youth – Page 5 – three good words

October 11, 2014May 17, 2020

love, actually

Not PG rated

The sun is milky while she lies sleeping on the cushions. She was reading, the pages lie open on her chest. He carefully picks up the piece, puts it on the table. He sits back on the glass and watches her, the proof that she is real. Some time between the successions of dawn and dusk, pain faded and allowed something else to live between them, opening up the possibility of peace.

There are no sheets. The plains barely clad, cool in their smoothness where dark pillars rise leading down to the source forgotten yet known where he drowns repeatedly tasting the texture of a touch while the heat spreads and silence is no longer a sound.

Under his hands she comes alive reaching under his skin, pulling out the pieces while he looses the last bit of weakness that fills the deep he’s breathing in, steady, steady, in and out, rise and fall, a force of life till time no longer runs and rushes but melts down into heat and darkness filled with light she holds in her hands, pressing the past into his skin, marking his body burning deep past muscle into bone until it comes like fog falling down the mountain before she cries, softly, and the air is free again.

Her body is his blanket, he does not need more against the cold. She has allowed him, released an amnesty for this witching hour where his body felt stripped, without armor, newborn, real. She has turned a blind eye on the truth that they both know for this long moment between night and morning and in her mercy there is no weakness yet he felt no strength of his own.

At a loss now, he searched for paths and ways, roads otherwise traveled that would show him what to do with his life, void and meaningless as it was without her acceptance of those words that made up his apology. The words would need to be said no matter how often he threw them against the walls barbed with silent terror, no matter how often he sent them flying, crashing against the fortress of consequence. Every living thing insisted that they be said, be it just once, otherwise everything worth living for would be dead and what was more sacred than the rise and fall, that steady beat right under the curve of her breast?

‘You haven’t been here yet, have you?’ she asks. I shake my head. We’re at her new place, an apartment she shares with a friend. It looks good, books on the table, some magazines on the easy chair, a couple o’ plants. There’s music coming out of a closed door, she whispers, ‘Eddy’s here,’ grinning like that. Must be her friend’s guy then. She asks me if I’d like some coffee, we almost got caught in the rain. I keep it to, ‘Yeah, why not.’ We talk some about everything while she walks around, those jeans fit her perfect. Like always, I don’t know what to do, exactly. She looks relaxed, she always does, there’s nothing that can really throw Celine. She pours out the coffee into mugs, stirs in milk and sugar and hands me one. She still knows how I take it. Nice.

She’s sitting on her desk chair now, facing me. I’m on her bed, she’s still got the best I’ve ever seen. Probably coz I know she’s usually in it. I’d like to stop this waiting. She finally looks back at me. She stops talking, I don’t know what she just said. She takes a sip of coffee and puts her cup down on her desk. Then she turns back to me, gets up and straddles me slow, pulling off my scull cap just like she used to. Her hands fit light on my head. She says, ‘I really like these studs on you.’ I kiss her before she starts thinking twice about it, it’s happened before. Or worse, back then, way at the beginning. Half the night talking, arguing, fighting until she was crying, shouting, ‘Why don’t you even try to get me! Why won’t you even try to understand!’ She was so pissed… Her eyes all wet, and that look on her face like I was fucking up her life on purpose. That whole weekend was – bad. Just bad. I didn’t know nothin’ then. I don’t want that now. She looks too good now.

She’s smiling when I pull her closer. Her lips are as soft as ever. Just kissing her again is… why’d nobody say you had to know stuff early? That it could happen before graduation? That your girl could just know, really know what was out there? Why’d no one say?

We used to spend whole nights just doing this, hidin’ out in her room, her folks wouldn’t let her stay out after ten, especially with me. Her old man… that guy was tough. So, she’d sneak me in when her folks were sleeping, and then… Learnt to wait with her, wait until she took out one from that pink case in her drawer next to the bed. She got me used to them, she wouldn’t let me otherwise. ‘I love you Alec, but I don’t want your babies just yet.’ She meant it to. We made plans. After, with her all curled up nice, her skin perfect, her heartbeat this steady real thing right under my hand. We’d talk about it, that house, those cars, that pool. Having everyone over for cookouts, getting Nate for the barbecues. We’d had it all planned out. ‘Xcept I thought she was just dreamin’ it up. She meant it from the start.

I remove everything on her after she pulls off my sweater, taking the shirt with it, she always does it like that. She smiles, ‘Still working the gym I see.’ Her hands are warm, perfect, why’s it with her that she just knows? I lay her out on her bed before I go for her breasts. I’ve missed them like nothing else, she’s got the most perfect pair. We both get her out of her jeans, lingerie – holy shit – wait, wait, I wanna see that – fuck… I have to ask,

‘Where’d you get this from.’
‘London.’
‘London? Like, London, England?’ books 2
‘Yeah. We have this mandatory thing where you have to leave the country for at least two weeks. I can’t do a full term so I took the two weeks Literary London. That’s how Professor Bernard calls it.’

Sometimes I just want her life. It’s always just a second, but it keeps on turning up and then I just want that way of being at the right place at the right time. Just knowing how it’s done.

‘When was this?’
‘Two months ago.’
‘How was it?’
‘Really nice. I got to see a lot.’
‘And buy this.’
‘Yeah.’

She smiles there, pulls me down – her lips are still the softest. And she did come back. She always comes back.

I go for what’s waiting between her thighs, smooth, her legs are endless with these tiny feet. There’s nothing like what she tastes like. I stay till she’s there, right there, she’s easy on her voice, her hands on my head, her feet rubbing up and down my back and I want her to black out, make her come so hard she just falls apart. I got her crying once, but now’s not the time. I’ll split open if I don’t do something – that’s new. Probably from over there. Did she –? Now’s not the time. Fits too, and I sure hope she still has a few coz I love being inside this woman. I love fucking her so much I always want to marry her right after. I’d ask her too if I didn’t know she’d just look at me and roll her eyes like I was bullshitting. Or smile that smile from that other world she lives in, which’d be worse, but now’s not the time.

. . .

‘Alec?’
‘Hm.’

That was just too good. Maybe I should move back up here again.

‘Do you still write?’

I kiss her instead of answering, I don’t want to have to explain that. I keep it long, but after I let her go she asks, ‘You still write, don’t you?’ I can’t answer that. She sits up a bit and looks at me. It’s her look, the one only she has, that special mix of anger and disappointment that she tops off with that tone as if she doesn’t know who I am anymore.

‘Why don’t you write anymore? Alec? Why don’t you write anymore?’
‘There’s no point.’
‘Why? You love to write, why’d you stop?’

She’s sitting up straight now, staring at me. If I’d said I’d robbed a place she’d look just the same. I still say it,

‘That’s not me anymore.’
‘Of course it’s you –! Alec, that’s like the one thing – ’
‘Carmine.’
‘What?’
‘Carmine. In the city, people call me Carmine.’
‘Why?’
‘Dunno. Just started.’
‘Carmine?’
‘Yeah. Or Car.’
‘Car? You mean, like, the thing you drive in?’
‘Yeah.’

I can’t help smiling. She looks really surprised.

‘But, Alec, you’re not a machine.’

It’s stuff like that, these things she says that make it so crystal how no matter what I do, I’ll never get her and she’ll never get me. Maybe Nisha’s right and street stays street, no matter what you do to get rid of it. Yeah, it says Alec Bellamy on my license, but that ain’t really me. At least not all me, and Celine here… she never got that. And I don’t think she ever will.

October 8, 2014May 17, 2020

going out

Not PG rated

It’s five past six and the doorbell rings. Dana looks up, surprised. She was positive he would forget. Nervous, she presses the buzzer and opens her front door. He comes up the stairs, looking cool and relaxed in his scullcap and wide black jacket. He walks in and looks her up and down, surprised. Dana tries to explain.

‘I thought you wouldn’t come.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen you for so long and…’

Dana stops talking when he smiles. ‘It’s ok,’ he says. ‘Just get ready.’ Dana smiles, relieved, ‘I’ll be right out.’ She runs to her bathroom and takes a very quick shower, hoping her small apartment is ok and not too ‘lived-in’ like her Mom always said. Once done she runs to her wardrobe. She doesn’t know what to wear and asks,

‘Where are we going actually?’
‘It’s nothing big, there’s this thing at a friend o’ mine.’
‘Thing?’
‘Open mic night. They’re tryin’ out their tapes. Unless you’re not into that.’
‘Oh no, I love rap!’

Dana blushes. That came out wrong. She doesn’t turn around, but she can feel his eyes on her while she dresses. She smells coffee. It’s nice that he can keep himself busy. Some guys just became helpless. Dana doesn’t put on a lot of make up, fills up a small handbag with the essentials, and finally steps out into the middle of the room with a smile. ‘Done.’

He’s leaning against her table, a cup of coffee in his hand and smiles when he sees her. He removed his jacket, he’s wearing a light sweater and dark jeans with those white Nikes they all seem to have. He still has his skull cap on and she notices the studs in his ears, they flash in the light. They look really good on him. ‘Is it ok?’ Dana asks, turning, and he smiles like that again, nodding. He puts the cup down, picks up his jacket and they leave her apartment. Dana closes the door while he waits behind her. When she turns he kisses her. It’s a long kiss and Dana is full of smiles inside.

There is a lot of glass and light. She never leaves long enough to be completely out of sight. She makes him eat and talk, they go out for walks with Hunter. She keeps the questions away from him, but sometimes he hears the calls. As long as she is there he is able to ignore them. He always wears a hat and a scarf when he leaves the house, it’s still very cold outside.

Evenings are spent with a fire burning and shadows dancing on her face. She reads and he listens, all he wants is her voice. In the morning she lets him lie in bed until she wakes him with coffee, eggs, bacon, jam, butter and toast. She sits next to him on the sheets and watches him eat, she doesn’t leave until he’s finished. She leaves the door open when she showers and when she cooks she always talks to him. Every now and then however, the void fills every sound inside and he has to hold her, touch, feel and smell her skin. Eyes closed her scent is filled with sound, the darkness fades into something close to light and he can open his eyes again. At night it is worst. Then the silence is thick and heavy and sweet to a point that it sickens him and he has to breathe deeply to hold down his dinner. He doesn’t wake her then, his body is almost dead in these awful moments, motionless without any air.

One morning he found her crying over the kitchen sink. He felt his body go numb. She looked at him, tears streaming down her face, colourless and bright. Her shoulders were shaking, bare under the thin straps, her whole body faint with a lack of tension, all loose ends in sight. Memories sprouted, taking root and spreading like ivy on forgotten walls. In another life he would have walked to her, taken her up and carried her safely away, but then a world stood between them that had no doors for either to enter.

I think she’s enjoying it. It’s probably not the place she’d go to, but she seems to like it. She’s moving to the beat, eyes on the stage, yeah, the boys are good tonight. Vaughn’s people have this huge basement and every other week they stage some acts. It’s cool, people like it. Vaughn gets some good money out of it. Sometimes Delroy shows up, collects some tapes for that studio downtown. I haven’t seen Nisha, so that’s cool and there are enough drinks, so it’s all good. Amanda looks good. Came from a small town somewhere and got lost here, happens all the time. She ain’t got that edge yet, but that’s good somehow. And that skirt fits her damn fine.

The beats are coming through the walls. She’s all smooth and soft under her – if this goes on – hard not doin’ it with her hands all over – she’s all ready to – where’d she get that from? She smiles, all sweet, ‘I thought I should take one, just in case.’ Good thinking – Fuck – damn woman, where’d they make you? I want her to say something, like last time – all naked on pink sheets – fuck that’s good –

Back at Jermaine’s. It was closest and he’s outta town anyway. She’s sleeping now and all I can think of is Nisha and all that shouting. You really think you’ll make it? What the fuck? Why doesn’t she see it? Aly made it. And yeah, J.’s not exactly normal, but who’s normal anyway? Wonder how they are up there. Aly sounded ok on the phone. Nisha hasn’t tried anything, she can be tough like that. I won’t call. I always call.

What the – oh, yeah, she’s still here. Amanda. What kind o’ guy calls his kid Amanda? Some Rob or Hank, maybe even a Ted. Probably got married straight outta college, steady job, wife ‘n’ kids, two cars, barbecues, football, the whole thing. It’s not bad though, Amanda. Manda. Mandy. Nah. Amanda. Aman. Ama. Am. Manda. Yeah. She’s got really long hair. And she sleeps like a kid. She’s a fine girl. Not the kind to be all her on her own though. She’d be good with some banker, lawyer, someone up in those offices. She’d look seriously good in – Aly called it somethin’ – Where’s my effin’ LBD? Yeah, one o’ those. Can’t have her all up in my street though. Manda. Amanda. Sounds better the more you say it. Maybe that’s it. Better keep it down though. Nisha all pissed… Nah, better go. No need to make it worse.

September 9, 2014May 16, 2020

ain’t nobody

that moment.
the beat. soft, low.

filling you up

inside, so wide
so quiet, so bright.
it sounds familiar
warm

and suddenly you know the song.

it’s new
the beat is different
faster,

just the thing for today’s youth
what a word
that used to be you
when did you lose the ‘th’?

but the music,
the rhythm
it’s all the same

you know it
deep down inside
know it since you heard it
so often, so often

on the radio
in the car,
in the kitchen
in the living room

everywhere it was on the air
the djs loved it, as djs do

and soon you had all the lyrics in your head
as if they’d always been there
captured effortlessly
that’s the way it was
it happened so naturally

you didn’t even know it was love
and now you’re flying through the stars
and hope this night will last for ever

but the voice is young, so young
couldn’t have been more than a toddler
then
when you were listening
dancing
singing to the song
like nobody was watching
coz nobody was watching

you were in your space
your own place
moving to the music
all by yourself
and loving it

ain’t nobody
loves me better
makes me happy
makes me feel this way

and there you are again

time never passed
you’re still there
in your space
your own place

loving the music
feeling the sound
like nobody’s watching
coz nobody’s watching

it’s just you
flying through the stars

knowing this will last forever

August 21, 2014May 18, 2020

pursuit of happiness

A year, almost.
Twelve months.

Fall was filling the streets with cardinal colours.

Marla no longer felt new in Ferin Mews.
Her loft was her home now,
her housemates peculiar accessories to her life.

If her life was the planet they were the satellites, rotating obscurely around her quotidian, always near yet out of reach. Though Sunny would join her in the kitchen for a cuppa if she wasn’t out and about, busy with her own life.

Sunny, yes.
Sunny was always busy.
An afternoon’s rest
an evening without something to do,
impossible.

If she wasn’t working, Sunny and her friends crowded into the apartment, laughing and screaming, giggling and shouting, talking about things Marla didn’t always understand.

There was fashion, there was music, there were the does and don’ts of post-adolescent life where you were just old enough to be grown up to the school-kids, but still young enough to be a kid for the real grannies and grandpas. Life was dreary after 25, and anyone who survived that dreadful age was both awesomely brave and awfully to be pitied .

Some of Sunny’s friends, if they found Marla in the living room or kitchen or just down the hall, some of them would ask her how it was in The Life Beyond.

Wasn’t it terrifically difficult finding a decent bloke? Most, after all, were married or useless now anyway. Was it very difficult? It had to be bad. Was it? Were there any clubs she could go to without, you know, sticking out? She looked good, she really did, but still, she was, y’know, older? And why did she wear those really bright skirts? They were kind of ethnic weren’t they? Sometimes she looked like a Mexican – oh God, were you still allowed to say that?

Yes, of course!
No, you can’t!
Shame on you!
Heathens!
Endless arguments,
more giggling,
more questions,
more drinks.

Her hair was incredible by the way, and Sunny had told them she had a sari, which was ultracool, though cool was out and awesome was in, and if something was really magnificent it was super delish.

Marla answered as best as she could, trying to follow the ping-pong conversations that seemed to be made out of clauses. She was pleased however, when Sunny mentioned that her friends thought she was ‘swell’, (they had dug up the word from God-knows-where and now used it as their own group-speak). It was high praise for someone thirty, that horrible age when all desirability disappeared at the stroke of twelve.

Marla would sometimes relate the conversations she heard to her own friends. Theresa, Rena, Val and Beth laughed and shook their heads. They all started remembering their own early twens. That time when everyone was convinced they knew everything, and those older were either horribly disfigured or perfectly boring. Naturally everyone younger was puerile and childish and not to be considered. It was a blessed time of hubris, a time when one really felt like the king of the world, or rather the Queen of Sheba with King Solomon at her feet.

‘But would you want to go back?’ Beth asked last time, and everyone started laughing, ‘Oh God, no!’

The confusion,
the fading dreams,
the disillusionment.

The simple disappointment one had to live through, for all the nonsense and self-importance to be chipped away, for all the blue-eyed naïveté to be burned off by the blowtorch that was life… no, there was no need for that all over again. It was much better to know now, than to be learning then. Really, thank God it was over.

The conversation continued while Marla prepared dessert, missing out on most, until she handed out the plates of tiramisu. The whole table was laughing when Theresa suggested they all grab a fresher the next time they were out on town.

‘Never mind that you have to teach them everything,’ she grinned, ‘that way they don’t get messed up by someone else.’
‘I don’t know about teaching, love,’ Rena chuckled, ‘they’re pretty knowledgeable from what I hear.’

There was more laughter and Val had some news to tell anyway, so they moved on from there. After her friends left though, Marla couldn’t forget what Theresa said about being ‘messed up by someone else’.

Past experiences formed the present character, ok.
Ric and Alicia were… not a conventional couple.
Did she ever have a chance?

Was it all predetermined?
Maybe to a certain extent.
She could hardly influence her childhood.
Who could?

Marla did think she had a say on her more adult years though. She spent the rest of the night wondering if she would have been someone different if she hadn’t met Eric.

Eric. Well.

Would she be different
if she’d never moved to New York?
Probably.
Those three years did change a lot.
Yet she couldn’t say she was completely altered.

She was still hardworking professionally.
Easy-going personally,
More optimistic than pessimistic.
And she still loved being in company.

That hadn’t changed,
The core was still the same.
Everything else though, that had gone through various revolutions.

She didn’t take things for granted as much as she used to.
She was more careful with herself, emotionally speaking.
She was no longer so reckless in her demands on life.
She had become a little more content with what she had.
Yes, that had changed.

All this pursuit of happiness,
it killed you.

It was a real chase on the other side, all the way over there.
It was like 5.0 racing through the square streets with all the sirens blaring.

And you had to give everything a shot,
you needed all the ammunition you got,
And then, when you thought you had it, this happiness,
this perfection that was apparently all what it was about –

Then it was skin and bones and hardly breathing,
and you had to race to the hospital to get a reanimation,
and have the doctor shake his head and order a steady diet,

real carbs
real fruits
real exercise
and fresh, fresh air

Which meant at least ten weeks in an exclusive help-centre in Vermont.

Marla hoped Heather was doing better.

They wrote emails, they talked on the phone. Heather wouldn’t Skype yet, she didn’t feel ready for a screen, but she was good with the phone. She said she had put on weight. She didn’t sound as stressed-out/spaced-out as she used to. Marla guessed that was a good thing.

Sadie said something like that would never have happened in San Francisco, but Marla wasn’t too sure. She packed her bags and returned home. She’d been thinking about it for some time anyway. Especially after Eric turned out to be as immature and irresponsible as her mother had warned her he would be – that was the worst part of it.

Marla felt it was that, that had angered her most about Eric:
That he made Marla make that concession,
That her mother was proven right instead of wrong.
How on earth was she ever to voice doubt again?

Anyway, now she was in Ferin Mews, living in a lovely loft.

With a happy blonde,
a quiet bartender,
and a whole Irish pub downstairs.
It wasn’t what she expected.
It wasn’t the West Side flat she shared with Heather

Heather who wanted to try out a bohemian life
before she married a stock broker,
and sent her kids to schools that taught Mandarin.

She only let Marla move in because
‘co-habs are character-building and so a good thing’
and Marla was ‘so exotic and beautiful and strange’
Heather, verbatim.

The place was ‘a treat’ as they said.
And Heather was really nice, once you got over her prep-school ways.

And exhausting.

It was so exhausting.
It drained everything out of her.
Eric. Heather. New York.

Everything she was,
everything she had,
it just got sucked in and disappeared.
Three years
one huge drain on her soul.
So she left.

She had to.
It was either that or no sanity.
Marla preferred to be sane.
And made sure to call Heather.
They wrote emails, texts, words
and once a week they talked on the phone.

Marla really hoped she was better.

August 20, 2014May 17, 2020

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.