Calvaria Fell, page 9
Maud showed them her photo; two old ladies, a man, and a young lady leaning on a black car, with the ocean in the background. Maud envied the easy familiarity of them, the “Taken at Dunbar by George” by someone who knew where Dunbar was, and who George was, and was so familiar with the people in the photo they didn’t need to be named. She said, “That’s my grandma, the pretty lady. Her name was Maud. They named me after her because she died the very night I was born.”
Kate said, “They’re all ghosts now, anyway.”
Over the next few days, the children helped Irma fill her suitcase with clothes, toiletries and other people’s memories.
Chapter Five
Maud pinned the sorted orders up on a wall outside Young World. There were dozens of orders already pinned there, and boxes under all of them. Collected were shoelaces, green plates, blue glasses, henna shampoo bottles, eyeliner, funeral dried flowers (all with RIP ribbons) and much more. A lot of the boxes delivered when Irma arrived sat still unsorted in the general area, and Julian told Irma she should tell the children to get to work. “They won’t do it unless you tell them. We all like being lazy.” So she did tell them, in the nicest way she could, and she handed out lollipops as a sweetener.
“You can help too if you want,” Maud said kindly. Irma got the impression Maud felt sorry for her, that she thought she was a lonely old lady.
“Good idea!” she said.
“Do you want to call out the new orders?” Irma shook her head. It was clearly something Maud relished doing.
“Forty small frames. Twenty pairs of slippers, new. Five workbags.” No one knew what they were. “Three black covers for beds. Sixty stirring spoons.” The list went on. As far as Irma could tell, no one took much notice of the lists, although every now and then an object would be added to one of the boxes. Mostly, they added things to their own suitcases. They’d tell stories as they did so, stories that proved this item belonged to them.
The things that scored them fresh food and juice were coins, high quality clothing, unworn shoes, copper wire they wound into skeins, that sort of thing.
Julian set Irma up to unpack a large, torn box. She did that one, finding little of interest, then another two more, before, in the fourth box, she unearthed more enticing items. Glass inlaid mats, for plants, she thought, but that were decorative in their own right.
“Ooh, look!” Kate said. “Look what I found of yours, Irma!”
Irma knew that nothing of hers could be here, but still she paid attention. It was a sash with lost regalia. Thick silk, the material felt cool to the touch and was quite heavy. It lay satisfyingly flat on her shoulder. There were pin holes and the faintest trace of rust where the regalia once was, so it hadn’t been removed all that long ago. Had the children stripped it before giving it to her or had it arrived this way?
“This sash belonged to the man who murdered my great-grandmother,” she began. She knew they liked murder stories; there were true crime magazines everywhere.
“Why did he murder her?”
“The best question is how. You see how the important bit is missing? The bit that pins on? If you stick that in far enough, in the right place . . . the police won’t even know what you’ve done.” She remembered how that felt. He’d deserved it, that foul old man. He would say she’d deserved what she got, too (that short stint in jail) because of course he hadn’t died. You couldn’t kill an old bastard like that so easily.
“Oooh, look! A tennis racquet!” Irma swung it around, the children watching her. She guessed none of them had played or even watched the game; for her it was a distant memory. “So . . . this belonged to my great-grandmother. And this will tell you the why. Why she got murdered. She was better at tennis than the man who killed her. Some men hate that kind of thing.”
“That’s pathetic,” Julian said. He stood close to her, as if physically wanting to protect her from something. “What sort of man does that? What sort of man thinks that?”
“I’m not saying it’s a good reason!” Irma said. It surprised her how deeply they engaged with stories they must know are not true. “And yes, he’s one of the bad guys.” It was clear Julian had no idea what his own father had done. She wasn’t going to tell him. Perhaps he’d find out one day, perhaps not. How he didn’t remember, at least in part, seemed astonishing. He’d been four when his father slaughtered his mother and two sisters, leaving Julian tucked up in bed. She followed the news, like everybody else did, and there was much discussion about this. Some even thought Julian must have been involved, but clearly he hadn’t. He was just a very good sleeper. Irma felt a small sense of power, knowing so much about these children. They had no idea their cases were written about, discussed, argued about. That they were a matter of public interest.
Izzy sang along with the music (Waiting for the dinner bell ring) then said, “Hey, guess what we got?” A food delivery had arrived but they had yet to look through it. They liked to save that treat up. Izzy had done a quick inventory though. “We got fried chicken!”
“WE DID NOT!” Josh shouted, jumping up and down, and the other children, excited too, joined in. They all ran for the kitchen.
It was frozen.
“It won’t take long!” Irma said. “Come on, by the time you all wash up it’ll be nearly done. What else did we get?”
There was fresh orange juice, and there were bananas. There was cream in a squirty tube. Maud said it must have been for all the silver (Irma checked; it wasn’t her silver they gave away).
“Let’s do dress ups!” Josh said. “What goes with fried chicken?” None of them had any idea. They wandered off, leaving Izzy and Irma to prepare the meal.
—
They all ate together in the childcare center. There were lots of little chairs there, and the floor covering was still quite comfortable, not yet caked in mold or insect trails like elsewhere. There were plastic plants and flowers everywhere, some a bit dusty, but most still shiny and real-looking.
They made a big pile of chicken bones in the center of the room and Julian began poking them into a bottle. He gave it a shake and laughed; it was almost like a musical instrument and the rest of them made one too, dancing around the room to Jitterbug and then Feel my way, before they tired of that game. Then they took their plates to the elevator shaft and threw them down.
“What’s that about?” Irma said. “We should wash, dry, put away!”
“Have you seen how many plates we have? So so so many.” They showed her, in the back of the department store. Many thousands of chipped, cracked and crazed plates. “We’ve got more plates than dishwashing liquid!” Maud said, which made them all laugh, even though it was true.
Chapter Six
A new delivery had arrived. Irma was annoyed; she missed it, missed the chance to see the driver. There were a couple of different ones and she liked them all, really. Liked chatting to them. Maud said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in an hour to pick up stuff and take it away.”
The delivery was a couple of hundred shopping bags, crammed full of belts, power cords they’d strip the copper out of, paper clips, notepads. Those they’d tear off the used pages and stack them in a box. They filled a big order and it was ready to go, neatly packaged.
“It’s like a sausage machine. A mess of stuff comes in, neat packages go out.”
“I like sausages,” Bean said.
“Fresh sausages are really tasty,” Irma said, “but I can’t even remember the last time I had one.”
“I like them from a tin,” Bean said.
“How about when you die we turn you into a tin of sausages?” Julian said, squeezing his cheeks together with his hands. Irma was horrified, but Bean laughed till she fell onto the floor.
—
They tipped out another bag and found dozens of flea collars. The ruined ones they’d take the buckles off, but others they could sort. They’d had hundreds of these collars but an order came in a while ago and out they all went, cleaned and sorted into sizes. They got a carton of condensed milk in exchange, and some comic books, although they had a lot of those already.
Marty held one to his chest. “This belonged to my little pup Perry. He was so cute, you should have seen him!”
The others all grabbed at collars too.
Marty said, “He used to sleep on the end of my bed even though he wasn’t allowed to, so when . . .” He paused. He hated to talk about his parents. “When someone came in, Perry would curly up in a tiny ball, and he looked like a cushion! They didn’t even know!”
“That’s like me!” Izzy said. “This collar belonged to my little cat . . . Walky. Because I found her when I went for a walk. And I wasn’t allowed to have her, but she loved me so much they let me keep her after all. I wish she wasn’t dead.”
Maud said to Irma, “Do you have a pet at your house?”
Irma said, “I used to. I had two rabbits who lived in my backyard. It was a really small backyard but big enough for them. They lived off lettuce and carrots and whatever food I had leftover.”
The children didn’t know what she meant by leftovers, and she found it hard to make them understand. “Anyway, the thing is, I had this special friend. And he was so special that I forgot about all other things, even my friends and even those little bunnies. So . . .” there was no way she was confessing she’d let them starve to death. “So they dug their way out of their little house, and under the fence, and off they went. They’re having adventures to this very day, you watch!”
The children all looked at her, horrified. They somehow knew the truth of it, or found the story as she told it awful enough.
A song came on, Irma started to dance to Bad Dreams in the Night. Most of the children joined in, laughing, but Julian wasn’t impressed. “She’s drunk,” he said to Maud.
“Doesn’t matter, she’s fun!” Maud said. They danced around until Irma fell over, taking Bean with her. Bean landed on her wrist, bending it, and then there were tears.
“See?” Julian said. He remembered nothing of his family, but he remembered how a drunk adult made him feel.
I’ve Been Waiting played, and Kate said, “Hey! That’s the lunch song! Should we eat?”
They were having so much fun unpacking the stuff they decided to have a picnic-style lunch.
While they ate, Maud showed Julian an envelope. It was red, stamped “Urgent,” and they both knew what it was. An envelope like this had come in for Rachel, letting her know a place had opened up for her at medical school.
“Who’s it for, do you think?” Maud said. It wasn’t always the oldest who went next. Children as young as seven had been pulled out to go to school. There was an excitement about it but also a fear of the unknown. If they were sent to school together it would be better. This way they never saw each other again, although who knew what happened out there? Maud was tempted to hide it again; she’d put it underneath a pile of material, ragged at the hems but still colorful and not moth-eaten. She didn’t want anyone to go.
“We have to open it some time,” Julian said.
It was Julian, being called up for training. It didn’t say school, it said training. It said he could be an engineer or a carpenter. He wasn’t sure what either thing was, but he said, “Oh well! Next thing!”
Maud went into a sulk, not wanting him to go. Kate, Carlo and Marty gathered around him, asking him questions he didn’t know the answer to. Bean joined Maud in her sulk, adding as many hmmmphs as anyone would listen to. Josh said, “Let me find you your going away clothes,” and Izzy told Julian she’d make him food for the trip. Bean cried, clinging on to him. “I’ll pack you in my suitcase!” he said, and she nodded, thinking this sounded like a great idea.
Irma was quiet.
There were still boxes to unpack so they kept at it. They started to pile things up for Julian, all the best things they found. They didn’t know what he’d need. How much he would be able to take.
Marty untied a garbage bag that was mostly full of shoes. He dragged it over to the stage (they’d found it was easier to sort them on there) and began to line them up. He liked things in order so he sorted them by color, mixing pink high-heeled shoes with hot pink sneakers, and artily painted boots with colorful rope sandals. The children soon messed it up, all of them wanting to try shoes on. Maud (who had long since discarded her high heels) found herself a pair of dark purple ballet slippers. Pulling them on, she danced around on the stage, stepping between all the shoes. Bean, always following, looked around until she found some ballet slippers as well and danced and danced.
There were lots of broken shoes, mismatched pairs, and shoes so filthy no one would ever wear them. They would save buckles, buttons and heel bits; Marty specialized in this. He picked up an almost-new pair of good boots.
“Julian! These would fit you.”
“They would,” Julian said. He sat down and pulled them on. “Perfect.”
“Do you know what we found in a boot once?” Maud said. The others gathered around. “We found a diamond ring. Remember? We tested it by scratching the glass over there.” Irma looked; there was indeed a large scratch. “And the time we found a roll up of money. And when we found a key.”
“We’ve found so many keys!” Marty said. “Never found the lock to match!” Although sometimes they were the generic style, opening small locks of cabinets. That was useful.
—
Josh was in charge of the clothing, but most of them had to help sort it. There was so much. They knew the sort of thing people wanted, and bags of that (things with fancy labels, things that felt nice to the touch, things with diamonds sewn on) went onto hangers and racks. They sorted into sizes and styles; they never had to wear the same thing twice. Some of it they’d used as bedding, before the mattresses arrived, and even now they’d lifted their beds off the floor with old dresses and trousers. Some of the good stuff they saved for themselves, parading around for entertainment.
Julian’s suitcase was brown, trunk-like. It had a lock on it but he never bothered with that. He loved folding the clothing, stacking it up neatly. He was always after storage bins, boxes, chests of drawers. He was the one to go to if you needed something warm or something cool to wear.
So Josh was the one who found clothes for Julian to pack. These would be different to “home clothes.” He was going to training; he needed to look smart. There were pants and shirts, socks without holes. Two good jackets and one big fluffy one.
Julian fitted it all in; clothes, shoes, a dog leash to remind him of a long-dead pet, some of the jewelry, some of the coins. They didn’t know how he would use it or if he would need to, but just in case. He packed in an old watch that didn’t work. “This was my father’s,” he said. “My mum gave it to him. She said that every time it ticked, to think of her and how much she loved him.”
“Awww,” Irma said. “That’s sweet.”
—
Maud knew that it was good for Julian to be leaving, but for the moment she didn’t want him to go. She sat, staring into the fish tank. She wished the fish were still swimming so she could watch them. But there was only sludge, and bones. She wondered who the fish had been. What color and how big. You couldn’t tell from the bones.
That could be any fish in there.
Bean came and sat by her with a big pile of old birthday cards. Her job was to tear them in half, so that the old greetings were removed and they could all write on them for Julian. Long ago the habit became to have birthday parties instead of farewell parties. No one remembered how it started, but, as they told Irma, they were starting a new life so it kind of made sense.
The torn off bits would go down into the parking garage into the paper recycling. They were all scared of the recycling pile in the parking garage. Much as they loved stories, the ones about that massive pile were too frightening, about someone falling in and being drowned there, all eaten up by whatever ate up the paper, turned into sludge like the sludge in the bottom of the fish tank. Underneath the decades of paper lay a river of this sludge, and even a drop on your skin would work its way to the bone.
—
Julian appeared in the doorway, dressed in the “stepping out” outfit Josh had chosen for him, inspired by an old fashion magazine. He wore a beige turtleneck jumper, with a navy blue jacket. He held a striped scarf.
“You look great!” Irma said. “Very grown up. But your hair is a mess!” It really was long, and stringy on the ends.
“You need a haircut,” Maud said. She loved giving haircuts. The hairdresser (Curl Up and Dye, it was called) still had aprons and sharp scissors, so they made their way there.
As Hard Times played, Maud made Julian sit in the chair, where he fidgeted, bored as he often was, but she joked with him and got him to tell stories, and when she was done he cried. “I look so good,” he said. “I actually look good.”
Izzy went to the kitchen to bake some cookies. They had enough That’s the Way the Cookie Crumbles supplies to last a lifetime, as long as they had tinned milk or water for powdered milk. Izzy stirred in an extra handful of chocolate chips saved for special occasions, and set the oven going. She never questioned where the power came from; none of them did. They accepted the fact they had light and heat, that music played throughout the day. She pulled the trays out, burning herself as she always did. Her fingers, hands and forearms were crisscrossed with fine lines, remnants of past burns.
Julian leaned in the doorway. “Are those all for me?” Izzy thought he was getting fat and told him so, but he just laughed and shoved three cookies in his mouth at once. She laughed, and he did, sputtering crumbs over the floor. The ants and the cockroaches would clean that up.
Bean ate as many cookies as she could before someone stopped her. She liked sausages and cookies, not much else. She hated beans. She did some horrendous farts, though.
