TAINTED LOVE Page 7

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll have my hair and face done.’

  But this was how he’d remember her, her face pale, her fair hair tumbling about her shoulders as she descended the stairs. He held out his hand and she took it as she reached him, let him pull her to him and kiss her.

  The tailor was right. The suit fitted him perfectly and shoes would have ruined it. Nobody laughed at him at the prom – he even caught some admiring glances thrown his way. When Joel Wetherby walked by Peter put his arm around Lauren, and although Joel looked at Peter’s feet he didn’t say anything about them. He looked at Peter’s fingers resting on Lauren’s waist and said, ‘Nice suit.’

  And although Lauren couldn’t persuade Peter to dance, he was pleased that he had gone.

  That was over a year ago. Lauren was at another party now. Peter sat in the darkness at the top of the hill. The moonless night spread thick and black in every direction; even the stars were hidden behind a layer of high cloud. Peter crouched on his haunches, pushed his fingers into his hair and probed at his skull with his fingertips.

  9. Ali

  After a while Sally came over and looked at my cloddy lumps and laughed. She showed me how to shake off the dirt and we collected all the carrots in a big wicker basket. Then we raked and levelled the soil. She didn’t say much and I liked it that way.

  She’d made stew earlier and at around six we went in and ate it with some bread, but we were soon out again, in the evening air, clipping and cutting and collecting berries from the brambles at the end of the garden. I was covered in scratches and my hands were dry and stained from the sap and dirt. I can’t say I really took to gardening.

  As the sun reached the hills behind, making our shadows long and skinny across the grass, I stopped and listened. There was music somewhere down below. Sally noticed me.

  ‘Sound travels up the valley. Someone’s having a party, but it’s a long way off.’

  I shrugged, and stretched out for some glistening blackberries just beyond my reach. I squished one, then I pricked my finger on the bramble and swore beneath my breath as a bead of blood formed. I put my finger in my mouth and listened again. There was a good bass sound, but it was too distant to be able to tell what they were playing.

  Sally watched me.

  ‘They often have parties down by the canal, not far from the turn off. It’s about a mile away.’

  ‘It must be pretty loud if you can hear it right up here.’

  ‘I suppose so. I never go down.’

  I looked at my finger and the blood had stopped coming. I’d had enough of the garden. I’d collected half an ice cream tub full of berries. Sally had picked loads more.

  ‘Why don’t you go?’

  I could hear the far off beat pulsing with my blood.

  ‘Would it be ok?’

  ‘As long as you don’t bring anyone back here with you.’

  I didn’t help take the berries in or tidy up. I kissed her on the cheek and headed off down the hill, not wanting to miss anything.

  I could just about make out which way the track went in the failing light, and the music kept me moving in the right direction. When I reached the edge of the town, the noise got much louder. I could make out a song and beneath it, the chatter of voices.

  I was nervous. I’d been out a lot in the years since I left home – clubs, warehouse parties, house parties. But they were all in the city. Mostly I knew someone there, and even if I didn’t, I knew the type of people, I understood the vibe. Here I didn’t know what to expect.

  The road ahead of me had no street lamps. It led down to the canal and I walked slowly, listening. There were shouts of laughter and the beat was continuous. But I could feel silence filling the woods behind me. I was between the two and for the moment it seemed like a safe place to be.

  The road wound down the hill and crossed the canal at a bridge. As I rounded a bend I could see people on the canal bank, a marquee and another tent, and the smell of food wafted along the water. There were fairy lights strung up, and the next bridge was lit with flaming torches.

  This one was in darkness, and on the other side of the canal was a wooded slope. I decided that, for the time being, I could watch from there.

  I crossed the bridge in the shadows. On the other side I left the road and made my way between the trees. There was a strange smell, like mushrooms, and twigs brushed against my face. I didn’t like it much, but I could see the dark shine of the water on my left, reflecting the lights from the party, and it was ok knowing there were people on the other side.

  There was a big tree near the bank and its trunk split a couple of feet from the ground, so I hoisted myself up into the ready made seat.

  Nothing much was happening. People stood in groups chatting, drinking and smoking. A lot of them wore woolly jumpers and cardigans in bright colours, and occasionally someone would dance a few steps to the music – but it was early yet. There was a food tent with enormous saucepans on gas burners, and that was where the most people were gathered. I wasn’t hungry after eating Sally’s stew, but the smells coming across the canal were amazing.

  After about twenty minutes I thought I’d go over. I could probably get by without attracting too much attention, get a plate of food and sit somewhere inconspicuous, wait for someone to offer me a spliff. It was getting cold sitting still in the tree and my back was aching,

  I shifted my weight and glanced behind me, and that was when I realised I wasn’t alone. There was someone standing three or four meters away from me, just inside the trees. I was pretty sure it was a man. He was facing away from the water looking towards the trees and standing incredibly still. I realised two things – one, he didn’t know I was there, and two, he was watching something intently.

  Slowly as I could I turned my body round in the tree. The lights from the party didn’t reach this far and I was in darkness. As long as I didn’t make any sound I should be able to move without attracting his attention. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears and the music suddenly seemed less important, further away, the canal a watery divide between the twinkling lights and this earthy blackness. Now that I had my back to the party, the life of the woodland around me seemed strange and invisible, bold and strong in the dark. The man hadn’t moved. I looked beyond him.

  There was an area less dense than the rest. As I watched, my eyes adjusted and I could pick out the individual tree trunks, the dark spaces which separated them. I moved my eyes from one to the next, looking hard at the darkest parts. There was nothing.

  I glanced back at the man. He must have moved, because the light from the canal no longer picked him out. He was in deep shadow, and standing so still I would never have noticed him if I hadn’t known he was there. I couldn’t get to the bridge without passing him, and couldn’t get out of the tree without making a noise.

  Then the stillness was torn apart with the sound of something racing through the undergrowth. It ran full pelt out of the trees and across the clearing, its feet pounding, crashed straight into a tree trunk and fell in a heap on the ground. There was the noise of someone crying quite noisily with harsh ragged breaths that went on for a few minutes. The man in the trees didn’t move.

  I peered into the darkness. Neither the man nor the other creature seemed to know that I was there, and I thought it was probably better if it stayed that way. I pushed my body against the sinews of the tree.

  The creature was back on its feet and running again, straight across the clearing into another tree. This time I could see more clearly. It was a boy or a young man, naked on the top half of his body and he was ramming the top of his head against the trunk of the tree. He butted it three or four times, turned and ran full pelt again at another tree and did the same. A frenzy had taken hold of him. He ran from tree to tree driving his head against the bark. Caught momentarily in the light fr
om across the river I could see his face was streaming with blood that ran down his shoulders and onto his chest. His hair was matted and shining. He was making a noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and the bark of a dog, and his breath was ragged in his chest.

  Then he was running straight towards the tree where I was sitting. I hugged my body and waited for the impact. It never came. He ran straight past me, out of the clearing and into the darkness of the woods further up the hill. The sound of his crashing feet continued for what seemed like an age before it faded away and silence returned to the clearing.

  I became aware of the music still carrying across the water. No one at the party had heard a thing.

  ‘What the hell was that about?’

  My heart started pounding again and I looked to my right. The figure in the trees had come closer to me and now I could see that it was someone of about my age and he was talking to me as though he’d known I was there all the time.

  I tried to speak, but my voice didn’t come out. I cleared my throat and tried again.

  ‘Did you know him?’

  He shook his head and held out his hand.

  ‘No, I don’t know who he was, but he was pretty freaked. I’m Richard by the way.’

  I put my arm forward, thinking he wanted to shake hands, but as soon as my hand was in his he pulled so I was off balance and had no choice but to jump out of the tree, and then I was standing right next to him and I could feel the rough weave of his coat against the skin of my arms. I took a step back and was pinned against the tree.

  ‘Ali,’ I said, shaking his hand, then trying to extricate my fingers. ‘I was trying to decide whether or not to go to the party.’

  He smiled then and stood back so there was a more comfortable space between us.

  ‘Why don’t we go together?’ he said.

  I couldn’t see a good reason to refuse, so I followed him back through the trees to the road. He walked faster than I would have done on my own.

  On the bridge he took my arm, and suddenly it felt all right. I did know someone at the party after all. We walked together to the marquee and nobody turned to look at us.

  ‘I’ll get you a beer,’ Richard said, and went over to the table where they were doling out drinks. I turned to look about me, happy now, a part of it.

  That was when I saw them. Smith and Jeannie. They were standing by the torchlit bridge, smoking and looking around. They looked ill at ease, scanning the crowd, watchful and restless where everyone else was laid back and chilled. They were trying to blend in and failing miserably as they looked right and left with darting eyes, dragging on their fags.

  They hadn’t seen me. They wouldn’t still be standing there if they had. There was a way I could slip out, behind the food tent and back up to the road. Richard was still inside the marquee getting my beer, but there was no way I was sticking around. He’d have to give it to someone else.

  10. Ali

  When I got to the road I ran. The road wasn’t lit but there was just about enough light and I ran as fast as I could. Which wasn’t very fast or for very long because I’ve never been a runner. I can walk forever through the city and not get tired. But that’s mostly flat, and this road wound itself up the hillside pretty steeply. I’d probably only run a few hundred yards when I had to stop and put my hands on my knees and the breath in my lungs was like a rush of gravel. I was just by the turn up to Sally’s. I looked behind me and there didn’t seem to be anyone there, so once I’d got my breath back I headed into the dark.

  My eyes had kind of accustomed themselves to seeing by the light of the stars, but the darkness here pooled beneath the trees on both sides. I followed the track, looking straight ahead, until the branches crowded in and cast their darkness over the road so thickly I couldn’t see anything. I tried to keep breathing. My steps got slower and slower.

  I walked into something hard.

  I put my hands out. It was rough and cold on the sides and soft and wet on the top. It stretched out at waist height in both directions barring my way. It was the stone wall that ran along the side of the road, and the wet stuff was moss. I’d walked right into it. I stood still and thought about the other side of the track and what would have happened if I’d accidentally veered off that way and how many hundreds of feet the drop was.

  I turned, keeping my back against the wall, slowly bent my knees and dropped into a crouching position.

  It was completely black in both directions, and even if I felt safe enough to retrace my steps back to where it was lighter, Smith and Jeannie were waiting down there and that would be just as bad as stepping into the void.

  I could feel wet moss at the back of my neck, and I heard a scream which might have been an owl. The sweat I’d worked up from running was turning icy cold across the top of my back and between my breasts. I hugged myself and rubbed up and down my arms with my hands.

  I could still hear the music from the party, but I was listening to other sounds. The rush of the stream at the bottom of the ravine, the trees creaking their branches, rustles and squawks that startled and alarmed me. I told myself it was just small animals and birds, nothing to worry about, but I jumped every time.

  I wondered if it was possible to sleep here like this, cold and scared, and then I wondered where Smith and Jeannie would spend the night, and how they’d managed to track me here so quickly. It was only the day before yesterday I’d left Leeds.

  When I got back to the city centre, the first place I went was the indoor market. It’s a grotty place with lots of empty shops and junkie kids hanging around in doorways, and I wouldn’t go there except for this one shop. It sold wool and ribbons and thread, thimbles, zips and buttons, and it said ‘Haberdashers’ on the window in white fancy letters. It had wooden floors and a wooden counter and looked like it had been there for ever. So did the woman who worked there, who must have been well past retiring age and had a face like a walnut.

  The first time I went in just to look around and the woman smiled at me. I’d looked at the threads arranged in colour order and the shapes of the buttons, and wanted to cry. The woman watched me.

  ‘Are you ok, love?’ she asked.

  I nodded, and then I left because I didn’t want to cry in front of her. But I went back every now and then and she was always kind to me, and once she offered to teach me to sew but I refused. One time I noticed she had a couple of tubs of scarves, the sort that old ladies tie round their heads, and one of the designs was of horses galloping across a field, and I knew that Jeannie had been there because she had a scarf just the same which she always tied her hair up with. I couldn’t imagine Jeannie in that shop and hoped she’d paid for the scarf and not just nicked it. I knew that once the lady was too old to run the shop it would close, and there would be nowhere like it in the city.

  She didn’t open every day, but luckily it was one of her open days. I pushed the door open and the little bell above it rang like it always does. The lady looked up and saw it was me and smiled.

  ‘Hello love,’ she said.

  I mumbled hello back and grinned at her, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I started looking around the shop. I had a tenner in my pocket. It was all I had between me and starvation for the next few days, but I wasn’t going to spend it on food. I glanced at the baskets with the scarves and saw that they were still mostly full and, better, there were still some with the horse design on. I’d never looked at the price before and I hoped I’d have enough. There was a piece of card attached to the side and it said £3.50. I thought that was pretty cheap and that the lady might do better with her shop if she charged a bit more. But it was good for me.

  The threads and the needles and embroidery silks were beautiful, but also bewildering. I wouldn’t have a bloody clue where to start. It would be easy to nick them, and one of those instruction books from the shelf below. But I didn’t want to
steal in this shop.

  Then something caught my eye. In between the threads and the wool there was a rack of knitting needles, and on the bottom row were some crochet hooks. And I was back at my Gran’s house, and it was a wet afternoon in autumn before she started to get ill and slow.

  Gran was sitting by her window knitting. She was always knitting. It was like a part of her, the ball of wool in her lap, the needles clacking and the woollen thing growing from them with its miraculous pattern of cables and small neat stitches. That afternoon I was bored and kicking my heels, wishing I could go outside. Gran suggested that I read my book but I didn’t want to, and I was pacing the room, picking things up and putting them down and sighing loudly. For a while Gran ignored me, then after a while she put her knitting aside and said,

  ‘Ok Ali, why don’t we do something together? Why don’t I teach you to crochet?’

  And that’s what she did. She found two crochet hooks from the depths of her knitting bag, one for me and one for her. I looked at the strangely short and deformed single needle, and wondered how on earth I was supposed to make anything with it. But Gran gave me a ball of green wool and showed me what to do and by the end of the afternoon I’d made a small round doily thing. Gran said you could use it to stand a teapot on, so I gave it to her, and she had it in her kitchen right up to when she died.

  And for the rest of that winter I crocheted. I made a hat and a cushion cover and even a poncho which I gave to Emma for Christmas. She put it away in her wardrobe and it was never seen again. It was my craze for the whole winter. I went round to Gran’s and we sat by her fire and she knitted and I crocheted. Somehow, when the spring came my enthusiasm waned and I never took it up again.

  I picked up a crochet hook and looked at it. I wondered if I could still remember how to do it. It was probably one of those things like bike riding that you never forgot. I chose a ball of rust orange wool and took it with the crochet hook to the counter.