True Things About Me A Novel (Deborah Kay Davies) (4 page)

I keep in touch

ALISON AND I
had lunch in a café near the office. Why can’t I just have a good old British sandwich? she asked. Why must it be ciabatta and wraps and stuff like that? Who’s Panini anyway? He sounds like a composer. I blame all this foreign travel. Everyone should be made to go to Skegness and Bognor. Then we’d all be eating limp ham sarnies and drinking tea in buckets. I have nothing against a wrap occasionally, I said. And it’s a well-known factoid that the poor unfortunate souls who end up in Skegness need more than a wrap to survive. They need SAS-type clothing. Alison looked around. I’m not sure about this place, she said; it’s suspiciously empty for a lunchtime.

I was happy for Alison to go off on a food rant. It postponed talking about the bread-hitting incident, so I made a decided effort to keep it going. Anyway, I said, nobody in living memory has been to Bognor. Isn’t Bognor a tropical free-love island now? Towed out to the Maldives? I thought
I read about it in
Hello!
Alison was studying the menu. When the waitress came I recognised her, she was a girl I’d known slightly in school. Hi, she said. Long time no see. You could say that, I said. Like aeons and aeons. True, she said, holding up her little pad and pen. I s’pose I’ll have one of these tortilla things, Alison said, and a cup of tea. I asked the waitress if she did ham sandwiches. We do, she said. Can you make mine a limp one? I asked. You always were a funny person, she said. When our food came Alison gazed longingly at my plate. I told her she could have mine if she would forgive me about hitting her kids with bread.

Listen, my lovely young friend, she said. I don’t blame you. I once smacked their legs with an Easter egg. They can wind one up, believe me, I know. I told her I was feeling a bit tense at the time, what with my filling. If anything, it’s my fault, she said. I know how you feel about the dentist. But are you all right, you know, generally? I replied that I was great. That I had just needed some time off. I told her she was very sweet to be so understanding. Well, it’s not as if you repeatedly bashed their heads in with a mallet, is it? she said. But here’s a thought for today. Are we both a bit nuts, chastising children with food items? All the same, I apologise, I said. It was horrible of me. I accept your apology, she said, and ate my sandwich.

On the way home from work I drove past his house. There were some small children messing about in the grotty front garden. The dog that had licked my leg was leaping about.
One of the kids had a flag on a short pole, and he was waving it enthusiastically inches from the heads of the others. That’s all I could see as I drove along the road. When I got home I looked at the piece of paper with his address on it. There was also a telephone number. I hadn’t registered it, all the times I had looked, which was odd. I sat on the sofa with the phone and the note. I knew I would call the number eventually. I was almost in no hurry to do it. The longer I sat the slower my heart beat. I could hear its drumming tailing off in my ears. I began to feel that this time, on my own, on the sofa, was a precious time. I felt sure that he would soon be with me. He must have got my note by now. What was more normal than to follow up a letter with a friendly phone call?

I entertain at home

I WAS LOOKING
for the key in my bag when he appeared behind me. In the small porch he looked enormous. I invited him in. I got all your little messages, he said, sounding amused. So here I am. What do you want? His voice was surprisingly soft, confidential even. He had a way of turning sideways when he spoke, as if he might bolt away at any moment. It made me want to hold onto him, but I didn’t. I liked the way he filled the hallway.

Coffee? I asked, walking ahead of him, trying to keep my voice normal. He said he wanted something stronger. I only had Martini and gin. Don’t bother, he said. What have you got to eat? He roamed around downstairs. For such a large person he was a quiet walker. I stood in the kitchen and looked in the fridge. Cottage cheese, I called out. Salad, some eggs. I could go out and get something. OK, he said. Where’s the remote?

I left him draped on the sofa watching TV, and went to
the supermarket in my car. I tried to drive carefully. All the shoppers were drifting around the store in slow motion. I wanted to smash them with my basket. I bought some chocolate for myself, Jack Daniels, thick-cut bacon, crusty bread and spicy sausages. Somehow I knew he wasn’t vegetarian. I gobbled half the chocolate down as I drove home. I was sure he would be gone when I got back, but there he was, stretched out on the sofa. Someone called Alison rang, he said, still looking at the TV screen. I told her you’d left the country.

After he’d eaten he said, Come on, baby, and held out his arms. He kissed me all over my face; succulent, bacony kisses. He told me to bring the chocolate. In my bedroom he laid me on my bed and closed the curtains. My room felt strange. He expertly took off my clothes. Now you do me, he said. I stripped off his socks. His feet were beautiful. The nails square and smooth. I struggled with his jeans. He lifted his hips up so I could pull them down. His erection sprang out at me. Don’t bother with my shirt, he said. Now I want you to sit on this. I straddled him and lowered myself down slowly. He pushed a square of chocolate into my mouth. It turned to liquid immediately. I seemed to feel him near my heart. There was a buried ache. Baby, he said, you’re lovely, aren’t you? I don’t know how to do this, I said. I thought I would cry.

He lifted me off. I lay on my front and he caressed my back and buttocks. Can’t wait any longer, he said, and flipped me over and pushed a pillow under my hips. I held onto him tightly with my arms, and crossed my legs behind his back.
I pressed my nose into his fine, curly hair. My tongue tasted sweet and creamy to me. Later when I woke he’d gone. There was a note on the kitchen table. ‘Got to run. Back later probably,’ it said.

I am not always available

IT WAS DIFFICULT
to concentrate in the office. I kept wanting to look at myself in the mirror. My boss asked if I was all right. I told her I’d never felt better, which was true in a way. It was a hectic feeling, and I was incapable of sitting still. Interviewing claimants was challenging. I kept thinking of how I first saw him, lounging on a screwed-down chair in the waiting room. In the loo I stared at myself. The strip lighting gave my skin a translucent look. My lips seemed too dark to be mine. I had circles that were palest grey beneath my eyes. I looked like a woman with secrets.

Alison followed me in. Hail, silent and slightly nutty one, she said and smiled at me. Hang on while I have a wee. I was happy to go on examining my reflection. I rang you, she said from inside the cubicle. Some bloke answered the phone. I met my reflection’s eyes. Who was it? she asked as she came out to wash her hands. No one important, I said. We combed our hair. She looked brown and
rosy in the mirror. I was fascinated by the contrast between us.

OK, be secretive, she said, but I have a nasty idea who it might be. I really hope I’m wrong. She studied my face. Blimey, she said. You look terrible. Are you well? She laid her warm hand on mine. I gave her a little squeeze. Momentarily I felt ashamed. Wanna come and eat with us tonight? she asked. I made an excuse. Oh, all right then, she said. Perhaps tomorrow? Suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to mother you. She looked puzzled when I said I couldn’t make it this week. Well, you will take care of yourself, won’t you? she said, and gave me a hug. Love you, I said as I closed the door and left her there.

I finished work early to do some shopping. I went into a shop where I’d only ever looked in the window before. It was all chrome and white inside. An impossibly fab-looking assistant with straight black hair wafted towards me. She asked if I needed help. For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant. Are you looking for anything in particular? she said, and smiled gently. I told her I wanted a drop-dead gorgeous dress. Something sexy and floaty if possible. No problem, she said, and took me to a rail of filmy, strappy things. They were swaying in a perfumed breeze. In the changing room a scented candle burned. The fragrance of freesias enveloped me. My underwear looked as chunky as something issued by the army.

The apricot and turquoise dress shimmered over my head and settled on my body, cool and so light that it felt like just-born
skin. My breasts were held in the bodice like tensely ripe fruit. My shoulders gleamed unfamiliarly. I was dazzled by the dress. The black-haired girl appeared, and we looked at my reflection together. That’s so totally you, she said to the me-in-the-mirror. Do you really think so? I said. I knew it was totally me. She showed me the matching sandals. Insubstantial straps and leather flowers. Stiletto heels. I had never worn shoes like them. It seemed to me that I hadn’t looked at clothes properly before.

Once I’d started I couldn’t stop. I bought a pair of low-slung cream linen trousers, and a scarlet and cream striped bustier. Another pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed shoes, and a tight little belted jacket with a huge tortoiseshell buckle. All these things were the sort of clothes the woman-in-the-ladies-loo-mirror wore all the time. They were no big deal to her. I paid with my credit card. The beautiful girl herself wrapped the clothes in tissue paper. I walked to my car and looked down at my old clunky shoes. How could I have bought them? They looked so sensible, so comfortable, so sort of square-shaped.

When I got home there was someone in the lounge. I ran in. I didn’t recognise the boy watching TV. He had a shaved head and looked about twelve. I asked him who he was. A mate, he said, not taking his eyes from the screen. Who are you? He was bouncing a football as he sat watching the screen. I didn’t know what to say. I asked him how he had got in. Back door, he said.

I went to the kitchen and locked the back door, then made myself a cup of camomile tea. I was shaking, but I only noticed when I tried to pick up my cup. Straw-coloured liquid spilled onto the table. I traced some patterns with it. After a while the boy appeared in the kitchen doorway with the football under his arm. See you, he said. I’m off now. He had a little whispery voice, as if he had chest problems. OK, I said. He left the TV on and slammed the front door.

I couldn’t move. Gradually the way I felt about my house when the boy had been there eased off. I didn’t feel like I was a visitor in my own home any more: someone who’d come for an interview, say, or for some unpleasant physical examination. It was my own place again. My welcoming, safe place. But now I was beginning to be afraid about how my house could change so quickly; one moment almost shutting me out, and then just as quickly drawing me in again. I didn’t feel I could trust it anymore.

I got up stiffly; my legs were aching. I locked the doors, closed all the curtains and blinds, and went to have a bath. As I relaxed in the warm bubbles I heard someone at the front door. I stayed in the water. He called my name through the letter box. He said he knew I was there. Baby? His voice got louder and hoarser as he shouted. Baby? I really want to see you now! What’s wrong? Are you narked off with me? He banged the door really hard. Then he went to the back door and tried that. There was a pause and he was at the front door again, banging and banging.
For fuck’s sake, what’s your problem? he yelled. Let me in, you bitch.

His voice sounded deeper than it did when he spoke, and ragged. I thought perhaps the door wouldn’t keep him out. I pictured his curling blond hair springing away from his temples. The way his long legs stretched out on my white sheets. The intimate smell at the nape of his neck. At last he went away. I got out of the bath with difficulty. It was as if all my joints had seized up. In the bedroom I put on my old soft nightie, took some pills, and climbed under the duvet.

I have titanic dreams

I WOKE AND
realised I had missed work. It was a long way down to the kitchen. I busied myself making toast. My limbs felt as if they were made of pipe cleaners, my bones long and thin with a covering of dry, puffy flesh. It was difficult to grasp my mug, to sit upright on the chair. The toast on the plate looked like a floor tile. I knew it was the medication. I needed to do normal stuff but I couldn’t leave my chair in the kitchen.

Then I began to remember the dream I’d had. I had been sailing on an enormous, opulent ocean liner. At first I didn’t recognise anyone. I felt completely alone on my journey. Nothing happened for a long time, people just drifted around the decks wearing beautiful clothes. And then we heard the boat was heading for a colossal iceberg; there was no escape. Everyone gathered on board. I remember thinking that this was only another
Titanic
dream; it was OK, and nothing was real. Anyway, things always turned out fine. No one ever got hurt.

But slowly, as we all milled around, quietly terrified, I began to recognise people. My mother and father were there. Alison and Tom. Even their children and the two puppies they had got for Christmas. Each child was holding one. My gran was lying on deck in her hospital bed. My boss was on the phone. I began looking through the crowd for someone very important to me, but I couldn’t find him or remember what he looked like. Then we only had a few minutes left. The air was dazzlingly cold. The iceberg, emerald green and glinting in a powerful beam of moonlight, was getting nearer. I could hear it creaking, and realised it was making a kind of high, metallic, wordless singing sound. Its freezing breath rushed at us, spiking our lashes and hair with stinging crystals. In the moonlight we all looked dead.

I gazed down into the beautiful black water. Impossibly narrow, almost transparent fish with smiling mouths flicked about. Suddenly I knew that if we all jumped in together we would be safe; everything would be fine. I told the others what I knew. I went round the little crowd saying, just trust me, you have to trust me. Alison was fussing with her kids’ hair. She was holding the sleeping baby in her arms. Even the puppies were quiet. My gran got out of bed and held my mother’s hand.