family

The wide hall was bright, thuds from the punch bags loud in the busy silence. Coach Lewis was giving stern commands to the new kids while twenty men and five women worked the bags and benches, some with their heads hidden in head gear, hands sunk in boxing mitts. Two men were on the mattresses, barefoot in track shorts and shirts, sparring. One held the shields, the second had his hands tied up in mitts, quick with the punches, doubles and triples, the first encouraging earnestly, holding against the punches, instructing him to punch higher, lower, use his left more, keep his weight steady, keep his balance right.

The door opened, there was a short commotion, heads turning, a few low whistles, some murmuring. Coach Lewis shouted, ‘Shut up, all of yer!’ and walked over. Exchanges were made. Coach Lewis nodded earnestly and walked over to the mattresses.

‘Tellis! Tellis! Oi! Tellis!’

The two men finally jumped apart. The one with the sparring shields walked over to the ropes.

‘What?’
‘Someone’s here for yer.’
‘What?’
‘Girl. She’s here for yer. Says it’s urgent.’

Coach Lewis pointed over to the door. There was a girl, no, a woman standing there in heels, coat and umbrella, looking nervous. That looked like Marla. What the fuck was she doing here? Nobody knew he was here, even Sunny had a hard time finding the place. It had to be urgent if she figured it out. And she did look nervous.

Caden climbed down and removed the shields, ignoring the, ‘Oi Tellis, what’s her name?’ and ‘Fuckin’ hell, Tellis, where’ve you been hidin’ that all this time?’ Caden walked over. The closer he came, the more nervous Marla looked. It had to be really bad then.

‘What happened?’
‘What? Oh – Hi. Yes. Sorry. Ahm. I hope I’m not disturbing – ?’
‘What happened?’

She pressed her lips together first, and Caden noticed she was wearing lipstick. She usually didn’t wear lipstick.

‘There was a call. From a hospital. Sunny couldn’t leave, the pub’s packed but –’
‘But what?’
‘They said a Vicky Lawrence is in the –’

Fuck.

‘Where?’
‘What?’
‘Where? Where is she?’
‘I have it here,’ she said, eyes wide, opening her handbag quickly.

It took her ages until she finally found the piece of paper and handed it to him. Caden checked. St George’s. Fuck.

‘Do you know her?’
‘You here with the car?’
‘Um. Yeah. Sunny gave me –’
‘Are you busy now?’
‘What?’
‘Do you need to be anywhere?’
‘I – well – no, I just came home –’
‘I’ll drop you off. That ok?’
‘Of course. Of course that’s ok.’

Caden just nodded and ran to the lockers. Fuck. Again. Why the fuck didn’t she finally stop with the fucking fags? But that was like asking an alcoholic to stop with the drink. It took ages until stopping even registered.

Forty-five minutes later, Caden was in St George’s, walking down the A&E, they never liked it when you ran. The nurse recognised him though and pointed matter-of-factly, ‘Three two seven, love. Should be stable now.’ Caden nodded and walked over. He knocked and waited, nothing happened. He opened the door and walked in. The air wasn’t as stale as he expected. He walked in quietly. She was asleep. There was a drip. No tubes though, which was a relief.

The curtains were still open, late sunlight spilling in, red and grey. Caden stood at the window first and looked out. There was just the street, black with the last rain that splashed all over the windshield, wipers clacking. He’d dropped off Marla right away, she must’ve known it was serious with the way she jumped out of the car, running in those heels to the house. How did women always manage to run in heels? Probably all the practice. He turned and drove on, it was thirty minutes with the rain. It was the nearest hospital to Vicky’s place.

She moved here once he was back, said they had to stick together. He didn’t know how bad it was then, he was just glad to have her around. She was still like she used to be back then, foul-mouthed and good for a laugh, saying fuck in every other sentence. He remembered that first ‘Fuck’ at the Corrigans, the silence, the stares. He hadn’t known it was wrong, everyone was always saying it where he used to be, nobody batted an eye. Then, at dinner, it was there, loud and clear like a pistol shot, and all four stared at him as if he was some kind of monster.

Caden heard a cough and turned. She shifted a little in the bed. She looked so weak, so grey. Her face was no longer full, the wrinkles were no longer laugh lines. He looked back out, it was raining again, the red brick of the buildings opposite a dark kind of bright, the windows white squares of light, or dark, shuttered. Someone told him that was where the outpatients went, or something like that. He’d never been in a hospital after that first time at the Corrigans. Joan dragged him to a full check-up once a year for the first five he was there, eyes, ears, brain, everything, like he might have some unknown bug after all. He didn’t mind the first time, or the second. The other three really weren’t necessary, but there was no talking to Joan once she set her mind .

‘Fuck, kid, is that you?’

Caden turned back to the bed. Her eyes were open now, tired, watery. She was still in there somewhere, he could still see her, but it was getting harder and harder these days. The worse she got, the more he felt some part of him was slipping away.

‘Hi, Vicky.’

She smiled a tired smiled and tried to sit up. Caden went over and helped her, feeling her thin arms, her whole body shaking when she coughed. It sounded much worse than last time.

‘So they did call you.’
‘Of course they did.’
‘I thought you’d be too busy getting famous to come,’ she smiled again, showing her stained teeth.

They used to be white once, he remembered that. That was years ago.

‘Never too famous for you,’ he said and she smiled, ‘Oh, fuck off,’ pleased.
‘So how are things?’ she asked, coughing.
‘Good.’
‘Still haven’t fucked you over yet from what I see,’ she grinned. ‘That posh slut still trying to get your money?’

Caden sighed. Of course.

‘Vicky, Ella’s been history for years.’
‘I’m not talkin’about Ella fuckin’ Smythe, sweetheart. Whatshername, Steff? She still after you like the rabid bitch she is? What? She’s fuckin’ nuts – ’
‘She’s getting married.’
‘Again?’

Caden nodded, Vicky started laughing that hoarse laugh that was just like home.

‘Poor fucker. Who’s it this time?’
‘Steve Richter.’
‘Ain’t that your mate?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Couldn’t get you so she dug her claws into your best mate? Classy.’

There was no point in starting that so he said, ‘How are you?’

‘Fucked, that’s what I am. What? It’s true. I’m a fuckin’ trainwreck. Look at me. All you need now are some fuckin’ cameras and you got a million-dollar show for yourself, so I’d say you start cashin’ in right now. ’

He couldn’t help it, he did smile. Vicky chuckled, pleased, but another cough stopped that.

‘Fuck.’
‘You all right?’
‘No? I’m not fuckin’ all right.’

These days, she could switch from fun to raving in seconds. Caden just waited. She coughed some more then sighed,

‘They want me to stop with the fags. Yeah, yeah, I know, but how’s that supposed to fuckin’ work? I live on the fuckin’ things, the only fun I have left – what?’
‘You really should stop.’
‘For what?’ she snapped bitterly. ‘It’s all I got left. You famous and Dickie off with that fuckin’ Riley slut –’ but she stopped herself, coughed a little and sighed. ‘Sorry, kid. I get carried away these days.’
‘Are you all alone up there again?’
‘I’m ok.’

Caden knew she was lying. Every time she started picking lint off something she was lying, and she was picking something invisible off the sheets. He’d asked her countless times to move in with them, showed her the loft and everything, but all she said was ‘This is way too fuckin’ fancy for me, kid, I’d just stain up the walls.’ Which was true, but at least that way he’d have been able to keep an eye on her. She refused though, but she was close, so he dropped by once a week. If he could. Sometimes he really did forget. She just slipped his mind, like she’d never been. He didn’t mean to, it just happened.

This was probably how people felt when they forgot to call up their Mum. It’s not like you hated her. It was… it was walking up those stairs into that apartment, seeing the dirty dishes piled up in the sink, the empty beer cans and vodka bottles on the table, the stubs spilling out of the ashtray, the TV on some shopping channel again and having one of her neighbours sitting on the sofa with his gut out, shouting, ‘You got any more beer left, luv?’ It was that. And hearing her cough like that. And having to blackmail her to the GP.

Last time she couldn’t pay the rent. She loaned it all to some fuckwit down the hall who never paid it back of course. So she called him up. Promised she’d do anything for this favour. So Caden went over, heard the predictable, idiotic story, and said he’d pay if she went to the GP and got a decent check-up. First she snapped he was ‘a fuckin’ tightarse’, and when he refused to budge, she shouted he was the ‘same sadistic shit’ like all the others. Then she coughed something bad, she hardly got any air. For five seconds he thought she’d suffocate right in front of him, but she finally could breathe again. Once that was over, she collapsed on a chair and cried, ‘I’m such a mess. Why d’you even put up with me?’ He waited until she was done crying and said, ‘Ready?’ She wiped her eyes and nodded and he drove her to the GP, he already got her an appointment, there was no point in asking her to do it herself.

It was that. And having to see her face that was nothing like the one on the pictures he had on the kitchen wall. She used to be so full of life. She used to be this… brightness. Ease. Laughter. By the time he got his acceptance letter, he genuinely looked forward to seeing her again. She was a real breath of fresh air, foul-mouthed, smoking like haystack, downing shots with him at The King’s Head on the high street, laughing loud.

He didn’t want to see her like this, remember her like this, thin and grey, just this side of bitter, coughing so hard he half expected her to literally spit out her lungs. He couldn’t stay away though, he had to come. She was all the family he had left.

© 2014 threegoodwords