Ever Dundas - Goblin

‘My mum was bombed,’ Angel said. ‘She’s dead.’

The excitement leaked out of me. I felt sick.

‘I’m staying here now. Ann and Bill said they’d keep me.’

‘That’s good,’ I said.

‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘I like Ann and Bill.’

We stared at the flames.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Tell me the story about the man who was eaten,’ she said. ‘The one where he turns into a dog. Tell me that one again.’

I glanced over at her. Tears glinted on her face, streaking through the dirt of the day. She didn’t make a sound, just quietly cried. I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t do anything, so I told her the story.

The government were asking for donations to build a Spitfire and I so badly wanted to own a piece of a plane. I didn’t have any money but when I found sixpence in the street I sent it straight to the fund, buying myself a rivet. I wasn’t sure he would appreciate it, what with being a conchie, but I wrote to David: ‘I own a piece of Spitfire. I prayed to the lizards down below and kissed that sixpence. I know my bit of Spitfire is going to help win the war.’

A rivet wasn’t enough. I wanted more, so I decided to raise the money. There were regular fundraisers in the town hall for the war effort; concerts, cabaret nights, plays. So Angel and I, we did a play with Corporal Pig and the chickens. We worked for weeks to get it right and John was jealous. He’d hang around as we rehearsed and I knew he wanted to join in but I didn’t want him ruining our fun and Angel hated him so much she didn’t even let on he was there. He tried to disrupt our rehearsals by scaring the chickens or messing up his chores so that Tom would make me help out, but we managed to get it done despite him and his jealousy.

On the night, I was dressed as a girl; hair made out of straw and grass, a daisy crown threaded through it, and berry juice smeared across my lips as lipstick. Everyone laughed when they saw me because they thought I was a boy being a girl, but me and Angel, we knew I was a girl being a boy being a girl. I made my voice high and people laughed some more. We acted out the story of a girl and her pig and the three evil chickens who came and stole her away. The chickens they came out a-clucking right on cue and they were terrifying. They whisked me away to the Dark Kingdom of the sun-eating kraken and Corporal Pig had to find his way to rescue me and off he went trotting through the forest of the audience, waddling between the seats, chewing on skirts and trousers and snuffling at shoes. There were yelps and heys and oi kid this ain’t funny I’m no forest I’m a person and everyone laughed and yelled at him to shut up because they wanted to know what happened next. Corporal Pig came trotting back to the stage and sat slumped, his head down, and people shouted, ‘Aaaw, c’mon, Corporal Pig! C’mon, you lazy bugger, there’s a maiden in distress!’ Then there was quiet as Angel came in dressed like a knight and she nudged CP on his behind and up he stood and off they went to the castle of the evil chickens. The ending was a bit of a mess as CP snapped at the chickens and they snapped back and there was a flurry of snorting and clucking and feathers here and there, but I was rescued and we kissed and I said to the audience, ‘And they lived happily ever after.’

We were the belles of the ball, we were pink with happiness having raised enough to pay for a bomb and a whole bunch of rivets, but John hated us being belles of the ball and not long after, that’s when the trouble started.

Edinburgh, 1 August 2011

Mahler thunders through from the hall, chasing a ball. He skitters, trying to stop, but bashes into my leg before bouncing off and running after it. He lunges on it, clasps it in his jaws and looks up at Ben as he walks in the room.

‘Well done, boy,’ he says, holding his hand out. Mahler drops it and Ben throws the ball down the hall, Mahler chasing after it.

‘He’s a bit hyper, should probably take him out for a walk. Still writing, old lady?’

I nod and say, ‘About Cornwall.’

‘What about it?’

‘I was evacuated from London. I stayed in Cornwall for a bit with pretend parents and a pretend brother.’

‘The ones with the circus?’

‘No, the circus came later.’

‘Hang on… Three lots of parents?’

‘That’s right.’

Ben takes the ball from an impatient Mahler. He throws it down the hall again and says, ‘That’s just greed.’

I laugh.

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

‘And now ye have us,’ he says, watching Mahler run back up the hallway.

‘I do.’

I look down at what I’m writing and say, ‘Ben, you ever shot someone?’

‘Yer kidding? I’ve never even seen a gun nevermind shot someone. Why would ye even ask that?’

‘I shot someone.’

‘Jesus. Yer batshit, old lady.’

‘I was ten, living in Cornwall. He sure as hell deserved it.’

‘Is that why the Detective keeps calling?’ Ben says.

‘No, he wants me for something else.’

‘Jesus, ye killed someone else too?’

‘No, not me.’

‘I’m harbouring a bloody murderer.’

‘What the Detective wants – it’s not me.’

‘Who are ye anyway, old lady? So many secrets.’

‘Not anymore,’ I say. ‘I’m writing it all down.’

Cornwall, September 1940 – February 1941

Angel had stacked and threaded branches together. She’d propped them against two trees which had fallen against the side of the gully, offering firm support. The afternoon sun scorched the gully, but it was dark inside our den. Slivers of sunlight broke through the gaps in the branches, falling across Angel’s face.

‘Where’d you get that?’

‘It was in the junk yard. I stole the battery from old Al and borrowed his wheelbarrow. Can’t get it to work, though,’ she said, bashing the wireless. ‘Guess there was a reason it was junked.’

‘I can look at it,’ I said. ‘I used to fix things with my da. The neighbours would come to us if they ever needed their wireless looked at.’

I came back the next day with some tools I borrowed from Tom. I opened it up. It wasn’t anything complicated, just a couple of loose wires. I tightened the last screw and said, ‘You can have the honour, Miss Angel.’

She turned it on and it was all fizz and crackles.

‘The Martians are trying to speak to us,’ I said.

She tuned it as I put away the tools.

‘I’m glad you could fix it. I got it for you, because you said how you liked the wireless…’ She trailed off, her tongue sticking out slightly as she tuned it.

Tom didn’t have a wireless, said something about it being a sin, but he still asked Mr Moore everyday about the news. I guess secondhand sin isn’t as bad, but if you ask me it’s cheating. ‘Compromise,’ I could hear David say, and I guess that was Tom’s version of compromise. Maybe he scrubbed himself clean that bit longer just to make sure the secondhand sin was all washed away.

‘You said how you listened to it at home and I know you miss David’s records. We can listen to music and we can dance.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, feeling pleased but embarrassed. I poked at some old toy Angel had brought and said, ‘You know, the Idiot’s been giving me a hard time, ever since the play.’

‘He’s a shit.’

‘I know. He’s just been more of a shit. He said he was gonna hurt CP.’

‘That shit. What’d you do?’

‘I just said he better not or I’d shoot him, right through the heart.’

‘Yes!’ she yelled. She’d picked up reception. We sat chewing on wild berries, listening to the news then Glen Miller’s In The Mood came on and Angel got up and danced out the entrance of the den, shimmying her shoulders and wiggling her arse. I laughed and clapped and followed her out. We danced liked mad things, possessed creatures of the forest. I grabbed a hold of her, spun her round and pulled her close, kissing her before letting go and dancing a circle round her. When the song ended we collapsed onto the grass, laughing and trying to catch our breath. We’ll Meet Again came on and Angel hummed along. It made me feel sad, but not bad sad, just kind of quiet and caught up in my thoughts. I took hold of her hand and held it tight, listening to her as she sang along to the chorus.