hillwalker
12-22-2010, 10:21 AM
Part 1 (sorry - it's a long one.....)
SWEETPEA
I’m getting better. Everybody here tells me I am so it must be true; the facilitators in my therapy group, the nurses who keep the wards ticking over and dole out our meds, the orderlies who provide day to day support and most importantly Doctor Andrews. He told me so seven or eight months earlier when he went through my case notes with me and Miss Russell, my case worker.
“It’s such a big step, Michael, taking responsibility at last for your own actions. Now you need to start thinking about what happens when you get out of here.”
It wasn’t something that I had seriously given any consideration to over the past fourteen years. When Miss Russell (“call me Jo”) had taken me under her wing less than a year ago she had made it clear that if I was to function again in the outside world I needed a robust support network. She would be its cornerstone.
“Your life is going to get better, Michael. Trust me.”
That was easier said than done.
It was nerve-wracking just standing underneath the awning outside the main reception area where I was now allowed to take my cigarette breaks. The throb of heavy traffic beyond the gates leading into Dee Meadows seemed to go on without pause. And the gawping faces of those who actually passed by on foot did not augur well for the future.
Jo had started coming outside with me on my breaks when she was visiting; often bringing in an ounce or two of ‘burn’ and even helping in her own little way by rolling me a couple of ciggies while I savoured my smoke. No matter what dosage they put me on, my hands never lost the shakes.
“You’re going to notice things moving a lot faster than when you were last out and about. More traffic on the streets….. everybody always on the go….. kids with mobile phones clamped to their ears or iPod wires sticking out of their heads…..”
I had figured out most of the changes for myself from watching TV and thumbing through the magazines the orderlies brought in for us. I thought of my niece, Lucy. Eight and a half the last time I’d seen her. Coming up to twenty-five soon; probably the same age as Jo here. I couldn’t begin to imagine the changes her life had gone through. We could pass each other in the street and not even recognise each other. She might have a stud in her belly button and her hair streaked, or perhaps cut short and spiked with gel like a boy’s. She might even have children of her own. I would never know since I was no longer part of her life.
“Are you cool about next Monday?”
I was scheduled an afternoon’s supervised trip into town. Gordon would drive us there in the mini-bus on his way to the day-care centre out at Marchmount House. I would be dropped off by the station, and be taken around the shops by Jo. Boots and W H Smiths were still there, so she reckoned. The bank, the florist’s I used to call at on the corner, and the town library. The old Plaza cinema had shut down – a ‘theme pub’ now, whatever one of those is.
“Don’t worry, Michael. We can stop off somewhere quiet for a coffee if you don’t feel up to doing much window shopping.”
I mashed out my cigarette on the lid of my tin then crumbled the stub between my fingers in order to salvage the few surviving flakes of scorched tobacco.
“Somewhere quiet?”
“Yes. If you’d rather. I’ll be there with you, remember. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Even now, sixteen years after it all happened, once the lights were dimmed and the nurses had closed up the side wards I still took my little box out of the locker. I usually held it under my green over-blanket and drifted off to sleep soon after with its shape cradled in my arms. If H or Ziggy found it there when they roused me in the morning they just put it back where it belonged, right at the bottom under my rolled up winter jumpers and corduroy jacket.
“Come on, Mike, my man. Let’s put that somewhere safe and get you showered and shaved.”
I could shower myself in a fashion despite the shakes, but it was still normal procedure for one of the orderlies to stay close by whenever I was entrusted with something as lethal as a disposable razor. It was something I had got accustomed to. It was as normal as queuing to collect the week’s supply of toilet roll, shampoo and toothpaste every Saturday afternoon. Most of the young lads went through a tube of toothpaste a week in here since drawing pins were not allowed.
- - - - -
“First stop Station Road.”
I sat in the seat directly behind Gordon. I’d done this journey perhaps a dozen times in the last five years but never been allowed to get off in the town centre until today.
“We’ll be back here at four,” Jo told him as the door swung open. “If there’s any change of plan I’ll ring Brian on his mobile.”
Brian was normally to be found huddled at the back of the mini-bus like an unclaimed piece of luggage.
“Grab hold of my hand. Everything’s going to be ok.”
I traipsed alongside her like a primary school kid on an outing. I felt that everybody’s eyes were on me, although it was more likely that Jo was the main attraction. She looked as smart as ever in a pair of tight navy leggings beneath a short plaid skirt, a black jacket with a fur-trimmed collar and a knitted hat pulled all the way down to cover her black hair. Her woollen glove was warm and reassuring to the touch.
There seemed to be new stores sprouting everywhere. She took me past the Argos superstore on the site of the old BRS yard, the Starbucks where the ‘Trooper’ had once stood and a Next shop where ‘Jenkins the Stationers’ had once been. Then we crossed over the road at the pedestrian lights so we could keep to the sunny side of Cripplesgate.
“Do you remember any of this?”
I nodded. Dazed and enthralled at the same time. Of course I did. We passed a glass and chrome monstrosity that turned out to be an internet cafe and before I realised it we were turning left down Bridge Street. I felt my feet grow leaden.
“D’you want to go through the archway under the clock, Michael? Walk down towards the canal?”
I nodded gratefully. Less people that end of town. Less faces that might recognise mine. It was already getting harder to draw breath. I still felt everybody’s eyes fixed on us as Jo led me past the shops and offices and restaurants I had once known so well.
‘Mama Mia’ on Bridge Street had not been open very long. I had been in there one lunch time with some of the gang from work. It seemed a lively place, with a friendly atmosphere. The food was your basic Italian but not overly expensive. When I finally plucked up the courage to ask Polly out for a glass or two of vino after work it seemed like the ideal place. She had spent the last three hours checking the departmental budget forecasts with me so I felt we both deserved a couple of drinks.
“Blimey, is that the time? No wonder the place is empty. Hey, listen, do you like Italian food?”
“Mm, yeh. Why?”
“I thought we could grab a bite to eat at that new place in Bridge Street, unless you’ve got something else planned.”
“Well, I had promised myself it was time I defrosted my freezer. But I suppose that can wait.”
Just a couple of glasses of the house red and a tuna salad but already I felt relaxed enough to confide in Polly about how I felt about work in general and her position in particular. I normally allowed office politics to pass over my head, but I had noticed a definite atmosphere since she had moved from Telesales into Accounts.
“I suppose they see me as a threat,” she laughed. “I’d rather get stuck in with my work than spend half the day on the phone to the latest boyfriend and the rest of it chatting about shoes or diets. I suppose because I’m older than most of the girls they think I’m a bit of a bore, but I just like doing a good job you know.”
“Polly, this isn’t a job interview. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a few weeks now. You don’t need to tell me how hard you work. That isn’t why I wanted to have this chat.”
“So why did you bring me here?”
“Well, to say thanks for today. And to figure out whether we can see more of each other. Outside work.”
A shy smile crossed her face as she nodded to herself.
“Mm. I’ve had my eye on you as well, but I assumed you were married. I’d sussed out that you weren’t gay but you never seem to flirt like the rest of the lads in Advertising or Sales do. I just had you down as a happy, family man.”
“No such luck. Engaged to the job and that’s about it. So what about you? Any current boyfriend?”
Polly shook her head.
“Not for the last year or so. My love life’s a long story, Michael. Bit of a horror story to be honest with you.”
And during the following three months I got to know her story, and she mine. Up to a point.
By then we had become regular diners in the ‘Wheatsheaf’ on Ferry Lane, the ‘Boars Head’ in Foulton and at ‘Mama Mia’ in town. This particular Friday night was going to be special. The restaurant was packed but I had managed to book us a table for two in one of the quieter corners away from the bar. The more private the better.
“Happy?”
Polly smiled that smile of hers. Her dark hair was tied back in a simple French braid, and her red lips and pale complexion made her look like one of those Emily Bronte heroines.
I put my hand nervously into my jacket pocket. I had come close to revealing my intentions a couple of times during our meal, but felt it best to finish eating first. I felt like a teenager on his first date or a suitor about to reach over for the first kiss. Polly could sense my discomfort because after taking for ever to let a spoonful of brown sugar dissolve in her coffee cup she placed her left hand on my sleeve.
“Come on, Mike. Tell me what’s on your mind. You’ve looked on edge since we got here.”
“Nothing. I’m fine. You know, I’ve really enjoyed tonight.”
She blinked apprehensively, unsure that I was being completely truthful.
“Yeh, me too…..”
I smiled awkwardly.
“There’s somebody I want you to meet.”
I dug my right hand into my pocket again and finally pulled out…..
The look on Polly’s face was not what I had been expecting. Her mouth was open wide in a gasp of disbelief. Her dark eyes darted to mine and had the room not been so crowded I felt sure she would have pushed her chair back from our table, and stormed out there and then. The last thing I wanted was a scene in a crowded restaurant.
Fortunately, someone in chef’s whites began twirling a large flap of pasta above his head, and the rest of the kitchen staff started singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to one of the girls seated with a crowd occupying the large table to our right.
Polly leant her head closer to mine.
“Is this supposed to be your idea of a joke? For God’s sake, stick that thing back in your jacket pocket before anybody sees.”
I picked up the few loose flakes of puff pastry left on my plate. There was still a quarter of an hour to go until Gordon was due back and I was desperate for a cigarette but there were ‘No Smoking’ signs everywhere. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate again but Jo was too busy chattering away to notice.
“Phew, I’m totally shagged, excuse my French. I never do much walking unless I’m on a shopping crusade. If I feel like punishing the plastic then I could walk around these shops all day, you know. Retail therapy they call it….. not the same kind of therapy they do back at the ranch but just as effective…..”
We had walked all the way to the Jutland Bridge then back along City Road to the station. My old hunting grounds.
“So how do you feel?”
“Ok. Still a bit weird, you know. Like I’m on the verge of having a major panic attack or something.”
“You’re doing really well, Michael. Just relax. You’ve done the hardest bit, getting off that bus earlier this afternoon. Remember what Doctor Andrews told you. You’re not taking part in a race. It’s going to take you a lot of practice getting comfortable with being back outside. But living in ‘Fenella’ is going to be great for you; a bit of independence, but still among friends…..”
“I just didn’t realise there’d be so many people….. so many faces…..”
“Don’t bother about them. They’re all too busy with their own little worries to pay any attention to you. Give it a couple of months and you’ll start realising that you really do have as much right as they do to walk up and down these streets. Don’t forget, there’s a load more crazy people out here than there are stuck inside Dee Meadows.”
She meant it kindly and I took no offence. In fact I had always thought the word ‘crazy’ had certain kudos. I still remember when I was a kid riding up and down Lawson Street for hours one day. There was this three-storey house converted into flats where some of the down-and-outs were given a temporary roof over their heads. This particular morning I could hear music coming from one of the top floor flats; some vintage Who. A guy sat at the open window frenziedly hammering out the beat by hitting the sill with a rolled up newspaper. He stuck at it for ages, gazing down at me as he did so with a wicked grin on his face, and I kept riding up and down the pavement past the house every couple of minutes or so, laughing at his madcap behaviour and feeling giddy because I was part of it. Until my sister Vi saw my antics and told mum. I ended up promising to keep away from the flats and the crazy people who lived there. How ironic.
A young, over-weight woman squeezed past, bumping against our table as she did but without a word of apology. A child loitered some distance behind; her dirty blonde hair tied into a frizzy pony tail. She paused at our table and gave me a lopsided grin until her mother turned back as soon as she reached the drinks machine and screeched at her.
“Chloe, what have I told you? Get here, right now.”
I couldn’t figure out why a mother would let a young child wander on her own so far out of reach. Shouldn’t she be holding on to her tiny hand for dear life like Jo had held on to mine?
Jo beamed at me.
“Kids, eh?”
That one can’t have been more than six years old.
I can remember Lucy’s sixth birthday party. My sister had arranged a barbecue in their back garden Polly had volunteered her services.
“So, how’re things between you two?”
“Well, I can’t say much, can I? You know all there is to know about your big brother.”
The pair burst out laughing. I left them to it. I had more important things to do. I was due to perform as soon as the feeding frenzy was over – just before they brought out the birthday cake. Lucy and her pals were engrossed in passing the parcel and my brother-in-law was busy plating up charred sausages, chicken drumsticks and burgers. He wore a full-length apron that concealed his ample body behind a cartoon set of French knickers and bra.
“What do you think you look like?”
“One of the burdens of being a dad. Just you wait, matey. Your day will come….. that is, I take it you and Polly are still at it like rabbits?”
I blushed and playfully punched him on the arm.
“A gentleman never tells.”
“No need to, matey. It’s written all over your face.”
“Is Muriel around?”
“Last time I saw her she was basting herself in the conservatory. I tried to get her to open the ruddy windows but she said the smell of cooking would carry into the house. She should be done to a turn by now…..”
“I’d better go and say Hello.”
I went across to Polly and Vi and after grabbing a refill made my excuses.
Mother was dozing in one of the wicker chairs. The blast of heat as soon as I entered the conservatory was over-powering.
“You’re going to give yourself a headache, mum. Have a sip of this then go and sit in the shade indoors, eh?”
She wiped the condensation off the outside of the glass and took an exploratory sip.
“Ugh, Coke. Too sweet for me. I don’t know how you can stomach the stuff. Isn’t Polly with you?”
“Yeh. Out there chatting to Vi.”
She squinted through the window then turned to me, grinning with pleasure.
“She’s such a lovely girl.”
“I know. Now come on. Why don’t I get you settled in the kitchen? If you sit much longer in all this heat you’ll start having your palpitations again.”
“No. I’m coming out for a bit of fresh air and a chat with your young lady. You should be out there as well enjoying yourself.”
Kevin stood next to Lucy’s climbing frame waving his spatula energetically in my direction. I was due to begin my party piece.
Sweetpea came out of hiding from behind a cushion on one of the patio chairs and started her act. The children loved her. Who wouldn’t be captivated by a little black and white bear with a cute red bow on top of her head, and a pair of roguish eyes?
Although my ventriloquist’s act was meant to be the highlight of the afternoon, the children laughed loudest when Sweetpea misbehaved. She shook up a can of Coke when I wasn’t looking, and as I pulled the tab I got showered with drink. She insisted on feeding me some trifle and, of course, I ended up with it smeared all over my face. And when Vi carried out Lucy’s birthday cake (covered in a thick layer of Barbie-pink icing) Sweetpea insisted on lighting the candles herself. Needless to say, she nearly ended up burning a hole in my t-shirt.
Kevin, Vi and mother gravitated towards me and Polly as the party wound itself down. My sister, as usual, was highly complimentary.
“You’re off your head, Mike. You really are. One day you’re going to end up hurting yourself, you big loon.”
“So what? The kids love it.”
Polly gave me an unfriendly nudge in the ribs.
“Huh. And what about me, honey-bunch? What about what I love? God, I wish he’d act his age for once.”
I could tell that Polly still wasn’t much taken with Sweetpea. The element of jealousy had been there since the night they first met at ‘Mama Mia’. I had noticed the look on her face as she watched us together, contempt rather than pride. Perhaps she was the one who needed to act her age. As the great man once said – “plenty of dummies out there but very few ventriloquists.”
- - - - -
The wide-screen TV blared out the ‘Coronation Street’ theme music in the main ward and I could hear a World Service bulletin next door where Rocking Roger was holed up. It wasn’t even eight-o’clock yet but I was too tired to concentrate on any of the soaps or listen to the radio once I’d finished tea.
“What’s up, Buttercup?”
Nurse Monica. One of the Eastern bloc émigrés who had started working here soon after Doctor Andrews took over. Despite her carefree appearance she was one of my favourites because she seemed to sense when I wanted to be left alone.
“Just knackered, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I heard all about you out on the town with Miss Josie this afternoon. I hope you were on your best behaviour.”
I grinned as she handed me my night-cap and made sure I had drained the cup before she ticked her clip-board.
“Get yourself an early night, lover boy.”
I got changed into my blue t-shirt and boxers and slumped down onto the bed. Its metal frame squeaked under my weight. I toyed with the idea of getting up again and rooting in my locker, but I was even too whacked for that tonight. The trek around town had really taken it out of me.
The noises that carried along the corridor into my room quickly subsided. I had often lain awake for hours listening to similar sounds in our house. Loud scraping noises as my father gave the coals a final poke before coming to bed. The clink of the milk bottles put out on the front step. Air thumping in the pipes as someone drew water to wash the supper dishes. The steady breathing and dreamy mutterings of my sister in the bed across the room from my own.
Clara Jane’s bawling in the next room was worst. It didn’t seem to bother Vi so much. She buried herself under her cuddly toys – a larger than life Tigger and an enormous teddy in a football kit that threatened to take over her entire bed. I had nothing to snuggle up to except my pillow. The incessant howling and the constant tramping of feet up and down stairs became a nightly torture. I longed to cuddle up next to something in the dark; something that would make the noises go away.
I vaguely remembered Sweetpea from when Vi was a toddler. The glove puppet had originally been my sister’s but she had soon grown tired of it once ‘Tiny Tears’ entered her life and it ended up in the bottom of a cardboard box together with some baby clothes. After Clara J was born and mother eventually decided it was time to resurrect Vi’s cast-offs the mislaid glove-puppet came to light.
“Oh, Violet. Look what mummy’s found up in the attic.”
My five-year-old sister looked at the bedraggled scrap of material as if she’d been offered a grimy dish cloth.
“Don’t like Sweepy any more. She’s nasty. Clara J can have her.”
That evening before getting into bed I went downstairs in my pyjamas to give everybody their goodnight kiss and there she was, abandoned on the kitchen floor underneath the table. As soon as I fit my hand inside her I felt my body relax. I sneaked her back upstairs and slept better than I had in weeks. My mother had a struggle to wake me the following morning and when she saw what I was wearing on my hand she was more bemused than annoyed.
My bond with Sweetpea became a standing joke within the immediate family. But I’m convinced that she played some part in developing my character from that of a rather shy boy to a more outgoing individual. She helped raise my self-esteem and bolster my self-confidence. She became someone for me to confide in; someone I could rely on to keep a secret. She was there for me during those darkest hours after our baby sister died in her sleep. As soon as my father broke us the tragic news that Sunday morning Vi climbed into my bed and clung on to me for comfort, but it was the puppet that I soothed with kisses not my poor little sister.
- - - - -
SWEETPEA
I’m getting better. Everybody here tells me I am so it must be true; the facilitators in my therapy group, the nurses who keep the wards ticking over and dole out our meds, the orderlies who provide day to day support and most importantly Doctor Andrews. He told me so seven or eight months earlier when he went through my case notes with me and Miss Russell, my case worker.
“It’s such a big step, Michael, taking responsibility at last for your own actions. Now you need to start thinking about what happens when you get out of here.”
It wasn’t something that I had seriously given any consideration to over the past fourteen years. When Miss Russell (“call me Jo”) had taken me under her wing less than a year ago she had made it clear that if I was to function again in the outside world I needed a robust support network. She would be its cornerstone.
“Your life is going to get better, Michael. Trust me.”
That was easier said than done.
It was nerve-wracking just standing underneath the awning outside the main reception area where I was now allowed to take my cigarette breaks. The throb of heavy traffic beyond the gates leading into Dee Meadows seemed to go on without pause. And the gawping faces of those who actually passed by on foot did not augur well for the future.
Jo had started coming outside with me on my breaks when she was visiting; often bringing in an ounce or two of ‘burn’ and even helping in her own little way by rolling me a couple of ciggies while I savoured my smoke. No matter what dosage they put me on, my hands never lost the shakes.
“You’re going to notice things moving a lot faster than when you were last out and about. More traffic on the streets….. everybody always on the go….. kids with mobile phones clamped to their ears or iPod wires sticking out of their heads…..”
I had figured out most of the changes for myself from watching TV and thumbing through the magazines the orderlies brought in for us. I thought of my niece, Lucy. Eight and a half the last time I’d seen her. Coming up to twenty-five soon; probably the same age as Jo here. I couldn’t begin to imagine the changes her life had gone through. We could pass each other in the street and not even recognise each other. She might have a stud in her belly button and her hair streaked, or perhaps cut short and spiked with gel like a boy’s. She might even have children of her own. I would never know since I was no longer part of her life.
“Are you cool about next Monday?”
I was scheduled an afternoon’s supervised trip into town. Gordon would drive us there in the mini-bus on his way to the day-care centre out at Marchmount House. I would be dropped off by the station, and be taken around the shops by Jo. Boots and W H Smiths were still there, so she reckoned. The bank, the florist’s I used to call at on the corner, and the town library. The old Plaza cinema had shut down – a ‘theme pub’ now, whatever one of those is.
“Don’t worry, Michael. We can stop off somewhere quiet for a coffee if you don’t feel up to doing much window shopping.”
I mashed out my cigarette on the lid of my tin then crumbled the stub between my fingers in order to salvage the few surviving flakes of scorched tobacco.
“Somewhere quiet?”
“Yes. If you’d rather. I’ll be there with you, remember. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Even now, sixteen years after it all happened, once the lights were dimmed and the nurses had closed up the side wards I still took my little box out of the locker. I usually held it under my green over-blanket and drifted off to sleep soon after with its shape cradled in my arms. If H or Ziggy found it there when they roused me in the morning they just put it back where it belonged, right at the bottom under my rolled up winter jumpers and corduroy jacket.
“Come on, Mike, my man. Let’s put that somewhere safe and get you showered and shaved.”
I could shower myself in a fashion despite the shakes, but it was still normal procedure for one of the orderlies to stay close by whenever I was entrusted with something as lethal as a disposable razor. It was something I had got accustomed to. It was as normal as queuing to collect the week’s supply of toilet roll, shampoo and toothpaste every Saturday afternoon. Most of the young lads went through a tube of toothpaste a week in here since drawing pins were not allowed.
- - - - -
“First stop Station Road.”
I sat in the seat directly behind Gordon. I’d done this journey perhaps a dozen times in the last five years but never been allowed to get off in the town centre until today.
“We’ll be back here at four,” Jo told him as the door swung open. “If there’s any change of plan I’ll ring Brian on his mobile.”
Brian was normally to be found huddled at the back of the mini-bus like an unclaimed piece of luggage.
“Grab hold of my hand. Everything’s going to be ok.”
I traipsed alongside her like a primary school kid on an outing. I felt that everybody’s eyes were on me, although it was more likely that Jo was the main attraction. She looked as smart as ever in a pair of tight navy leggings beneath a short plaid skirt, a black jacket with a fur-trimmed collar and a knitted hat pulled all the way down to cover her black hair. Her woollen glove was warm and reassuring to the touch.
There seemed to be new stores sprouting everywhere. She took me past the Argos superstore on the site of the old BRS yard, the Starbucks where the ‘Trooper’ had once stood and a Next shop where ‘Jenkins the Stationers’ had once been. Then we crossed over the road at the pedestrian lights so we could keep to the sunny side of Cripplesgate.
“Do you remember any of this?”
I nodded. Dazed and enthralled at the same time. Of course I did. We passed a glass and chrome monstrosity that turned out to be an internet cafe and before I realised it we were turning left down Bridge Street. I felt my feet grow leaden.
“D’you want to go through the archway under the clock, Michael? Walk down towards the canal?”
I nodded gratefully. Less people that end of town. Less faces that might recognise mine. It was already getting harder to draw breath. I still felt everybody’s eyes fixed on us as Jo led me past the shops and offices and restaurants I had once known so well.
‘Mama Mia’ on Bridge Street had not been open very long. I had been in there one lunch time with some of the gang from work. It seemed a lively place, with a friendly atmosphere. The food was your basic Italian but not overly expensive. When I finally plucked up the courage to ask Polly out for a glass or two of vino after work it seemed like the ideal place. She had spent the last three hours checking the departmental budget forecasts with me so I felt we both deserved a couple of drinks.
“Blimey, is that the time? No wonder the place is empty. Hey, listen, do you like Italian food?”
“Mm, yeh. Why?”
“I thought we could grab a bite to eat at that new place in Bridge Street, unless you’ve got something else planned.”
“Well, I had promised myself it was time I defrosted my freezer. But I suppose that can wait.”
Just a couple of glasses of the house red and a tuna salad but already I felt relaxed enough to confide in Polly about how I felt about work in general and her position in particular. I normally allowed office politics to pass over my head, but I had noticed a definite atmosphere since she had moved from Telesales into Accounts.
“I suppose they see me as a threat,” she laughed. “I’d rather get stuck in with my work than spend half the day on the phone to the latest boyfriend and the rest of it chatting about shoes or diets. I suppose because I’m older than most of the girls they think I’m a bit of a bore, but I just like doing a good job you know.”
“Polly, this isn’t a job interview. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a few weeks now. You don’t need to tell me how hard you work. That isn’t why I wanted to have this chat.”
“So why did you bring me here?”
“Well, to say thanks for today. And to figure out whether we can see more of each other. Outside work.”
A shy smile crossed her face as she nodded to herself.
“Mm. I’ve had my eye on you as well, but I assumed you were married. I’d sussed out that you weren’t gay but you never seem to flirt like the rest of the lads in Advertising or Sales do. I just had you down as a happy, family man.”
“No such luck. Engaged to the job and that’s about it. So what about you? Any current boyfriend?”
Polly shook her head.
“Not for the last year or so. My love life’s a long story, Michael. Bit of a horror story to be honest with you.”
And during the following three months I got to know her story, and she mine. Up to a point.
By then we had become regular diners in the ‘Wheatsheaf’ on Ferry Lane, the ‘Boars Head’ in Foulton and at ‘Mama Mia’ in town. This particular Friday night was going to be special. The restaurant was packed but I had managed to book us a table for two in one of the quieter corners away from the bar. The more private the better.
“Happy?”
Polly smiled that smile of hers. Her dark hair was tied back in a simple French braid, and her red lips and pale complexion made her look like one of those Emily Bronte heroines.
I put my hand nervously into my jacket pocket. I had come close to revealing my intentions a couple of times during our meal, but felt it best to finish eating first. I felt like a teenager on his first date or a suitor about to reach over for the first kiss. Polly could sense my discomfort because after taking for ever to let a spoonful of brown sugar dissolve in her coffee cup she placed her left hand on my sleeve.
“Come on, Mike. Tell me what’s on your mind. You’ve looked on edge since we got here.”
“Nothing. I’m fine. You know, I’ve really enjoyed tonight.”
She blinked apprehensively, unsure that I was being completely truthful.
“Yeh, me too…..”
I smiled awkwardly.
“There’s somebody I want you to meet.”
I dug my right hand into my pocket again and finally pulled out…..
The look on Polly’s face was not what I had been expecting. Her mouth was open wide in a gasp of disbelief. Her dark eyes darted to mine and had the room not been so crowded I felt sure she would have pushed her chair back from our table, and stormed out there and then. The last thing I wanted was a scene in a crowded restaurant.
Fortunately, someone in chef’s whites began twirling a large flap of pasta above his head, and the rest of the kitchen staff started singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to one of the girls seated with a crowd occupying the large table to our right.
Polly leant her head closer to mine.
“Is this supposed to be your idea of a joke? For God’s sake, stick that thing back in your jacket pocket before anybody sees.”
I picked up the few loose flakes of puff pastry left on my plate. There was still a quarter of an hour to go until Gordon was due back and I was desperate for a cigarette but there were ‘No Smoking’ signs everywhere. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate again but Jo was too busy chattering away to notice.
“Phew, I’m totally shagged, excuse my French. I never do much walking unless I’m on a shopping crusade. If I feel like punishing the plastic then I could walk around these shops all day, you know. Retail therapy they call it….. not the same kind of therapy they do back at the ranch but just as effective…..”
We had walked all the way to the Jutland Bridge then back along City Road to the station. My old hunting grounds.
“So how do you feel?”
“Ok. Still a bit weird, you know. Like I’m on the verge of having a major panic attack or something.”
“You’re doing really well, Michael. Just relax. You’ve done the hardest bit, getting off that bus earlier this afternoon. Remember what Doctor Andrews told you. You’re not taking part in a race. It’s going to take you a lot of practice getting comfortable with being back outside. But living in ‘Fenella’ is going to be great for you; a bit of independence, but still among friends…..”
“I just didn’t realise there’d be so many people….. so many faces…..”
“Don’t bother about them. They’re all too busy with their own little worries to pay any attention to you. Give it a couple of months and you’ll start realising that you really do have as much right as they do to walk up and down these streets. Don’t forget, there’s a load more crazy people out here than there are stuck inside Dee Meadows.”
She meant it kindly and I took no offence. In fact I had always thought the word ‘crazy’ had certain kudos. I still remember when I was a kid riding up and down Lawson Street for hours one day. There was this three-storey house converted into flats where some of the down-and-outs were given a temporary roof over their heads. This particular morning I could hear music coming from one of the top floor flats; some vintage Who. A guy sat at the open window frenziedly hammering out the beat by hitting the sill with a rolled up newspaper. He stuck at it for ages, gazing down at me as he did so with a wicked grin on his face, and I kept riding up and down the pavement past the house every couple of minutes or so, laughing at his madcap behaviour and feeling giddy because I was part of it. Until my sister Vi saw my antics and told mum. I ended up promising to keep away from the flats and the crazy people who lived there. How ironic.
A young, over-weight woman squeezed past, bumping against our table as she did but without a word of apology. A child loitered some distance behind; her dirty blonde hair tied into a frizzy pony tail. She paused at our table and gave me a lopsided grin until her mother turned back as soon as she reached the drinks machine and screeched at her.
“Chloe, what have I told you? Get here, right now.”
I couldn’t figure out why a mother would let a young child wander on her own so far out of reach. Shouldn’t she be holding on to her tiny hand for dear life like Jo had held on to mine?
Jo beamed at me.
“Kids, eh?”
That one can’t have been more than six years old.
I can remember Lucy’s sixth birthday party. My sister had arranged a barbecue in their back garden Polly had volunteered her services.
“So, how’re things between you two?”
“Well, I can’t say much, can I? You know all there is to know about your big brother.”
The pair burst out laughing. I left them to it. I had more important things to do. I was due to perform as soon as the feeding frenzy was over – just before they brought out the birthday cake. Lucy and her pals were engrossed in passing the parcel and my brother-in-law was busy plating up charred sausages, chicken drumsticks and burgers. He wore a full-length apron that concealed his ample body behind a cartoon set of French knickers and bra.
“What do you think you look like?”
“One of the burdens of being a dad. Just you wait, matey. Your day will come….. that is, I take it you and Polly are still at it like rabbits?”
I blushed and playfully punched him on the arm.
“A gentleman never tells.”
“No need to, matey. It’s written all over your face.”
“Is Muriel around?”
“Last time I saw her she was basting herself in the conservatory. I tried to get her to open the ruddy windows but she said the smell of cooking would carry into the house. She should be done to a turn by now…..”
“I’d better go and say Hello.”
I went across to Polly and Vi and after grabbing a refill made my excuses.
Mother was dozing in one of the wicker chairs. The blast of heat as soon as I entered the conservatory was over-powering.
“You’re going to give yourself a headache, mum. Have a sip of this then go and sit in the shade indoors, eh?”
She wiped the condensation off the outside of the glass and took an exploratory sip.
“Ugh, Coke. Too sweet for me. I don’t know how you can stomach the stuff. Isn’t Polly with you?”
“Yeh. Out there chatting to Vi.”
She squinted through the window then turned to me, grinning with pleasure.
“She’s such a lovely girl.”
“I know. Now come on. Why don’t I get you settled in the kitchen? If you sit much longer in all this heat you’ll start having your palpitations again.”
“No. I’m coming out for a bit of fresh air and a chat with your young lady. You should be out there as well enjoying yourself.”
Kevin stood next to Lucy’s climbing frame waving his spatula energetically in my direction. I was due to begin my party piece.
Sweetpea came out of hiding from behind a cushion on one of the patio chairs and started her act. The children loved her. Who wouldn’t be captivated by a little black and white bear with a cute red bow on top of her head, and a pair of roguish eyes?
Although my ventriloquist’s act was meant to be the highlight of the afternoon, the children laughed loudest when Sweetpea misbehaved. She shook up a can of Coke when I wasn’t looking, and as I pulled the tab I got showered with drink. She insisted on feeding me some trifle and, of course, I ended up with it smeared all over my face. And when Vi carried out Lucy’s birthday cake (covered in a thick layer of Barbie-pink icing) Sweetpea insisted on lighting the candles herself. Needless to say, she nearly ended up burning a hole in my t-shirt.
Kevin, Vi and mother gravitated towards me and Polly as the party wound itself down. My sister, as usual, was highly complimentary.
“You’re off your head, Mike. You really are. One day you’re going to end up hurting yourself, you big loon.”
“So what? The kids love it.”
Polly gave me an unfriendly nudge in the ribs.
“Huh. And what about me, honey-bunch? What about what I love? God, I wish he’d act his age for once.”
I could tell that Polly still wasn’t much taken with Sweetpea. The element of jealousy had been there since the night they first met at ‘Mama Mia’. I had noticed the look on her face as she watched us together, contempt rather than pride. Perhaps she was the one who needed to act her age. As the great man once said – “plenty of dummies out there but very few ventriloquists.”
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The wide-screen TV blared out the ‘Coronation Street’ theme music in the main ward and I could hear a World Service bulletin next door where Rocking Roger was holed up. It wasn’t even eight-o’clock yet but I was too tired to concentrate on any of the soaps or listen to the radio once I’d finished tea.
“What’s up, Buttercup?”
Nurse Monica. One of the Eastern bloc émigrés who had started working here soon after Doctor Andrews took over. Despite her carefree appearance she was one of my favourites because she seemed to sense when I wanted to be left alone.
“Just knackered, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I heard all about you out on the town with Miss Josie this afternoon. I hope you were on your best behaviour.”
I grinned as she handed me my night-cap and made sure I had drained the cup before she ticked her clip-board.
“Get yourself an early night, lover boy.”
I got changed into my blue t-shirt and boxers and slumped down onto the bed. Its metal frame squeaked under my weight. I toyed with the idea of getting up again and rooting in my locker, but I was even too whacked for that tonight. The trek around town had really taken it out of me.
The noises that carried along the corridor into my room quickly subsided. I had often lain awake for hours listening to similar sounds in our house. Loud scraping noises as my father gave the coals a final poke before coming to bed. The clink of the milk bottles put out on the front step. Air thumping in the pipes as someone drew water to wash the supper dishes. The steady breathing and dreamy mutterings of my sister in the bed across the room from my own.
Clara Jane’s bawling in the next room was worst. It didn’t seem to bother Vi so much. She buried herself under her cuddly toys – a larger than life Tigger and an enormous teddy in a football kit that threatened to take over her entire bed. I had nothing to snuggle up to except my pillow. The incessant howling and the constant tramping of feet up and down stairs became a nightly torture. I longed to cuddle up next to something in the dark; something that would make the noises go away.
I vaguely remembered Sweetpea from when Vi was a toddler. The glove puppet had originally been my sister’s but she had soon grown tired of it once ‘Tiny Tears’ entered her life and it ended up in the bottom of a cardboard box together with some baby clothes. After Clara J was born and mother eventually decided it was time to resurrect Vi’s cast-offs the mislaid glove-puppet came to light.
“Oh, Violet. Look what mummy’s found up in the attic.”
My five-year-old sister looked at the bedraggled scrap of material as if she’d been offered a grimy dish cloth.
“Don’t like Sweepy any more. She’s nasty. Clara J can have her.”
That evening before getting into bed I went downstairs in my pyjamas to give everybody their goodnight kiss and there she was, abandoned on the kitchen floor underneath the table. As soon as I fit my hand inside her I felt my body relax. I sneaked her back upstairs and slept better than I had in weeks. My mother had a struggle to wake me the following morning and when she saw what I was wearing on my hand she was more bemused than annoyed.
My bond with Sweetpea became a standing joke within the immediate family. But I’m convinced that she played some part in developing my character from that of a rather shy boy to a more outgoing individual. She helped raise my self-esteem and bolster my self-confidence. She became someone for me to confide in; someone I could rely on to keep a secret. She was there for me during those darkest hours after our baby sister died in her sleep. As soon as my father broke us the tragic news that Sunday morning Vi climbed into my bed and clung on to me for comfort, but it was the puppet that I soothed with kisses not my poor little sister.
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