Ever Dundas: Goblin

She finished her drink and poured herself another glass.

‘Why are we cursed?’

‘So we can have babies.’

‘The blood means we can have babies?’

‘That’s right, but I didn’t want you. You came anyway and I was stuck here day after day with only you.’

‘How long does the bleeding last?’

‘A week. More or less.’

‘Don’t you die if you bleed for a week?’

She laughed and shook her head.

‘But I almost died having you. Giving birth to a goblin almost killed me but you killed the midwife instead because you were so—’

‘I know, mum. I know the story.’

‘So ugly,’ she said.

I waited for more but a few minutes passed and she said nothing. She smoked her cigarette and stared out the kitchen window. I lifted Devil off my lap and said, ‘I’m going upstairs.’

She didn’t respond, just looked out the window.

I went upstairs and sneaked into ma and da’s room, walking carefully, trying not to make a noise. The room was all ma – the smell of perfume and powder. I sat down at her dresser and looked at my face in her mirror, two more angles of me reflected either side. I scrunched up my nose. I bared my teeth. I leaned closer, pursing my lips like old Mrs West’s cat-arse mouth, then I puffed up my cheeks and laughed then went all serious again as I leaned forward and stared at my face right up close, looking at my brown-green eyes. I stared all wide then fluttered my lashes and did kissing noises. I went serious again and leaned in even closer, inspecting; cheeks speckled with freckles, big pink lips all dry. I stared at my small forehead but found nothing there either. I couldn’t see the goblin in me. I wasn’t ugly, I was sure of it, because I looked like ma and she was beautiful. I wasn’t beautiful, though. My face was dirty, my lips dry and cracked, my short self-cut blonde hair was greasy and sticking out at all angles. I looked like a dirty boy version of ma, but I wasn’t blue, I wasn’t goblin.

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Maybe she can see under my skin and into my insides. I’m ugly inside and she can see it. Like sin.’

David just stared at me, his mouth open slightly, then he said, ‘Fuckin ’ell, G,’ and got up off his bed and sat next to me on mine. ‘I knew all this bible stuff would be bad for you.’

‘She must be able to see inside because I looked in her mirror, looked really close and all I saw was that I look just like her but more like a boy and dirty. But I know I’m not ugly. I’m not,’ I said, looking up at him. ‘Am I?’

He looked down at me and said, ‘Of course you’re not.’

He shifted his arse on the bed until he was right next to me and he put his arm round my shoulder and squeezed so hard it hurt, but I didn’t mind.

‘Ma said blood makes babies come alive,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘She said women are cursed and every month they bleed. And the blood makes babies. But wouldn’t there be more babies if it was every month?’

David laughed.

‘I don’t know much about the bleeding, G, but that’s not how babies are made. Think she’s just trying to scare you.’

‘I was scared at first, but I thought about it and I don’t mind blood and I don’t care if it hurts.’

‘Well, that’s good.’

‘But what about the babies?’

David sighed.

‘You’re too young, G.’

‘Too young for what?’

‘To know about where babies come from.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s adult stuff.’

‘Why?’

‘Jesus, G. Give it a rest. I’ll tell you when you’re older, okay?’

‘I’ll be older tomorrow.’

David laughed.

‘Just leave it be, alright? What’s the rush to grow up?’

‘I don’t want to grow up. Adults are stupid.’

‘There you go, then.’

We sat for a bit and I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat and said, ‘Why does ma hate me?’

‘Jesus, G. What is with you today?’

‘I was born blue and killed that woman. Is that why?’

‘You didn’t kill the midwife, G. She was old, she just had a heart attack and it was hours after you were born. It’s not like ma says.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘You remember?’

‘I remember.’

‘I wasn’t born blue?’

‘You were, but it was because the umbilical cord was tangled round your neck.’

‘What’s a umbila cord?’

‘Um-bil-ical. It’s something that keeps you attached to ma. When you’re born, they cut it. But you were all tangled up in it. You almost died. But it doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Why does she hate me then?’

‘I don’t know, G. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just the way it is.’

‘How do you know it’s not me?’

‘I just know.’

I fiddled with my blanket and said, ‘I think da likes me.’

‘He does.’

‘I like fixing things with him.’

‘He likes it too.’

‘But he doesn’t really talk to me.’

‘That’s just the way he is. Look, G, forget about them. We have each other. And you’ve got Devil and Mac and Stevie, that’s all you need.’

‘And Pigeon,’ I said, without meaning to.

‘You befriended a pigeon now?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, blushing, not wanting to give my secret away.

‘Of course you have,’ he said, ruffling my hair. ‘Just don’t let ma and da’s bollocks get you down. It’s not worth it. Okay?’

Pigeon took me and Devil on long walks. For the first time I saw different parts of London. She took me on the Underground, hopping on and off, searching for lizard people. And, best of all, she took me to the circus.

We were on one of our Underground trips and as the train pulled into the station we could see a row of clowns on the platform. They stood so still, all creepy like statues but with coloured-in faces and silly clothes and hair and hats. They stared out at nothing as Pigeon grabbed my hand, pulling me up to get off the train. Devil was the first on the platform, sniffing at them, tail wagging as they came to life, one of them throwing balls in the air and the others scrambling to catch them. Devil lay flat on his belly and growled at the mess of them that wasn’t a mess at all but clever as can be as they each caught a ball perfectly, freezing in position. Devil barked, Pigeon clapped, I gawped. I watched as a clown jerked to life again, perfectly-clumsily cart-wheeling to where we stood and offering us a fanned bunch of leaflets for the circus.

I stared into his huge painted face and plucked one of the leaflets from his hand, holding it like it might go poof! up in flames. He blew a raspberry at me and back-flipped over to the other clowns.

Another train was arriving and they were statues again, not moving an inch. Pigeon ushered me on to the stairs and we went up into the glare of London above.

‘Can we go?’

She looked stern, then winked and grinned, a wonderful grin of brown teeth, gaping holes, and cracked lips.

‘Of course we can,’ she said.

I clutched the leaflet so hard it was crushed when I came to stick it on my wall next to Jesus and Mary and the saints.

We followed the buzzing crowd and the first thing I saw was the great tent, swooping up into the sky, the light of the gloaming making it pop – bright colours, bright lights. The pigeons in Pigeon’s hair were alert and chirping and she was swarmed with kids thinking she was one of the acts. She was kind and patient and let them feed the birds. I disappeared into the crowd, wandering from one ride to another, clutching at my pennies, deciding which one to spend them on. I finally chose and climbed into the seat and wheeeeeeee! I spun round and round and it felt like flying, really like flying. I was a Martian, a plane, an eagle swooping in for the kill. I came off, dizzy and happy. I looked for Pigeon but saw a painted man and followed him through the crowd.