Swallowing Grandma (22 page)

I put the basque on, for devilment, and the long skirt and the boots, and stood in front of the mirror. What if I did go to Donna’s party? I tried a mysterious half-smile at myself. Then, like victims do in horror films, I peered into the reflected room and spotted something nasty behind me.

On my bedside table, an open tub of Vaseline, which wasn’t mine or Poll’s. And, eugh, gross, now I looked properly, a definitely-Dogman-shaped depression down the length of my bed.

I suppose there could have been a DIY, household-type explanation, Poll had him lubricating the sash window or something, but how likely was that, really? Sometimes, especially when I was younger, I’d imagined my dad lying there, listening to his records or reading his books. Now the picture would always be Dogman, greasing his privates.

I put my hands over my face and screamed quietly into my palms for a minute or two. Then I went over to the record player and put Ultravox on, very loud. I plugged in the phones and then lay down on the floor with my arms over my eyes, till I saw sparks. Oh, Vienna.

*

He drove me into the centre of Chorley, I saw the road signs in the headlights. We finished up on a cobbled side street, in front of a mid-terraced brick house.

‘Have I been here before?’ I asked as we got out of the car. Because it looked familiar.

‘No, not to this one,’ Vince said, leaning on the doorbell. His face was like a skull in the shadows.

After a minute, a scrappy little man in a dressing gown answered, rubbing his face. I thought he’d shout at us for waking him, but when he saw Vince he opened the door right up and we both walked in. ‘I’ll just go and put some pants on,’ he said, and disappeared up the stairs.

It smelt like a dirty place. The man came back down wearing jogging bottoms but no top, and his ribs stuck out like he was starving. I sat in the living room and Vince and the man went into the kitchen to talk. I heard Vince say, ‘Are you sure it’s still all right?’ and the man reply, ‘Yep, it’s no problem, I owe you one.’

‘You owe me several,’ said Vince. ‘July, August, September . . .’

‘What can I say?’ said the man. ‘You’re a saint.’

‘I’m a fool,’ said Vince, but in a nice way, not getting at him.

The man brought me a glass of brandy through and we all sat round the electric fire. ‘My name’s Stu,’ he said. I was past caring. I drank the brandy down and asked for another.

‘We can stay here for a little while,’ said Vince. ‘Stu’s on holiday next week.’

‘Lanzarote,’ said Stu. ‘You can have the couch for a couple of nights, Vince, till I go. I’ll show you your room, love. Come with me.’

He led me up to the back bedroom and I had that déjà vu thing. ‘I think I’ve been here before,’ I said. ‘Although I don’t remember all this.’ The walls were covered in Thin Lizzy posters and album covers, and there was a table with piles of paper and a BBC Model B computer on it.

‘You’ve never been here, I promise you, love. Honest.’ He waved his hand at the computer. ‘I run two fanzines from this room, it’s my base. I don’t normally let anyone round, in case they mess up my system. But I know you won’t, will you? Good girl. Now, the bathroom’s across the landing.’ He pointed through the door.

‘I know that already.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re thinking of somewhere else. There’s loads of two-up two-downs round here with exactly the same layout.’

‘Like Poll’s,’ I said faintly. It had taken me till now to see it. This house was the twin of the one I’d just escaped from.

‘That’s right. Now, make yourself at home, but don’t touch my picture discs, OK? Some of them are worth twenty pounds.’

I meant to put a sheet over the mattress, but the minute I lay down I was asleep. I wish I could say I dreamt about Katherine, but I didn’t.

God knows how long I was there on the floor; certainly till it got dark out. Whenever the record finished a side, I got up, flipped it over and lay back down again. This happened five or six times until, as I was pulling my headphones off to put side two on again, I heard a tapping at my window. I dropped the phones in fright.

Tap tap tap. Wasn’t there a film about a murderer who did that, just before he struck? Must be a bloody tall murderer, though; either that or he was standing on a ladder.

I pulled the corner of the curtain up a little way.
I’M A BURGLAR LET ME IN
said the handwritten placard pushed against the glass. There was the faint sound of cheering below, and the card was swivelled round on its pole.
MEET U AT BOTTOM OF HILL U HAVE 10 MINS

I pushed open the sash and poked my head out. Callum waved at me from the front garden.

‘Get out of there,’ I hissed at him. ‘Don’t let Poll and Dogman see you.’ I was praying they’d drawn the front curtains, or that they were watching TV in the back.

‘Come down, then,’ he grinned. He was wearing his contact lenses again, I noted.

‘I can’t.’

‘You can. If you don’t come down, I’m going to ring the bell. In fact, here I go now, here I am, extending my digit in the critical direction, I’m only centimetres away—’ He stretched out his arm towards the door.

‘Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not funny. Stop it.’

‘Aw, just come down, for a minute, say hello. Pleeease.’ He dropped his hand to his side and looked up appealingly.

For two pins I could have dropped my
Illustrated Dictionary
on his head, that would have shut him up. But that smile . . .

‘Pleeeeeeeease?’

‘Oh, hell. All right, then. For
one
minute. And you have to put Poll’s clothes prop back where you found it, and pull all that parcel tape off the end. And take that cardboard with you; she could read that and have a fit.’

He did a smart salute and threw the prop onto the ground. I hoped to God there were no neighbours watching. At least it was night time.

‘I’ll see you in five, then?’ He flashed a palm at me, fingers spread out.

‘You said ten minutes.’

‘OK. But don’t waste time mucking about with your hair or anything girly. You look great already.’

I glowed for a second, then realized it was something he’d said simply to speed me up. Still. ‘I need to get a coat.’

‘Nah, it’s warm out here. Come as you are.’

I looked down at my near-bare bosom. No way could I be seen in the street wearing a basque. ‘Well, something to cover up, then. Hang on.’ I ducked back in but he called me out again. ‘
Will
you stop shouting? You’ll have the whole street out if you don’t quieten down. What is it?’

‘Can you bring that party invite with you?’

‘Christ, you don’t give up, do you?’ I muttered, shutting the window.

I yanked open the wardrobe door and pushed aside the woollens. Under my long navy cardigan was the white top I’d bought with Donna. I snipped off the price tag with my nail clippers and started to undo the basque. Then I thought, I haven’t time, and anyway it’ll only be like having a bra on. I buttoned up the blouse over it; you could see a hint of red through the white material but I didn’t stop to worry. A few strokes with the hairbrush to smooth my hair at the back where I’d mussed it up, and I was ready. As a last thought I flicked the invite through the gap at the bottom of the window. I didn’t see where it landed.

I crept to the bottom of the stairs and listened.
We know what you’ve been up to, Hastings. Your mate’s told us all about it.
A tough policeman was interrogating someone at the top of his voice. I heard Poll say, ‘Why don’t they look in his car, there must be blood all ovver it,’ and Dogman reply, ‘They’re daft, the police, they don’t see what’s going on under their noses.’

I so wanted to turn right, through the front room, and make a run for it. But my front door keys and peggy purse were in the fruit bowl on the sideboard, which was in the living room, on the left. I’d have to go in.

I tried to keep the noise down, but Dogman turned round in his seat as soon as he heard the door swoosh over the carpet. ‘Bloody hell, look at you,’ he leered. ‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you? No wonder you’ve been so quiet all evening. I like your top-thing.’

Poll whipped round too. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she said as she heard the jingle of keys.

‘Out. So?’

‘Don’t cheek me, madam.’ Poll pushed herself up from the sofa and came round to peer at me, putting herself between me and the door. ‘Lord above, what have you done to yourself? You look like Bette Davis in that film where them sisters were foul to each other, what were it called? And one were a cripple, and t’ other went mad.’

‘I think she looks tasty,’ said Dogman. ‘I could eat her up. Yum yum.’

‘I need to go,’ I said. Before I vomit, I could have added.

‘You’ve had no tea. I did shout of you but you never answered. It was bacon grill but we had to throw yours away, it went like leather.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘You can’t go missing meals at your age. Don’t blame me when you’re stricken wi’ gallstones. Where are you off to?’ Poll stuck her chin out belligerently. ‘Who are you meeting?’

‘Rebecca. It’s a birthday party for a girl at school.’

Do you expect me to believe that?
shouted the TV detective in the background, thumping the table.

Poll relaxed her body language very slightly. ‘Birthday party? Oh. Where?’

‘Harrop community centre,’ I said promptly. ‘Where we went to see
Beauty and the Beast
that time. Rebecca’s giving me a lift there and back. I don’t know when it finishes, though, so don’t put the deadlock on.’

Behind her, Dogman was licking his lips. ‘You scrub up nice,’ he said. ‘You’re a bonny girl.’

I dodged past Poll and made a run for the front door.

‘How come you didn’t tell me about it before? And where did you get them clothes?’ I heard her screech. ‘You’ve no coat.’

I slammed the door behind me and glanced round. The street was empty, so I started off down the hill, my purse banging against my chest.

Callum was standing in the lay-by at the passenger side of a small van. He was wearing combats and a jersey top with a hood.

‘Hiya,’ he called when he spotted me. ‘Hurry up. We’ve been here for hours.’ He opened the door for me. ‘Hop in.’

I checked inside and did a double take when I saw a redheaded lad at the wheel. ‘Hey,’ he said, without turning his head. Cigarette smoke streamed out of his nostrils.

‘It’s all right.’ Callum nodded into the van. ‘This is Mitch from college, he’s a mate. In you get.’

Panic began brewing in my stomach. Stranger Danger, I thought. Climbing in a van after dark with two lads. It went against a lifetime’s instincts. I’d be front page of the
Bolton Evening News
tomorrow, Big Fat Girl Found in Ditch. Grandmother Says It Were Her Own Stupid Fault.

‘But where are we going?’

‘Bolton. Mitch has got some business there. I cadged a lift. Thought we could at least have a drink, you and me, even if we don’t get to that party. Oh come
on
, Kat, have some fun for once.’

I bet this is how people end up taking drugs, I thought: not wanting to offend. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Look,’ said Callum, coming up close and lowering his voice, ‘I promise if you change your mind halfway there, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll turn straight round and come back again, no harm done. So you’ve nothing to lose. Go on. All we’ll do is sit in the corner of a nice quiet pub for an hour or so. I think we’ll have a really good time.’

‘Is Mitch coming with us?’

Callum laughed. ‘Well, it is his van, fair dos. But don’t worry, he’s dropping us off in the town centre and going on elsewhere.’

I took a breath, and hauled myself up by hanging on the sides of the door. ‘Shove over,’ he said when I was in. So I shuffled my bum across the seats to Mitch, who still didn’t take me on. Who is he, exactly, I wanted to ask, and why is he wearing so many rings?

‘Belt up,’ chirped Callum, clicking his seat belt into place. ‘We don’t want anyone pulling us over tonight, do we?’

‘We do not,’ said Mitch. The ignition started up and the CD player began blasting out a dance track, all bass, that went right through my jawbone.

It all felt unreal, sitting in that smoky cab with the air throbbing and the streetlights flicking over us. I realized I was gritting my teeth with fear; tried to relax; failed. I looked over at Callum and he smiled back. He’d lit a cigarette too and the glowing tip bobbed around in the darkness.

‘Mitch used to live in Bolton.’ Callum tapped the dashboard with his free hand as though he was playing it.

‘Oh.’
DUF-DUF-DUF
went the music. ‘So you’re back here to see your friends?’

‘Yeah,’ said Mitch. ‘Sort of.’

‘Whereabouts in Bolton?’

‘You know where there was that IRA shooting?’
DUF-DUF-DUF
.

I nodded.

‘More or less next door.’
DADADADADADADADA DUF-DUF-DUF
.

‘Right.’

‘But that were after I moved.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I expect Nantwich is a bit quieter, is it?’ I gave a nervous snort.

‘Well, it was till Mitch came to live there,’ said Callum. I thought Mitch looked pleased at this, but it was hard to tell in the gloom.

He dropped us at the bus station, Callum leaping out like a dancer and me landing like a sack of potatoes beside him.

‘We can’t go to that party,’ I said at once.

‘I know; way too early. Let’s find this nice pub first.’ He strode off down the road and I trotted after him, hugging my purse to my chest. ‘Know anywhere good?’

‘No,’ I said, but my voice was lost in the sound of some passing girls shrieking. The street was as crowded as a Saturday afternoon, but shoppers usually wore more clothes. Poll would have had a haemorrhage at the amount of flesh on show, Dogman would have drowned in his own saliva. There were some hefty lasses among them, too.

We ended up in a tiny old pub off a paved square. Inside it was busy but not packed, and I found a seat near the fireplace and studied the beams while Callum got me half a pint of cider.

‘Been here before?’ he asked when he came back.

‘No.’ I wondered if he’d burst out laughing if I told him precisely how many pubs I’d ever been in; one, and that was only the Working Men’s Club to pick up Poll’s shopping which she’d left under the table.