Breakdown, page 4
‘Come on,’ Kaylem says in an excited tone. He leans his weight on my chest. ‘Tell me how you like it.’
He grabs my hair tighter and twists my face to meet his. Then he slaps me hard, flat-handed around the curve of my head.
‘Don’t you like our little game?’ he says.
I spit in his face.
‘Little ho.’ He laughs. ‘Let’s see how much I can make you hate it, then.’
He pulls my hair taut.
I can’t twist.
‘You know what I want.’ He grabs at my coat, starts yanking it open. I struggle. He leaves the coat and slaps me harder. The violence catches me by surprise. My eyes water. I try to kick. He forces me flat and kneels astride me, pins me down. He’s heavy, too heavy. He stinks of alcohol.
‘I’ll kill you if you touch me,’ I hiss. ‘I swear to God.’
He just laughs. Then he reaches for the coat hem. Roughly tugs it up. I can’t fight. I’m no match for him. If I could hurt him, scratch out his eyes, find some weapon … I flail my arm around, search for a stick or piece of stone.
‘Sparky.’ He laughs. He tugs at my jeans and pulls hard on the fistful of hair, so I arch back. He fumbles at his own jeans.
I can smell his breath. I can smell his stinking boozy breath.
‘Let’s take a look.’
I jerk my head. My hair tears out. His hand loosens. His grip slips. I wrench my head round. I scream loud. It rips out of my throat. Then I bite his wrist.
He leaves the jeans, finds my throat. With one squeeze, I’m choking. I can’t breathe. My head spins.
There’s a blur in the darkness.
I’m gasping and choking.
But someone is there.
And Kaylem is wrenched aside.
His weight crushes me. His hand lets go of my throat. I gasp for breath.
‘Let her go. She’s not your spoil.’
It’s Tarquin.
Kaylem grunts. ‘What’s your problem? Don’t want me to get in there first?’
I feel a force seize him off me, feel the impact of foot on flesh, hear the crack of something hard on soft tissue. A belch of air escapes from Kaylem’s lips. I smell it, foul, stinking. Then he shrieks, high-pitched.
The weight of him suddenly gone. The night air, cold, welcome.
‘You broke Dog’s Law,’ says Tarquin.
Kaylem can’t answer. He seems winded. I sit up, drag Nan’s coat back around me.
My fingers trembling.
‘You broke Dog’s Law. If Careem don’t deal with you, I will.’ Tarquin’s voice is deep and dangerous.
‘You – deal with me?’ Kaylem’s voice, breathy, acid.
‘Get moving.’
‘You can keep your Dog’s Law and your bitch.’ Kaylem staggers to his feet, sucks in air, then stays there, doubled up. ‘Watch it, Tarquin,’ he breathes. ‘You shouldn’ta done that.’
‘Move.’
‘You’ve started something now.’
‘Va te faire foutre, trouduc,’ hisses Tarquin.
‘I’m warning you.’
Tarquin doesn’t answer again. Instead he’s at my side. Kaylem moves off, threats under his breath.
‘You OK?’ Tarquin says.
I stay quiet. I don’t trust myself to speak.
I roll slowly to one side, try to lever myself up. Tarquin crouches beside me, staring at me. He reaches out his hand to steady me. I clutch it.
‘You got back,’ I whisper. My voice shaky.
‘I got back.’
The night seems to swirl around me.
‘Did he hurt you?’
I don’t answer. Suddenly I remember – ‘Lenny?’
‘He’s OK.’
‘Don’t go.’ I keep hold of his hand.
‘OK.’ He moves in close, puts his arm around me.
I sit there, trembling, trying to get control of myself. My throat tight, hoarse from screaming. I cough. I swallow. It hurts.
Tarquin raises his hand to my face. Gently wipes my lip. Flicks his eyes to mine, holds them for a second, looks away.
‘Lip’s bleeding,’ he mumbles.
I nod. My heart hammers. ‘I bit it.’
‘He hit you.’
I nod.
Tarquin’s jaw tightens. He mutters something beneath his breath. I think he says ‘Batard, branleur.’ He’s swearing in some ganger tongue. Then I hear him say, ‘ … and you so beautiful.’
I let myself lean against him.
‘I’ll get you somewhere safe.’ He pulls a rag from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. Then gently, ever so gently, before I can flinch away, he wipes my lip and cleans the blood and dirt off.
8
I
’m off the racetrack, in a changing room. Smoky oil lamp, dry floor. I huddle down into a corner. Can I trust him? He drove Kaylem off, but …
Tarquin sees my shrinking now we’re alone. ‘You’re safe with me. I’m not Kaylem.’
And I’m not stupid. Nan taught me: Never trust a man and you’ll never go wrong.
I keep my distance from him.
‘I want to help you.’
I press myself further into the corner and wait.
‘Is there anyone I can tell outside?’
‘Anyone who’ll pay, you mean?’ I say.
‘I can’t help you if you won’t trust me.’
‘Trust you? I trust you, all right. As soon as I tell you about anyone, I trust you to go and rob them.’
‘I won’t rob them.’
‘You went to rob the shoe boat.’
‘I won’t rob them.’
‘There isn’t anyone.’
Tarquin squats and looks at me. He seems to be searching for something. ‘There really isn’t, is there?’
I shake my head.
‘We don’t have anyone either, me an’ Len.’
Does he think I’m like him, then? That we’re the same? Am I supposed to spill my heart out and cosy up to him and share our aloneness?
I narrow my eyes. ‘You’ve got Careem and Kaylem, and all of Games City.’
He sits down next to me. ‘No I ain’t.’
There’s something in the way he says it that makes me sorry. I try to imagine life in this place – the squalor, the violence.
‘I understand,’ he says. ‘You’ve been half drowned and nearly raped and you don’t trust nothing. I don’t blame you. But you can trust me. An’ I’ll show ya you can.’
His eyes are dark and liquid. His face is kind. He did rescue me. But I’m not ready to let go of Nan’s advice. Men only want one thing. That’s the way they are. Don’t ever trust them.
And he can’t seem to take his eyes off me. Instinctively I pull Nan’s coat tighter.
‘I’ll be outside,’ he says. ‘You’re still frightened. You ain’t gotta be frightened of me too. I’ll be around though. I’ll make sure you’re OK. I’ll send Len in to keep you company. He don’t frighten you, do he?’
I just watch him. His voice soft, caring, with a slight trace of something foreign. He lifts his hand as if to touch me. Then lets it fall.
‘You got reason to be afraid, though,’ he says. ‘You really have. I ain’t never seen nothing as beautiful as you.’
Lenny is here. He strokes my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Miss, ’bout Kaylem.’
I press my lips together.
‘I’m really sorry. I shouldn’ta left you.’
I squeeze his hand.
‘But I ran and fetched Quinny.’
‘Thanks,’ I whisper.
‘You ain’t gonna die, are ya?’
‘If I don’t eat something, I might.’ I try to make light of it.
‘I ain’t got much food, Miss,’ he says, ‘but you can share mine.’
Lenny pulls a bit of meat off a bone he’s been picking at. Hands it to me. It’s only the tiniest bit and it’d scarcely feed a cat. I’m grateful though. I take it. I haven’t tasted meat in a long time. Nan and I lived off our back yard. And that was all vegetables – it’s only one snap with my molars and a little bit of pushing up and around with my tongue and it’s swallowed. My throat’s sore now. The meaty greasiness remains in my mouth.
‘What kind of meat is it?’ I say, a sudden horror rising up in me.
‘Dog,’ says Lenny.
OK. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Dog. Maybe I just ate the dog that ate Nan.
‘More?’
Lenny holds out another tiny piece. I’m so hungry and my belly’s growling and the smell of grease on my fingers is torture, and it’s like the morsel I’ve tasted has woken months of starvation in me.
But I look at Lenny – so skinny, like he hasn’t eaten well for weeks either. I shake my head. I haven’t got the heart to take it off him.
‘No, I’m OK.’
Lenny looks at me; a little worried crease starts up around his eyes. ‘You gonna be OK, Miss?’ he asks.
I shrug.
‘It’s being here, ain’t it?’
It’s so many things.
‘It’s the big picture, ain’t it?’
‘The what?’ I say.
‘When it gets really bad here, I go there,’ says Lenny.
‘Where?’
‘To the big picture.’
I look at him, puzzled.
He nods. ‘I do.’
I wait for the next extraordinary thing he’s going to say. But instead he runs off, right out of the locker room, his short little legs and ragged shirt flying.
And I sit there and wonder about him, such a funny, skinny little kid. But before I’m through wondering he’s back, all panting and flush-faced in the lamplight.
‘Look,’ he says. He holds something out at me. A book. An ancient, tatty kid’s book with a hardback cover that’s half hanging off. I don’t even want to touch it.
‘It’s the other place,’ he says. ‘The little farm in the north, the one with the big picture you can go to.’
‘No you can’t,’ I say.
But he isn’t listening.
‘When I grow up I’m going there,’ he says. And he sits down beside me and snuggles up to me.
I don’t know what to do.
For a start, he smells. He smells of pee and of this place, and secondly I’m not used to kids. And I’m not sure I trust them, either, so I push him away.
Nan told me.
Children are tricky. They can spy through stuff. They can reach right inside you. They can see the real thing even when you can’t. They can catch you out and suddenly blurt out something you’ve no idea was there. They can ask you a question that you have no answer for.
‘Look,’ says Lenny, moving right back up next to me. He flips open the book’s front cover and points. It’s hard to see because it’s so dark. Some kind of picture.
‘What is it?’
‘The other place,’ he says.
I peer down, but I can’t see anything. ‘It’s just a book,’ I say.
‘But books tell the truth, don’t they?’ says Lenny.
That’s one of those questions I don’t have an answer for. I don’t know if books tell the truth or not. So I just puff out some air and say, ‘It’s a book. There’s no “other place” you’re ever going to get to.’
I didn’t mean to say it so harsh.
Lenny goes quiet. He doesn’t cry.
‘I guess not,’ he says.
He sits there blankly, biting his bottom lip.
I didn’t even give him a chance. I want to say something to make it better.
‘Well,’ he mutters, all ancient before his time, ‘maybe I ain’t going yet. But you’re wrong about the other place. It is there.’
And I see that if I don’t back off, as like as not he’ll get upset. So I don’t say anything. I just sit there for a bit and Lenny looks at me, like I’m going to say something important.
But I just carry on sitting there trying to think of something to make it better.
And I remember how Nan and I used to sit together and how she’d stroke my hand and tell me of Mount Olympus and the story of the boy, Zeus, and how the nymph, Melissa, fed him milk from the goat, Amalthea, and how one day a horn broke off the goat and became the great horn of plenty, the cornucopia of the Gods, from which all good things flowed in abundance.
And Lenny and I sit there. Like Nan and me. Like Melissa and the boy Zeus.
The cornucopia from which all good things flowed in abundance.
And I look around. And it’s obvious there’s not much abundance flowing here. And I think maybe I could make some up, tell him a story full of good things – like Nan did for me? I wonder what kind of abundance he’d like. Maybe I could make up a story about this secret place he’s so keen on.
So at last I say, ‘Maybe it’s true. Maybe there is a secret place. But you haven’t got any right to go around talking about it like that, or it won’t be a secret any more.’
‘O–K,’ says Lenny very gravely. ‘I’m not gonna do that again.’
‘Because it doesn’t like being talked about,’ I say lamely. I don’t really know what kind of story he’d like. Somehow I don’t think a Greek myth about the boy Zeus will do, even with the cornucopia in a secret setting.
Lenny nods his head solemnly.
I rack my brains for something else to say. ‘Because it’s a secret place.’
‘I know.’
‘So why did you?’ I hiss.
‘Because,’ whispers Lenny, ‘I knew you’d know.’
That stumps me. He looks up into my eyes like he’s really sure I know all about his secret place.
‘Because you was in the pictures.’
‘I’m what?’ I say.
And Lenny slowly counts through the pages. With only the light from the smoky oil lamp I can’t see a thing. But he knows what he’s doing.
So I wait.
And finally he turns up a page. ‘There,’ he says. He points at something, all shadowy. ‘That’s you.’
‘I see.’ I know better than to upset him again, so I pick up the oil lamp, hold it close, squint at the picture until it comes into focus. There’s a spring sky, all fluffy clouds. There’s a girl standing in a valley outside a little cottage. Roses trail round the door. The girl is willowy and has my smile. She’s wearing a coat like mine and above her in the sky, blue birds are singing. And it is kind of weird because she does look a lot like me, but then again she doesn’t, because I never smile these days.
And it’s just a book.
‘But it doesn’t make any difference,’ I say. ‘It’s still a secret and you mustn’t tell.’
‘OK,’ says Lenny.
‘Not unless I say,’ I add.
‘OK.’ He nods very seriously and snuggles back down beside me.
‘Because it’s our secret?’ he says. ‘Just you and me. Ain’t it?’
‘All right,’ I say.
‘And if you could get away and if I carry the things, you might take me there?’
9
Lenny falls asleep. I don’t. I’m too restless. With a smile I remember – today’s my birthday. I tread the floor, heart beating. I keep going over Careem’s words: After that I’ve got something else in mind.
Happy birthday, Melissa.
I need air. Clean air, not oil lamp or wood smoke or the foul stench of this place. But I’m too scared to go outside. What if Kaylem’s still around? I should go out though, and see if there’s any hope of escape. Nan would tell me to.
‘You must always get up and fight back, Melissa. If you give up on yourself, few will help you.
‘You must strive to be like Melissa, your namesake, the mountain nymph. The myths tell that when her neighbours tried to make her reveal the secrets of the boy Zeus, Melissa remained silent. In anger, the women tore her to pieces, but Demeter, the sister of Zeus, sent a plague upon them, causing bees to be born from Melissa’s dead body and the bees swarmed on Melissa’s enemies and stung them to death.
‘You must always fight back, my honeybee. Sting your oppressors, swarm on your enemies.’
I force myself to go out and look. Even if only to find something to protect myself with … an iron bar, a sharp piece of rusty metal, the right words.
I leave the locker room and climb up the ramp to the racetrack.
I see him at the exit, dark against the early dawn. His locks falling to his broad shoulders. He’s standing guard. I could go back without him noticing. He doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t know why I feel so nervous. I hear Nan’s voice, what she would say: Get to know him. He’s saved you twice. You don’t have to trust him. Just use him.
I walk softly up the concrete slope. I’ll speak to him. Suddenly I don’t mind speaking to him.
‘Thank you for earlier,’ I say.
He doesn’t turn. I just see him stiffen, just a bit. ‘Thank you too, for being nice to Lenny,’ he says.
I draw level and rest on the edge of the barricade beside him.
‘He told me you was nice,’ he continues.
The racetrack lies like a dark lake encircled by a ring of hills. The trash is transformed by the moonlight into ripples of silver.
‘There’s no way out,’ he says.
‘OK.’
‘In case you was looking.’
‘I needed air.’
‘And I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Sorry I brought you here.’
In the light from the stars I can see his face, the square angle of his chin.
‘I’m sorry too, if the thing with Kaylem brings you trouble,’ I say.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m always trouble,’ I add.
‘Lenny likes you.’
I remember Nan saying, ‘Beauty is a gift. Use it wisely.’ I start thinking about just how to use it here.
‘Lenny ain’t got no one to care for him.’
‘He’s got you.’
‘Ain’t the same.’
‘You took care of me,’ I point out.
‘You can pay me back.’
‘Pay you back?’
‘Take care of Lenny for me, give him love, and I’ll try and save you from Careem.’
For some strange reason my heart drops. He saved me for Lenny.
‘You got the shoes all right then?’ I remember his words. ‘Even if we get the shoes, even if everyone’s happy, it’s only for tonight. That’s all.’ And I remember how he left the rest unspoken: because Careem’s got something else in mind.
He grabs my hair tighter and twists my face to meet his. Then he slaps me hard, flat-handed around the curve of my head.
‘Don’t you like our little game?’ he says.
I spit in his face.
‘Little ho.’ He laughs. ‘Let’s see how much I can make you hate it, then.’
He pulls my hair taut.
I can’t twist.
‘You know what I want.’ He grabs at my coat, starts yanking it open. I struggle. He leaves the coat and slaps me harder. The violence catches me by surprise. My eyes water. I try to kick. He forces me flat and kneels astride me, pins me down. He’s heavy, too heavy. He stinks of alcohol.
‘I’ll kill you if you touch me,’ I hiss. ‘I swear to God.’
He just laughs. Then he reaches for the coat hem. Roughly tugs it up. I can’t fight. I’m no match for him. If I could hurt him, scratch out his eyes, find some weapon … I flail my arm around, search for a stick or piece of stone.
‘Sparky.’ He laughs. He tugs at my jeans and pulls hard on the fistful of hair, so I arch back. He fumbles at his own jeans.
I can smell his breath. I can smell his stinking boozy breath.
‘Let’s take a look.’
I jerk my head. My hair tears out. His hand loosens. His grip slips. I wrench my head round. I scream loud. It rips out of my throat. Then I bite his wrist.
He leaves the jeans, finds my throat. With one squeeze, I’m choking. I can’t breathe. My head spins.
There’s a blur in the darkness.
I’m gasping and choking.
But someone is there.
And Kaylem is wrenched aside.
His weight crushes me. His hand lets go of my throat. I gasp for breath.
‘Let her go. She’s not your spoil.’
It’s Tarquin.
Kaylem grunts. ‘What’s your problem? Don’t want me to get in there first?’
I feel a force seize him off me, feel the impact of foot on flesh, hear the crack of something hard on soft tissue. A belch of air escapes from Kaylem’s lips. I smell it, foul, stinking. Then he shrieks, high-pitched.
The weight of him suddenly gone. The night air, cold, welcome.
‘You broke Dog’s Law,’ says Tarquin.
Kaylem can’t answer. He seems winded. I sit up, drag Nan’s coat back around me.
My fingers trembling.
‘You broke Dog’s Law. If Careem don’t deal with you, I will.’ Tarquin’s voice is deep and dangerous.
‘You – deal with me?’ Kaylem’s voice, breathy, acid.
‘Get moving.’
‘You can keep your Dog’s Law and your bitch.’ Kaylem staggers to his feet, sucks in air, then stays there, doubled up. ‘Watch it, Tarquin,’ he breathes. ‘You shouldn’ta done that.’
‘Move.’
‘You’ve started something now.’
‘Va te faire foutre, trouduc,’ hisses Tarquin.
‘I’m warning you.’
Tarquin doesn’t answer again. Instead he’s at my side. Kaylem moves off, threats under his breath.
‘You OK?’ Tarquin says.
I stay quiet. I don’t trust myself to speak.
I roll slowly to one side, try to lever myself up. Tarquin crouches beside me, staring at me. He reaches out his hand to steady me. I clutch it.
‘You got back,’ I whisper. My voice shaky.
‘I got back.’
The night seems to swirl around me.
‘Did he hurt you?’
I don’t answer. Suddenly I remember – ‘Lenny?’
‘He’s OK.’
‘Don’t go.’ I keep hold of his hand.
‘OK.’ He moves in close, puts his arm around me.
I sit there, trembling, trying to get control of myself. My throat tight, hoarse from screaming. I cough. I swallow. It hurts.
Tarquin raises his hand to my face. Gently wipes my lip. Flicks his eyes to mine, holds them for a second, looks away.
‘Lip’s bleeding,’ he mumbles.
I nod. My heart hammers. ‘I bit it.’
‘He hit you.’
I nod.
Tarquin’s jaw tightens. He mutters something beneath his breath. I think he says ‘Batard, branleur.’ He’s swearing in some ganger tongue. Then I hear him say, ‘ … and you so beautiful.’
I let myself lean against him.
‘I’ll get you somewhere safe.’ He pulls a rag from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. Then gently, ever so gently, before I can flinch away, he wipes my lip and cleans the blood and dirt off.
8
I
’m off the racetrack, in a changing room. Smoky oil lamp, dry floor. I huddle down into a corner. Can I trust him? He drove Kaylem off, but …
Tarquin sees my shrinking now we’re alone. ‘You’re safe with me. I’m not Kaylem.’
And I’m not stupid. Nan taught me: Never trust a man and you’ll never go wrong.
I keep my distance from him.
‘I want to help you.’
I press myself further into the corner and wait.
‘Is there anyone I can tell outside?’
‘Anyone who’ll pay, you mean?’ I say.
‘I can’t help you if you won’t trust me.’
‘Trust you? I trust you, all right. As soon as I tell you about anyone, I trust you to go and rob them.’
‘I won’t rob them.’
‘You went to rob the shoe boat.’
‘I won’t rob them.’
‘There isn’t anyone.’
Tarquin squats and looks at me. He seems to be searching for something. ‘There really isn’t, is there?’
I shake my head.
‘We don’t have anyone either, me an’ Len.’
Does he think I’m like him, then? That we’re the same? Am I supposed to spill my heart out and cosy up to him and share our aloneness?
I narrow my eyes. ‘You’ve got Careem and Kaylem, and all of Games City.’
He sits down next to me. ‘No I ain’t.’
There’s something in the way he says it that makes me sorry. I try to imagine life in this place – the squalor, the violence.
‘I understand,’ he says. ‘You’ve been half drowned and nearly raped and you don’t trust nothing. I don’t blame you. But you can trust me. An’ I’ll show ya you can.’
His eyes are dark and liquid. His face is kind. He did rescue me. But I’m not ready to let go of Nan’s advice. Men only want one thing. That’s the way they are. Don’t ever trust them.
And he can’t seem to take his eyes off me. Instinctively I pull Nan’s coat tighter.
‘I’ll be outside,’ he says. ‘You’re still frightened. You ain’t gotta be frightened of me too. I’ll be around though. I’ll make sure you’re OK. I’ll send Len in to keep you company. He don’t frighten you, do he?’
I just watch him. His voice soft, caring, with a slight trace of something foreign. He lifts his hand as if to touch me. Then lets it fall.
‘You got reason to be afraid, though,’ he says. ‘You really have. I ain’t never seen nothing as beautiful as you.’
Lenny is here. He strokes my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Miss, ’bout Kaylem.’
I press my lips together.
‘I’m really sorry. I shouldn’ta left you.’
I squeeze his hand.
‘But I ran and fetched Quinny.’
‘Thanks,’ I whisper.
‘You ain’t gonna die, are ya?’
‘If I don’t eat something, I might.’ I try to make light of it.
‘I ain’t got much food, Miss,’ he says, ‘but you can share mine.’
Lenny pulls a bit of meat off a bone he’s been picking at. Hands it to me. It’s only the tiniest bit and it’d scarcely feed a cat. I’m grateful though. I take it. I haven’t tasted meat in a long time. Nan and I lived off our back yard. And that was all vegetables – it’s only one snap with my molars and a little bit of pushing up and around with my tongue and it’s swallowed. My throat’s sore now. The meaty greasiness remains in my mouth.
‘What kind of meat is it?’ I say, a sudden horror rising up in me.
‘Dog,’ says Lenny.
OK. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Dog. Maybe I just ate the dog that ate Nan.
‘More?’
Lenny holds out another tiny piece. I’m so hungry and my belly’s growling and the smell of grease on my fingers is torture, and it’s like the morsel I’ve tasted has woken months of starvation in me.
But I look at Lenny – so skinny, like he hasn’t eaten well for weeks either. I shake my head. I haven’t got the heart to take it off him.
‘No, I’m OK.’
Lenny looks at me; a little worried crease starts up around his eyes. ‘You gonna be OK, Miss?’ he asks.
I shrug.
‘It’s being here, ain’t it?’
It’s so many things.
‘It’s the big picture, ain’t it?’
‘The what?’ I say.
‘When it gets really bad here, I go there,’ says Lenny.
‘Where?’
‘To the big picture.’
I look at him, puzzled.
He nods. ‘I do.’
I wait for the next extraordinary thing he’s going to say. But instead he runs off, right out of the locker room, his short little legs and ragged shirt flying.
And I sit there and wonder about him, such a funny, skinny little kid. But before I’m through wondering he’s back, all panting and flush-faced in the lamplight.
‘Look,’ he says. He holds something out at me. A book. An ancient, tatty kid’s book with a hardback cover that’s half hanging off. I don’t even want to touch it.
‘It’s the other place,’ he says. ‘The little farm in the north, the one with the big picture you can go to.’
‘No you can’t,’ I say.
But he isn’t listening.
‘When I grow up I’m going there,’ he says. And he sits down beside me and snuggles up to me.
I don’t know what to do.
For a start, he smells. He smells of pee and of this place, and secondly I’m not used to kids. And I’m not sure I trust them, either, so I push him away.
Nan told me.
Children are tricky. They can spy through stuff. They can reach right inside you. They can see the real thing even when you can’t. They can catch you out and suddenly blurt out something you’ve no idea was there. They can ask you a question that you have no answer for.
‘Look,’ says Lenny, moving right back up next to me. He flips open the book’s front cover and points. It’s hard to see because it’s so dark. Some kind of picture.
‘What is it?’
‘The other place,’ he says.
I peer down, but I can’t see anything. ‘It’s just a book,’ I say.
‘But books tell the truth, don’t they?’ says Lenny.
That’s one of those questions I don’t have an answer for. I don’t know if books tell the truth or not. So I just puff out some air and say, ‘It’s a book. There’s no “other place” you’re ever going to get to.’
I didn’t mean to say it so harsh.
Lenny goes quiet. He doesn’t cry.
‘I guess not,’ he says.
He sits there blankly, biting his bottom lip.
I didn’t even give him a chance. I want to say something to make it better.
‘Well,’ he mutters, all ancient before his time, ‘maybe I ain’t going yet. But you’re wrong about the other place. It is there.’
And I see that if I don’t back off, as like as not he’ll get upset. So I don’t say anything. I just sit there for a bit and Lenny looks at me, like I’m going to say something important.
But I just carry on sitting there trying to think of something to make it better.
And I remember how Nan and I used to sit together and how she’d stroke my hand and tell me of Mount Olympus and the story of the boy, Zeus, and how the nymph, Melissa, fed him milk from the goat, Amalthea, and how one day a horn broke off the goat and became the great horn of plenty, the cornucopia of the Gods, from which all good things flowed in abundance.
And Lenny and I sit there. Like Nan and me. Like Melissa and the boy Zeus.
The cornucopia from which all good things flowed in abundance.
And I look around. And it’s obvious there’s not much abundance flowing here. And I think maybe I could make some up, tell him a story full of good things – like Nan did for me? I wonder what kind of abundance he’d like. Maybe I could make up a story about this secret place he’s so keen on.
So at last I say, ‘Maybe it’s true. Maybe there is a secret place. But you haven’t got any right to go around talking about it like that, or it won’t be a secret any more.’
‘O–K,’ says Lenny very gravely. ‘I’m not gonna do that again.’
‘Because it doesn’t like being talked about,’ I say lamely. I don’t really know what kind of story he’d like. Somehow I don’t think a Greek myth about the boy Zeus will do, even with the cornucopia in a secret setting.
Lenny nods his head solemnly.
I rack my brains for something else to say. ‘Because it’s a secret place.’
‘I know.’
‘So why did you?’ I hiss.
‘Because,’ whispers Lenny, ‘I knew you’d know.’
That stumps me. He looks up into my eyes like he’s really sure I know all about his secret place.
‘Because you was in the pictures.’
‘I’m what?’ I say.
And Lenny slowly counts through the pages. With only the light from the smoky oil lamp I can’t see a thing. But he knows what he’s doing.
So I wait.
And finally he turns up a page. ‘There,’ he says. He points at something, all shadowy. ‘That’s you.’
‘I see.’ I know better than to upset him again, so I pick up the oil lamp, hold it close, squint at the picture until it comes into focus. There’s a spring sky, all fluffy clouds. There’s a girl standing in a valley outside a little cottage. Roses trail round the door. The girl is willowy and has my smile. She’s wearing a coat like mine and above her in the sky, blue birds are singing. And it is kind of weird because she does look a lot like me, but then again she doesn’t, because I never smile these days.
And it’s just a book.
‘But it doesn’t make any difference,’ I say. ‘It’s still a secret and you mustn’t tell.’
‘OK,’ says Lenny.
‘Not unless I say,’ I add.
‘OK.’ He nods very seriously and snuggles back down beside me.
‘Because it’s our secret?’ he says. ‘Just you and me. Ain’t it?’
‘All right,’ I say.
‘And if you could get away and if I carry the things, you might take me there?’
9
Lenny falls asleep. I don’t. I’m too restless. With a smile I remember – today’s my birthday. I tread the floor, heart beating. I keep going over Careem’s words: After that I’ve got something else in mind.
Happy birthday, Melissa.
I need air. Clean air, not oil lamp or wood smoke or the foul stench of this place. But I’m too scared to go outside. What if Kaylem’s still around? I should go out though, and see if there’s any hope of escape. Nan would tell me to.
‘You must always get up and fight back, Melissa. If you give up on yourself, few will help you.
‘You must strive to be like Melissa, your namesake, the mountain nymph. The myths tell that when her neighbours tried to make her reveal the secrets of the boy Zeus, Melissa remained silent. In anger, the women tore her to pieces, but Demeter, the sister of Zeus, sent a plague upon them, causing bees to be born from Melissa’s dead body and the bees swarmed on Melissa’s enemies and stung them to death.
‘You must always fight back, my honeybee. Sting your oppressors, swarm on your enemies.’
I force myself to go out and look. Even if only to find something to protect myself with … an iron bar, a sharp piece of rusty metal, the right words.
I leave the locker room and climb up the ramp to the racetrack.
I see him at the exit, dark against the early dawn. His locks falling to his broad shoulders. He’s standing guard. I could go back without him noticing. He doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t know why I feel so nervous. I hear Nan’s voice, what she would say: Get to know him. He’s saved you twice. You don’t have to trust him. Just use him.
I walk softly up the concrete slope. I’ll speak to him. Suddenly I don’t mind speaking to him.
‘Thank you for earlier,’ I say.
He doesn’t turn. I just see him stiffen, just a bit. ‘Thank you too, for being nice to Lenny,’ he says.
I draw level and rest on the edge of the barricade beside him.
‘He told me you was nice,’ he continues.
The racetrack lies like a dark lake encircled by a ring of hills. The trash is transformed by the moonlight into ripples of silver.
‘There’s no way out,’ he says.
‘OK.’
‘In case you was looking.’
‘I needed air.’
‘And I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Sorry I brought you here.’
In the light from the stars I can see his face, the square angle of his chin.
‘I’m sorry too, if the thing with Kaylem brings you trouble,’ I say.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m always trouble,’ I add.
‘Lenny likes you.’
I remember Nan saying, ‘Beauty is a gift. Use it wisely.’ I start thinking about just how to use it here.
‘Lenny ain’t got no one to care for him.’
‘He’s got you.’
‘Ain’t the same.’
‘You took care of me,’ I point out.
‘You can pay me back.’
‘Pay you back?’
‘Take care of Lenny for me, give him love, and I’ll try and save you from Careem.’
For some strange reason my heart drops. He saved me for Lenny.
‘You got the shoes all right then?’ I remember his words. ‘Even if we get the shoes, even if everyone’s happy, it’s only for tonight. That’s all.’ And I remember how he left the rest unspoken: because Careem’s got something else in mind.
