Disappearing Home (14 page)

‘Nosy old cow,' Bernie says. ‘Let's come in?'

‘I'm not allowed …'

‘Go on, they won't know. Five minutes?'

I check over the landing. There's no sign of them.

‘Come on then.'

Inside the flat he sits in Dad's chair. ‘Got anything to drink?'

‘Water?'

‘Water it is.' He rests his arms on the wooden arms of the chair, strums his fingers and smiles.

I smile back. ‘What are you like?'

‘Just fetch me my water, woman, or there's no wages for you this week.'

We laugh together.

I'm back in the living room with Bernie's water. Bernie's not in the chair. He's at the fire.

‘What are you doing?'

‘You're cold. You said so. I'm lighting you a fire.'

‘No. Dad'll go mad.'

‘He'll be made up. Nice and warm for when they get back.'

‘No, Bernie. He'll go mad.'

He piles coal from the bucket on top of the newspaper, takes his matches out of the back pocket in his jeans and looks up at me. ‘You can tell them you built it if you like. They'll be made up with you.'

‘Stop it, Bernie. Drink your water and go.' I hold out the pint glass.

‘Put it on that little table, woman.' He smiles.

I don't smile back.

He's got a match lit, wafts it against a balled up piece of newspaper. It catches light, blue and yellow flames curling towards the black coal. Bernie blows out the match, throws it onto the fire. A warm smoky smell fills the room. Bernie edges his palms towards the growing flames. Without taking his eyes from the fire he says, ‘Come and get a warm.'

I crouch down next to him, tip water from the glass all over the flames. The fire hisses before it dies. I stand over him. ‘Get out, you stupid bastard,' I scream.

Bernie jumps up. ‘Ooo! Robyn's got a cob on. What's wrong?' He spies Dad's all-dolled-up box by the chair.

‘What's this?'

‘Get out.'

‘Aw, c'mon, I was only …'

I grab the shoebox.

Bernie follows me outside, watches me toss the box down the chute. ‘Now beat it,' I shout.

‘Fine, won't stay where I'm not wanted.' He walks away.

I slam the front door shut.

I was scared then. Scared enough to think about punching Bernie in the face; scared enough to want to rip his hair out. He didn't listen, didn't stop when I told him to, didn't care that he was upsetting me. Once the fire was lit he didn't think. I saw his eyes like he'd seen an angel.

It did look brilliant. The way it started to glow and spread. Colours lit up colours; real, alive, flames dancing cheek to cheek, changing, changing shape. The crackly sound of fire burning and the warmth on your hands, knees, face. Bernie made that fire, made it live, like making a whole world. I wasn't scared of the fire; I was scared I wouldn't want him to put it out. I only wanted to sit with him in the living room. To be able to say to somebody like Angela that I'd invited a mate to mine. I've never invited anyone here because of Dad. I've had it now when he gets in.

Mum and Dad go into the living room first and I can hear his shouts. He's at my room door stinking of ale.

‘You been at that fire?'

‘I was cold.'

He pulls on my bad ear. ‘Then put a fucking coat on.'

I cry out.

‘Next time I catch you doing anything like that, I'll fucking kill you.'

Mum coughs in the lobby. He lets go of my ear before she sees.

‘Don't go near that again, Robyn,' Mum says. ‘That could've got out of control in no time. You hear me?'

I nod, turn my face to the wall so they'll leave. I'll never let Bernie in again, ever.

Next day I see Bernie; he's in the big square with Johnny and Ged. He acts like what happened never happened.

‘All right?'

‘Fine,' I say.

Johnny is sitting in the cart. He remembers me. Squishy fingers reach out. I crouch down, let him hold my finger. He curls his whole hand around it and holds on tight. I look into his eyes. Six little blinks to my one.

‘He likes you,' Bernie says.

I stare up at Bernie. Suck in my cheeks, bite them inside my mouth.

Ged looks at Bernie then back at me.

A gang of kids from another square run past playing ball tick and the ball rolls away towards Ged's feet. He picks it up and throws it back to them.

‘Sorry, Robyn,' Bernie says.

‘Piss off.'

‘Aw c'mon, don't be like that. It was shitty what I did, I know.'

I think about how much he doesn't know.

‘I'll never do it again.'

‘You'll never get in again.'

‘I've got money. Wanna come round to Dolly's?'

‘What for?'

‘I'll treat you. You can take your pick once we get there. Then we can go to the park.'

I pick Johnny up and swing him through my legs.

Bernie smiles at me. I don't smile back.

Ged comes over, takes Johnny in his arms. ‘Let's get him home.'

‘You take him. I'll be there in a minute, going on a message, just me and Robyn. Aren't we?'

I say nothing. I'm going to make him wait.

‘She your girlfriend now, Bernie?'

Bernie looks at me. ‘If she wants.'

‘I don't want.'

‘Suit yourself. Bet you a penny I know what you'll choose in Dolly's.'

‘Bet you don't.'

‘I'll whisper it to Ged.' He says something in Ged's ear. ‘Go on; tell him what you'll choose.'

‘You think I'm soft? Whatever I say, he'll say you said the same.'

‘I won't, honest.'

Ged holds Johnny on his hip. Ged looks too big for short trousers, grey socks baggy around his ankles. It matters to Ged that Bernie wins.

Bernie moves in close. ‘She's too smart for us, Ged lad. But maybe, just maybe, she's ticklish?'

‘No.'

‘Bet you are.'

Ged grins at me. I grin back.

‘Am not, Bernie, get away.'

He wriggles his fingers up in front of my face. ‘We'll soon find out, won't we, Ged?'

I take a step back. ‘Stop it, Bernie, now.'

He takes two steps forward and pushes his fingers closer towards me, touches my sides. Ged laughs.

‘All right, all right, I'll come, but I don't want anything, not off you anyway. I've got my own money.'

When we get to Dolly's shop I buy a Flake. Bernie gets a bag of jelly babies, stuffs the bag deep in his pocket.

Back at Sylvia's, Johnny runs up and down the landing without a nappy, sucking on a green jelly baby, slobber all over his bib. He walks in his new shoes like he's had them for ever. Bernie picks him up, sits on the step with Johnny on his lap. He pees all over Bernie as if he's promised to wash away the lobby smell and replace it with his own sweet pee smell. Bernie goes in to get changed.

Johnny spies a stood-on jelly baby on the landing, stoops and picks it up. He goes to put it in his mouth but Ged grabs it off him, walks along the landing to the chute. This sets Johnny off screaming, mouth wide open, green frilly line down the middle of his tongue.

Bernie is back on the landing. ‘C'mon, let's go the park.'

We sit on two swings together in the playground. A couple of big lads walk over and tell us to move. They are bigger than Bernie, so I jump off. Bernie stays on, pushes himself higher and higher. One of them grabs his shoe, his bare foot, pulls him off the swing. With his other foot Bernie kicks him in the face. The lad goes down, holds his nose through gaps in his fingers, says, ‘Fuckin' bastard.' Bernie jumps off the swing, punches the other lad in the face. The three of them take turns, fists working on each other's faces.
Boof
for you,
boof
for him,
boof boof
for me. I look around but nobody seems to have noticed this knock-down-stand-up fight.
Boof
for you,
boof
for him,
boof boof
for me.

A couple of kids walk over to take a closer look. They edge past and take the being-fought-for swings. The three fighters move away, towards the grass.
Boof
for you,
boof
for him,
boof boof
for me. It gets bad for Bernie, taking two sets of punches. I start to scream. ‘Stop, stop it now, he's bleeding.' The two big lads run
off. I watch them both run to the gates towards Tommy Whites. They stop. Turn around and push two fingers up at Bernie.

Bernie doesn't see; he is breathing fast, blood dripping from his eye. He lies down on the grass and starts to laugh, spit and snot all over his face, red sticky out ears. ‘That was brilliant,' he says. His clothes are splattered with blood.

‘No, that was stupid, taking on two of them. You could've got battered.'

He stands. Tucks his shirt back inside his trousers.

‘Yeah, but I didn't, did I?'

I look at him now, and think about how he is with Johnny; when he swings him backwards and forwards between his legs, carries him close and kisses him. I think it's mad how fast people change. One minute gentle, give you the world; kill you stone dead the next. Bernie's not scared of anything or anyone. That's what I like about him. He reminds me of Jack, and how he must have felt after a boxing match. He must have been brave, Jack, to get into a ring knowing that he could have got his head punched in.

When we get back Bernie whistles his way along the landing. Ged grins at him and says, ‘You'll have two black eyes tomorrow.'

Sylvia has Johnny in her arms.

‘He's bleeding,' I say.

She laughs. ‘A real lad, our Bernie. Real lads get into scrapes. A bit of blood's nothing to worry about.'

He walks inside the lobby. Sylvia lowers the baby towards his big brother's face. Johnny plays Bernie's bloody mouth and eyes with his fingers. I can see this means more to them than collecting rubbish for coins. But I am too stupid to know what.

E
arly next morning Nellie, Nan's friend, is in bits at the door. ‘It's Chris, come quick, Babs, he's …' Nellie's words fall away, like ash on a dying fag.

Mum grabs her coat, stuffs fags and matches in the pockets. She turns to me. ‘Won't be a minute, there's cornflakes in the cupboard.'

The milk's turned. It's thick and lumpy. The smell from the bottle flips my stomach and I vomit in the sink. After a while, I get dressed and sit on the step, a horrible taste in my mouth. Nellie and Chris live on our landing in the end flat. Her front door opens. Nellie is out on the landing, sobbing. Mum has an arm around her.

Nellie comes back to ours, sits in Dad's chair. ‘Sweet tea, it's good for shock,' Mum says. ‘Sorry it's black.'

Nellie's hands shake when she picks up the cup. ‘I'll have to get word to our Mary.'

Mum tells her she'll sort it in a minute. Dad is up. He walks into the living room in his vest. ‘It's Chris,' Mum says. ‘He's dead.' Nellie starts to howl all over again. Dad doesn't get dressed. He
goes back to bed, says he feels sick. I get Nellie some toilet roll. ‘Robyn, run to Dolly's for milk,' Mum says. I take the coins and leg it to Dolly's.

Over the next couple of days neighbours walk in and out of Nellie's flat without knocking. Nellie wears a black dress, which makes her face glow white, like a ghost. On the last day, they bring sandwiches, pies and little jellies with cream on the top. They come in twos and threes when it's dark, like shadows from a washing line. They kiss and hug Nellie hello and goodbye, shake their heads as they walk away. ‘He was a gentleman,' they say. ‘Salt of the earth.'

Today they took Chris down the stairs in a coffin. They put him in the back of a long, dark car and drove off. He was buried in Anfield cemetery next to his father and mother. When they get back from the pub, Mum and Nan go to Nellie's for most of the night. Dad's stayed in bed for two days; his stomach's been bad. I watch from the landing.

Nellie walks a few of them to the stairs. I'm looking over the landing. When they've gone she takes my arm.

‘You know, Robyn, Chris thought the world of you, said he saw Granddad Jack in your eyes. Made of strong stuff that one, he'd say.' My body shakes. I don't know what to say to her.

When it gets cold I go inside and sit on the settee. I leave the front door unlocked. Mum comes in with a few people from Nellie's. They bring bottles of beer and leftover pies. Dad gets up when he hears the noise, takes the top off a bottle of beer with his teeth. His face is pale. Mum offers him a sausage roll. He pushes her hand away.

From her pocket, Mum takes a jelly with the cream squashed flat. I get a spoon and eat while they open more bottles. Mum sits on the settee next to a woman with yellow-white hair. The
woman touches my hair. ‘She's dark like her dad, isn't she, Babs?' Mum looks at me with cider eyes, looks across the room at Dad, red lipstick on her teeth. ‘She's nothing like him, apart from them both being bastards.'

I scrape my spoon around the paper cup, then when there's nothing left I carry on scraping with a sideways spoon, down each thin narrow pleat. The cup starts to lose its roundness; bits of it stick out in points and I scrape it clean until tiny holes start to form, until it looks nothing like it did to begin with. Mum and the woman hold bottles of cider by the neck. Mum pats the place next to her for me to sit. She leans her head on the woman's shoulder, looks over at Dad. ‘Listen,' she whispers to the woman. ‘I've got something to tell you.'

I listen.

She drops her bottle to the floor and throws up.

Inside my room I open the window, push my head outside, away from the stink. I can hear them talk and laugh and sing along to the records. I've just checked on Mum. She's asleep on top of the bed wearing her clothes. I've pulled off her shoes and covered her up. Back in my own room I keep my head out of the window. I can feel damp from the night air on my face.