Everything You Need

Mum kept dropping everything! Even his toys. Terry was watching them closely for her. She wasn’t normally like this when they went away. Even if Daddy wasn’t coming. Mum got the big bags out the taxi, and he was helping. Making sure they had everything. He looked around. There was grass everywhere, like a school. He hoped there’d be other kids. He wanted to play in the sun. Mum was all big hurrying today. He put on his Toy Story backpack and noticed something stuck to his sleeve. Like a bogey.

‘Have you got everything?’ Janet glanced over as she lifted the last bag from the taxi. There. Oh, darn it, she thought as the money now bounced around the cab. As she bent down, dirt lodged itself under her nails. Should’ve brought the babywipes… I forgot the babywipes. She tried to think what else she forgot. God, and it’s all gonna be filthy in there, filthy. She looked again at Terry. He had a yellowy crust around his nose. It made her sad to see it. And she couldn’t wipe till they were in. ‘Have you got everything?’

‘Mummm…’ Terry said. He picked the bogey off his jumper. Mum wheeled down to him. Looked right at him.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked. She sounded funny. He nodded, and looked down at the bogey. It was just a little Cocoa Pop! All its chocolate had gone, in the milk… In his tummy… He squished it. ‘What are you doing?’ she brushed his hands clean. Then he was pulled off towards the big red building. Mum pulled so quick, he nearly fell. He didn’t say anything though. Maybe she thought it was a bogey too.

But Janet was wondering what to say to the woman-with-comfortable-shoes who was opening the door.

‘Janet?’ the woman asked, peering out, ‘Come through.’

‘Yes… and Terry’ she replied, but the woman had walked away. They followed her into a small room with squishy chairs. There wasn’t much else, just a small table with a lamp, and a box of tissues.

‘I’m sorry, we do ask to see some ID… you wouldn’t believe the lengths some people…’

‘Oh, right…’ Janet dug around in her handbag.

‘Thankyou.’

‘I guess there’ll be forms?’ She sat down and held Terry. Sat him territorially between her knees.

The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘How was it getting away? …You look tired. Don’t worry, we’ll look after you.’ Here we go, Janet thought, sagging into her story. She stroked Terry’s hair, hoped he wasn’t listening. He seemed to be staring into space.

Of course Terry could feel his Mum was talking about him, but he wasn’t listening really. He was looking at the lady’s trousers, like men’s ones, with hairy legs underneath. Then the lady whipped a tissue from the box and handed it to Mum, gesturing down at him. He could feel her knees tense.

‘Oh. Oh yes…’ Mum quickly wiped his nose. After a minute she continued talking quietly. He heard his Dad’s name… John… Mum calls him that. Dad has hairy legs too. She was stroking his head all the time, she didn’t normally do that. It was funny. He didn’t like how she talked. He noticed the lady had a bit of cotton from her trousers that jiggled when Mum’s voice went up. Some of the hem was away. Mum would’ve sewed it.

‘Hello Terry!’ the lady’s face dipped down at him, like Dr Morris did, when he got that needle before. She’d saw him looking. The hem was away. She’d saw him. He hid behind Mum’s knees. ‘My name is Margaret, why don’t we go see where you’re staying, and then you can meet some of the other kids, shall we?’ Terry turned towards his mum’s dress, picking at flowers on the pattern. He didn’t really want to now. ‘Would you like that?’

‘Mum…’ he said quietly. But she was picking up the bags.

Margaret had stood up again too. ‘The best thing to do is to join in,’ she told him, turning to Mum. ‘You’ll both fit in, don’t worry’.

Mum took his hand and smiled, ‘He’s just shy’ – But, no he wasn’t. He wanted to tell Mummy… he was brave. Always. And he liked playing with other kids, like at playgroup sometimes when they got the toys out. But that lady was looking at him again. Mum tickled his palm with her finger and he felt a little better. She knew he was brave.

‘Yes. Well, here’s your key. If you need anything, Pauline’s been here a month, that’s your neighbour. She’ll see ya’ right. She’s got a little boy like yours… he was shy at the start. All settled in now.’

Margaret led them out and locked the door. How odd, Janet thought, can’t have anyone stealing the tissues… Margaret tested the handle now.

‘…someone’s in the office all hours,’ she said, ‘7 o’clock is the latest entry and you’re to buzz outside to get in. The map has Spar on. There’s not much else but a chippy, and we advise you don’t go exploring…’

‘He has his bath at 7 anyway…’ Janet said.

‘Good. There are also, laundry facilities. In every room.’

Janet suddenly became aware her armpits were wet. She’d not had a shower. She felt a little giddy now. Up all night and all the crying. At least Terry slept.

Now Margaret had stopped talking, Janet heard him singing. Barely whispers, but she heard him. ‘Sam is the hero next door…’ She smiled at the top of his head as they walked down the bright passage.

Security doors opened with a harsh ‘buzzzzzaaaa’ that announced them to an empty central courtyard. It was a linoleum basketball court. No hoops though. No balls either. Janet’s heavy arms made her bounce a Tellytubby instead and Terry ran back for it, quickly dribbling back to her. John gave him that, she remembered… Terry doesn’t even like Tellytubbies. She wondered if he’d be at work now. She’d no idea what time it was… people certainly got up late in here.

‘We’re proud of having purpose-built facilities.’ The woman moved in fits, her pumps squeaking. Overlooking the rectangular courtyard were the cells, and a long balcony around the perimeter of the upper level. ‘It’s very secure.’ Janet wondered if this much security was necessary to hold off her John. Whatever he’d done… he wasn’t exactly a serial killer.

A riot shield door of security glass opened into the room. The tiny flat seemed to have been made all in one pressing. All protected by colourful wipe-down surfaces and a built-in kettle to avoid theft. It smelled stale. After the woman was gone they unpacked their things and took a short trip to Spar for supplies. They ate chips and Terry got out his favourite Fireman Sam video. As the firebell began, Margaret popped her head in.

‘Everything you need?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes.’ Janet said and she left.

Everything smelled of chips. Janet opened the window above the sink. It stopped, allowing only a short gap for a breeze and overlooked some rotary lines. The only views were surging into the room through the adjoining wall; it filtered out most of the words though, allowing her only an unrelenting melody to accompany her washing up. She always sang along to the radio at home, and wished she’d thought to bring it. Occasionally though, she’d hear a woman’s voice break through with the chorus line… ‘Just you wait.’ Or sometimes, ‘I’ll fuckin’ kill you,’ and Janet would pause for a moment, to look over at Terry.

Her radio had been playing when they left that morning, she couldn’t remember what though. So much can happen in the space of a three minute pop song. She wondered how long this one would play.

Terry yawned as Mum pulled up his Fireman Sam pyjama bottoms and sat him on the bed. It was funny. Felt all stiff like paper. He had a Fireman Sam duvet. Not here though. He watched Mum fetch his top. Bedtime was coming. He hoped she wasn’t going home now. Grown-ups sometimes did things while you were asleep.

‘Fireman Sam’s ready for bedtime tonight!’ Mum kissed his cheek. ‘Bet he gets tired with all those cats to rescue in Pontypandy, doesn’t he?’ Terry laughed, Mummy was silly.

‘When he hears the firebell chime…’ he sang, and Janet joined in.

‘Fireman Sam is there on time…’

She pulled on his socks and said ‘Great Fires of London!’ – just like Sam did. Terry laughed again and she grabbed his foot. ‘Your poor feet! They’re two blocks of ice!’

She began to rub each foot briskly between her hands, side to side, to warm them up. The socks were cold too. Janet remembered how her Mum used to have a row of socks sitting by the fire all night, one for every foot in the house. Then in the morning, getting ready for school, Mum always brisked her feet to warm them up. One by one, just like that. To get the blood going, she’d always say. To get the day going. Warm socks seemed such a long way away… John. John always got her day going. One way or another. Sometimes though, she’d wake with him holding her… feeling her breasts. He’d tunnel down and stroke her feet, so gently, run thick Mechanic fingertips up the little conch on the inside. Put his mouth so lightly against her, press against the muscle, against her toes, and she’d coil them in for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the light of the room, for a few breaths, until she looked around again at this terrible mistake. Where she was now. Rubbing Terry’s feet. She looked down at Terry, desperately. And he said, ‘It’s alright Mum, they’re not that cold.’

Janet couldn’t raise a sound in her throat for a second. She dropped his foot, went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror at her blotched, pale face.

‘I’m just having a quick wash. I’ll be right in, ok hero?’ she called. There. What was that? It was Pauline’s room next door again. Music this time. Even the gushing tap couldn’t drown it. And the steam began to cling to her face. The sink filled slowly with hot water. Janet watched her face disappear from the mirror as she waited. Then she washed.

After putting Terry to bed she went straight downstairs to the office.

‘Can I use the phone please?’

‘Right you are,’ Margaret turned the phone on her desk towards Janet and continued typing.

No contact she’d told her. You’ll be asked to leave the facilities. Janet hesitated, looking at Margaret; the bloody woman was going nowhere. Margaret looked up at her again, ‘Go right ahead.’ Janet picked up the receiver.

Of course.

You silly girl.

All the bloody security’s not even for him, is it? It’s to make sure your calls, are to your mother.

You silly girl.

Margaret was watching her.

‘It’s ok, thankyou,’ she said and replaced the receiver. She couldn’t think of anyone else she wanted to call.

‘Everything you need?’ asked Margaret, her eyes crinkling suspiciously.

‘Oh, yes.’ Janet said.

She walked out of the room, down the hall and into the hollow courtyard. She looked around her. Indestructible pots housed plastic plants. Their flowers all plucked long ago, they sagged, embarrassed and naked against the walls. Why on earth did they keep them there? Her heart raced, raced to keep up with the beat that throbbed from one of the rooms. No, she thought, no. She went back to the office and seized open the door. Margaret looked up.

‘What am I doing here?’ she said, tears running down her face, ‘What the hell did I do?’

Margaret came over and put her arm around Janet’s shoulders. They always blamed themselves.

‘Nothing, my love… Come here,’ but Janet shook her away.

‘No, leave me go,’ she said and returned to the room, and Terry.

Terry looked down at his bowl of Rice Crispies.

‘I’m sorry sweetie, they don’t have Cocoa Pops in Spar.’ Janet turned away, he was tired. It was a rough night. ‘We’ll find some today.’

She picked up some clothes off the floor to bung in the machine. ‘For God’s sake…’ she murmured, ‘it would have more buttons than the Starship Enterprise.’

…He’s got my machine. And our home. Our bed. I bet he’s listening to my bloody radio too. Eating Terry’s fucking Cocoa Pops. She flung in some whites, and looked over at Terry.

He was at the door. She rushed over.

‘NO.’

‘I wanna go o-ut…’

‘Terry, please.’ She looked out. Kids were messing around in the courtyard. running in circles.

‘But I’m not shy.’

‘Those people aren’t nice. They’re… ‘troubled’ …problem families.’ God, she sounded like her father. ‘You understand?’

She pulled Terry’s shoulder and the door handle sprang back. He kneeled in front of the security glass, not-understanding. They watched as a woman with a blank face climbed the staircase, a kid under her arm. His legs were kicking violently behind her and he was grabbing and scratching at her front. Janet pulled her son away from the glass as the woman turned up the balcony towards them. A moment later Pauline’s door slammed.

‘Fireman Sam?’ Janet beamed, thinking only of the boy next door whose baby voice came blistering through the wall,

‘You just wait… I’ll fuckin’ kill you.’

She pulled the sweater she was holding over Terry’s head. Just for something to do, really.

‘Noooo… don’t want it…’ he said, pulling at it weakly.

Janet sighed. How long can you keep a kid cooped up like this? She walked over to the window and opened it. Looked down through the tiny gap. She could just see the woman in the flat below, her face squashed into the frame, trying to blow out smoke. There was a pyramid of fag butts underneath the window, an endless hourglass creeping upwards. Janet wondered if her face stayed squashed like that, when she moved inside.

Terry had grumped over to the bed and picked up his Tellytubby.

They sat together, frowning at Mummy.

He looked down.

There was another pale little Cocoa Pop, hiding in the creases of his sweater. He tried to pick it off. But this Cocoa Pop wasn’t squishy. It had dried up. Gotten all hard. He put down his Tellytubby and pulled at it. It was holding on. It clinged to his sweater, and dragged away all these little hairs as he pulled. Funny. Then he heard Fireman Sam’s bell. He looked up. Mum had put his video on. He smiled for a second, then flicked the Cocoa Pop on the floor.

‘Tellytubbies.’ he said as the music ended.