Cathexis (11 page)

“I saw His Nibs's livery the other day”. His tea breath billowed before him.

“Yeah, I've seen it too” I said
.
“Ivy Gardens, what a lame name”.

We both agreed that Clive had picked a problematic plant.

“Ivy Gardens” mused Quincy. “Sounds like a 1950’s band leader”.

“Or a retirement home”
.
I added. Quincy snorted.

The jolly refrain of 'Afro' etched the icy air. I fumbled up the phone with numb hands.

“Sweet Jesus, shit the fucking bed!” I gasped.

Quincy lifted his chin in a 'tell me' gesture and I showed him.

“Answer it”.

I looked again at the display just to make sure – 'Nancy calling'.

Having not had time to get nervous, I answered breezily.

“Hello?”

“Hi Minette”, sounding perturbed. 'I'm very sorry to bother you, but I didn't know who else to call.

“Can you help me?'”

“What's the problem?”. My hands were starting to shake, so I stood.

'It's Nikolai. He's locked himself in the toilet on the landing. I tried to climb the ladder ...but I can't”.

I laughed, visualising her predicament.

“It's not funny (a nervous giggle evident in the word ‘funny’). Could you bring your tools?”

“Of course, I'll be right over”.

“Thank you so much. See you soon”.

“Shit, shit, shit” I hissed.

Quincy watched in amusement as I stamped over the paving, my heart widening with elation and terror.

Come on Minnie Bracewell, don't lose it, my foot shaking treacherously on the accelerator. I rummaged around in my mental dressing up trunk to find a suitable persona; one which would have the courage to face the chimera's gaze. But she needed help and had virtually begged me
...I held the upper ground. If I succeeded, which I knew I would, she may view me in a different light. As far as I was concerned, I completed heroic tasks unnoticed every day. Some stuck in my mind due to their potentially harmful consequences.

I bolstered myself with previous triumphs:

1) When I was a kid, younger even than Sasha, I defended a fat kid from a big bully boy. When my mother saw my swollen eyes and burst lips, she shut me in the wardrobe for the night, but it was worth it.

2) I'd fairly recently protected a weeping woman from a man brandishing a length of four-by-two.  3) I'd remonstrated with a dangerous looking man after he had kicked a pigeon for fun. 

4) I'd intervened when a group of youths were terrorising a small Hasidic boy.

Perhaps not so much bravery as scant regard for my own wellbeing. In some ways, I welcomed a good kicking, often fantasising about being hurt, raped, damaged in some way so I could be
martyred.

Although this situation presented little in the way of physical danger, it was no less perilous.

As I bounded up the steps, two at a time, high on my own propaganda, the door swung open so swiftly I was heralded by the door knocker banging of its own accord.

Already she seemed smaller than I remembered. Her urgent, faceted eyes reflecting several emotions: a 'kick yourself' uselessness, an undertone of stress, a soupçon of embarrassment, all overarched by something more gratifying ...she was pleased to see me.

Barrelling down the hallway, I squatted in front of the keyhole.

“Nikolai, it's Nette”.

“Nette, I'm stuck in the toilet” he asserted, proudly.

Nancy hovered behind me, pulling her sleeves over her hands like a teenager.

“Yes, I know sweetheart. Don't worry Mummy and I will get you out”.

“But Mummy can't get me out”. His voice now quivered on the brink of hopelessness.

I turned to Nancy “Why can't he unlock the door?” I whispered.

“He says he's forgotten how” she shrugged.

Running my fingers around the door frame, it was inset, the hinges hidden. I looked around for inspiration and spotted the ladder outside, leaning against the house, the lawn all but rotted away, leaving a vile, frozen bog.

As I climbed the ladder, it sank through the frosty crust.

“Please be careful” Nancy said, anxiously attempting to hold my calves.

“Nancy, that's not helping, let go”.

On tip-toe on the top rung, I nudged the vent light open with my head.

“Hello Nette, are you flying?” Nikolai gazed at me in wonder – he could only see my eyes. In an excruciating position at full stretch, the window digging into my scalp, I encouraged him to wiggle the bolt at which his little fingers worked uselessly. I told Nancy to try and get her fingers under the door and pull.

“Can you do it?”

“Yes I think so”.

“Now, Nikolai”, I spoke calmly, “can you push against the door, like a big strong, erm, Charizard?”

He splayed his hands on the wood.

“No, can you push on it with your shoulder?”

He did so and his face reddened.

“Zaaard!” he roared. I commanded Nancy to pull.

“Now,
Nikolai, slide the bolt towards you baby”.

It moved easily and the door swung open.

“Not a baby” he said as Nancy enfolded him in her arms.

She made coffee and hummed to herself. Having pinched the scummy soil to my nose, I concluded it was borderline anaerobic: it could be a drainage problem.

“Can you replace it?” sliding a cup in front of me.

“Well, yes, but I can't guarantee it'll survive”.

“Please try” she said, “for me”. She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes in a wholly irritating fashion. I regarded her evenly so she had no notion how my heart knocked against my ribs.

Never one for small talk, I was compelled to bring to her attention the elephant that was happily sitting between us at the breakfast bar. It was time to make it real.

“Nancy, do you miss me?”

The question hung in the air like a stalled glider. She turned and slopped the coffee grounds into the sink.

“Minette,” she said, “you don't miss what you don't want back”.

Wincing from this body blow, I studied her perfect ebony helixes, tumbling about the chestnut, angora shoulders. I'd got my good kicking. Too much reality for one day
...too much.

Chapter 19

Clivey
Gardens' vans ubiquitous, usually parked up, the occupants peacefully snoozing or turning a tabloid. From time to time, I would see Matt on the move. He would raise his hand in sombre salute.

Quincy and I were getting plenty of work, nice work too – I'd begun to cherry pick. Even though we were fully booked for months, I'd taken a job at a local primary school, where we had converted a fair sized stretch of tarmac playground into raised beds so the children could grow vegetables. Part of the deal was, come the spring, I would teach them how to do this; a challenging prospect.

“Graham, I think it was” said a portly potential client. A weak semblance of January sun dimmed his Reactorlites.

“Clive?” I ventured. “Did he wear a baseball cap?”

“Yes, that's him. Strange man, he hardly gave me the time of day and when the quote came in, well, extortionate is all I can say”. His eyeballs rematerialising indignantly. I let an enigmatic smile play around my lips.

“Well, I know your budget so there won't be any nasty surprises” I said, safe in the knowledge I had another job in the bag.

There was hope; I had allowed myself this, working on the logic that as long as there was contact, there was a chance.

My empty stomach whimpered through the day and eventually grew quiet, like
a neglected child. I had invited one of my oldest lovers, anorexia, around for dinner. We dined on nothing but bran and water and diluted wine. She'd first seduced me when I was 15 and had stayed with me for some years. She would have captivated me longer, but for my girlfriend at the time. She was ousted by attention
,
but not before I'd diminished to six and a half stone, gratifyingly androgynous and curiously hairy. My parents didn't notice.

It would be a good way of biding my time until the spring, when I would present myself to Nancy, lean, pure and intrinsic
...her boy. It wasn't lost on me that it would also be an excellent way of communicating my suffering since we couldn't discuss real things any more.

I was good at everything I turned my hand to; I thanked my mother for this in a round about way. I'd learnt from a young age to be patient, versatile, self sufficient, resilient. I failed at nothing but love. When I did fall, no-one loved me as I loved them. As a consequence, I believed no-one was able to love as I did. They eventually backtracked, reneged and withdrew when they got a glimpse of my true identity. My secret was that I was in disguise, a fraud, pretending – dressing up as an adult, when in fact I was still a child.

I displayed my sandwiches ostentatiously, sometimes even taking a bite, but as soon as Quincy's back was turned, I'd smuggle them to the toilet and flush them away, cutting out the middle man so to speak. However, my lover was insatiable, never content. She would eye me in the mirror and speak disparagingly of my ample hips and paunchy tummy. 'But I have to work' I'd implore and we would negotiate dry roasted peanuts and herbal tea with half a sugar.

No longer necessary to start work in the morning twilight. The ether was blatant when I parked outside Nancy's house in early March. The basement keys, which I'd kept, jingled in my hand as I loped down the steps, the locket bobbing against the hollow where my cleavage used to be. Having knocked, I shouldered the door.

“Hello?” No response – I could feel the house was empty, plus the Saab hadn't been apparent.

The kitchen, perfectly tidy, not even a breakfast bowl in the sink.

“Gotcha!” I said, stooping to pick up a single Cheerio from the floor and depositing it in the bin.

The cooker hood rewarded me with the back door keys and I pushed out into the chilly air. After an hour, I'd cut out the ruined lawn and rolled it into manageable Swiss rolls. My stomach roiled at the inedible feast; I hadn't been hungry for a long time. As I brought the first roll to my chest, a tugging at my neck. I moved the locket round so it sat between my shoulder blades. I piled the rolls on a tarpaulin in the basement corridor. After 30 journeys there was no more room so I walked up the steps 20 times to stack them in the flat bed. Fritz was down the road. I couldn't double park as the hazard lights had a tendency to drain the battery. It was fine – I was in no hurry. After 10 more journeys, the flat bed was full and extremely low over the wheel arches
,
so I locked the house and went to the tip.

When I returned, I noted the Saab. There was no way of telling how she would behave. Neutral was my best guess.

An advantage of starvation was that my mind was baffled by my body's signals, unable to tell if I should be nervous, as my heart tripped recklessly all the time. I decided to be elated, just to see her was enough.

In the basement corridor, enfolded in a hug of light brown baking. Nancy, besieged by cupcakes of all kinds, in various stages of completion. She vigorously whisked batter in a bowl clamped in her left arm, a motion which excited me.