must love her, he must,
or why wouldn’t he be even a little bit happy? Everything feels shitty at the
moment. But I am the stoat who
bites the stick, who jumps the board. I will not be cowed, I will not. And he’s stupid to say that I
said horrible things, I didn’t, I was nice, this is the problem with humans,
with relationships, with having to get on. I feel as if I want to roar, like a lion, roar my misery at people, but
that I can’t because they don’t know that I’m an animal and I have no way of
communicating with them. “Fuck off,
fuck off, fuck off” I shout after him and “I hope you drown” I say under my
breath, and I really, really hope he does.
When I got home I lay in bed drawing little pictures of
Charlie drowning, engulfed in water, his hands reaching up for help. I drew pictures of him in his car
crashing in to a tree and I wanted them to come true. I want him to die now. I hate him.
Chapter 9
I
like an adventure. Sometimes. Joseph and I met on the far platform at
Exeter St David’s for our train at 9.58am to London Paddington. It was sunny and the promise of heat,
but today I don’t mind. I have on a
pretty pale pink 1960’s dress with a belt with two big pearl droplets on the
ends of it, it fits me like a glove. I had bought two diet cokes in the on-platform cafe, one for each of us,
one said ‘Charlie’ the other said ‘handsome’. I started off the day with a carefree
attitude and gave the ‘Charlie’ one to Joseph, who laughed. Joseph knows about Charlie now, but he’s
the only one who does, well, the only one I’ve told.
Joseph
was wearing his stone coloured linen suit. We looked like we belonged together, with our blonde hair and bone
structure. That is important to me. “Your eyes are bluer than mine though”
as I stare at them
“Your eyes are grey Aunty Gussie, I’d never noticed that before, that explains
it” he said. We got in to our
carriage and found our seats. We
sat opposite each other across the table. I could smell India on the train. It was like an Indian morning, early, sun shining strongly through the
clouds and we only get the feeling of strength, not heat. That stuffy, suffocated, exciting smell
of an adventure, and that unutterable quietness and thoughts of things to
come. Going on an adventure. When we got to Bristol someone sat next
to me, no one sat next to Joseph although his seat was empty. This man sat next to me even though the
seat was full of my bag and jacket. We pulled faces at each other, we would be climbing the walls. The man got out a laptop and started
working. I looked furtively at what
he was doing from the corner of my left eye and saw he was looking at his
holiday snaps full of lots of people sitting at dining tables in restaurants eating
and cheering. Joseph was watching
me looking and mouthed at me
“what’s he doing?”
“holiday snaps” I mouthed back
“Uh?”
“holiday snaps”
“Uh?” and so I got the vanity mirror out of my handbag, I angled the mirror
away from me, towards the man’s computer and facing Joseph so he could see for
himself. I had to lean right back
in my seat, back, back, back, merge into the cushions, and still Joseph
couldn’t see, he motioned which way to direct the mirror with a finger slightly
and surreptitiously moving in front of his nose and my mirror moved in the
direction he desired. But he still
couldn’t see. We were laughing the
more because we couldn’t laugh and couldn’t draw attention to ourselves. Horses outside, gypsy horses and
caravans, thin looking cattle and sheep escaping through hedges for more grass. I got nearer and nearer the laptop,
further and further from the window, concentrating on the view for Joseph and
forgot about the man, forgot about the green blur beyond me.
And then, out of my blue, resignedly, the man looked at me, and I looked slowly
but
or why wouldn’t he be even a little bit happy? Everything feels shitty at the
moment. But I am the stoat who
bites the stick, who jumps the board. I will not be cowed, I will not. And he’s stupid to say that I
said horrible things, I didn’t, I was nice, this is the problem with humans,
with relationships, with having to get on. I feel as if I want to roar, like a lion, roar my misery at people, but
that I can’t because they don’t know that I’m an animal and I have no way of
communicating with them. “Fuck off,
fuck off, fuck off” I shout after him and “I hope you drown” I say under my
breath, and I really, really hope he does.
When I got home I lay in bed drawing little pictures of
Charlie drowning, engulfed in water, his hands reaching up for help. I drew pictures of him in his car
crashing in to a tree and I wanted them to come true. I want him to die now. I hate him.
Chapter 9
I
like an adventure. Sometimes. Joseph and I met on the far platform at
Exeter St David’s for our train at 9.58am to London Paddington. It was sunny and the promise of heat,
but today I don’t mind. I have on a
pretty pale pink 1960’s dress with a belt with two big pearl droplets on the
ends of it, it fits me like a glove. I had bought two diet cokes in the on-platform cafe, one for each of us,
one said ‘Charlie’ the other said ‘handsome’. I started off the day with a carefree
attitude and gave the ‘Charlie’ one to Joseph, who laughed. Joseph knows about Charlie now, but he’s
the only one who does, well, the only one I’ve told.
Joseph
was wearing his stone coloured linen suit. We looked like we belonged together, with our blonde hair and bone
structure. That is important to me. “Your eyes are bluer than mine though”
as I stare at them
“Your eyes are grey Aunty Gussie, I’d never noticed that before, that explains
it” he said. We got in to our
carriage and found our seats. We
sat opposite each other across the table. I could smell India on the train. It was like an Indian morning, early, sun shining strongly through the
clouds and we only get the feeling of strength, not heat. That stuffy, suffocated, exciting smell
of an adventure, and that unutterable quietness and thoughts of things to
come. Going on an adventure. When we got to Bristol someone sat next
to me, no one sat next to Joseph although his seat was empty. This man sat next to me even though the
seat was full of my bag and jacket. We pulled faces at each other, we would be climbing the walls. The man got out a laptop and started
working. I looked furtively at what
he was doing from the corner of my left eye and saw he was looking at his
holiday snaps full of lots of people sitting at dining tables in restaurants eating
and cheering. Joseph was watching
me looking and mouthed at me
“what’s he doing?”
“holiday snaps” I mouthed back
“Uh?”
“holiday snaps”
“Uh?” and so I got the vanity mirror out of my handbag, I angled the mirror
away from me, towards the man’s computer and facing Joseph so he could see for
himself. I had to lean right back
in my seat, back, back, back, merge into the cushions, and still Joseph
couldn’t see, he motioned which way to direct the mirror with a finger slightly
and surreptitiously moving in front of his nose and my mirror moved in the
direction he desired. But he still
couldn’t see. We were laughing the
more because we couldn’t laugh and couldn’t draw attention to ourselves. Horses outside, gypsy horses and
caravans, thin looking cattle and sheep escaping through hedges for more grass. I got nearer and nearer the laptop,
further and further from the window, concentrating on the view for Joseph and
forgot about the man, forgot about the green blur beyond me.
And then, out of my blue, resignedly, the man looked at me, and I looked slowly
but
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