Carry You. Beth Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ them get into the sort of state that affects pedestrians, but at least if they do brush me as I pass, I don’t get stung or scratched. I frown in the general direction of the house windows when this occurs, hoping someone might some day see the inconvenience they’re causing and do something about it. It hasn’t worked yet.

      The second reason I like this part is that it’s so interesting to look into the gardens and un-becurtained windows of the houses and observe a snapshot of the lives playing out behind them. It’s a bit like watching a soap, except less murder and brawling and more hoovering. For me, it’s a little tether to normality, at a time when I’m feeling adrift and directionless.

      ‘It seems so weird that life is just going on as normal,’ I said to Abby once when we walked past here. ‘Everyone carries on buying milk and hanging out the washing and paying the leccy bill and arguing and loving, as if everything’s fine and nothing devastating has happened.’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, looking at me pointedly. ‘It’s hard to believe sometimes that thousands of people have died or lost their homes in floods and earthquakes in some parts of the world, isn’t it?’

      There’s one particular house along here that I’m looking forward to passing today. It’s got such a beautiful front lawn, very green and smooth, no weeds, it’s plainly obvious that someone lives here who really cares about it, and has got the time to spend on it. The edges are really crisp, too, where it meets the flower borders. It pleases me, the sharpness of the earth there. It looks like the inside of a slice of mud cake, with grass icing.

      The houses along here remind me very much of Mum and Graham’s house. Well, technically it was Graham’s house, but when they got married Mum sold our old place and put all the money she got for it into extending Graham’s, so there was enough room for all of us. I think a lot was spent on updating it too. He’d lived there on his own for years, so it was in a terrible state. Really gruesome. He had wallpaper in the kitchen that featured pictures of cutlery; an avocado bathroom suite; and bright red swirly patterned carpet everywhere. There were only three bedrooms, so they had a huge two-storey extension built at the side which made a bedroom each for me and Naomi, and a second bathroom for us to share. Darren and Lee – Graham’s two boys – didn’t live there, but he wanted them to have a room each anyway, for when they visited.

      Ah, there’s a woman standing on the driveway of the house with the lovely lawn. Is she tending it? I’d love to know how she gets her edges so crisp. I turn the music off but leave the earphones in, as a kind of disguise. It’s a great way to look like you’re deaf to your surroundings, while straining every nerve to hear what’s going on, just in case something interesting happens. Also it tends to stop weird strangers from talking to you. Having said that, wearing earphones has on at least one occasion actually encouraged one of the weirdos out there to approach me. It was while I was walking along the canal bank a couple of days ago, and there was no one else around. This particular weirdo was shirtless and carrying a lager can in one hand, two factors that immediately made me feel apprehensive. I dropped my gaze and moved quickly to the extreme edge of the path, employing my standard tactic for avoiding any kind of contact with weirdos: the old classic ‘if I don’t see them, they can’t see me’ manoeuvre. In my peripheral vision I could see that he was lurching towards me, looking directly at me, and that his mouth was moving. He was clearly slurring something to me. There was absolutely no way I wanted to engage in any kind of interaction with this grinning freak, so it was crucial to make not the slightest eye contact, even accidentally, and to maintain the stance of being completely oblivious to his presence in front of me by shunning him in every way possible.

      ‘Pardon?’ I said politely, stopping and taking one earphone out of my ear. Oh damn, shit, bugger and balls! My good manners, bred into me relentlessly by my mum, had kicked in automatically – testament to her top notch parenting. Thanks to her, I was completely unable to ignore another human being when he was clearly addressing me, even though he was half naked and wholly drunk – exactly the sort of stranger Mum would have wanted me to avoid at all costs. Great. Now I had engaged him in conversation. Thanks, Mum.

      ‘I said, can I press my cheek against yours and listen to your music with you?’ he repeated, coming even nearer and smiling still more broadly. He swigged from his can enthusiastically. For one alarming moment I thought he was going to embrace me.

      ‘Um, no,’ I said, stopping myself at the last minute from adding ‘thanks’. I don’t have to be polite to this one, I kept telling myself. You can ignore him, just get away from him as quickly as possible. I resumed walking and plugged my earphone back in as I did so. But not before I heard him call after me, ‘Will you have an affair with me?’

      ‘No thanks, I’m all set,’ I called back, then kicked myself again for responding. What was the matter with me? Why couldn’t I just be rude?

      ‘Good manners at all times,’ Mum’s voice said in my head. ‘Remember, girls, it’s what sets us apart from the ill-mannered.’

      Yes, well, my involuntary good manners could end up being my undoing one day.

      Abs is waiting in the kitchen when I get home, kettle boiled and two mugs on the side with tea bags in them.

      ‘Thank God,’ she says, coming towards me. ‘You’ve been gone ages. I’m gasping for a cuppa. Where’s the milk?’ I say nothing. She jerks her head forward and raises her eyebrows. ‘Daze?’ She grabs my rucksack and pulls it off my shoulders. ‘You did get milk, didn’t you?’ Still I say nothing. She’s rummaging through the bag now and pulls out the carrier bag with the Jaffa Cakes in it. It’s clearly far too light and cardboardy to contain a large carton of milk. Or a small one. She opens it anyway and peers inside, then looks up at me accusingly. ‘You didn’t get any, did you? Oh for fuck’s sake, Daisy.’ She dumps the carrier bag on the counter, snatches up her handbag and marches to the hallway.

      ‘Abs …’

      ‘Save it. I’ll get it myself.’

      So she goes and gets the milk, while I make myself comfy on the sofa once more.

       Daisy Mack

      On the sofa, feet up, relaxing after walking 500 miles. And soon I’ll have tea to dunk the Jaffa Cakes in. Couldn’t ask for much more.

      Sarah White Wow, youre so lucky, wish I could, I gotta take mum shopping, gonna be such a joy lol xxx

      Suzanne Allen I thought you’d finished doing the whole tea and Jaffa Cake adventure by now Daisy???

      Georgia Ling PJ day for me to lol xxx

      Sarah White omg daisy I’m sooooo sorry, didn’t mean that to be so insensitive, I’m such a dick just ignore me xxxxxx.

      When Abs comes back fifteen minutes later she bustles around in the kitchen for a few minutes then comes through to the living room with the two mugs of tea. She hands one to me, hesitates by the sofa for a second, looking at me, then moves to one of the arm-chairs and sits down. It’s totally obvious she’s got something to say to me, almost definitely something bad, but apparently I am going to have to coax my reprimand out of her. It’s almost overwhelmingly tempting not to bother.

      ‘Nice tea,’ I say casually, by way of an opener.

      ‘Mmm,’ she says, giving me nothing. She’s produced a magazine from somewhere and is leafing through it lethargically.

      ‘Sorry about the milk,’ I attempt, fairly confident that this is why she’s annoyed with me and that it will prompt the looming lecture.

      She СКАЧАТЬ