Should We Fall Behind, page 22
‘Ah, always a woman is mixed up in these things. So aliti, you think your girlfriend will be happy with you sleeping like a dog in a dirty car?
‘Stop calling me that bloody name. What the hell is it anyway?’ Jimmy said.
‘Vagabond, you say here. Tramp perhaps. Alitis is the word we use in my country.’
‘Cyprus?’
‘How do you know this about me?’
‘Everything about you says where you’re from,’ Jimmy
said.
‘You know my country?’ Nikos moved closer to the car and pulled out his cigarettes, offering the packet to Jimmy. The boy came and stood beside him and took two, placing one between his lips and the other behind his ear. ‘How do you know?’ Nikos repeated.
‘Holiday. Only time I’ve been abroad.’
‘Where did you go?
The boy couldn’t recall the name of the place.
‘Paphos? Limassol?’ Nikos offered helpfully.
‘Nah, said the boy. ‘Don’t really remember. We flew to a place called Larnaca. Stayed in a little town near there.’
‘Larnaca? Larnaca,’ Nikos repeated the word over and over before saying, excitedly, ‘Larnaca is my home. I am from very close to this place. You have visited my home.’
‘Maybe,’ Jimmy said, clearly bemused. ‘It’s nice,’ he added.
‘Yes it is!’
‘Why are you in this shithole and not there?’ Jimmy said.
Nikos repeated the boy’s words back at him. ‘Why are you in this shithole?’
The boy laughed. ‘I am the shithole,’ he said.
Nikos could see the young man might be handsome if he were clean shaven and perhaps a little better fed. What kind of father would allow his child to descend to such depths? He’d hardly spoken to Dimitri or George since their mother was buried all those months ago but he would never allow such a fate to befall them. Before he left the alleyway, he said,
‘You should find a way to go back to wherever it is you are from. People everywhere are scared of strangers, anyone who isn’t like them. We need to be around those who know us. Even other strangers are wary of strangers. Soon the car will be dragged away. I have to make this happen. This is my land and people complain.’
The young man shrugged his shoulders and Nikos felt an impulse to touch him, to place a fatherly hand on his arm or shoulder. He stepped away.
‘I’ve already called the necessary people to remove this car. I’m on a list. They’ll email me when my turn is near.’
Jimmy stared into space. ‘How long?’ he asked.
‘I am already waiting some time for this information. I’ll come and warn you of the day it will happen but please make your plans soon. It could be tomorrow, it could be in one week.’
The boy was back in the car and had switched the radio on again and by the time Nikos started to walk away, it was to the melancholy lament of Otis Redding, a song Kostas used to play often. It lingered in Nikos’ head all the way up the Grand Parade. When he reached his shop he just continued walking, around the corner to his car where he sat for ten minutes in the driver’s seat before calling the shop-girl and telling her he had to be elsewhere. He spent the rest of the day sitting amongst Ourania’s things, watching the remaining leaves on the branches of the fig tree fluttering in the afternoon breeze.
26. TULI
Outside Grandy’s flat it was really noisy. Dogs barked in the park and roaring cars made it difficult for Tuli to hear her own thoughts. She put her hands over her ears; everything became muffled in the way it did when she talked to Froggy under the pillow so no-one could hear their secrets. When she lowered her hands, everything seemed even louder. She stood behind the wooden gate at the end of the front garden, not sure whether to open it or not. Sometimes, on a nice day, if Grandy weren’t at home, her mother kept the front door wide open with a brick while she sat on the stairs playing with her phone, allowing Tuli to chalk on the paving stones or play with her skipping rope. This was the first time she was outside all by herself. It was cold but she was burning hot like the time she had to stay in bed all weekend while Mummy put wet flannels on her head and fed her pink medicine and brown soup. She edged open the gate, looking back at the house. She opened it a bit wider, stepped onto the pavement and tried to stop her legs from shaking.
Two big boys on skateboards slid by, almost crashing into her.
‘Out the fucking way,’ one of them shouted and she pushed up against a wall and hid behind her hands. When she looked through a gap in her fingers, the boys had disappeared so she ran and didn’t stop until she reached the alleyway.
A ginger cat crawled across the tops of walls, checking her out in the same way children in the playground did, rolling eyes up and down her faded purple hoodie, pausing at the frayed pull cord, the overly long sleeves and the paint stain on the pocket. The cat only jumped away when the wall became the zigzag of broken glass she could see from her bedroom window. When she realised she was not too far from home she felt less scared but she still couldn’t stop her body from melting. She dug her hands into her pockets; the chocolate bars were still there. Storyman would definitely want to be her friend if she had chocolate. But her feet stuck like glue to the ground and the car was too far for him to know she was there. She’d never been this far from her grown-ups before; even in the park she could always see her mother or Grace in the distance and she knew they could always see her. Now, all she could see was the broken car. It was covered in bushes and weeds but mostly it was covered in raggy clothes which looked like her jeans after she’d jumped in a puddle and splashed muddy water all the way up her legs. She held her breath and crept towards the car until she was close enough to touch it. She remembered the time Jamal Daddy took her on a train for the first time, into town to the shop full of teddies. They’d waited at the station while trains shot past and she’d started crying because she didn’t want to go on anything which moved so fast it became a blur. She didn’t know how to stop crying but Jamal Daddy said she could sit on his lap for the whole journey and he held her tight so she didn’t fall. She wished Jamal Daddy was with her now. She gripped a chocolate bar in her hand until it became soft.
The car smelled as bad as the bins in the school playground near the dinner hall but inside it looked the same as all the other cars on Shifnal Road: crisp wrappers and empty drink cans on the floor, dirt smeared across seats. She was disappointed. She’d expected a Storyman’s home to have a different inside, maybe like Justin’s House on CBeebies, bright colours and bold patterns. Storyman wasn’t even there and she was sort of glad the car was empty but didn’t know why because she really did want to be friends with him. She wondered where to leave the bars of chocolate for him to find easily. She opened the car door and tried to wave away smells which spilled out. Suddenly there was a voice behind her.
‘Go away, kiddo.’
She jumped and a chocolate bar fell out of her hand into the dirt.
Storyman was taller than he seemed from the bedroom window. He looked like there was a bird’s nest on his face and on his head.
‘I bought you chocolate biscuits.’ Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be.
‘That’s very nice of you, Tulip, but I can’t take them. People will say stuff.’
‘What stuff?’ Is it bad for storythings to eat chocolate, like dogs?’ she said. ‘My teacher said her dog ate Easter eggs once and was sick with vomiting all over her carpet so she was late for school because she had to clean it and it was really smelly, like the worst smelly thing ever, until your car-house.’
Storyman laughed. She kept on talking. She didn’t know how to stop.
‘I love chocolate. I’m glad I’m not a dog. Anyway, it’s just Tuli not tulip. Not the flower. Everyone always thinks it’s the flower.’
Storyman laughed again and her legs stopped shaking.
‘Wow, you don’t half talk for a tiny kid,’ he said.
‘I’m six. I’m in Yellow Class now, not reception.’ He laughed again and the nest on his face wiggled. ‘I thought we were going to be friends,’ she said.
‘Listen, kiddo, you can’t be friends with me.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s not right for me to be friends with kids. I’ll get into trouble.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with us? Weren’t you a little kid once?’ She rubbed her chin. ‘Or maybe were you just always grown-up? That can happen in stories, can’t it?’
‘Look kiddo, thanks for the chocolate but I reckon you need to go. Get back to your books and stuff. There’ll be people looking for you; your mam won’t be best pleased if she doesn’t know where you are.’
‘Mummy’s at work, in the shop selling beds and crappy tables.’
‘Crappy tables?’ Storyman laughed again and she was glad.
‘It’s what Mummy calls them.’
‘Maybe that’s what they are then.’
‘How do you make dinner, Storyman? I looked but there isn’t a cooker in your car house.’
Storyman was suddenly grumpy again.
‘Listen Tuli,’ he said. ‘You’re a nice kid but get lost now will you, before someone sees you here and I get accused of something or other. It’s not right for blokes like me to be hanging around with kids. Your dad definitely won’t be wanting you out here talking to a strange bloke. If I had a kid I would want them to be safe at home, not wandering about the streets on their own talking to strangers.’
Tuli swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want Storyman to see her crying like a baby.
‘There aren’t any daddies anymore; not Real Daddy or Jamal Daddy. They disappeared. I told you before, remember?’ she said.
‘Well that’s a shame, kiddo but daddies aren’t so important. Now scoot, people out will be getting worried about where you are.’
‘Do you have a daddy, Storyman?’
‘What is all this storyman rubbish? Why are people always calling me stupid names? This isn’t any kind of story, kiddo. You don’t get people like me in stories.’
She didn’t believe him.
‘Mr Stink is in a story. He’s like you but a hundred years older.’
The man laughed with his eyes but not his mouth. She held out one of the other bars of chocolate on the flat of her hand.
‘You have to have it because it’s for you and Mummy says my teeth will be rotten if I eat any more.’
He reached over and took the chocolate. She wiped her empty hand on her trouser leg and watched as he tore off the wrapper and shoved the whole bar into his mouth. Chocolate leaked from the sides of his lips and into his beard. He wiped it with a dirty sleeve.
‘Is your daddy dead?’ Tuli asked. ‘I think mine is but I don’t really know. Children at school say he’s dead but Mummy says he just disappeared into the trees.’
The storything man didn’t answer. He’d climbed into the car, closed the door and fiddled with a knob next to the driving wheel. Suddenly there were singing voices all around him. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat
‘I have to go now,’ she said quietly. But the singing voices were louder than her voice and he didn’t seem to hear.
She pushed both her hands into her pockets. There was another chocolate bar in one of them. She pulled it out and tapped on the car window. He didn’t look up or open the door to take the chocolate so she pushed it back into her pocket and waved at the car.
‘I’ll be in the garden, just there,’ she said pointing to the back of the wall.
When she reached the edge of the alleyway there was a screaming sound which was louder than all the other outside noises including the barking dogs and the singing. Sometimes she heard noises like this at night and her mother told her it was foxes in the park. The noise was horrible and she wanted it to stop. It took her a few moments to realise what she was actually hearing wasn’t foxes but her mother, calling her name, over and over. She froze. Maybe it was a nightmare? Maybe she was imagining too much, like Mummy always said she did. Storyman was still inside the car with the door shut. Perhaps he could lift her over the wall and she could sneak back into Grandy’s house through the back door and sit on the sofa and watch telly and everyone would think she was always there. Tears came and wouldn’t stop. Even if he put her over the wall, she would drop down on the other side and cut her knees or break her bones. She didn’t know what to do so she sat on the muddy ground near the car and waited until her eyes stung with soreness and snot trickled into her mouth.
27. RAYYA
The mother fell on her knees near the corner of Shifnal Road. She hammered at her thighs with clenched fists. Daban was next to her, resting his hands on her shoulders, rooting her to the ground as she screamed out the name of her daughter. Both Daban and the mother were dressed in black puffer coats, dark jeans and as Rayya crossed the road towards them she thought they looked like one entity extended across two bodies. The other woman, the neighbour, was statue-still: eyes swollen, mouth fixed in a solid straight line; her only movement a quick swipe across dripping snot with the back of her thumb. Rayya brushed past them; only Daban noticed. He raised his eyebrows and the gesture restored a hint of colour to his face. She quietly slipped through her front door and stood with her back against it, waiting for her racing heart to settle. It took a few moments.
Upstairs, Rayya adjusted Satish’s blanket and stroked his hair. She checked the time – it was still a while before the carers arrived. From the window she watched Daban talking calmly into his phone, one hand still on the mother’s shoulder as she kneeled beside him: head bent, face in palms. The neighbour was out of view. Rayya thought of the little girl alone somewhere. Disappeared. She turned to Satish.
‘I have never forgotten how it felt to be lost all those years ago, Satish. It may have been just for a moment but some feelings stay with us forever, as a reminder that our lives exist on a tightrope, to warn us to be careful so we don’t fall off. I don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t found me and led me home to my mother that day. Being lost is a terrible thing. The child will be frightened. I haven’t done enough to find her.’
Outside it was bitter. The day was on the turn. The mother was standing now. She rested her head on Daban’s chest and he comforted her. Rayya was glad the young woman was not on her own. The neighbour had moved, across the road towards the park and was calling out Tuli’s name; her voice shaky but with renewed clarity and resolution. Rayya inhaled, trying to gather some energy to summon up her own determination. She was unsure of where to look or how to find the child.
After walking the length of Shifnal Road, checking down side streets, behind bins, over front walls, she wondered whether to carry on walking, along St Ann’s up to Grand Parade. Instead she went around the block, past the primary school, returning to the corner of her street where Daban and the mother stood in breathless silence, staring at a police car which snaked through busy traffic towards them. Rayya headed to the alleyway, annoyed with herself for not thinking of looking there first; it was a clear hiding place. She wondered if the boy was in his car. At the very least, he may have spotted the child going by? Perhaps he could help in the search – he would be more agile than she was; he was thin but he was young. At the alleyway entrance she heard a voice. It was Jimmy.
‘Don’t cry, kiddo. It’ll be okay. You won’t be in trouble. You can tell them you were just playing a game or something. They’ll just be happy to see you,’ he said kindly.
Rayya took in a huge breath and as she exhaled, the muscles around her neck relaxed. Shukar hai, thank goodness she said out loud as she watched Jimmy put his arm around the little girl’s shoulders and gently coax her towards the entrance.
‘Go on,’ he said, guiding her towards Rayya. ‘Your mam needs to know you’re safe.’
‘Anything could have happened if you weren’t here, Jimmy. The mother will be grateful beyond belief. I’ll take her now,’ Rayya said. She squeezed his arm.
The boy smiled. ‘Probably best,’ he said.
Before he walked back to the car, he patted the little girl on the head and said, ‘I kind of think you’re a good luck person, Tuli. Your mam’s definitely lucky to have a nice kid like you.’
Rayya took the child’s small hand in her own and led her onto the street. She cleared her throat and shouted as loudly as she could over the thunder of noise.
‘I’ve found her. She is right here. She is alright. Everything is alright.’
The mother ran towards them and flung her arms around Tuli.
‘Please don’t cry, Mummy,’ Tuli stuttered, biting her lip. Rayya stepped aside as the mother and child wept into each other.
‘Looks like a false alarm. All in hand now,’ Daban said to the police woman who’d just arrived on the scene. He gave Rayya a small salute as she walked away.
That evening, Rayya didn’t feel like talking too much. She briefly told Satish the child had been found, was safe and unharmed, then she kissed his cheek, administered his eyedrops and sat quietly by his side until the room yielded to the night. Before she retired for bed she said,
‘Do you remember how I used to run, Satish? I thought my body had forgotten but suddenly it has remembered again.’
28. EBELE
Ebele woke in darkness. Somewhere far off a fox screamed into the night but it wasn’t the noise which woke her. A child was trapped in a box: a little girl shouting, Mummy, Mummy, but her voice was stolen away by thick walls and the screams were silenced. It was sweat trickling on to her dry lips which woke her. She wiped her face with the corner of the duvet, kicked off the covers and lay rigid until the flame searing through her body receded and the residue of the nightmare dispersed. She needed to speak the dream to dispel it but there was no-one to listen. Daban had said to call anytime, but a bad dream was not enough of a reason, not at this time in the morning; he was still little more than a stranger.
