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Chapter 5: Jazz

 

The box is mine just mine and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Treasure doesn’t know about it, and there’s no way I’m going to break up her pretty-happy make-up world by showing her what’s inside. The people in Gran’s house know, but the things they reckon are in there I made up because I could tell from the way that they stood with their hands on their hips and their eyes open too wide that they are the kind of people who reckon the world’s a better place if everyone knows everyone else’s business. Well it’s not.

 

I’m in this old guy’s house. He lets me spend all night on the internet if I want. I did that a few times but I won’t do it again because all it did was make me feel like I’d accidentally dunked a fried chicken drumstick into my brain. It’s bare hard to get to sleep with a chicken drumstick where it shouldn’t be. The box helps, though. The box does help. I like to see the person that gran was before Treasure or me or even mum or her dead twin were alive, back in the sixties (or whenever; I had to guess, since there’s no date on any of the letters). Nice to see that you’re not stuck being one person the whole time you’re alive.

 

Dear Mary,

 

I’m sorry I never wrote a goodbye note. I picked up the pen but then I heard dad at the top of the stairs and I knew that if I didn’t leave then, I never would.

 

It was quite scary though, at first. London was very big and noisy after the farm. I was very lucky though, because I was taken in by this woman named Jill. She saw me lugging my bags through the rain somewhere near King’s Cross, and she offered for me to come into hers and have a cup of tea. We got on so well that the cup of tea lasted well over a month!

 

You would like Jill’s house; it’s even bigger than the manor. Do you remember that house in the Sunday paper that you cut out and pinned onto the board next to the larder? Well it’s just like that – velvet tassels and the like. You should come down soon because I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be staying here for.

 

Another reason you should come down, is that Jill is dying to meet you. She knows practically everybody in London – including politicians and actors and other famous people – but when I told her all about you she said she’d never heard of a more interesting and admirable young woman.

 

There are other reasons, too: there are buses here, so you can go wherever you want, whenever you want. You can walk along the river or hang around a train station or go to a teashop or any other sort of shop – there are so many! – or to the stalls in the east end where you can get a coat and a dress like the ones in the magazines for hardly any money at all! I’m a make-up girl in the Boots on Oxford Street, so I’d paint you up for free. Then we could stroll about, arm in arm, and it would be exactly the scene we used to dream when we were little.

 

So please don’t hate me for leaving you up there with dad. You could come down here, too, if you wanted. (He keeps his money in the bottom drawer of his desk in the study – I left half for you). Come here, and forget all about him. Come; be free; be free here, with me. For the first few days you won’t be able to sleep because you’ll be scared he’ll find you; then you realise that London is a very, very big city, and that you’re safe. I am safe, but I’d rather be safe with you.

 

Love,

 

Carry

 

*

 

Dear Dad,

 

I love you but I couldn’t stay in the house any longer on account of my dreams. I dreamt that me and Mary were playing hide and seek in the garden. I was the seeker and Mary was hiding. After a really long time, I found her behind the cowshed. I heard her squeal before I saw her. When I saw her it was very strange because she wasn’t by herself; she was with you. She looked into my eyes. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to tell me something but then I woke up. I had this dream every night for a whole month. Every time I saw you, I had it again.

 

When I first got to London it was such a big change that I forgot all about the dream. But now that I’m settled in my own flat it’s coming back; each time it comes it is clearer than the last, and sometimes, it hangs over me all day. So I was wondering whether you’d know what it meant.

 

Love,

 

Carry.

 

*

 

Dear Mr Biggins,

 

I was woken up by a rag and bone man this morning and I thought of you. I thought of that time I was playing by the river and you got me to watch the dog whilst you and Mike lifted that car out of the river. You rolled it up onto the bank and the water gushed out all over you. I was so amazed that you had managed to move it at all, I didn’t notice when the dog ran off.

 

After working out how much money you’d get for the metal, you noticed the dog was gone. I said that I didn’t know where it had gone and Mike muttered, ‘In-bred cretin.’ You told Mike to shut up. Then you asked me if I’d known you could make so much money out of scrap metal and I said, no. You sent Mike away to look for the dog and then you sat me on your knee and you told me that now that everyone wanted things new and shiny, there were more scraps than ever. You jiggled me up and down. You said that soon you’d have enough money to go to Spain and see a real bull fight. You’d seen them on telly but you wanted to see with your own eyes how anyone could tame a beast that big with a handkerchief that small.

 

Mike came back with the dog and you let me follow the two of you back to the garage. You let me stay there watching you clean the car for the rest of that day. The radio was on and I danced in the shadows. I pretended I was on stage in London, which is funny because that’s exactly what I did the other day. (It wasn’t a theatre stage, not exactly, but there were lights and beyond them there were faces that were looking at me.) When it started getting dark, Mike asked where the in-bred had gone. I crept further into the shadows. You said I must have slipped off earlier.

 

Ever heard what happened to the sister? said Mike.

 

Sister? You said. I thought it was the mother. Yes, it was definitely the mother who went to the loony bin.

 

Never, said Mike. She wasn’t old enough. And I thought she ran off with the circus, not to a loony bin.

 

Strange family, you said.

 

You didn’t say any more after that. You smiled at your car in the way that I smile when I’ve sewn something really pretty. I could tell you were about to leave, so I snuck out of the door and back home before you could see me and know that I knew what things had come out of your mouth.

 

I didn’t have anything to give the rag and bone man; neither did anyone else on my street because it isn’t the sort of street where people have things spare. But I almost ran out to thank him for letting me know those things which I don’t really believe but that make my belly and my head feel a bit les like jelly when I think about Mary not being there anymore. I hope that a lot more people drive into the river so that you can go to Spain.

 

From,

 

Carry.

 

*

 

Dear Mary,

 

You know how you sometimes used to creep back to our house after you were gone? Well I was wondering whether you could creep all the way down here to London. I’m not friends with Jill anymore and it can get quite lonely.

 

Love,

 

Carry.

 

*

 

Dear Mrs Scrump,

 

I honestly don’t know how that lipstick got into my handbag. All I know is that I didn’t put it there on purpose. Please let me come back to the store, oh please. I loved it there. I loved the lights and perfume-thick air. I loved giving some colour to all those sour women in mackintoshes. I loved listening to the other girls talking about the dance halls.

 

I’m not desperate or anything; I’ve got a new job. I’m a cabaret girl. This man heard me singing as I walked down the street and he asked if I wanted to perform at his restaurant. It’s very exclusive. All sorts of famous people go there, only I can’t tell you exactly which ones because it’s so smoky that I can’t see the customer’s faces as they stare up at me from the tables. This is just as well because I’d start telling them what shade of blusher they should go for – and that would ruin the whole show!

 

I should be grateful because it pays the rent and there are plenty of girls who would kill to earn money for getting people to admire you. The thing is, however, that I just don’t feel as at home up there on the stage as I did in the store, between the eyebrow pencils and the mascara. In the store, I changed people by moving my hands just so; now I am the one who must change. The restaurant owner tells me, ‘Something Caribbean tonight.’ Or, ‘A little less saucy than yesterday.’ He stands so close that he spits on me, but I have to wait until he is gone to brush it off otherwise he’ll be offended.

 

I do hope you’ll let me have my job back.

 

Kind Regards,

 

Carry.

 

*

 

There are other things in the box, too. There are black and white photos of a man with a walrus moustache and a girl and a baby. They’re all fatty boom-booms and look well vexed. One thing I remember from history is that in the olden days people had to pose for time if they wanted to get in a photo, so maybe that’s why. Or maybe it’s because the house behind lets in too much cold and wind through it’s big windows. Maybe that’s why Treasure was always telling stories about girls who could never get warm.

 

There’s another photo of a metal thing in a field. I don’t know what it is but it has sharp rusty teeth. Also, colour post card of Big Ben. A patch of fabric decorated with pink flowers. I reckon Gran found it somewhere and wanted to get it made into a dress but never did because there was no more of that material left anywhere else in the world. Or maybe there was but she couldn’t afford it.

 

What there isn’t, is anything about my granddad. I don’t know anything about my dad either, so when that box spilled open the first time, I was really hoping. When I saw how upset that Caroline and her husband were by my story, I kind of expected it to be true. I didn’t know where it had come from, but it felt true. Sometimes, I pretend it is. Like, when I’m bunking off school with my mates and they’re talking about some girl they got off with, I think of my granddad going from place to place looking for work and everyone telling him to piss off.

 

That time when they got Carly down on the floor of the basket ball court and pushed me on top of her and pulled down my pants, I thought of the boat with the steam and the waves rocking it from underneath. I was walking back down the gang plank to this island where everything was green or red or yellow and there were all these people clapping and saying how glad they were that I came back. They were patting me on the back and giving me this golden food that I reckon was fried bananas and then I was in a hammock.

 

Whilst I was doing all that, my mates were pressing me up close against her and she was making noises. I didn’t like her noises and I didn’t like the feel of her skin against mine either. When they started hitting me round the head and flicking my dick and laughing because it wouldn’t stand up, I tried to get further into the island but instead I was shivering. I pulled up my trousers and I ran away. They won’t let me go around with them anymore because they say I’m gay. I’m not though; I just haven’t ever got close to a girl and felt like kissing her. They all liked climbing on top of Carly in the basket ball court but it made me feel sick; I don’t know why.

 

I reckon dad really was from an island but from Sri Lanka, not the Caribbean. Before I went around with the lot that I don’t go around with anymore, I went around with Prabu. All we did was play computer games and talk about them and draw pictures of them, but I felt kind of calm when I was with him. I liked the sound of his voice and the coconut smell that came off his hair.

 

Once, I went round to Prabu’s after school. His mum made me this huge sour pancake with coconut sauce and some other sauce that was well spicy. I told her that I liked the fire it made in my belly and she smiled. Prabu let me run up and down the stairs with his brother and his cousins. Later, the adults called us back into the room where we’d eaten, only I thought it was different one at first because the tables and chairs had been replaced by giant sparkly cushions and musical instruments. They gave me a wooden thing with beads inside it to shake. Prabu’s mum sang, his sisters danced, his brother played something that looked like a guitar and his cousins played something like a piano. His dad played the hand drums. I didn’t know what the music was called or what language the song was in but I shook my thing and although the sound got lost in all the others I felt at home then, I did. I never felt that way before or since. I tried to sing the song to Gran but I couldn’t remember it and even if I could, I don’t think it would have sounded as good with me playing on my own. I wished I had stayed friends with Prabu instead of going around with that big group; then Gran might have had one night less coughing and one more night of peace. Anyway, that’s why I reckon that my granddad was from Sri Lanka.

 

Still, I guess at least I know where Gran came from. I know a bit more why she was always making things up and why Treasure does now. I know why mum went away and why I always end up with no one to go around with, and why it’s so difficult to keep my mind and my body in the same place. I don’t know whether the things she wrote were true or whether the people she wrote to were real, but I can imagine her living in that room. I can see her sitting in front of the window and writing those letters. When she has finished writing, she folds them up into the box and says she’ll send them later. Sometimes, I see her writing out copies and sending those. Other times, the box is all there is, but I don’t mind; I’m just happy not to worry about how much she must’ve hurt after her insides were outside and in the sink. I don’t have to worry about whether I should’ve told someone about her insides being outside and whether if I had, she’d still be alive.

 

I keep the box under my pillow and although it digs into the back of my head I don’t mind. It’s actually a comforting dig because it reminds me of the way her nails dug into me when she picked out my nits that time. Then I remember that other thing she said about there being a place where everything that ever happened is still happening and will happen for ever and I’m asleep before I have time to decide whether or not it’s true. 


The End