Lady Bag (8 page)

He could be my little boy… with a serious need to self-mutilate. My eye ached and I poured boiling water into brown stained mugs. Electra moved closer so I made her some milky tea too. Dog experts say you shouldn’t, but they don’t know her.

I met Gram at a swanky hotel where my bank was having its annual awards dinner. He was working with the hotel hospitality team. He was wearing a snow white shirt with a black bow tie and looked unbearably young among the bankers, bank managers, wives and husbands. It’s an important bank and we’d snagged a minor royal as guest of honour. Everyone was dressed to the nines and over-excited.

I don’t know what Gram had done wrong but he was receiving a bollocking from a banker. He was blushing and utterly humiliated. I took the banker a fresh glass of champagne and pointed out that the guest of honour had arrived, thus saving Gram’s pride from more pummelling. He said I was the only decent human being he’d met since starting work at the hotel. He told me he’d been in his third year at the London School of Economics when his parents died in an air accident. He’d had to give up his degree to find paid work until the insurance claim was sorted out. He was brave and uncomplaining.

I wanted to help. I did help. Look what happens when young men want my help. Just look. And learn.

I gave Smister his mug of tea. He said, ‘Why are you crying?’

‘My eye hurts.’

He looked carefully at the stitches round my eye and touched the swelling with his thumb. His touch was like a hovering butterfly. My eye abruptly stopped hurting but the tears continued to pour out. I had not been touched unprofessionally by man, woman or child for nearly four years. Unless of course you count a kicking.

‘Maybe you should get your dog to lick your eye. They say a dog’s tongue heals.’

Electra was slurping tea from a cereal bowl. She looked up, surprised. I could feel exactly the same expression on my own face. Smister started to laugh.

Chapter
13

Money, Violence And A New Flatmate

W
e all slept till evening. Buzz-cut Kev did not come back. At eleven we went out to find a cash point. Smister wore a cerise waterproof poncho with a matching umbrella. He wound a fresh checked scarf around my bedraggled silk turban. Electra wore a polythene bag with holes cut out for her head and legs. It was still dumping buckets out of the sky.

All this reminded me of the surveillance cameras that protect cash machines. I didn’t want to say anything in case it tipped Smister off about my lack of identity. I had the credit cards which I wouldn’t let him touch and he wouldn’t tell me my personal security numbers. It was a matter of trust.

Usually when someone like me is at a cash point, it’s when I’m sitting on the pavement, begging. Or it was before a young banker-wanker said, ‘Are you out of your tiny mind? These machines only dispense tens and twenties. Do you really think I’m going to give you one of those?’

I said, ‘But while you’ve got your wallet open you might spare a little… ’

‘Change? The reason I’m here is because I’m
out
of money. Are you mentally challenged as well as socially deficient? This is the
worst
place to beg. How much have people given you in the last hour?’

I had to admit no one had given me anything.

‘Except me.’ He looked smug enough to slap. ‘I’m giving you advice: take your mangy dog and fuck off elsewhere.’

I associate cash points with humiliation.

This time I had a card but no confidence. I didn’t know what would happen. But I stuck the card in and covered the slot with my hand in case Smister tried to pinch it when—or if—the machine gave it back.

Smister hipped me out of his way and covered the keypad so I couldn’t read the numbers. I noticed that he tilted the cerise umbrella to shield us, not from the rain, but from CCTV.

‘You’ve done this before,’ I said.

‘So have you.’

I was about to contradict him hotly when I remembered I was supposed to be Natalie. So I said, ‘Of course,’ in what I hoped was a lofty manner. ‘It is my card, after all.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said, ‘and it’s your PIN number you can’t remember, stored in your fancy phone which you don’t know how to use. So you won’t mind if I give this camera a good look at your beautiful face, will you?’

‘I don’t think you understand head injuries,’ I said, trying to disguise my quaking voice.

‘I’ve been a rent boy,’ he said simply. ‘Now I’m a trannie. Of
course
I understand head injuries.’

I felt queasy, but, unbelievably, the machine gave me back the card and a few seconds later it whirred and spat five hundred quid at us. I was really glad I hadn’t broken down and confessed everything. I’d been tempted after what he said about being a rent boy. But having a tragic life does not necessarily make you a trustworthy person. I know about that all too well.

When the money came out and he had it in his hand he gave me a very queer look indeed. Well, it was a queer situation—he didn’t believe me, but the machine did.

I said, ‘If you ever want to do that again you’ll give me my half; right now.’

‘Wait.’ He turned us round without showing our faces to the camera and we tottered off like two skunked old women. In the back streets where there were no shops, cash points, or anything else that needed the protection of Mammon’s eye, we divvied up the cash and Smister mumbled, ‘Thanks.’

I said nothing because I was still trembly. I would never have thought of the umbrella so I’d probably have funked it at the last moment if I’d been on my own. I needed a drink. Electra looked up at me and I ran my thumb over her wet forehead. ‘It’s alright,’ I whispered, ‘Don’t be scared.’

Smister said, ‘What’s to be scared of? You’re legit, aren’t you?’

‘I was talking to Electra—she’s gone all trembly.’

‘If you say so,’ he said, with the indifference of youth. ‘You don’t happen to have one of those big white tabs on you?’ I rummaged in the bag and gave him one. I was tempted to take one myself but there was a pleading look in Electra’s eyes that said, ‘Please take me home and dry me off or I’ll be paralysed by arthritis before morning.’

So Smister swanned off to club-land and Electra and I trudged back to South Dock High Rise while I could still remember the way. I was shaken and banjaxxed about how the cash point had coughed out money. Did it mean that no one had identified the mews house body as Natalie’s and they thought she’d gone missing and was wandering around with amnesia? Or was it possible that someone had simply forgotten to stop a dead woman’s cards and account? Or was it all a clever trick to catch me out?

As we emerged, breathless, from the eighth floor stairwell we almost walked into a violent confabulation. Buzz-cut Kev had his back to the door of our flat and he was surrounded by angry people. In front was the bearded man I’d mistaken for an ogre in a white nighty. He was saying, ‘Don’t you read your own fucking jacket, you moron? It says “Security”. You’ve supposed to be protecting us from trash like them, not giving them free board and lodging. Security, my arse!’

‘I’ve lived here for twenty-three years,’ an old bird piped up. ‘I’ve never seen the like. Pooh in the lift—syringes every-bloody-where. It’s disgusting.’

‘It just ain’t good enough,’ yelled a man with a shaved head, pushing forward belligerently. ‘Do your bleedin’ job!’

Kev retreated into the flat. Baldy banged on the door with his fist. Kev reappeared almost immediately with a billystick in one hand and a tyre-iron in the other.

I crouched down beside Electra and made myself as small and still as possible.

Kev advanced on the residents’ committee. Baldy was the first one to scuttle away. The ogre vanished behind his own door. The old bird stood her ground for about ten seconds, saying, ‘You can’t intimidate me—I survived the Blitz,’ before limping away as fast as she could, leading the rest of the residents in an untidy rout. I couldn’t blame them—Kev followed them down the corridor like a bull chasing picnickers out of his field.

I remembered the fist-sized bruises on Smister’s body. ‘Quick,’ I whispered to Electra, and we scurried into the flat while his back was turned. He’d left his keys in the lock. I grabbed them as I went past. I shut the door behind us, bolted it, slipped on the chain and wedged a chair under the knob.

I was shaking like a jelly on a plate. Electra’s tail was between her legs. We looked at each other, horrified. I took her into the kitchen and, moving like an automaton, I stripped the polythene off her, dried her with a tea towel and opened a can of dog food. I’d promised her that I’d see to her first and that I would stay sober. But a woman can only take so much stress in one night. I opened a bottle of red wine and drank deep.

‘I kept half a promise,’ I said. ‘It’s better than none.’

She stared at me with sorrowful eyes.

The kitchen stank of wet fur, dog food and blocked drains.

‘One day,’ she said, ‘you’ll keep a whole promise.’

The doorknob rattled.

‘What have you done?’ she whimpered. ‘He’ll be rageous. He’ll kill us.’

‘Maybe he’ll think the door blew shut. He didn’t see us, did he?’

‘But he’ll hear us if you keep on blabbing.’

So I shut up and listened while Kev hit the door three mighty blows. It sounded as if he was running at it head first.

‘Can I have a cuddle?’ Electra whispered. We sat under the kitchen table, my arms tight around her. We were both trembling wildly. Her ears were pinned flat against her head.

‘Jody?’ Kev bellowed. ‘Stop acting like a disgusting little fag and let me in.’

‘Is that Smister’s real name—Jody?’

‘Could be it’s one of those boy-girl names he picked for himself.’ Electra’s so wise.

Kev yelled, ‘Let me in. I’ll give you such a leathering.’

‘Not much with the psychology, is he?’ she murmured. I was glad I’d brought the bottle under the table with me.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,
fuck!
’ he screamed. ‘I’ll get a circular saw and cut the door open. Then I’ll cut you open.’

He kept it up for twenty-five minutes and only stopped when the voice of the ogre threatened to call the cops. The door held and we stayed quiet. He couldn’t be sure that Smister was inside. He couldn’t be sure anyone was. And with any luck we’d stolen the key to the tool room along with all the other keys on the ring, so he wouldn’t be able to make good his threat about the saw.

After a few minutes of silence we began to feel safe again. I finished off the bottle and then we tiptoed to the blue room and went to bed.

‘Good old ogre,’ I said, but Electra was already curled up in the wheelie case, snoring gently.

I dreamed I was locked in the little mews house with the yellow door. There was a huge lizard-like creature thrashing around outside trying to get in. Electra was crying. I thought she was afraid of the lizard, but it turned out she was trying to warn me about the nest of giant snakes that were waiting for me in the bedroom. There were monsters inside as well as out.

I woke up slowly and painfully. Electra was whining and pawing at me. Someone was knocking at the front door. For a moment I was petrified; but she showed no fear at all. Then Smister’s voice said, ‘Kev, Kev, let me in. I didn’t mean to stop out all night, but I found you another one. I was only thinking of you.’

I pulled the chair away from the knob, unbolted, unlocked and opened up. He stood there, mascara halfway down his cheeks. His Wedgewood blue eyes were heavy and bloodshot.

‘Momster,’ he said uncertainly. ‘What you doing up already? You stink. Don’t you ever shower? Where’s Kev?’

Electra pushed past us both and went out into the corridor for her morning wee. ‘About Kev,’ I said.

‘Meet Too-Tall Tina,’ he said. ‘Too-Tall, this is Momster.’

‘I don’t like bag-ladies,’ said Too-Tall Tina.

‘And I don’t like bean poles,’ I said, stretching my neck to look up into eyes the colour of army camouflage.

‘Girls, girls,’ Smister said. ‘Don’t worry; I’m sure Kev will sort you out with places of your own. There are plenty to choose from.’

‘About Kev,’ I said.

‘Later.’ Smister began to weave towards the big bedroom. ‘If I don’t lie down I’ll fall down.’

Too-Tall was the size of a giant skinny basketball player. She drooped like a cut flower in a dry vase and she held a black plastic handbag at breast height. She was Smister’s friend so I couldn’t be sure that she really was a she. But what bloke would want to look like a woman who looked like her?

I went to the door to find Electra. I needed to lock us in safe again.

Too-Tall said, ‘Where’s Kev?’

‘Lucky for you—he isn’t at home. You don’t want to meet him, and you don’t want to stay here either.’

‘Josepha said Kev’d look after me. Josepha says he’s the best boyfriend in the world. He may be a bit rough but he knows how to look after a girl.’

‘With his fists,’ I said, thinking, Hallelujah, I’ve met someone stupider and less observant than me.

‘Josepha said you’d say that. She said you’re jealous.’

I turned and gave her a full frontal of my stitches, bruises and broken teeth. ‘Would you be jealous of this?’

Too-Tall leaned forward and stared at me through narrowed eyes. Maybe she wasn’t unobservant; maybe she was just very short-sighted.

I said, ‘Why do you think I’ve locked us in and barricaded the door? He’s an animal.’

She looked away, and sat down on the broken backed sofa with her handbag on her lap as though she was having tea with a vicar. ‘I get picked on too,’ she said blinking her weak khaki eyes rapidly and twisting a coat button. Her coat was sopping wet. She smelled of cough linctus.

Electra came back in. She ignored Too-Tall completely and went to the kitchen. I shut the door, bolted it in two places and shoved the chair under the knob. ‘Take off your coat,’ I said, ‘you can sleep on the sofa.’

The clock on the cooker said it was six-fifteen in the morning. I went back to bed.