Sin City (70 page)

I clutch the sideboard, stand completely still. I can hear a dreadful roar. It's the Bomb. They've dropped it. I crouch down on the floor. The roar gets louder, louder. Then stops – just like that.

I hear a door slam, heavy footsteps tramping down the passage. Someone's walking in. It may be a Godman, or the man who drops the Bombs.

“Jeez! You scared me. What you doin' on the floor? Are you sick or somethin'?”

It's the maid's boyfried, the dark short curly angry one, who rides a motorbike. He isn't hurt, or burnt, so that must have been a siren or a Warning. Which means I've still got time.

“I need a car,” I tell him, struggling up.

“Join the club.”

“Have you got one?”

He doesn't answer. He's glancing round the room, looking at my presents, fingering the champagne.

“If you get me one, I'll pay you.” Carole left me money as well as all those things. Lots of money. She didn't leave a note. I'd rather have had a note.

“You gotta licence?”

“No.”

“Then how you gonna drive?”

“I'll give you all my money. It's a lot.”

“How much?”

I've forgotten how to count, so I show him all the banknotes. He tries to take them from me, but I hold on very tight. Angelique warned me to be careful with the money. She said it was a lot.

“That's peanuts. You couldn't buy a car with that.”

“Could I hire one?” Carole was going to hire a car. To come here yesterday. Angelique told me that. I expect she hired one to take her to the shelter. It's a different shelter from Angelique's and George's. Shelters are quite small, so you have to all split up.

“Where d'you wanna go?”

“Death Valley.”

“Are you mad or somethin'? It's miles.”

I don't reply. It has to be Death Valley.

He's pacing round the room. He's wearing black, all black. The black looks wet and shiny. He takes a cigarette from Angelique's gold box. She doesn't know he takes them.

“Gotta light?” he asks.

“You can phone for cars,” I tell him. “My friend did yesterday.” She is my friend. She must be. She sent me all those clothes. “But I don't know where to phone. You can have the chocolates if you do it for me. And the clothes.” I hate to give him things which Carole bought me, but I think she'll understand. And once I'm in Death Valley, I won't need anything. I pick up the coat, press it in his arms. “This is new, brand new. Not an old one from a jumble sale. It cost a lot of money. You can have it if you phone.”

“Can't help,” he says. “I'm sorry.” He throws the coat back, still looking at my purse. “I'm late already. Gotta meet Maria. She needs her other bag.” He dashes up the stairs. I can hear his feet crashing overhead.

“Don't go,” I say, to no one.

He's gone; down the stairs again, out through the front door.

He's late. We've had the Warning. If they drop the Bomb before he's in the shelter, he'll be blown to pieces in the street. There's a big white flash and all your skin peels off. Thousands die, and all the bits of body stick together. Even bones melt and squash like candles. I saw a film about it on TV. There were maggots eating people before they were quite dead, crawling on their flesh. They made the maggots very big, bigger than the Bomb. Then they made them small again, but showed a lot more corpses. Some corpses disappeared, they said; blown away in a cloud of dust and smoke. No one ever found them. Not a finger.

There are lots of Bombs near here. All waiting to go off. They keep them here because there aren't that many people and the land is dead already. They're staring at me now. Bombs are like God. You can't see them, but they see everyone. One of them will go off very soon. The biggest one, the one with the largest eyes. I'll die here. Alone.

I sit and wait.

I've been waiting a long time. I haven't got a watch, but I think several hours have passed. Nobody has come. They won't come now. They're all in shelters, waiting for the Bomb. Everybody but me.

It's dark now, really dark. You're not allowed the lights on. It's blackout in the war. In the other war, we had cocoa with Miss O' Something in the shelter. I'd like some cocoa now. I'm hungry, very cold.

My dress is far too thin. It's one of Maria's old ones which hasn't any sleeves. I'd like to change, wear the thick blue warm one which Carole bought. I've never had new clothes before. And I've never had so many – not at once. I won't be able to wear them all. There won't be time before the Bomb. We've only got today. Perhaps tomorrow. Carole chose them specially, picked out all the colours. She'll be sad if I don't wear them. She's my friend.

It's rude to take your clothes off in a sitting room, but nobody can see me in the dark.

“Dark,” I say. Sometimes I say words out loud to make sure I can still speak. I'm frightened of catching George's illness. Even after people go, they leave their germs behind. You can't see germs, Sister said. I saw them once, millions of them, marching up the inside of my cup. But nobody else did.

“Nobody,” I say. The word sounds empty, very cold. A draught is blowing on my naked skin.

I put all three pairs of knickers on, one above the other. There are three brassieres as well, pink to match the knickers. I hook each one up in turn, then struggle with the petticoats. It's not that easy dressing in the dark.

The stockings are the thick ones which don't show any leg through. I like those best. They're difficult to fasten. Only the first two pairs will fit in the suspenders, so I roll the others down. A lot of Beechgrove patients never wear suspenders. Their stockings sag if they get up from their chairs. Mine are sagging now, the last two pairs.

I move towards the window where some light is seeping through. It may be a searchlight. You have searchlights in the war. It may be just the moon. I can't tell through the curtains.

The white blouse gleams a bit, so I put that one on first. Then the other two. I do up all the buttons. It takes me a long time. The dresses go on top – the blue one, and two green ones, and a thinner one with flowers. The last one is a struggle, splits along the seams. The pyjamas are men's large size, but it's still quite hard to fit them over frocks. The jacket on the second pair is pulling, hurts me on the shoulders. I leave it open, go and fetch the coat. Carole chose a loose one. She thought of everything. I feel better with her clothes on, though I wish they smelt of her. They smell of nothing, only new.

I'm not cold now. Just hungry. I'd like to eat a chocolate. If you're given such a big box, you have to pass them round, share them with the nurses. Sister says it's greedy to keep them for yourself.

There's a ribbon on the box. I take it off, put it in my bag. Ribbons are expensive. I lift the lid. Everybody's staring. It's usually Maltesers or tiny tubes of wine gums; cheaper things and smaller.

“Help yourself,” I tell them. All the hands reach out. Lil can't manage hers. It's a toffee and too hard. I go right up to the window, so I can see the chocolate names, pick her out a cream. I hold it while she dribbles. George is dribbling too. George loves sweets, all kinds. I feed him with two nut ones, read him out the names. He likes the names. He's smiling. Peanut Kisses. Butterchew. Tipperary Bonbon. That's somewhere in a song.

I clap my hands, beg them to be quiet. They're all whimpering for more, Ethel Barnes snatching without asking, Meg O' Riley shouting.

“Ssh,” I say. “There's still another layer.”

Martha Mead can't hear. I put a nougat in her hand, take a fudge myself. Sister's got her mouth full. When she speaks, little flecks of chocolate land on people's clothes. Another nurse is standing by the door. The new nurse with the smile. There's someone just behind her. A pretty girl with fair streaked hair. She wears red shoes. She's smoking. Her eyes are blue with little darker flecks in them.

“This is Carole, Norah.”

“Hallo,” I say, offer her a chocolate.

She takes two, then another two. She's standing very close. I can smell her hair. It smells of strawberries. She's going to be my friend.

“Would you like to see the library?” I suggest. Miss Barratt's in the library. Miss Barratt's very clever. And there are books with pictures, books with mountains in.

“Yeah,” she says and smiles. I like her smile. She only smiles for me. I take her hand, lead her to the door. A porter blocks our way, a short dark angry one with curly hair. He's switched on all the lights. My eyes hurt in the glare.

“You goin' out?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “We're going to the library. Carole's new.”

“What you on about? And why you wearin' all that gear? You look dressed up for a snowstorm. I hope you're not plannin' on some disappearin' trick. I've got your car.”

“What car?”

“Shit! I just done you a favour, lady. Borrowed my mate's pick-up truck. I left Maria with him and come all this way back to drive you to Death Valley.”

Death Valley. That was in the library books. The mountains. “Yes,” I say. “I'm going there.”

“What d'you mean, you're goin' there? You got another car booked?”

“No,” I say. I wish he wouldn't shout.

“Good. You booked me first, see? Okay, I guess I'm late, but Murray had to use his truck to shift a load o' stuff. It took longer than he figured.”

“That's all right,” I say. I don't remember Murray. I keep forgetting things. I need more pills from Sister. Mine are all used up. Angelique got me some, but they're not the same at all. I think she must have stolen them, because the bottle's got someone else's name on. Morton, G. I don't know who he is, but he must be very ill. The pills are strong and gave me awful headaches. Things like walls kept moving; coming closer, then swinging right away. I don't take them any more, except when I forget. It's easy to forget. I've been taking pills for nearly forty years.

The man is speaking to me. He's chewing gum as well. He takes the gum out, peers at it, puts it back again.

“We gotta fix a price first. It's double Sundays, always is. And it's a long way, Death Valley – understand?”

I nod. He's picking at his teeth with one black nail. I think the gum has stuck to them.

“How long you gonna be there? I can't hang around, not if you don't pay. Waiting time is extra.”

“You won't have to wait,” I tell him. “Not at all. You can go straight back on your own.”

“What, you stayin' there or somethin'?”

I don't reply. I wish I could remember. I had it all worked out before.

The man edges a bit closer. “Right. Where's the cash?” he asks.

It's in my bag. I made sure I put it back there straight away. Sister says you can't trust other patients. I go and fetch it, pass him all the notes.

“That's not enough,” he says.

“It's all I've got. I'm sorry.” I feel around the bottom and the sides. Sometimes things appear which you know you didn't have. I find a piece of newspaper with blood on. I also find a pill bottle. It isn't Morton G.'s. “MARY'S RING”, it says. Perhaps Angelique stole it and hid it in my bag before she left. I put it back again.

The man picks up the champagne. “What about the bubbly?”

“No,” I say. “I need that.” It's slowly coming back now. You have to drink and drive. That bit of paper says so.

“Oh, you need it, do you? Well, maybe we can split it. Let's take it anyways. You ready?”

I try and think. There are other things I need. The Dress. That's in Angelique's room, hanging in her wardrobe. There wasn't room in mine. I tell the man I'll be a few more minutes.

It's hard to climb the stairs with so many layers of clothes on. I can feel my stockings creeping down my legs, flapping round my ankles. They're trying to trip me up. I'm sweating when I reach the top. I think I probably smell bad. Not just of sweat, but other things. Nasty things. That's why they didn't want me in a shelter.

Angelique's wardrobe is like a room itself. I've never seen so many frocks, so many pairs of shoes. Coloured shoes – all colours – blue and green and red.
Red shoes
. I pick them up and smell them. They'd be too small, but if I squeezed my toes up tightly at the ends …

I carry them downstairs, float the Dress behind me. The man is staring.

“What the hell? You goin' to a ball or somethin'?”

“No,” I say. “A wedding.”

He laughs. The noise sounds rude. “So who's the lucky guy?”

I don't reply, just try and fold the Dress. It doesn't want to fold, keeps springing back at me. He disappears a moment, returns with a carrier bag, a black one with a Message on. I push the Dress in, drop one red shoe in each of the deep pockets of my coat. I can feel them hard and comforting.

I begin to feel excited. I can hear the Dress whispering in its bag. I collect up the confetti, put it in my handbag. Only half a box left. George dropped a lot and ate some.

There's nothing else I need. I follow the man out through the front door. There's no blackout on the moon. It's shining very bright. It's been dark so long, I thought it would be morning. I keep muddling things – the date, the time of day. It must be Sunday still. The day after Saturday when Carole said she'd come. She tried to come, I know she did. But the Bombmen wouldn't let her.

The car is very big. It's not a car. It's a kind of lorry with an open back. The back is full of rubbish. I get in the front. The man gets in beside me. I wish I knew his name.

He lights a cigarette. I don't like smoke, but I'm going to Death Valley where no one smokes and the air is pure and clean.

I hold my bag, my Dress. I'm very lucky.

I'm going to wear red shoes.