Ever Dundas - Goblin

‘I am. About my new dad when he rescued me. Him and Mad. They took in me and the Lizard King and—’

‘Lizard people again, eh?’

‘That’s what I called him, that’s all. They took us in, all of us. I was so happy then, Ben. You would have loved them, you really would.’

‘I’m glad, old lady. Your other parents sounded like right cunts.’

‘That’s what the Lizard King used to call me.’

Ben grunts.

‘He was just an old curmudgeon. He was alright. I better go, Ben. You give Mahler a kiss on the head for me.’

‘That’s minging.’

I laugh.

‘A snuffle behind the ear, then.’

‘Yer batshit, old lady. I’ll think on it… I’ve kissed worse. Look after yersel and if ye need us, we’ll come down, drop of a hat.’

London, 16 March 1943

‘I was down in the tunnels minding my own business, hiding this messed up face from the world, when this weecunt comes down and starts calling me Lizard King and bringing me offerings like I was some sort of god.’

‘Is that right, Goblin?’

I nodded, blushing, letting my hair fall over my face. I’d let it grow out, just that bit longer than a bob. Mad was always getting at me to style it, but it was too much fuss and bother. She got me to wear some of her old dresses, though, as I’d grown out of my clothes. She showed me how to sew so I could take up the hem and take them in a bit. She said I looked pretty, but I thought I looked skinny and awkward, shifting around underneath this new feminine skin, not sure how to hold myself.

I fiddled with the hem of my dress where my sewing hadn’t been so good and the thread was coming loose. The Lizard King pointed his cigarette at me, ash falling all over Adam the Flipper Boy who was sleeping on the floor with Groo on his chest. Adam was called Flipper Boy because he had no arms but he had hands that just kind of jutted out of his shoulders. He was a couple of years older than me and I had a crush on him. Seeing as he was asleep I took the opportunity to stare at him without him noticing and I thought about maybe asking him out.

‘Aye, I feckin hate weeuns, the weecunts that they are.’

‘I’m a grown-up now, LK,’ I said, watching Groo rise and fall with the rhythm of Adam’s breathing, ‘I’m all grown up.’

‘Issatright? Yer still runty ifyeaskme, eh?’

‘I’m with you, Fenwick,’ said Potato Pete. ‘Kids get away with murder these days.’ We called him Potato Pete because he had a face just like the Ministry of Food’s potato propaganda cartoon. I was sick of potatoes and I was sick of Potato Pete. All the while LK went on I manoeuvred myself so that I could tie Potato Pete’s shoelaces together, aware I was confirming their opinion of me as an immature weecunt.

‘So down she comes all the while, however much I tell ’er to feckrightoff, and she brings me ’er rations, eh? So I think I’m onto a good thing, getting free food, so I humour ’er, ken? And she spins this piece of nonsense story about how I got my scars and tells me this money making scheme idea, and like a fool I go along wi’ it.’

Potato Pete tutted and I said, ‘We were a success, LK.’

‘Aye, well, if ye can call it that. It isnae my fault people are easily entertained, eh?’

Potato Pete snorted and I sidled away from him, my work done. Old Louise, who’d been reading a leaflet, said, ‘Bloody conchies.’

‘Eh?’ said LK, ‘What was that?’

‘Bloody conchies and their protests. They handed me this.’

‘What they protesting?’

‘British internment camps.’

‘German lovin’ conchie bastards. Do they wanta be overrun by Nazi scum?’

‘I wouldn’t start on this,’ said Adam, who wasn’t asleep after all. He sat up, Groo tumbling onto the floor, and he cocked his head towards Matt. I didn’t know what any of this had to do with Matt. I wondered if he was a conchie.

‘Aye, well,’ said LK. ‘Jus’ sayin’, eh? Jus’ sayin’.’

‘My brother’s a conchie,’ I said. ‘Sometimes,’ I said. ‘Sometimes a pacifist is a good thing. He’s a good person. Sometimes that’s just how it is.’

Old Louise, delight in her eyes, turned on me.

‘You a pacifist?’ old Louise said. ‘You a coward?’

‘No, ma’am! I’d shoot any Nazi who set foot on our shore.’

I meant it. I wanted to protect our British way of life, like all the papers said. I wanted to protect our existence in the flat with James and Mad and LK and the artists, the performers, and the writers who came and went.

‘I’d shoot them dead,’ I said. ‘I’d shoot those Nazis dead.’

Old Louise laughed.

‘I bet you would,’ she said. ‘But you won’t have to. Our troops are leading us to victory, you mark my words.’

‘I didn’t know you had a brother,’ said Adam.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘He in the army?’

‘No, he went to the sea.’

‘What sea?’

‘The sea.’

‘He a sailor?’

‘He joined the pirates. He fights krakens. He married a mermaid.’

‘How,’ said LK, ‘can he be a conchie bastard if he’s a pirate and fights krakens?’

‘He doesn’t kill humans. Just krakens.’

‘See what I mean,’ said LK, gesturing with his cigarette, ‘a weecunt.’

‘And you’re just a boring old fart,’ I said.

LK doubled over coughing, spewing out smoke. There were snorts of laughter, some cheers and claps, and a chorus of ‘Weecunt! Old fart! I’ll drink to that,’ and they did. They drank to anything. I looked round, embarrassed, not realising so many people had been listening. Adam winked at me and I blushed some more. The excitement died down, with only a few mumbles here and there as LK heaved in air.

I saw something was going on at the other side of the room; a raised voice and a knocked over chair. Fights were always breaking out, so I wasn’t much surprised. I saw it was Matt causing the fuss. He was crying. James took a hold of him, almost forcing him into an embrace and that just made him shake and cry all the harder. I’d never seen a man cry before.

‘What’s up with Matt?’ I asked.

‘His friend,’ said Adam. ‘His friend was taken to an internment camp.’

‘Ha! His friend. That’s a way of putting it,’ said LK.

‘Why’s he in a camp?’

‘He’s German,’ said Adam.

‘If ye ask me, all fruits should be locked up.’

‘What’s a fruit?’

LK was about to reply but Adam said, ‘A German. That’s all. He was German.’

‘Good riddance to Germans,’ I said. ‘He’s probably a Nazi spy, that’ll be why he’s locked up.’

‘He killed himself,’ said Adam, looking over at Matt.

‘Who did?’

‘The fruit,’ said LK. ‘Those perverts are better off dead if ye ask me.’

‘Nobody asked you,’ said Adam. ‘No one fucking asked you.’

A hush fell over our small group and LK looked down at his hands, mumbling, glancing up at Adam who’d gone over to Matt, taking him out of James’ embrace and leading him out of the room. I watched them walk off, worried I’d said the wrong thing and Adam would hate me for it.

‘Dinnae ken what’s wrong with ’im. There wis no need… No need. Only saying what should be plain to all, that’s what. Only speaking ma mind.’

‘I’m with you, old man,’ said Potato Pete, raising a glass to him. ‘Don’t you worry.’

The music stopped and the lights went off. I thought there’d been a power cut but then I saw Mad standing in the doorway with a cake, the candlelight shimmering across her face. She sang happy birthday and the rest joined in, quietly at first as if they didn’t want to drown out her beautiful voice, then they got louder. Arms fell across my shoulders, hands patted my back and ruffled my hair.