Demo by Alison Miller

smells of the fire. I lift a hank of it to my nose and sniff; it’s got that horrible burnt paper smell mixed in with the usual cigarette smoke. And underneath, faint and far away, still a wee bit of the rose soap.
    What you doing? Julian comes up behind me and takes my rucksack and my coat off at the same time with the sleeves still through the straps.
    I’m gonny wash my hair.
    What, now?
    Aye, how no?
    Because I have other plans for you.
    The warm, sharp feeling pure shoots through the whole a my insides. I turn and put my arms round Julian. And then I remember.
    Oh, I can’t! I’ve got my period.
    Julian laughs. Do you really sink, my dear, zhat I vill be put off by a little menstrual blood?
    I look at the bed. It’s got clean covers on. Pale yellow wae an embroidered bit at the top. Nice.
    But it’s… it’s dirty, I says.
    Filthy through and through. He kisses the top of my head. Mmm, smoky, he says. I tell you what, if you’re so desperate to be squeaky clean, why not use the bidet. I’ll watch.
    To wash my hair?
    He laughs again. This hair. And he touches me down there on the front of my jeans.
    I don’t know how it works.
    Come here, I’ll show you. He takes my hand and pulls me towards the bathroom.
    No, wait. I’ll have to… sort mysel first. I pick up my bag and go quickly intay the bathroom and lock the door.
    It’s definitely no as good as a pad. The tampon’s leaked and there’s mair blood on the crotch a my jeans. I reach my hand between my legs intay the pan, feel about for the string and pull it out. It looks like a dead mouse. Or like a bit of my insides. Give you the boak. I drop it in and wipe mysel as best I can wae toilet paper, flush it all away. I fish another of Bernie’s tampons out the box in my bag, peel off the Cellophane and stick it in. A shower would be so good. Julian’s shower’s bigger than the one in our room. White tiles and a wee bottle a shampoo on the shelf. It wouldny take long.
    I strip off my claes as fast as I can, slide back the door a the shower, turn the knob. The cold water that comes shootin out makes me gasp and I jump out the way. I listen a minute. No sound fae the room. I hold my hand under the rushin water till it starts to feel warm. I’m just in when I hear Julian at the door.
    Clare? Not this again. Let me in. C’mon.
    Wait a minute. I leave the shower on, slide back the perspex partition, grab a towel fae the rail and open the bathroom door.
    He looks surprised. And annoyed. I thought I told you —
    It was too temptin. I want to wash my hair.
    You bad girl. Good girl, rather. Goody badshoes. He comes right up to me and takes the towel off me. He smells of the fire too. Some of his dreads swing forward like burnt rope. I step back and into the shower. I let it run over me right away. Over my hair and my face and down my back. Some of the water’s sprayin out the door of the cubicle ontay the floor of the bathroom. It doesny reach where Julian’s standin and he keeps back. Like he wants to stay dry. That suits me. I take the plastic bottle fae the shelf and screw off the cap. It smells lemony. Fresh. I squeeze a good dollop of the yellow shampoo ontay my hand and rub it on my hair. It must be good stuff, cause it lathers up right away. I close my eyes and soap my hair all over. It gies me the creeps a bit, Julian just standin there watchin me. I dig my fingers in hard to get right down to the roots so’s I can get rid of the burnt smell of the restaurant.
    When I open my eyes again, efter I’ve rinsed my hair, Julian’s no there. The bathroom’s full a steam and the towel is lyin on the floor soakin up the water fae the shower. So’s my claes. I turn off the water and step out. When my eyes get used to the steam I can see Julian through the open door, lyin on the bed wae one hand behind his head, smokin. I reach for the other bath towel off the rail.