Bucket Nut Page 6

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said, and it’s true. I like stories.

  ‘I left home about this time last year,’ she told me. ‘I was having trouble with my father. Well, you know what fathers are like.’

  Actually, I don’t. If there’s one thing I know nothing about, it’s fathers, but I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I was sharing a flat with a couple of other girls. I wanted to be a model, and I did get some work, you know, catalogues and things but it was never enough. So I did waitressing and reception, all that stuff where they just need a face. But I was always behind with the rent. The other girls were the same. It’s awful. By the time you’ve bought the clothes and make-up you need, there’s never enough for the electricity bill. In the end they cut off the phone and the power and the landlord got really nasty. So we did a flit.’

  She sighed. ‘The other two gave up and went home,’ she said. ‘But I was too proud or something.’ She sighed again. ‘Too stupid I suppose. While I was in that reception job, I met a guy who worked for a record company. So I moved in with him. And he got me a couple of gigs on pop promos. But I couldn’t really sing or dance. Just a face again. So I thought I’d better get some lessons.

  ‘It was okay for a couple of months. But the guy I was living with, he was in the music business, and there were lots of parties. And there were the lessons. I was supposed to be sharing the rent, and I did give him something, I really did. But he chucked me out.’

  She looked ever so sad. I said, ‘Did you love him?’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s just funny. You live with a guy, and you sleep with him and all that, and then he chucks you out because you’re behind with the rent.’

  I didn’t know what to say. She seemed such a baby. But it was weird too, listening to her story. I mean, I never would have thought girls like her had to pay the rent. Someone always looked after them. Right? And why not? Beauty is something you pay for, isn’t it?

  ‘How old are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘What happened then?’ I asked. ‘How did you get mixed up with the Lord of the Trousers, whatsisname, Calvin?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Calvin?’

  ‘He’s really going to be somebody,’ she said proudly. ‘You saw him. Isn’t he gorgeous?’

  And then her face fell. ‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘Calvin. You’ll never guess what I did for him last night.’

  ‘What?’

  That was when we heard the dogs start up again.

  ‘What now?’ I said, narked. Talking to Goldie was an education. I didn’t want to go out. But the dogs kept on and on, so I put on my coat and went.

  There was an Astra parked under a street lamp, and when I got closer I saw it was Mr Cheng’s Astra. I shushed the dogs and waited by the wire. A man got out. It wasn’t Mr Cheng. Well, I knew it wouldn’t be because Mr Cheng never went anywhere. It was one of the guys who worked at the Beijing Garden. I couldn’t remember his name.

  ‘Eva?’ he called.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Got to ask you a question.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Come out.’

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to mess around with all the locks again. Come over here.’

  But he wouldn’t. Scared of the dogs, I suppose.

  ‘Mr Cheng wants to know if you went back to Bermuda Smith’s club last night,’ he called from his side of the street.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone said they saw you.’

  ‘So?’ I yelled. I was a bit choked. People at Bermuda Smith’s had been dobbing on me right, left and centre.

  ‘Were you there?’

  ‘What if I was?’

  ‘Mr Cheng says come and see him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He got into the Astra and drove away. I went back to the Static. I was not pleased.

  ‘Farkin’ Bermuda Smith,’ I said, shaking the rain off my coat. ‘If I never do him a favour again it’ll be too soon. Last night was nothing but trouble.’

  Goldie looked up. She was sitting on the floor by the fire combing her hair.

  She said, ‘Do you work for him?’

  ‘Was helping out.’ I told her about how I got involved, and about how Harry Richards used to be a wrestler.

  She looked astounded all over again. ‘I never knew.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘About you working for Mr Smith … about women doing that sort of thing.’

  ‘If you’re big enough, and strong enough, and ugly enough.’

  ‘You aren’t ugly,’ she said. ‘You’re just … unusual.’

  ‘That’s me,’ I said. ‘Unusual.’

  I was so pleased I had to get up and make us both a cup of tea. She sat there combing her hair, looking very thoughtful and I guessed she was thinking about Calvin.

  But she said, ‘That intruder – the one on the motorbike. Do you think he was looking for me?’

  I hadn’t thought of that. I should have, because people thieving for motor parts don’t usually come on bikes. They come with vans. And, I had to admit, I’d never had so many visitors before Goldie came along. And that made me think of the lady copper again.

  So I said, ‘You’d better tell me what you did last night.’

  And she said, ‘Can I trust you?’

  Now you may or may not know it, but this is a very big question. People ask it and answer it without much thought. But they shouldn’t. Also, have you noticed, hardly anyone ever says, ‘No, you can’t trust me.’ But really that’s what just about everyone should say.

  So I said, ‘I dunno. Depends on what you want to trust me with.’

  She stared at me.

  I tried to explain. ‘Maybe I could dob on you and get you into bother if I know your secrets. But you could land me in the shit if I don’t. See what I mean?’

  She looked confused.

  I said, ‘It’s a responsibility, knowing other people’s secrets. But, like, what about the polizei coming here? I’m not exactly Snow White myself and I can’t take the heat. You’ve got to make up your own mind.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you.’

  I suddenly felt very weird. I didn’t understand her at all. I’d more or less told her she couldn’t trust me, but it hadn’t made a blind bit of difference.

  ‘You know I was sick last night?’ she began.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I think I was suffering from narcotic poisoning.’ She paused to see how I would react.

  ‘I thought you were rat-arsed,’ I said, frowning.

  ‘I’d had a couple of drinks, but that wasn’t it.’

  ‘I don’t like druggies,’ I said, feeling even more upset.

  ‘I’m not a druggy. I’ve never taken heroin before in my life. I want you to believe that.’ She stopped and looked at me and I noticed that her eyes had black borders around the blue which made her look very deep and mysterious.

  ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘All right,’ I said, because it seemed important.

  ‘Calvin was Peter Pan,’ she said, ‘and I was Tinkerbell.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Peter Pan,’ she said. ‘You know. The book by J. M. Barrie.’

  ‘I can read books,’ I said. I thought it was about time I checked on the dogs. It was awfully hot in the Static.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Cross,’ she said. ‘I only meant that there’s a passage in Peter Pan where Captain Hook poisons Peter’s medicine. Wendy leaves medicine for Peter in a spoon. Captain Hook puts poison in it. And Tinkerbell can’t get Peter to believe it’s poison. So in order to show him she drinks the poison herself and nearly dies.’

  ‘That’s stupid,’ I said.

  ‘Yes? Then I was stupid too.’

  ‘I don’t mean you’re st
upid.’

  She sighed. ‘What happened was that I found out Calvin was taking drugs. I found out last night because he put them in my bag. I expect he thought it was safer that way. Black guys are stopped and searched for no reason whereas white girls never are.’

  I knew what she was talking about there and I felt better.

  ‘We had an awful row about it. I said he was destroying himself. He said it was only fools who couldn’t control it. So I took some myself – just to show him. And also so that there would be less for him to take.’

  ‘You must be barking mad,’ I told her.

  ‘But think about it,’ she cried. ‘See it from my point of view. I was so upset that he took smack. I thought if I took some he’d be upset for me too – that he’d look at what he was doing with different eyes.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘He couldn’t have cared less. And when I started to get ill on stage he came over and fired me.’

  It was beginning to make sense to me now – what I’d seen last night, and the way she’d said he broke her heart. She had sacrificed herself for him and he had kicked her in the teeth. I felt quite sorry for her, but all the same she was an awful fool.

  ‘You’ve got to promise me something,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you’ll never do any of that shit again. It’s a fuck-up. It’s the stupidest fuck-up I know.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But you see what’s happened, don’t you? Calvin’s drugs and Calvin’s syringe are in my handbag. And I can’t get it back, and I can’t go home.’

  ‘You don’t have to draw me pictures,’ I said. ‘I won’t kick you out, and I won’t dob on you. But you have to swear you won’t do that stuff again.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that. It was revolting. It wasn’t nice at all. It made me really sick and now it’s twenty-four hours later and I still don’t feel right.’

  ‘You were lucky,’ I told her. ‘You might have liked it.’ And that was that.

  Chapter 11

  The next day I took Goldie to Sam’s Gym. After what she had told me the night before I thought she could do with some healthy exercise, and besides, we had run out of milk for breakfast. Also I was hoping to see Harsh.

  Goldie caused quite a kerfuffle at Sam’s Gym. Suddenly everyone was coming over to me helloing and how-you-doing. Anyone would have thought I was popular. Gruff Gordon was there and Pete Carver and Danny Julio who is half a father and son tag-team. The son, Flying Phil, was there too. He’s called Flying Phil because of the work he does off the ropes and corners.

  I could tell Goldie was a bit nervous because, even while she smiled and said hello, she had her thumbs tucked into fists. People think I don’t notice details, but I do. And one thing I’ve noticed is that anxious women clutch their own thumbs. Don’t ask me why.

  Gruff Gordon and Pete Carver are very big men and enough to make anyone nervous who isn’t accustomed. So I gave Goldie some dosh to make phone calls and buy herself some clobber. She couldn’t go around in my Guns N’ Roses sweatshirt for ever.

  ‘Who’s the doll? Who’s the chick?’ The fellers kept asking, and I lied to them.

  We had decided, Goldie and me, that as so many people were taking an unhealthy interest in her we’d better keep her real name to ourselves. And since I already called her Goldie and she liked it we would call her Goldie Green.

  ‘Fancy you having a friend like her!’ Pete Carver said.

  ‘Why shouldn’t she?’ Gruff Gordon asked. Which was nice of him, except that Gruff Gordon could bullshit for Britain and whenever he’s nice to me I wonder what he wants.

  I ignored them both and went to the mat to warm up. Always warm up properly before lifting. Some of the fellers, especially the young ones, think it’s macho not to. But they’re just asking for it.

  After that I moved onto the machines and Danny and Phil Julio took over the mat to work out some new moves. I was doing leg curls when Harsh came in and started to warm up in the corner. I watched him, ticking off all his exercises, making sure I had done everything he was doing. I hadn’t forgotten a single one, and I was well chuffed.

  Then Goldie came back. She had bought herself some pretty Lycra gear and looked a treat. But she had a glum expression on her face.

  ‘I can’t get hold of anyone,’ she whispered. ‘I phoned everyone and no one answers. You’d think all my friends had been wiped off the face of the earth.’

  I stopped what I was doing. Goldie talking made me lose count of my repetitions. But my femoral muscles were hurting so I thought I’d done enough.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Try again later.’

  ‘But …’ she said, and stopped. She looked as if the end of the world was nigh.

  ‘But what?’ I had quite a glow on from all the physical stuff. It always cheers me up no end.

  ‘Christ, Eva,’ she whispered, ‘I’m stony broke, I’m wanted by the you know who, my boyfriend dumped me, I can’t even go home to change clothes and now I’m in debt to you too.’

  ‘I don’t mind subbing you,’ I said, and it was true because it wouldn’t be for long. Nice middle-class girls always have nice middle-class families to bail them out. It was, I thought, only a matter of time before she tapped them, and then she’d be in the clear. If I’d been her I would’ve done it months ago. Then she would pay me back. True, she was in debt to British Gas, British Telecom, the South Eastern Electricity Board, three landlords and Putney Borough Council. But those weren’t people. I was people.

  ‘You’ll pay me back,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a pal, Eva,’ she said, and that was all I wanted to hear.

  I turned over and lay face down, fitting my feet under the bar again. That way I raised the weights on the back of my ankles, one, two, three, four … and this time the muscles at the back of my thighs took the strain.

  Lying there and looking past Goldie I saw that Mr Deeds had come in. He was talking to Gruff Gordon. While they talked they sauntered across the gym in my direction.

  Gruff Gordon stopped in front of Goldie. He said, ‘Got time for a natter, Girlie?’

  ‘My name’s Goldie Green,’ Goldie said. She had a lot of dignity, I will say.

  ‘Miss Green to you,’ I said, and lost count of my reps again.

  ‘No slacking now, Eva,’ Mr Deeds said. ‘You only managed to tear Bombshell’s muscles in Frome. If you keep up the good work you could break her back on Saturday.’

  He winked at Gruff Gordon who snorted.

  I pulled my feet out from under the bar and rolled over. I did not want to talk to these people lying on my face. But Mr Deeds took Goldie’s arm and walked her over to the window. I followed.

  ‘Piss off, Eva,’ Gruff said and tried to elbow me out. ‘This is private.’

  ‘Not from me it ain’t,’ I said. ‘I know your sort.’

  ‘Piss off,’ he said again.

  Mr Deeds came back and said, ‘Take it easy, Eva. This is business, right? Get on with your work.’

  Goldie had her arms folded across her chest and I was sure she was clutching her thumbs, but she held her head high. There wasn’t anything I could do about it once Mr Deeds had spoken to me.

  I started work on another machine where I could watch them talking by the window. This one was for the back and shoulders. You grip a bar above your head and pull it down behind your shoulders. I was feeling so choked I didn’t bother to count.

  After a while Goldie came over and said, ‘They’ve offered me a job, Eva. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  I was sweating like a pig and I said nothing.

  ‘They want me to be Gruff’s valet. Starting Saturday. Cash in hand. Isn’t that great?’

  ‘No,’ I said. I let go and the bar shot up. The weights fell with an almighty clang. You’re not supposed to do that because it damages the equipment. But I didn’t care.

  I got up and went over to Gruff and Mr Deeds.

  ‘If she’s going to be anybody
’s valet,’ I said, ‘she’s going to be mine.’

  I wished I’d thought of it before them – Goldie holding my robe and standing in my corner. Goldie cheering me on.

  Gruff starting laughing. ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ he said. ‘Don’t be so bleeding thick, Eva. Girls don’t have valets.’

  ‘Why not?’

  We were standing toe to toe. I could have punched him in his fat belly. I pictured my fist sinking in up to the wrist.

  Mr Deeds pushed Gruff away. He said, ‘Calm down, Eva. It’s all settled. I was looking for a new heavyweight gimmick, and your friend is like a gift from heaven.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Be sensible. She can’t be your valet, and that’s final. The punters might have bad thoughts about that.’

  ‘More than they do already?’ Gruff asked.

  ‘Shut yer face!’ I yelled. He was really winding me up.

  Goldie put a hand on my arm. ‘It’s just a job,’ she said.

  ‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘It’s not just a job.’

  I turned away from them and went back to the machines. The one I chose is like a rowing boat. You sit facing it and pull the bar back hard until you’re almost stretched out backwards and then you let it in slowly, feeling the resistance all the way. It’s a very good machine for the abs. And I needed to work on my abs.

  I worked on my abs.

  Harsh said, ‘You’re pulling too much weight, Eva. Stop.’

  I stopped. I hadn’t seen him coming. He took several kilos off and I started pulling again. He watched.

  ‘How many?’ he asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘I lost count.’

  ‘Stop.’

  I stopped.

  ‘You’re pulling too much weight. You aren’t counting. Do you wish to hurt yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think you do wish to hurt yourself.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Get up.’

  I got up, and Harsh took my place at the machine. He pulled back slowly and smoothly.

  ‘Watch.’

  He pulled and released slowly, rhythmically, one, two, three, four, five, up to ten. The machine made scarcely any sound. His abs were hard and even. He stopped.