Читать книгу Watching Edie - Camilla Way - Страница 13

Edie lives in Tyner’s Cross, the bit of Fremton between the Pembroke Estate and the rest of the town. A scattering of cul-de-sacs and council houses and new builds, as though Fremton proper had emptied out its pockets one day and this rag-bag jumble was what had tumbled out. We get to Edie’s street, a row of small, pebble-dashed houses with falling-down fences, front yards strewn with junk and weeds, and she glances at me. ‘Not like round your way, is it? Mind you, our old place wasn’t much better.’ She sighs, then says, ‘One day I’m going to be rich, Heather. I’m going to move to London, go to Saint Martins and become an amazing artist. I’m going to have a gorgeous flat, and people will go to galleries and buy my pictures for millions,’ she laughs, as though she’s only joking, but I feel a rush of admiration. I want to tell her that I believe her, that it sounds amazing and that I think she could do anything if she set her mind to it, but before I can speak we’ve stopped outside a house with a peeling yellow front door and Edie’s pulling a key from her bag.

At that moment it swings open and a short, stocky woman comes out. She stops abruptly when she sees us, her small eyes flickering over me without interest before turning eagerly on Edie. ‘Ah,’ she says, ‘There you are, Edith.’ She takes a step forward and puts a hand on Edie’s arm, standing very close. Her hungry smile shows a mouth full of sharp little teeth. ‘I’d been wondering where you’d got to. How are you? Everything OK?’

Edie gently releases herself. ‘Fine thanks, Janine.’ She shoots me a look; ‘Mum’s physio,’ she explains.

The woman nods. ‘You look after your mum now. We’ll have her up and about in no time.’ Her gaze lingers on Edie, hot and slippery.

‘Right you are,’ Edie says. ‘See you next time.’ And together we hurry through into the hallway, Edie laughing into her hand as soon as she closes the door. ‘Yuk,’ she says, and though I roll my eyes and nod, unease shifts inside me, an unpleasant memory of playground taunts, an ugly word to describe shameful, unnatural things. I force myself to rid the woman from my mind as I follow Edie down the hall.

The living room is small and cluttered and I drink it all in eagerly, not wanting to miss even the smallest detail. ‘It’s basically mostly my nan’s old stuff,’ Edie tells me carelessly, but I think it’s lovely. Little china ornaments on every surface, flowery wallpaper and a thick, swirly brown carpet and a green sofa with a matching foot stool. A vase of plastic flowers on the brown-tiled mantelpiece. It’s untidy and stuffy and smells of burnt dust and cats, but I know instantly I’d rather live here than my house any day.

Edie throws her keys on the coffee table. ‘Mum,’ she calls, ‘I’m back.’

A woman walks slowly in on crutches and I remember how Edie had told me her mum had been in a car accident. Even in her nightclothes she looks beautiful, so glamorous and young, with make-up and long hair and a pink silky dressing gown very different from the one my mum’s usually buttoned up in. She glances at me and smiles briefly but before I can say anything she looks past me and says to Edie accusingly, ‘Where have you been? I had to wait for that bloody woman to turn up just to have a cup of tea.’

Edie rolls her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ll make one now, shall I?’

Her mum takes a pack of cigarettes from her dressing-gown pocket and lights one. ‘Don’t put yourself out.’ With difficulty, she lowers herself on to the couch and, picking up the remote, turns on the TV, staring sulkily at the screen.

‘Fine,’ Edie mutters. ‘Come on, Heather.’

I murmur a quick goodbye before hurrying after her.

Her bedroom is tiny, barely large enough for the single bed that she’s lying face down on. Half-unpacked cardboard boxes cover almost every inch of the worn pink carpet and I gingerly step over them until I’m standing by her feet. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask.

Her voice is muffled by her pillow. ‘She does my head in. I wish my dad was still around.’

‘Where is he?’ I ask, sitting down.

‘God knows. Buggered off years ago. They were only young when they had me. She drove him away, always on at him about something. Nag nag nag, the way she does with me. Tells me I wouldn’t understand, like I’m a bloody kid. But I know it’s her fault he left, that’s for sure.’ There’s a pause before she adds, ‘And I’ve not seen him since. Not even a phone call.’ She sits up and gnaws at her fingernails, her eyes dark and brooding. Tentatively I move closer to her and, after a few seconds’ hesitation, put my arm around her. She sinks against me, resting her head upon my shoulder as though she were a little girl and my heart thumps loudly as I stroke her hair. After a silence she murmurs, ‘God, it’s shit not having any brothers or sisters, isn’t it? Someone else to deal with all their crap. Don’t you ever wish you weren’t an only, Heather?’ When I don’t reply she glances up at me and her face falls. ‘Christ, what’s the matter? What have I said?’

And so I tell her about Lydia. Not everything, of course, but still, it’s more than I’ve ever spoken about her to anyone else before.

‘Oh, Heather, that’s awful,’ she says when I’ve finished. ‘I’m so sorry.’

We sit in silence for a while and I wipe my eyes, listening to the sound of some kids playing outside in the street. In the quiet I notice a drawing pinned to the wall above her bed. ‘Did you do that?’ I ask, nodding at it.

‘Yeah,’ she says, and jumping up, stands on her bed to take it down. ‘It’s a bit crap really.’

She passes it to me and I stare at it. It’s a self-portrait, a close-up of her face, pouting and narrow-eyed like a model on the cover of a magazine. It’s amazing. ‘Wow,’ I say, ‘it’s great.’

‘Nah,’ she ducks her head. ‘Do you honestly think so? You can have it if you want.’ She goes and pulls out a folder from underneath her wardrobe, takes out a pile of drawings and puts them on my lap, watching my face as I look through them.

My tears, Lydia, Edie’s dad, everything is forgotten as I examine them one by one. A child holding a balloon, a couple kissing, a handsome boy holding some flowers, moonlight shining on water. I think they’re wonderful, romantic, a version of life where everyone’s happy and in love and beautiful. ‘Oh, Edie,’ I say, ‘they’re fantastic. You’re so talented, you really are!’ I look at her in amazement.

She shakes her head, ‘Oh leave off, they’re pretty rubbish.’ But she jumps up and pulls out a sketchpad, waiting eagerly for my reaction as I turn the pages. And as I heap praise on her I watch as her sadness begins to lift, receding with every compliment I pay her. She’s smiling, I’ve made her happy again.

Suddenly she says, ‘You’re different from other girls our age, aren’t you?’

My heart sinks. ‘What do you mean?’ My classmates’ voices come hissing back to me: Weirdo, fucking freak.

She yawns and stretches like a cat, her top riding up to reveal her midriff. ‘Don’t know. You don’t go on about clothes and who felt you up last night, and what a bitch so-and-so is. It’s good.’ She hesitates, glancing away before adding very softly, ‘Even with my friends back in Manchester, I used to feel lonely sometimes. None of them seemed to have the same crap going on at home that I did. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Yeah.’ I nod. ‘I do.’ And we smile at each other in the silence.

‘He’s asked me to meet him on Saturday,’ she tells me a few moments later.

‘Who?’

She grins. ‘Connor, of course! Will you come with me? In case he doesn’t show.’

‘Oh, I don’t—’

‘Please,’ she says. ‘Oh go on, be a pal.’

I hesitate, and she makes a daft face, fluttering her eyelashes until I laugh, and say OK.

It’s Saturday lunchtime and we’re sitting on the bench by the statue in the town square. Edie can’t sit still, tugging at her dress, reapplying lip gloss and spraying herself with the White Musk her Uncle Geoff sent her last Christmas. A couple of girls from school walk past us and look Edie up and down before turning to each other and sniggering. ‘Skank,’ they whisper, but I don’t think Edie hears.

‘Where is he? We’ve been here half an hour now.’

‘I’m sure he’s on his way,’ I tell her, secretly hoping that he’s not. I think about how I’ll comfort her when he doesn’t show, how maybe we can go to the café instead. Perhaps I’ll buy her a milkshake and listen sympathetically as she confides in me about how disappointed she is. I’ll tell her it’s probably for the best after all, that he wasn’t worth it and she can do a whole lot better – all the things I’ve heard you’re supposed to say in this situation. But when I next look up, there he is.

The market’s on today and the square is full of people, huddled beneath umbrellas or caught unawares by the first rainy day we’ve had in weeks, but Connor cuts through the crowds as though there’s no one there at all and I see him through Edie’s eyes: his handsome face, his confident swagger, something bold and focused against the smudgy grey blur of the square.

He stops in front of us. ‘All right,’ he says. I’m surprised by how nice his smile is and I find myself momentarily dazzled by it.

‘Hiya!’ Edie jumps up as if he’d pulled her by a string.

He looks her over. ‘You got dressed up.’ His eyes are a little mocking now, and she shrugs, her own smile flickering uncertainly. Then, reaching out a finger, he traces the low neckline of her dress, not taking his eyes from hers. Edie flushes, opens her mouth as if to speak but seems hypnotized by the slow sweep of his finger. Her flesh goose-pimples beneath his gaze and the rain. Something passes between them, thick and private, containing them, wrapping them together, leaving me outside.

At that moment a passing dog rears back on its lead, barking and snarling, baring its teeth at me and I jump back, giving a little cry as its owner pulls it on. My heart pounds with shock. They both stare at me. ‘This is Heather,’ Edie tells him.

He nods then lights a cigarette. ‘You coming?’ he says to her.

‘Where’re we going?’ she asks.

‘Back to mine.’

She hesitates. ‘Aren’t we going out?’

He takes a drag on his cigarette and looks away. ‘Where to, the Ritz?’

She flicks her hair again and bites her lip, weighing it up. ‘Can Heather come?’

He glances at me and shrugs. ‘If she wants.’

The look she shoots me is so beseeching that I nod and we set off, the two of them walking ahead, both so slim and good-looking as though made for each other, me trailing along behind.

I’ve never been to the Pembroke Estate before and I pause in its centre, staring up at the three high towers, looming black against the grey sky. The motorway is very close here; you can hear the traffic as it roars past somewhere just out of sight. There’s a kids’ play park with broken swings and a sandpit filled with bottles and dog mess and a group of teenage boys sitting around on its climbing frame. They fall silent, eyeing me blankly as I pass, and I hurry to catch up with Edie and Connor.

The lift that takes us to the sixth floor has bumpy metal walls and smells of cigarettes and urine. Connor ignores us as we climb higher and higher, taking out a phone and turning it on, his brow furrowed as his fingers tap away at the buttons. I watch him with curiosity: no one I know has a mobile phone and it looks flashy and expensive. When I glance over at Edie I see that she’s eyeing it too and I wonder if that’s why he got it out now, so that we would notice it and be impressed.

The door to Connor’s flat is at the end of a long row of identical blue ones and we have to traipse along an outdoor walkway to get to it. Above us light bulbs fizz and flicker in little wire cages. If you lean over the metal barrier you can see right across Fremton and down to the roofs of the cars whizzing past below. We stop outside his flat and hear the thud of music from within, which blasts out at us when he opens the door. He leads us through to the lounge, past an empty bedroom with mattresses on the floor, a kitchen with a sink full of beer cans and a bathroom with a broken toilet. I imagine my mum’s face if she knew I was in a place like this and glance over at Edie but she’s looking around herself with bright, excited eyes as if it is in fact the Ritz he’s brought us to.

In the lounge a very thin ginger boy is stretched out on the sofa wearing only his boxer shorts. He’s asleep, despite the music. Connor kicks his foot and he sits up, dazedly rubbing his face, his ribs protruding beneath white, freckled skin. ‘All right, Rabbit?’ Connor says, and he nods sleepily, yawning widely and running both hands over his bristly carrot-coloured hair.

Edie sits on the sofa and I perch on its edge, as far away from the ginger boy as I can. The beige corduroy fabric is covered in stains, and by my feet a large plate that’s been used as an ashtray spills cigarette ends on to the carpet. There’s a smell in the air of old food and stale beer.

‘You want a drink?’ Connor asks, then has to repeat himself over the noise. ‘Got some vodka if you want?’

Edie nods and flashes him a smile.

He looks at me but I shake my head, and he shrugs and leaves the room.

‘All right, girls?’ the ginger lad says, grinning now, and I suddenly notice the size of his front teeth. He’s got the same thick local accent as Connor, which makes them both, in my opinion, sound a bit stupid, and he’s rolling some tobacco into a cigarette paper. It’s only when he lights it and the putrid stink fills the air that I realize what it is. He passes it to Edie and I’m shocked when she takes it from him. I know about marijuana from a talk they gave at school. Perhaps she doesn’t realize. Perhaps I should warn her. I watch her closely in case she passes out or collapses or something and I need to call an ambulance. I wish we’d never come.

When Connor returns he sits next to Edie, passing her a half-full bottle of vodka. Rabbit wanders off and I get up and look out of the window, at the fields stretching out beyond the motorway. The rain has passed and the sky is a brilliant blue again, the sun bouncing off the roofs of the cars. I perch on an armchair and watch as, across the room, Edie laughs and twirls her hair then leans into Connor, putting her head on his shoulder. I can tell she’s a bit drunk. They’re talking and laughing but I can’t hear what about because the music’s too loud. Suddenly they both stand up, Connor pulling Edie after him towards the door. She looks at me and holds up a hand, fingers splayed. ‘Five minutes,’ she mouths, giggling. The door closes behind them and I’m left sitting on my own, the music thumping on around me.

A minute slowly passes, then another and another. Restlessly I go to the window again and look out, biting my thumbnail and hoping Rabbit doesn’t come back. When ten minutes have gone by I turn the stereo down, craning my ears to listen for Edie’s voice. Nothing. I don’t know what to do. My stomach twists anxiously. Is she all right? What if he’s locked her in somewhere and she needs my help? At last I creep to the door and stand out in the hallway until I hear the low murmur of voices.

One of the bedroom doors is ajar and I tiptoe over to it and look through. I see Edie lying on the mattress with Connor. As I watch, he slips a hand under her dress, pulling down her knickers. Shock reverberates through me. I hold my breath, feeling my skin burn as he reaches up and begins to touch her there. She gives a low moan, her eyes closed, her face flushed. I can’t move, a painful lump in my throat making it hard to breathe.

And then a sound behind me makes me jump and turn around. Standing a few feet away is Rabbit, his eyes fastened on me, a slow smirk of realization spreading across his face as his gaze flicks away from my face to where Edie’s lying on the bed. I stumble backwards, heat coursing through me, and go back to the lounge, and though I don’t know why, hot tears prickle my eyes as I sit down again to wait.