for a while. It was a bit early to phone but Patric was normally up by now – he usually met friends for lunch on a Sunday so he’d nae doubt be floating around the flat, mibbe in his goonie after a bath, watering his plants, making sure everything was pristine. Anyway, it was worth a try. I dialled his number.

I don’t know why I dae it, but I always count the number of rings afore someone answers. At seven maist phones go through tae voicemail but his must of been switched off as it kept on ringing – eight, nine, ten. Then it was picked up at the other end.

Hello
.

I didnae answer and the voice said,
Hello
again.

It was Amrik’s voice.

I put doon the receiver then a moment later the phone rang again.

I picked it up immediately.
Hello
.

Fiona?

Patric
.

Did you just call?

Uhhuh. I thought I had a wrong number
.

I was in the bathroom
.

Was that Amrik?

Yeah, he’s here – we’re just about to go for lunch with some of
the others
.

I never realised you two were friends
.

We’ve been seeing a bit of each other since you introduced us that
night at the club
.

Oh
.

Pause.

So how are you, Fiona?

Tired. Working in the supermarket
.

You need a break
.

This was the time he’d normally say,
Why don’t you come
down here for a few days?
but he never.
You should go for a holiday
with Monica and Jemma. Get a cheapo flight somewhere hot
.

They’re already booked up
.

Oh. Well, do something, get away before the baby comes and you
get roped into being a nanny. How is Mona?

She’s fine
.

Great
.

Have you had any time to do your artwork?

No, barely time tae sleep
.

Listen Fiona, I’ve got to go now. You don’t want to run up the
bill. I’m planning to come up next weekend – a flying visit. So take
some time off and we’ll go out. Talk then
.

Sure
.

Don’t work too hard
.

The supermarket has a micro-climate of its ain, different fae anything that goes on outside. Nae matter whether it’s chucking it doon or blazing hot, the temperature is set to 17 degrees Celsius, except for the freezer cabinets, fruit and perishable items. The fluorescent lights cast an unnaturally even glow and bland music washes over you, interrupted by annoying announcements. I spent the afternoon and early evening on the till, beeping through items, smiling mechanically at the customers, punctuated by a few spells sorting tinned vegetables.

But while my body was on autopilot, my mind was birling with thoughts of Amrik and Patric with their rhyming names. How could they of become friends? Easy to see how Patric and his pals would adopt Amrik after the night at the gig, how they’d drop by some Friday night and take him out. But his lifestyle was that different fae theirs. For all their apparent casualness there was a high degree of organisation underpinning their lives. They all worked at real, though glamorous, jobs; while much of their work seemed tae consist of wittering intae mobiles in the street or in cabs, and having lunch and coffees with folk, they did have places tae go and people tae see. And they relied on their phones, texting and emailing and voice messaging to say they’d been held up at X so would be at Y ten minutes late and could they reschedule lunch as they couldnae make it tomorrow but could manage cocktails tonight.

How on earth would Amrik, who didnae possess a phone, barely knew what day it was and cared less, fit in with the precision power-socialising? He’d coincide with them once or twice then fall out their orbit when a new club became fashionable and they moved on tae another galaxy.

Why was it bugging me that much anyway? After all what difference did it make that Amrik and Patric were friends. I’d never tellt Patric the truth about me and Amrik and for all he knew we might just of drifted apart. Amrik wasnae likely tae tell him – I don’t suppose he spent a lot of time thinking about it. But there was something niggling away inside me. It just didnae feel right.

Casual workers never got Saturday aff but I tellt Marie I was gaun tae a wedding. I felt a bit guilty – Marie is really nice, in her late fifties with twinkly eyes, hair dyed jet-black and
hairsprayed within an inch of its life. She always looks dead smart with her shoes polished and her uniform neatly ironed. I look hingy, sleeves escaping fae under the overall, hair trailing out fae the elastic band I’ve scraped it back with. I mind the first day I started, when the big boss manager put me under Marie’s care.

Och, Fiona
, says Marie,
that gorgeous hair of yours
. She stroked it, tried to push the strands back in.
It’s no gonnae gie up easily,
is it?

Five minutes later the curls at the front had all come loose again and at teabreak I was standing in front of the mirror trying tae shove them back when Marie came in the wee cupboard that passed for a staffroom.
C’mere hen
, she said, taking a plastic poke out her handbag.
I nipped out tae Savers
and got these for you
.

She pulled my hair tighter intae the pony tail, then lifted the rogue locks at the front and clipped them back neatly with little hairgrips. They were covered with pink and blue sparkly flowers, the kind the twins loved and I thought were hideous.

These’ll keep things where they should be. I know your hair is
lovely and clean but working in a shop, around food, you’ve got to
be really careful. Don’t want you getting into trouble, darlin. Here
. She thrust the pack in my haund.
These’ll dae for spares
.

I looked at the remaining hairgrips in the pack.
But Marie,
did you buy these yourself?

Och, I was getting some shampoo and I seen them and thought
they’d be just the job
.

But how much dae I …?

Don’t be daft, hen
.

I started to protest but she closed her haund over mines.
Time we got back tae work
.

That was Marie all over. Always bringing in biscuits she’d had too many of in the house or buying a cake on someone’s birthday. Bill, the manager, used to call her the ER; if anyone needed paracetamol, plasters or a safety pin, Marie was the one they went tae. She noticed things too. I was on the checkout when Kathryn, a tall skinny lassie with a pale complexion, came to let me aff. As she sat doon at the till, and started to key in the code, Marie appeared at her elbow and whispered in her ear. Kathryn looked up and nodded. Marie slipped something in her haund and took over the till. As we walked away, I noticed Kathryn walked slowly and her face was chalk-white.

You okay?

Cramp,
she said.
My period came on dead suddenly – Marie must
of noticed I wasnae looking right – she gave me painkillers and let
me take a break
.

After a long lie on the Saturday morning the difference showed in my face – the circles were less pronounced though I still looked drawn and there wasnae much I could dae about the red patches on my skin apart from dab over them wi the twins’ make-up. I washed my hair and ironed a flowery top tae wear over my jeans. When I looked in the mirror my hair was all springing up round my heid like a character in the twins’ cartoons when they’ve had an electric shock. I took a scarf, wanny they Indian cotton ones with a gold pattern running through it, wound it round like a headband. It was a bit long but I thought it gied a nice effect, and the hair springing out at the back looked as if it was meant tae be like that.