Birdy Flynn Page 8

  ‘How could that be?’ she said. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her hands moved quicker. ‘They were here, right here.’

  ‘What was there?’

  ‘Eileen’s earrings. There’s only one. And no box. They were in a box.’ She stood and looked down. She searched in all the other drawers.

  ‘What earrings, Mum? Can I help?’ I tried to stop my words shivering.

  She went back to the second drawer and tipped the contents out.

  ‘It’s there, Mum.’ I pointed to where I’d left it. ‘Look there.’

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ She put her hand on mine. ‘I must be going mad. I was sure I had them in a box.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I could swear on my eyesight,’ she said.

  Please don’t do that, I thought.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum.’

  ‘Of course it matters.’ She looked at me. Her face was worried white, as tired-looking as working five nights. ‘It is my daughter’s eighteenth,’ she said and her eyes became watery. ‘I chose the box. It cost me good money.’

  ‘I can get some tissue?’

  She sat down on the bed and her body bent over. ‘I wanted it perfect.’

  ‘It will be.’

  Her head flopped and I could see the grey roots of her hair. ‘What is wrong with me?’

  ‘Nothing, Mum.’

  She put her head in her hands.

  ‘Eileen won’t mind,’ I said, and Mum started shaking.

  Then she couldn’t stop crying. I rubbed her shoulders and my brain burnt from needing to make things better. I dug deep in my memories for good things to tell her, happy news she would like. I couldn’t praise the buffet again. I’d told her that her hair looked lovely twice. So I took a deep breath.

  ‘I will go on the school trip,’ I said.

  She patted my hand.

  I waited.

  She slowly raised her head and looked at me, and as she smiled the corners of her red eyes made little creases.

  When Mum came downstairs, I was cleaning the curtains with the long tube on the Hoover. Her face was brightened by make-up and Eileen went over and hugged her for ever. She gave Mum a long kiss on her cheek and Mum pushed her off.

  ‘I’m just after doing myself up,’ she said, and Eileen tried to kiss her again. ‘Get away, Eileen. Are you on that punch already?’

  The doorbell rang like a fire alarm.

  Mum grabbed the chip fryer off the top of the cooker and gave it to me to put under the stairs and then, once one of Eileen’s mates was through the door, they didn’t stop arriving. Boys with perms but good shoulders and posh V-neck jumpers handed Mum cans of Pepsi and boxes of chocolates. Some shook our hands with cold sweaty palms. They hung keys off their belts like prison guards and had aftershave that smelt of the inside of cars. The girls came in on wobbly stilettos like they’d only just learnt to walk. They tilted their heads, grinned like Princess Diana, but didn’t want to talk.

  ‘Not too loud,’ Mum shouted as she topped up the punch and only the disco lights responded. She looked at me.

  I raised my eyebrows in support.

  ‘Poor Edna has awful great hearing,’ she said, and I tutted along with her and shook my head.

  The dancing hadn’t started, but the music was making the house shake, doosh, doosh, doosh. I wanted Mum’s music on. The girls stood at one end and the boys at the other, like two gangs waiting to fight but they were pointing and giggling. Eileen was in the middle of the room screaming something into a fake microphone. I thought she looked stupid. I hated what she was doing. Her skirt was too short and her make-up was melting. The noise made my ears burn, and everyone was shouting.

  ‘Go check on Edna, will you, love,’ Mum said, with a shove to stop me from staring. ‘Go and see if she’s coping.’

  As I pushed open her door, I heard the words ‘Come in’ from Edna.

  She was dusting her pictures and singing.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I said, trying to be heard over the roar next door. ‘Edna,’ I said louder, and she turned around. ‘Mum sent me to say sorry for the racket.’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Should we turn it down?’

  ‘God, no. It’s great stuff,’ she said and she wiggled her hips and waved her duster about. ‘I wish I was in there with all them young studs.’ She put her arms out and found me and took my hands and we did an old-fashioned dance. ‘Jesus, Birdy, you can dance.’ She swung me around. ‘You’re my little flying thing.’

  I slowed her down because she had a tiny kitchen.

  ‘Come on!’ She speeded things up.

  ‘Edna, you could trip.’

  ‘I’ll trip all right, give me half a chance.’ She tugged me across the room. ‘Dance now, think later,’ she said. ‘Relax, child.’

  I stood on her toe.

  ‘OK, that’s enough.’ She used her hands to find her chair. ‘I’ve danced myself out of puff.’

  I helped her sit down.

  ‘I used to go to all the dances, in all the Irish clubs. It was where the handsome fellas went. A few ham sandwiches and a bottle of Club.’ She took a sip from her drink of water. ‘So, it’s going well next door?’

  ‘It’s awful.’ I sat down.

  Edna tilted her head as she got back her breath and preferred for me to talk. I didn’t know how to describe it.

  ‘Not like your dances.’

  ‘Well, go on. I want to hear all the gory details.’

  ‘There’s all sorts in there. Fellas we’ve never seen before, with smart shirts though and Sta-Prest trousers and loafers.’

  ‘Are there girls?’

  ‘They’re disgusting, Edna. They have hardly no clothes. Tiny skirts, like belts they are. And little tops and stupid shoes and there is food all over the floor.’

  ‘That all sounds normal, love.’

  ‘And they’re not even dancing. They’re all looking at each other and whispering and –’

  ‘Flirting? Christ Almighty, I’m jealous.’

  ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘So, sit with me here now. We’ll belt out some auld rebel songs. Get the blood going.’ She punched the air.

  ‘Why do they wear that stuff?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Girls,’ I said, and Edna laughed.

  ‘Are your pals not there? Surely they would be invited?’

  ‘No. Just Eileen’s friends and some cousins.’

  ‘You sound sad,’ Edna said. ‘You have a sadness in your voice.’

  ‘No, no. It’s fine. I’d better go back anyway. To help Mum.’

  ‘Well, if you’re needed,’ Edna said as she held out her arms.

  ‘Goodnight.’ I kissed Edna’s cheek and closed her front door behind me.

  As outside got darker, our dining room turned into a bund-ling, fumbling, slobbering crush and the music got as loud as police sirens going off. The boys were mixed in with the girls and everyone moved together to the same tune, throwing themselves about the room. Three boys thought they were hilarious pretending to play trumpets. Another one pretended to play a guitar.

  Mum kept away but sent me in to get empty cans and broken things. I needed armour. They’d turned into lanky, long-armed loonies. Hands up each other’s jumpers, down trousers, blouses undone. I couldn’t look. I collected the things as fast as I could. Ears being sucked and eaten, giggling and laughing at no words but smirks and smiles and winking eyes. It made me feel sick. Every chair in the room had at least two people on it. A girl leant back in a beanbag with her legs wide open, so her underwear was showing. I wanted them gone.

  ‘Get out of my house,’ I wanted to shout. ‘Get out of our hallway, our kitchen and dining room. Leave our coats hanging; take yours off our hooks. Don’t flick through Mum’s records with rude sneery looks. Don’t chuck peanuts across the room or put Hula Hoops on all your fingers then get girls to eat them off. Take your bums off our chairs and get up off the floor. Leave now – I’ll hold the door. Don’t to
uch the walls, don’t clap at the lights. Don’t use our toilet; go home to yours. Turn the record player off. I’ll switch off the lights and take the phone off the hook, and when you’re all gone, Mum will curl up in the corner of the sofa and switch the telly on.’

  ‘Leave her,’ I shouted. It burst out.

  The boy was taller than Dad. I’d been watching him follow Eileen about, his hands all over her. He tried to get his hand up her skirt. He didn’t hear me, so he carried on. I shouted more, but my voice got lost behind someone shouting ‘Girls on Film’. Eileen looked upset, swinging her arms at him. Her face turned to unhappy then to annoyed then to angry super quick.

  ‘Get off me,’ Eileen said, and I could tell that she was struggling to get her breath.

  She was pushing him. He grabbed her arms and held them in a tight grip.

  ‘Leave her alone.’ I got in between them and pushed them apart.

  ‘Birdy,’ Eileen shouted. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Who invited Ugly Smurf?’ he said.

  ‘Leave it, Rick.’ Eileen put her hand on his chest and tried to move him away.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, but if you ever speak to me again . . .’ Tall boy leant down so close to me, I felt the spray of his spit.

  ‘Rick, don’t,’ Eileen said, but he put his face so close to me that his nose touched mine.

  I waited for Eileen to tell him who I was.

  ‘Fuck off, freak.’ He pushed me with his two meaty hands so hard I smacked my head against the wall.

  That’s it, I thought. That will upset my big sister. She’ll be furious.

  ‘Rick,’ Eileen said, as if Rick was a naughty puppy.

  I looked at her, but she was looking at him and running her fingers through her hair.

  ‘Eileen?’ I said, but she didn’t seem to hear. ‘Eileen?’ I repeated.

  She looked at me and mouthed two words and the second one was ‘off’.

  Then he got hold of her wrist and pulled her so hard she squealed like a frog does when you throw it on the floor. When she squealed. ‘No’, I knew that her wrist would have a Chinese burn mark in the morning, and that she didn’t want to dance with him no more. So I kicked him. In his balls where I know it really hurts. His face twisted with agony and he bent over, clutching himself, and Eileen put her hand over her mouth and everyone looked around but the music didn’t stop. And as tall boy began to unbend and his body straightened up, I was super happy when someone called Simon, in a yellow Fred Perry top, came over and told tall boy to stop.

  I ran up to my room. It was my room, with my things, my curtains and my rug. I slammed the door shut and sat in the dark. When I’d saved up the money I was going to buy that door a lock.

  The squealing and shrieking downstairs still shook the whole house. I was shaking but I knew I’d done good. I sat and got my breathing back. Song after song continued. I heard our front door slam and out of my window I saw tall boy walking down the path. I could still feel the heat and sweat on my skin. The swearing and smoke was in my hair. Tall boy’s smell, his bad breath, his clumsy fat hands all over Eileen’s slim body. But I took a deep breath and told myself, You have done well.

  With the click of my bedside lamp, I appeared in the human-size mirror screwed to the back of my door. I stood up and got closer. Around me was an orange glow. My eyes felt dry as dust. My eyelids clunked up and down.

  Even standing still, I could feel movement inside. Things in my body bubbling like germs, out of my control. I knew it was happening – it was changing. When I put on pants, I noticed flab where my hips had been sharp and bony. In my chest, inside the skin, in front of my ribs, there was aching and itching. In the bath I refused to look, but I knew my skin was stretching. No going back. Things that would grow whether I liked it or not. Like Dad’s tomatoes in the greenhouse that you’d never wish dead and the apples on Edna’s tree that got bigger and red.

  I took off my shirt and untucked my vest. The cold of my hand touching my belly made me jump. I moved it up with tiny shifts, bit by bit. I was unsure of where my hand was going until I felt the tingle more in my nipple than in my finger and a spark inside me zipped.

  It frightened me. I took my hand away. The skin on my face grew hot and prickly. I was blushing at me. I reached across my bed and thumped the lamp to turn it off.

  With both hands, I felt the parts of me that kept growing. I pressed down, but my body rebounded.

  I switched the lamp back on, knelt down and pulled out the scraggily rolled bandage from my tin. I wedged my chair against the door and took my trousers off. Starting at my knees, I wrapped the bandage around my legs together, as tight as I could. Up to my hips and my belly and my ribs, I squeezed and pulled it until my skin felt sliced and sore. I imagined the dark, thick, industrial tape from Dad’s shed. I wanted it wound around me a thousand times, from my toes to my mouth and my ears, all around my head. So I couldn’t speak, do anything stupid or hear all the things that people said.

  You saved Eileen, I told myself. You’re a hero. You did something. I pointed at the mirror. You stopped him. I looked at the reflection of my chest. She’ll thank you tomorrow, or maybe next week. Mum will be proud. Dad won’t be told. Just ignore the fact that he called you a freak.

  ‘You,’ I said to my chest.

  ‘You,’ I shouted at myself.

  I slammed my hand against the mirror.

  ‘You, Birdy Flynn,’ I said, but I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t make eye contact with myself.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Good luck, my little soldier,’ Mum said, when Monday morning came.

  Everybody looked and the teachers tried not to smirk.

  ‘Maybe when you get back, Murphy will be home.’

  Leave off, Mum, I said inside myself. Don’t look at me like that, don’t wipe me with your spit and please don’t mention our cat.

  ‘I’ve packed you a few extra bits,’ she carried on, flattening my eyebrows with her fingers.

  ‘What extra bits?’

  ‘Love.’ Mum put her hand on my shoulder. She looked hurt. ‘Love. That is all.’

  It was my first away trip. My first night away from home without Nan or an uncle or an aunt.

  My classmates wriggled with adventuring spirit, comparing rucksacks and sandwich spreads and flavours of crisps. I wiped sweaty palms down my trousers, until Mum stopped me with her elbow in my ribs.

  Mrs Cope came over to us. My mouth seized up, like a bicycle chain covered in rust.

  ‘Mrs Flynn,’ she said to Mum. Her ears had silver fish-shaped things dangling from them. ‘I’m afraid we need some money.’

  Mum’s fake smile turned to a real frown. She stepped backwards as if she’d had a shock.

  ‘So sorry,’ Mrs Cope went on, ‘but without –’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Mum said, waving Mrs Cope’s words away. She didn’t clip me or blame me; she searched for her purse. ‘I didn’t realise. It was never said.’ Mum’s neck went from white to a rising rash of red. ‘How much is it?’

  ‘It’s ten pounds, Mrs Flynn.’

  The fidgety rummaging of Mum’s hand stopped. She shook her handbag. She brought it close to her face. ‘I’ve gone and forgotten my purse,’ she said. I knew she hadn’t. ‘Would you believe it?’ She tutted. ‘Can you believe it, Birdy?’ She turned to me.

  I wanted to say, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Will we go home?’ I picked up my suitcase.

  ‘No, no.’ Mrs Cope held up her hand.

  Mum wiped her face with the tissue from her sleeve.

  ‘Bring the money in next week,’ Mrs Cope said, and Mum thanked her for her kindness.

  I put my case back down.

  Mrs Cope nodded at me, and when she was gone Mum kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’ll find it.’

  The warm, cheesy air of the coach made everybody want to puke as soon as we got on. The windows started steaming up the moment the door clo
sed. As I tried to find a seat, I could see Mum outside pointing to where Martin was, so I panicked and sat down where I stood and realised that I was next to Gypsy Girl. She nodded her head in a jerky way to me; I did the same back.

  Everyone stood up and waved goodbye to the parents as the driver took us off. The teachers didn’t. Mr Fry and Mrs Cope sat together, chatting. Mr Calthorpe sat on his own. Eggy packed lunches were opened by half past nine. Sweaty water dripped down the windows. Liam and Joe goggled at the squawky, giggling girls as they teased and prodded each other.

  Gypsy Girl looked out at the countryside and all the sheep and the cows. I could hear her counting them in her mind. I rubbed my hand across my stomach to calm my sickly nerves. Then she prodded me and made me jump. She showed me baby cows cuddling up to their mum, and she made an expression with her bottom lip that made her look gentle and kind.

  When the coach slowed, a little man in blue overalls opened up some giant gates, and our bodies rumbled as we crunched along the gravel driveway. Branches of trees slapped the windows so some girls had to scream.

  We pulled up next to an enormous grey mansion. The biggest house I’d ever seen.

  ‘Welcome to the Malvern Hills,’ Mr Fry shouted from the front.

  We stepped down off the coach like astronauts landing on Mars, and as bags were unloaded the teachers shuffled about, making a fuss. I watched the rabble with their excited roars, boys holding each other in headlocks and trying judo throws. But above all that, in the crowds of trees, one bird was singing happily on its own, a lot louder than at home.

  We dawdled up the stone steps and into the front hall of the house, where our laughter sounded deeper and echoed. The ceiling was the highest in the world, and the walls were dark and wooden with no wallpaper.

  ‘This place is haunted,’ Joe said to everyone.

  ‘With dead animals,’ Martin said behind my back.

  In the entrance hall, big paintings of old men with beards and fat robes stared down on us. I looked, but I couldn’t see the Pope.