Ever Dundas - Goblin

‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ she said, pulling at me by the ear, forcing me to look at her big tank of a face. ‘Have some respect.’

She let me go and I dropped to the ground next to Monsta, who swayed, unconcerned.

‘I can’t count,’ I said to Monsta, ‘how many times people have said to me, “Don’t you know there’s a bleedin’ war on?”’

‘What’s that?’ Doris said. ‘You giving me cheek?’

‘I said I know there’s a war on.’

‘You don’t act like it. You get home and you behave like a proper girl, you hear me? You wait till I see your mother.’

‘Yeah, I’ll wait, you can wait, we all can wait.’

She leaned down, her big face right at mine.

‘You’ve always been an oddball. You know that?’

‘I know, I know, of course I know, we all know, and doncha know? There’s a bleedin’ war on. We all know.’

‘Get!’ she said, and I pulled myself up, grabbing Monsta, grabbing at the hand. I scrambled over to the water tank, where I’d dropped my scooter but it was gone, one of the kids had taken it, so I was running instead, running like I had an incendiary up my arse.

‘I know where you live!’ old Doris yelled after me. ‘I’ll be having a word with your mum, you devil!’

‘No Devils here,’ I said to Monsta, and I ran and ran until we got to our house and I collapsed at the door, the money and buttons and sweets weighing heavy in my pockets and I thought of the number of times people have said to me, you’re an oddball, you’re a strange one, you really are a queer one, the number of times I’ve lost count and I said, breathing heavy, ‘Monsta, we don’t belong here. I don’t know where we belong, but not here.’

I crawled my way into the house and turned my pockets inside out and out sprayed all the treasure. I rummaged through it. I thought of old Doris and her threats and I thought, I’m free as a bird, with no parents to tell anything to. I’m free as a bird and who cares about that old tank Doris.

I hadn’t eaten all day, except some bread at breakfast and my stomach growled like a monster.

‘I could eat the whole of London, Monsta, I truly could,’ I said, looking at my treasure. ‘But sweets won’t do it, I’ll make us a feast to end all feasts!’

I made us all dinner, me and Monsta, Groo, Billy Bones, Dr Kemp, and Captain Flint. Monsta and I had boiled potatoes, corned beef and some cheese, which we shared with Groo. I gave the chickens lettuce and cereal. Captain Flint had some of the corned beef and a bit of apple too, but he was mostly good at catching his own dinner – worms and insects from the garden – so I usually only fed him as a treat. We feasted like kings that night, sick and fat and roly-poly with our dinner in our bellies, like big fat barrage balloon slug-kings.

‘Ugh, I’m stuffed. I’m full to popping.’

I slapped my belly and you could still see my ribs from when I travelled back from the sea.

The next morning I got on with making a new scooter and took the hand to Kensal Green Cemetery. I took it there to bury it and on my way I stopped and charged all the kids for a look making sure I kept a hold of my scooter to scooter away if trouble was in sight. The older kids, the ones I couldn’t pummel, they looked at me all squint-eyed oi boy whatcha doin? and I got on my scooter with my pockets full of treasure and went to the in-between realm where I dug a hole for the hand.

I put some pennies on the hand and said our lizard who art in the darkness below hallowed be thy name consecrate this hand unto the earth and may it rest in peace, amen.

I got more food in, but this time I was careful. I kept some locked away instead of having a feast and being fat like a slug on the floor and we, me and Monsta and the rest of the family, we ate together every day, just us, until the police came and they said about the river. It was finished. Our life in this house was over. No more just me and the animal family. Our lizards who art in the darkness below why hast thou forsaken me? Boy, they said. Boy? You hear what I’m saying? It must be a shock, but we can help. Hallowed be thy name, hallowed be thy name. Boy, it’s going to be alright. Can you hear me? It’s going to be alright. But it wasn’t. They were going to take me away.

London, 8 August 2011

‘We’re dealing with the riots. Hundreds of arrests. Are you hearing me? Your case will have to wait.’

‘It waited this long. What does it matter?’

‘Don’t disappear on me. Stay in London and I’ll be in touch. This is murder we’re talking about, however long ago. We’re taking this very seriously.’

‘I won’t disappear. I’m here now. Queen Isabella won’t let me go.’

‘Good. You catch up with your friends and I’ll call you when all this is under control.’

‘What did he say?’ asks Isabella.

‘He said it can wait.’

I call Ben. I’d asked him to stay at my flat and look after Mahler for me. I didn’t want to bring Mahler to London. I wanted him to be safe, and he would be, at home with Ben.

‘How are you?’ I said. ‘How’s Mahler?’

‘We’re all good, old lady. Everything’s fine. How’s London?’

‘On fire.’

‘Ye better watch yersel. Keep safe.’

‘I am safe.’

‘Where ye staying?’

‘Some cheap hotel. It’s far away from the riots, so don’t you worry. How’s Mahler and Sam?’

‘I cannae move right now, can I? Mahler is stretched out on my legs. Sam is snoring by the fire.’

‘That’s good, Ben. I’m glad Mahler has you.’

‘Did ye see that Detective yet?’

‘Not yet. He’s busy with the riots.’

‘He harasses ye and now he doesnae even want to speak to ye?’

‘I can wait. I hope you’ll be alright looking after Mahler a bit longer.’

‘Aye, he’s nae bother. Though, I dinnae ken why ye didnae take him with ye.’

‘I wanted him to be safe.’

‘He’s safe as can be, dinnae worry.’

‘Good. What have you been up to, Ben? Are you still smelling books?’

‘I don’t do that anymore. I’ve gone back to reading – I’ve reached K.’

‘What K book are you on?’

‘ The Palace of Dreams by Kadare. It’s about some totalitarian government that monitors people’s dreams. Just like living under a Tory surveillance state, eh?’

‘It sounds good.’

‘It is. I’ve had to read a lot of rubbish first, though.’

‘Life’s too short for bad books – why don’t you skip them?’

‘Then I wouldnae be reading from A to Z. It wouldnae be right.’

‘I miss you, Ben,’ I say.

‘Are ye laughing at me, old lady?’

‘Maybe. But I like your dedication.’

Ben doesn’t reply.

‘Ben? You still there?’

‘Aye, sorry. I better go – Mahler’s woken up and wants his walk. Not sure I can get Sam moving, though.’

‘Give Mahler a hug for me.’

‘Aye. And take care of yersel, mind. Dinnae go out in the streets.’

‘I’m fine, Ben. You don’t need to worry about me.’

CCTV, cameras, mobiles. Everything is recorded. News channel helicopters circle. Rioters and looters film each other.

I walk the streets and see the ghosts of the buildings that haunt this city. We erase the past and the present, but it all stays, hunkered down.

A car is crumpled beneath flames. A rioter stalks past, beer in one hand, a stick in the other, their face covered by a scarf, hood pulled over their head. Joining others outside a supermarket, they smash a window. I watch the glass cave in. They hop through the window and emerge with anything they can carry. In and out they go. Some stock up trolleys and wheel them off.