True Things About Me A Novel (Deborah Kay Davies)

Also by Deborah Kay Davies

Grace, Tamar and Laszlo the Beautiful
Things You Think I Don’t Know

For Norman,
with love

Contents

Also by Deborah Kay Davies
Title Page
Dedication
I go underground
I don’t value my possessions
I get reflective
I talk to the animals
I am abandoned by my mother
I serve unusual nibbles
I advise on sartorial issues
I make people materialise
I misuse bread
I always deliver
I keep in touch
I entertain at home
I am not always available
I have titanic dreams
I get lots of fresh air
I believe that size matters
I eat colour coordinated snacks
I agree to things blindly
I feel sick of visitors
I show too much
I am a one-trick pony
I gather at the river
I do some double-talking
I indulge in retail therapy
I get tied up once in a while
I don’t talk to the animals
My timing is dead on
I pour cold water on events
I provide bed and breakfast
I’m at home to Mr Truthful
I have red letter days
I don’t like parties
I go to the pictures
I plan my menus
I cook up a storm
I’m on the outside
I have a houseful
I get blue
I go head over heels
I bleed publicly
I can’t stop myself
I dig without due care
I feel empty sometimes
I dream, baby
I innovate with soft furnishings
Acknowledgements
Copyright

I go underground

I PRESSED THE
buzzer for the next claimant. This old woman started telling me about her neighbour. As she spoke she kept tapping the glass barrier between us. That girl is on the game, she said, living off immoral earnings. It’s disgusting. Someone ought to come round and investigate. I suggested she get in touch with the police. She pursed her lips and made a spitty sound. Probably half the police force are involved, she said, I wouldn’t be surprised. Boys coming and going at all hours. And not only boys. Men too. Men old enough to be her granddad. She stood back and pointed with her thumb to her chest. I have seen men
my
age going in there.

I tried to take control of the interview, but she wasn’t going to be put off. I could see a man with curly blond hair sitting behind and to the left of her. He had his arms crossed and his eyes closed. She leaned forward. And another thing, she said, there’s always a lot of commotion; she’s forever revving the engine of her fancy car outside my window, slamming
doors, living like she doesn’t have a care in the world. It shouldn’t be allowed.

Every time the old woman banged the window she called me miss. I let her go on a bit while I looked over her shoulder at the other people waiting. I could see the guy was reading the paper now. Broad shoulders. His legs were long, stretched out in front of him, clad in faded, nicely tight jeans. I said to the woman, You leave this with me, we’ll check it out, and scribbled down the address. She gave me a look. Thank you now, I said. I have to see the next claimant, and pressed my buzzer.

He sat down and leaned back in the chair. Name? I said, and wrote it down. I read his paperwork. He’d just come out of prison. Nothing serious, he said, and stretched. Just having a laugh with an articulated lorry and a lamp post. He settled back in the seat and grinned. I grinned back. I don’t know why. It wasn’t at all appropriate. Address? I said. He leaned near the barrier. Why d’you want to know? he said, his breath briefly etching an oval on the glass. I told him I was just doing my job. Nothing personal. Pity, he said. I leafed through his papers and picked up my pen. Married or single? I said. Single. Very, he said, and laid his hands palm down on the surface. Good hands, nice nails and what could have been a wedding ring.

I looked up from the forms. He winked. I told him he would have to wait about a week while someone processed his claim. No probs, he said. Is it your lunch-time soon? His
shirt was open at the neck. His throat was kissable. No, I said, tidying up, I don’t have time for lunch. Pity, he said again, and stood up. Everyone should have a break. You look as if you could do with a long one. I could feel myself starting to blush. I made a fuss of gathering up his paperwork. I couldn’t bring myself to look up again. I pressed my buzzer and waited. Then he wasn’t there.

Alison and I worked late. It was getting dark as we left the building, the air slightly chilly still. He was standing opposite the entrance. There’s that man, I said to Alison. He was walking towards us. Which man? she said, peering around. Suddenly he was right in front of us. Hi, he said to me, ignoring her. Coming? Alison stood still and looked from him to me. Bye, I said and shrugged my shoulders. Alison held onto my arm. What about the film? she said quietly. He took hold of my hand and pulled me gently. I just went. Alison called out, Are you sure you’re all right? I tried to answer but we were walking too fast, we were too far away, already going underground.

I don’t value my possessions

HE TOOK ME
down the steps into the car park, and led me to a dark area. I could smell damp concrete, oil, exhaust fumes. He backed me up against a pillar. Take your underwear off, he said, and grinned, showing his teeth. Stand on me. I mean, stand on my shoes. You mustn’t get your feet dirty. He supported me while I struggled out of my tights and knickers. My mind had stretched and blanked, like a washed sheet on a clothes line. He had one arm round my waist. He put his hand up between my legs and pressed his fingers inside. I love the way that feels, he said. Then he unzipped his trousers and pushed his penis into my hand. It tapped heavily against my palm.

I’m so ready, he said. Are you? Yes, I said, and opened my legs for him. Say fuck me, he said, so I did. He grunted as he pushed himself in. I locked my arms round his neck. He sucked my bottom lip. I licked his teeth with my tongue. I felt his shoelaces under the arches of my feet. As he came I whacked
the back of my head hard against the pillar. Afterwards I heard car doors slamming, and my legs gave way.

Short and sweet, he said, as he sorted my clothes out. He picked me up and carried me to the taxi rank. We didn’t speak. He helped me into a cab and paid the driver. You might want these some time, he said, and threw the screwed-up knot of tights and knickers inside. See you around. All right, mate, he said to the taxi driver and banged the roof of the car. I sat on the seat with my underwear in my hands. I investigated the bruise on my head with my fingers; it felt tacky. Semen seeped out of me and pooled onto my skirt. When I got home I saw that the back of my new leather coat was scratched and scored. I bundled it up and chucked it in the bottom of my cupboard. I’d only had it for a week.

I get reflective

THAT NIGHT I
began to be afraid; I couldn’t remember things  like how to do my job. I switched on the bedside lamp and  made notes. I tried to jot down some tasks I needed to do  in the morning, but in the end I just wrote: turn on computer;  make coffee; file answered paperwork in alphabetical order.  Then I wrote a new list and put the first, draft list in alphabetical order. It seemed like a complicated task. The period  of time after I’d left work was incomprehensible. I knew I  should think about it. The easiest way would be in terms of  colour. Mid-blue was coming out of work with Alison.  Suddenly yellow. Then apricot. Down into red, streaked with  something else. At the bottom a sediment of khaki.

The next morning I decided to ring Alison and ask her to  tell our boss I was sick. I avoided the big mirror on the  wardrobe in my bedroom, and walked through the quiet  house down the stairs to the kitchen. Everything was in place.  I could barely lift the phone to my ear. The lead was kinked
into snarled-up shapes. Alison answered eventually. Hang on,  she said, before I’d spoken a word. Then I heard her shouting something about lunch boxes, and the sounds of running  up and down stairs. Then a door slammed.

Right, she said, they’ve gone. How are you this morning?  I, before you ask, have never been fabber. I just live for  school-day mornings. Oh, the joy of tuna and mayo sarnies.  The giddy search for bloody swimming cossies. Suddenly I  couldn’t remember what I’d rung for. Go on, I said. Alison’s  voice was like a cool hand on my forehead. Let me see, she  said. You want me to tell old fridge-baps you’re sick. Is that  it? If you would, I said. My voice was unfamiliar. All in a  day’s work, she said. Are you all right? I’ve been so worried  about you. ’Course, I said. Why shouldn’t I be? Duh, ooh,  I can’t think why, she said with what I thought was un-necessary sarcasm. Well, I’ll be speaking to you in depth very  soon, young lady. Can’t wait, I said.

I made myself coffee. Sunlight pulsed in the kitchen, bouncing off the kettle and the utensils in the rack. I had some  chocolate left, so I carried that and the coffee upstairs. Finally  I stood in front of the mirror and let my robe fall off my  shoulders. Would you look at yourself, I said to my reflection in a take-the-piss Irish accent. My face was the same,  but not the same. It looked slyly back at me, the eyes smaller,  paler maybe. I felt afraid again. I reached up to touch the  back of my head. The hair felt like a small, painful nest. I  looked at myself properly. You’re filthy, I said. How could
you do those things? But I couldn’t keep the accent up. My  smiling mouth in the mirror shocked me.

In the bathroom I ran a bath. It hurt to pee. I didn’t recognise the smell of myself. Each time I thought about the car  park, something winced in the pit of my stomach and a fluttering sensation rose up from around my heart and drifted  out through my scalp. I felt appalled. In the bath the water  swam over me. I sank under and worked the dried blood out  of my hair. As I did, the fluttering sensation changed. Now  it felt like something was shrivelling inside. I remembered  banging my head. Tears slid into my ears. I scrabbled out of  the bath and dried myself.

The house was profoundly silent, every room empty. It felt  like an out-of-season holiday home. I couldn’t spend time  there, so I put on some clothes, slammed the front door and  got in my car. At the traffic lights I avoided my reflection in  the rear-view mirror while I sent a text to Alison: Will be  entering the building ASAP. Thank god 4 flexitime. Luv u.

I worked like a maniac all day and skipped lunch. I ignored  Alison’s concerned glances, organised some leave and left my  desk tidy. Lastly I made a note of his address and phone  number, just in case.

I talk to the animals

I DECIDED TO
visit my grandmother. Magazines were always saying that if you were feeling down the best plan was to do something for someone else. I couldn’t find her in the ward. All the old ladies looked the same to me. My gran had been the busty, blue rinse, costume jewellery sort of gran. She used to make me little crisp golden tarts with strawberry jam in the centre. Each one was decorated with a pastry letter from my name. The molten jam was lethal. We sewed clothes for my doll, Valerie. Gran said we should concentrate on evening wear for Valerie. Val’s that type of girl, she said, winking. We winked at each other a lot. We spent rainy days colouring in together. Never you mind, she said, when I went outside the lines. Nobody’s perfect, my darling. Least of all your granny.

I walked round the ward and looked at each old lady. They all seemed like half-inflated balloons. Finally I found her and sat down on the shiny armchair beside her bed. I picked up her hand. I didn’t recognise the rings she was wearing. Gran?
I said. She turned her head to look at me. We stared at each other. Are you my gran? I asked. The nurse came in. Yours is over there, she said, picking up a chart that was hooked over the end of the bed. She had to help me extricate my hand. The old lady had a strong grip. As we struggled with her she made a sort of keening sound.