White Goods (2 page)

Ian was the eldest; Della was next at
14.

Ian reckoned that Della should be
sharing a room with me, not him, as he was much older and needed
his own space to grow up in.

‘
To do
you-know-what
in,’
Della had corrected. Had she too encountered Ian’s bizarre
lights-out palaver?

Mum had
slapped Della’s arm, but she hadn’t corrected her.

They were in
the kitchen together, chatting. I was in the back room, with the
door slightly ajar. They didn’t know I was there; didn’t have a
clue I was listening. Didn’t have a clue about other things, too.
But that’s how life works: you don’t know what’s gonna happen until
afterwards. It’s not like in films or on the TV – you don’t get a
preview; you don’t get to choose if you watch it or not. It just
happens before you. None of us would have chosen to see what
happened to Mum, but we all did. We all had to see it. No
choice.

‘
I’m never sharing with
him
again, anyway,’
Della continued, referring to Ian’s proposed reshuffle of our
bedroom arrangements. The
him
was a direct
reference to me.

‘
Now Del, you know that was
a misunderstanding,’ Mum said.

‘
So
he
said.’

My skin quickly pricked with bumps: I
knew exactly what they were talking about. How could I ever forget?
It had happened the summer before. On our last holiday together.
And Mum was right: it was a just a misunderstanding; an obvious
error of judgement on my part and a mortifying presumption on
Della’s.

And that’s my other beginning: an
embarrassing incident that occurred on our last family holiday
together. The last before we lost Mum.

We went to Cornwall every year it
seemed. Stayed in a caravan. All of us – Mum, Dad, Della, Ian, me
and Auntie Stella. Auntie Stella was Mum’s slightly-older,
younger-looking, child-free and more energetic sister.

‘
The slutty one,’ Mum would
say, with a curt sniff. ‘All fur coat and no knickers.’

I didn’t get it: Auntie Stella had a
leopard print anorak and I’d seen her knickers drip-drying on a
makeshift line over the sink, when we went caravanning. So, I knew
she had a few pairs at least.

‘
You know what I mean,’ Mum insisted, throwing me an
impatient glare when I questioned. But I insisted I didn’t. ‘She’s
a bit fresh with men.
Any
men,’ she added,
giving Dad a glance.

I
said
I was finally getting
it.

On more than one occasion, I’d seen Dad
rub right up against Auntie Stella in the caravan.

‘
Bit of a squeeze in here,’
he’d said once and she’d giggled like Barbara Windsor off a
Carry-On film.

‘
Oh,’ I said to Mum, and
the subject was dropped.

‘
She likes to keep it in the family,’ Ian had said to me
later, thinking it needed further explanation.

I offered Ian one of my puzzled
glances.

‘
Forget it. But there’s
life in the old dog yet, eh?’

‘
What dog?’ I asked,
keeping my baffled face on.

‘
Fuck off, Squirt,’ Ian told me, rolling over on his bunk,
saying he was going to sleep. I listened out for signs of the
huff-puffing, but none was forthcoming.

The misunderstanding with Della
happened on the third evening of our caravan holiday that
year.

The caravan was small, but ‘quite
modern’ according to Dad. We still had to queue up for a wash, but
we had our own loo, a kitchen area, with a table that turned into a
bed and a lounge area that had seats all round the edge. The lounge
was where Della and Auntie Stella usually slept, apart from the
nights that Auntie Stella didn’t come home. These seemed to be the
occasions when she’d forget her knickers and the mystery fur coat
would come out. At the other end of the caravan were two bedrooms:
a double for Mum and Dad, and a narrow one with bunks for me and
Ian.

On the third
day, we all went out for a day trip to a place called Lilliput
Land; a miniature village populated with tiny people that lived in
equally tiny houses. We had been there a few times before. Ian and
Della had loved it when they were younger, but on this trip they
moaned and dragged their feet all day. I still thought it was
brilliant. There was a Gulliver, from Gulliver’s Travels, all tied
up and surrounded by tiny people. He was about my size, but made
from clay or something. Everything else around him was small; the
little people about the size of my feet. There were other
attractions too: a police station, a fire station and lots of
scenes from books or nursery rhymes. Auntie Stella took lots of
pictures of me stood next to things in my brown parka
coat.

Auntie Stella had brought a guest along
for the day: Gary Perkins.

Uncle Gary,
she
insisted we called him, something we all squirmed about, including
him. Everyone knew Gary from home – he worked with Dad and Justin’s
dad at Dontask. Calling him
Uncle
was weird for a
number of reasons; not only were we not related, but he was also
only a few years older than Ian.

(‘Old enough to be his mother,’
Mum had muttered, referring to Auntie Stella, but when
I did the maths it didn’t quite work out.)

‘
Look who was passing?’
Auntie Stella cheerily announced, like it was all a
coincidence.

‘
Your meal ticket’s here, Stel,’ Dad had joked, when he
arrived, but he soon stopped making jibes when
Uncle
Gary
offered to pay for our entry into Lilliput Land. ‘Well, if you
insist…’

‘
Won’t you be hot in that coat?’
Uncle
Gary had
said, referring to me and my brown anorak. ‘Sun’s out and
that.’

Auntie Stella pulled his arm and
whispered something, which caused him to say ‘Ok, alright,’ and
look at me with a frown. ‘Shouldn’t they get him a bigger one,
though?’ I heard him say later, when I wasn’t supposed to hear at
all.

The Battle of the Brown Anorak had
begun when I was nine. It was still quite big then.

‘
A bigger size will last longer,’ Mum had insisted, in the
shop. The thing had swamped me and we’d had to roll the sleeves up
till they were thick like polo necks. You could just about see my
fingers then. But Mum had seen it in the window of
Millets
, reduced in the sale and that was the overriding
appeal factor. ‘Just what we were looking for,’ she’d said,
continuing to ignore the fact it didn’t fit. ‘We’ll have
it.’

When I reached ten it fitted perfectly,
but a growth spurt six months later changed things dramatically in
the other direction. But I wasn’t giving it up by then. I liked the
smell. And it kept me safe, made me feel safe inside.

I
knew exactly what Auntie Stella had whispered to
Uncle
Gary. Knew every word. He. Wears. It. Everywhere. That’s
what she’d said. It wasn’t true. Didn’t wear it in the bath, or in
bed. And I let Mum wash it too, despite what Della claimed. But if
I was outside, I wore it. Like I said, it kept me safe.

‘
We could look for a new one!’ Mum chirped, picking up
on
Uncle
Gary’s comments. ‘Find one in a camping shop. Or
there’s that big store that sells everything. We could get one
there.’

I said nothing and answered only in my
head. No. Fucking. Way. That’s what I’d have said, if I’d opened my
mouth. If I’d been brave enough, too, that is.

After going round the miniature village, we went to a pub
for lunch. Us kids had coke in a bottle with a straw. Dad
and
Uncle
Gary had beers, whilst Mum and Auntie Stella had
Babycham in special glasses with the Babycham deer on the side. We
all had ham sandwiches, but I didn’t eat mine, because they had
mustard in them. So, I just had my salt and vinegar crisps and was
told that,
for-being-fussy,
I
couldn’t have an ice cream later. Auntie Stella said that
Uncle
Gary would get me one, though, when Dad wasn’t
looking.
If-I-was-good.

After lunch,
we
returned to our cars and headed back to the camp site.

With
Uncle
Gary joining us, we now had three
cars in total. He owned a Ford Cortina – mustard yellow it
was.
‘Gold,’
he insisted. It had brown leather
seats that had burned my skin the previous times I’d ridden in
it.

Auntie Stella had a black Mini, something that made her
giggle like Barbara Windsor again whenever she said it. ‘Where
shall I park my black Mini?’ was her favourite. It made Mum glare
and tut and Dad had to
take-that-smirk-off-your-face-as-well.
I said I didn’t get it.

‘
You never do,’ Della
remarked.

The third car was a big green van that
Dad drove for holidays. Dad and Ian sat up front, whilst me, Mum
and Della sat in the back. Two long bench-like seats were fitted
against the sides of the van, so you had a corridor down the
middle, like on a coach.

‘
Should’ve all come in the
same car, saved money,’ Mum remarked, seeing us getting into three
vehicles.

But Auntie Stella had insisted on driving herself, saying
she liked her freedom. Then she made a comment about her little
black Mini getting some action on the road, and the dirty looks,
dirty laughs and
dirty-smirks-off-faces
malarkey repeated itself.

‘
What’s so funny then?’ I asked Ian, who was part of the
dirty look brigade, clearly embarrassed by the comment.

‘
She’s talking about her
muff,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

I
was about to ask him another question, but he gave me a look that
said
don’t-ask-another-question,
so I didn’t.

‘
Right,’ said
Uncle
Gary, suddenly
sounding assertive, making everyone take note. ‘Anyone want a ride
with me?’

‘
Not a word!’ said Mum,
stopping Auntie Stella from saying whatever she was about to say.
‘Nice offer, Gary, I’m sure one of the kids would like to,’ and she
gave me a nudge, pushing me forward. ‘Scotty, how about you keep
your Uncle Gary company?’

I slid onto the passenger seat
cautiously, hoping the leather wouldn’t be too hot this
time.

‘
You still keeping that anorak on?’ he asked me, leaning
over, pulling the seat-belt across my body. He plugged me in,
personally making sure I
didn’t-come-to-any-harm.
His words, not mine.

I
said nothing, just kept my eyes fixed on the traffic light
air-freshener that swung from the rear-view mirror, as he went from
nought to fifty-five, like he was Starsky or Hutch or something. He
turned on his radio, music blaring out, trying to be cool, but I
wasn’t sucked-in. I wasn’t being his pal. I’d been in
Uncle
Gary’s
car before; I
knew what was coming. So, I just kept still, concentrating on those
traffic lights, concentrating on the smell of perfume that lingered
lamely over the stink of petrol. Concentrating on anything I could,
trying not to worry too much about what I’d dragged myself
into.

When we got back, Mum pulled me towards
her and checked me over; padded my coat with the flat of her hands,
and checked my pockets too, like she was checking I was all still
there.

‘
You need to clean up,’ she announced, hands off, stepping
back, as if that was the conclusion from her rough examination.
‘We’re all out tonight and I want us to look our best. Ian, take
your brother over to the showers.’

The showers
were at Block D; our caravan was in Block F. We had to walk back up
towards the entrance, past about ten caravans to reach
them.

Ian noticed a couple of girls on the way. He said
Hi
and they said
Hi
back.
Maybe see you later, down the
club?
he called after them,
turning round, and walking backwards. One shrugged, the other
giggled.
After the
show?
he added.

Something changed in Ian’s face, then;
something I didn’t think too much of at the time. The joy went from
it, his boyish smirk sinking away, leaving him a bit
grey.

‘
What?’ I asked, picking up
on it. I looked back at the girls, expecting to see something else;
someone else. But it was just those two girls, getting smaller as
they walked away.

‘
Come on,’ he said, his
face recovering from whatever it was. ‘Let’s get you scrubbed
up.’

And just like that, it was forgotten,
like it really was nothing at all.

Inside the shower block, Ian left me to
sort myself out, whilst he went off for a bit. He was gone for my
whole shower. But that was okay; I didn’t mind being on my own. I
liked the showers. I didn’t mind taking off my coat and clothes for
the shower, either. At home, we just had a blue, rubber shower hose
attached to the bath taps - just for your hair really - but here
the showers were proper showers. A little cubicle, like a loo, with
a lock on the door and white tiles all over. You turned the dial on
the wall and the water came out. It was very hot, but I withstood
the heat. I wanted to feel it. I liked the feel. Didn’t like it
cold; that made me squeal. But standing under the heat, seeing how
much I could take, that was like a game I played with myself. Like
a test, like setting my own Guinness World Record.