It's my life...

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Danny and me

So, I’m back on Danny again. But maybe it’s good that I won’t be able to visit him much, what with the Saturday job and college. It’ll give him time to get better for me. It’s odd how he’s changed. When it was time to leave he held out his arms and hugged as if he didn’t want to let me go.

Then it was ‘Shit Jazz, what’s this stuff on your face,’ and he’s touching my cheek and looking at his black fingers and laughing again, and I’m saying ‘It’s barbeque charcoal – I had to use something and we didn’t have any stage make-up, but I’ll get some for next time,’ and I’m thinking Hey, it’s my colour that’s made him like me, even tho he knows it’s not real, and what the hell does that mean and how can I change it, you know, permanently, cos I would if it could make Danny love me. And I’m whispering ‘Danny, Danny, who do I remind you of?’ and he’s stepped back and is looking kinda funny and not answering, and I’m asking him again. And when he does say something it’s not what I expected to hear, which was that he used to be in love with an Indian girl once (and I wouldn’t have minded), but instead that he had a half-sister who died and it was good just for little while – until the stuff started to come off my face – to pretend that I was her, and that it almost made it real. But I’m thinking: Danny held me in his arms, he held me, and I’m singing inside and nothing, no dead sister, nothing, is going to take that away from me.

So today I’ve been trying to read Far from the Madding Crowd which is one of the books on my reading list, and feeling sorry for poor old Gabriel because Bathsheba doesn’t fancy him, but it’s difficult because I can’t get Danny out of my head and every so often I get up to look in the mirror at my black hair, which is quite a decent sort of black, not hard or Gothy at all but as natural as black hair could look on someone with pale skin and I’m thinking maybe I could dye my skin dark too.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Lost Again

Back at college this week trying to work hard. The problem is that they don’t make you – something called self-motivation’s needed and I always seem to seem have other things on my mind. But I got a Saturday job yesterday – just working in a tiny retro shop off the High Street – and you’ll never guess what I did to celebrate. Today I went to see Danny at the hospital. That’s not all tho. I called in to say Hi to Binita and Tarpan and had the coolest idea. I asked Binita to dress me up like that time I had to give Pete the slip, only so’s I’d pass in daylight this time. It took ages. The hair was the biggest problem but I thought What the hell and ran along to the chemist for some black hair colouring. Scary stuff. When all the mess was over Binita dressed me up in a red sari – not pink as that might’ve given the game away, and I borrowed her old coat again. It was weird to walk out the door as someone else, someone so different from me, and I felt sort of free as I hurried to the station. I had a funny feeling that Pete was about, wondered if he’d recognise me in my disguise, was quite disappointed when there was no sign of him.

I s’pose anyone looking closely at me would’ve known as my eyes are blue and fairly pale, but Binita says that some Indians do have blue eyes. Can’t remember where she said they came from. People tend to look a bit sideways at me anyway, all got up in pink, but it was different this time. They looked, but not in the same way. I can’t quite find the words to describe it. But there’s me feeling excited and a little scared at the thought of seeing Danny again and wondering what sort of state I’m going to find him in. Maybe he’ll hate me, refuse to speak, not that he ever spoke much anyway.

And then I’m going up the steps again, and at the desk the woman asks for my name and I tell her I’m Danny’s sister and she looks at me sideways too but points me in the direction of the day room.

And I open the door, and there’s Danny with his back to me, and I say Danny? quite softly and he turns around. And his face, for a minute it’s like my old teddy bear’s when I found him in the dustbin after Marz had chucked him out, before I rescued him, and Danny just stands there and I go over to him, and I’m saying Danny, don’t you know me? And he falls backwards into a chair all long legs like a spider and smiles – he actually smiles. And I say Danny, you aren’t cross with me for calling them and getting you put back in here are you?

And he says, No, no Jazz, I’m not cross and What are you like? And then he laughs, and I laugh because I’ve made Danny laugh. And we talk about stuff – just what’s happening at the hospital, and what things are like at home. And it seems he’s changed and he says it’s because they’ve got him on some new tablets and he’s eating fish like I said and feeling better. And I’m right back where I started with him.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Mr Plod

Had to stop writing the last post and leave it – I seem to get whacked easily these days. But for the sake of making my life into something REAL I’ll carry on now.
I went in, didn’t I?

‘Sit down,’ he says, with a sort of throwaway movement of the hand. So I dropped into the nearest chair, half wasted, but all the time I’m thinking fast, wondering why he didn’t tell me to get lost, wondering how the hell I’d managed to press his bell instead of one of the others. The flat itself was OK in a basic sort of way. Tidy, a bit Ikea but no sign of a girly hand anywhere.

‘Tea or coffee?’ I jumped at that – not jumped in the sense of saying OOOH! Yes Please, but more outta my skin.

‘Could I just have a glass of water?’ I said.

He gave me a funny look, nodded and went into the little kitchen. I could see him running the tap to make the water cold then filling the kettle. I reckoned he must need a cuppa himself. He came back in a bit carrying a tray with two cups and a teapot and choccy biks as well as the water. Milk-choccy ones.

‘Well,’ he says, settling in the chair, more like my granny – if I had one – than a guy in his twenties. ‘You’d better tell me what all this is about. But let me give it to you now, straight, that you shouldn’t have come here. It’s not ethical for me to entertain people I’ve met through work.’

‘Entertain?’ I said, seeing him in his police get-up coming on all official then morphing into a strippogram. ‘I didn’t know you were a performer.’

‘Don’t try to be clever with me, ‘ he says, ‘I’ve seen and heard too much of it, and it doesn’t impress me one iota.’

‘Iota?’ I said.

‘You’re beginning to sound like an echo,’ he says, ‘just tell me why you came and then go. But if you need help you should have gone to the station.’

Pictures of the railway station flickered briefly, but I resisted the temptation to repeat the word.

I told him about Pete, how he keeps turning up, how I reckon he’s following me about, how I don’t want him to know where I live.
Afterwards he sat back in the chair, nibbled on a choccy bik. I took one too.

‘Good story,’ he says, ‘But it doesn’t add up. How come you happened to be passing? How come you knew where I live?’

‘I didn’t,’ I said, ‘it was just coincidence.’

He looked at me, disbelief written all over him.

‘Do you know what sort of trouble I could get into if anyone knew you’d come here? They’d think one thing and one thing only. I can’t have any sort of relationship with you outside of the station and Official Police Business, and the sooner you get that into your head the better.’

I nearly fell off the bloody chair. Why do guys, no matter how young or old they are always think you fancy them? Why? Danny was the only one who never thought that till I told him I did.

‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘I don’t fancy you, and what I told you was straight-up. And if I get murdered it’ll be your fault. I’m outta here.’
And then I was, but luckily Pete was nowhere around and I got home OK.
That was the other day. Today I did some reading and changed all the dolls’ clothes around. Wish I was a doll

Friday, January 20, 2006

Frying pan

I’ve been trying, I have, straight up, but it’s pretty dead this time of year and not much about in the way of weekend jobs. Been reading a bit tho, catching up with the all the stuff I missed last term. It helps take my mind off Danny, but the nights are the worst – Marz out till the early hours and me eating myself wondering where she is. Then having to creep around all day in case I wake her up – things’ll never change She says she needs her beauty sleep. Yeah, too right. So. I’ve been keeping off the ‘net and con-cen-trating on being good. Marz must’ve been feeling guilty about disappearing that time cos she’s actually started to bring food home now and again. Which means I haven’t had to go out since I gave up on the job-hunting.

Of course I’d forgotten all about Pete, hadn’t I? So when I heard these footsteps behind me on the way back from the corner shop the thought it might be him again never even ruffled my fur.

‘Hiya Jazz,’ he says, linking his arm in mine. I nearly jumped outta my pink boots, yanked my arm away, shook him off like he was a seagull shit that’d splatted down on my shoulder – which really did happen once. There was about half a cup of it and it stank of fish.

‘Hey girly,’ he says, ‘don’t be like that, ole Pete means no harm, honest.’

‘Leave me alone,’ I said, ‘I’ve got enough on my plate without you bothering me.’ He started to go on then, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking how I’d better not let him know where I lived, so when we got to the door I just carried on straight past without a sideways flicker. A couple of streets on I stopped outside a small block of flats.

‘OK,’ I told him, ‘this is it. I can’t ask you in, my mum’ll be sleeping – she works nights.’ It came out just as I'd intended, all sarcastic-like.

He looked sad at that, then his mouth went all tight and he said goodbye and moved away a step or two, watching me with those little rat’s eyes of his. So I had to pretend to look for my key, then press the bloody bell so’s he didn’t get suspicious. This voice answered, all broken up by rotten electronics.

‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s Jazz,’ I said, fingers and toes all crossed. ‘I’ve lost my key.’ I’d have crossed my legs too only Pete would’ve seen. And bloody miracle of miracles there was this buzzing noise and the door was busy unlocking itself and I’m turning to Pete with a little wave and slipping inside. But he just stays there, watching, so I have to make for the stairs and go on up, not knowing where the hell I’m going, or even whose bell I’d rung.

So there’s me hanging around the landing wondering how I’ll know when Pete's gone, and not wanting to go down the stairs a little way in case he’s still there and sees me through the glass, when a door opens a little way along the passage and someone steps out, stands there looking at me.

‘I’m along here,’ he says, quite unnecessarily as I can see where he is.

‘Come in and I’ll make us some tea.’

And I’m standing there with my mouth open like a goldfish cos it’s the young policeman from the other week and I want to run but bloody Pete’s probably still outside. So I walk the few steps along to the door and he stands to one side and I just go in.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


I wrote Danny a letter, tried to explain everything – how I’m sorry I had to do what I did but couldn’t see another way, how I feel about him now, how I hope he gets better soon and not to lose touch. I’m not going to visit him at the hospital – what good would it do? He was never pleased to see me.

And I have to concentrate on myself – get things sorted, get a life and support myself. I think I will go back to college and try to do some work, have something to show at the end of it so I can get in some training scheme or other. God only knows what. One thing at a time.

And then there’s Marz. Part of me wants to shake her, sit down and have a serious talk but I know from experience that it wouldn’t work. She doesn’t listen for a start and seems stuck on some sort of crazy roller coaster, incapable of getting off and becoming more and more addicted to the ride. Ha – good metaphor or what?

No. So that’s all I did today. Should have been out looking for a weekend job but just hung around my room putting up the doll pictures I took before Christmas. Seems a long time ago now.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Clinging to the Wreckage

I’ve been pretty much wrecked since I last posted here. With Danny gone it seemed that he hadn’t been so bad after all and I hated myself for turning him in. The police came back to take a statement and I had to make up a story of how he’d just turned up off the streets. Don’t think they believed me, but who gives a shit? One of them, youngish, quite fanciable in a quietish way, kept looking at me sort of sideways. Then he says, all serious, that they’ll need to speak to a parent or guardian as I’m underage. Underage!

‘How the fuck old do you think I am?’ I said, deadly cold. ‘ He stares straight back blank as a concrete wall and says, ‘Twelve, thirteen at a push. You shouldn’t be here alone.’ I told him to fuck off, said I was seventeen and my ‘parent and guardian’ had to work for a bloody living which was why she wasn’t here, took them into her room to see her stuff, which I’d just about finished clearing away after Danny’s crazy. Showed them my student card. That shut them up. I was glad to see the back of them. Then I sort of collapsed and woke up with bloody ‘flu the next morning, didn’t know what day it was for almost a week.

But Marz is back, thank the godless stars. Just rolled in as if she hadn’t been in another dimension for the last who knows how long.

‘Christ Jazz,’ she says, ‘you look as though you’re even less in the world than usual. White as a new tampon and about as appealing – all that’s missing is the tail.’

I ignored that. Marz can be bloody crass sometimes – make that most times.

‘Where’ve you been?’ I said.

She shrugged, got out a ciggy and lit it, taking her time, then looked at me sideways. Evil around the eyes in spite of all the slap.

‘Oh, just some guy,’ she says, ‘you know me.’

I didn’t say anything – what would’ve been the point? She’ll never change, the headstones’ll be shaking when they put her under the ground – she’ll be screwing all the old bods in the graveyard.

She looked around then. ‘Place looks tidy. Where’s Danny?’
I told her the worst, even about the fire that almost happened but she didn’t seem bothered.

‘Just you and me again then, Doll, is it?’ she says. ‘Can’t beat coming home to your own flesh and blood – not that you’ve got much of either.’

I can’t be sure but I think that’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Happy New Year

The last three days’ve been hell. I put off going for food for as long as I could but yesterday Danny suddenly got hungry and started to make up for lost time. When he’d eaten everything possible, even down to little cakes I cooked in the microwave from a mixture of Flora, water, flour and curry powder he started pacing, picking up stuff and dropping it, looking under the chairs in the sitting room, in the cupboards and drawers, turning stuff out onto the floor. I caught hold of him then, turned him round to face me. His eyes were weird, huge pupils, a look of terror almost, yet I don’t think he can have been smoking shit or I’d have noticed the smell, and he can’t have had cash for anything harder. I got fierce – told him to sit and watch TV, wait for me while I went down to Tarpan and Binita’s on the corner and fetched us something to eat. He seemed to calm down a bit then and I left him, ran down the road.

Tarpan knew there was something wrong, tried to get me to tell him what it was, and I’d have liked to but knew I had to get back to Danny as fast as I could. I’d been gone about ten minutes – it can’t have been more – and I smelt the burning as soon as I opened the front door. He’d put the Flora in the microwave and it’d caught on fire, turned all the plastic inside to charcoal just about. Not only that but while it’d been cooking he’d wrecked the place, finished the job of tipping out all the drawers and cupboards, pulled all the clothes off the beds, dragged the cutains down – you name it – if it wasn’t nailed or screwed Danny had piled it in the middle of the carpet, and I can’t be sure what was in his head but he had a lighter in his hand – one of those disposable ones – so maybe I just got back in time. He seemed calmer even than when I’d left, dazed almost, let me lead him to the settee and cover him with the duvet. In half an hour he was asleep lying on his side, long dark curly lashes resting on his cheek. I sat there watching him for a while. He’s so beautiful. I’d got Danny to myself, but never knew it’d be so hard, so impossible. There wasn’t much of a choice, was there? So I did it – had to. Went to my room where he wouldn’t hear and rang the hospital. The police and ambulance got here in seven minutes. Danny stirred bit when he heard the siren but didn’t cotton on until they came in. I’d left the door open. I thought he might go ballistic when he saw them, but he didn’t. He cried, which was worse, and when they’d gone I cried too. That was this morning and I’ve been crying on and off ever since – haven’t even cleared the place up. If Marz comes homes she’ll throw a fit. And where is she? My life sucks.