Marina Lewycka - Two Caravans

“I thought you wanted to stay in London.”

“Don’t you want me to come?”

He shrugs. “You can come if you like.”

“But maybe we could stay in London for a while, to earn some money. Then we can go and look at this Sheffield.”

What’s the matter with you, Andriy Palenko? You’re a man, aren’t you? Just say no.

The woman who ran the restaurant looked Andriy and me up and down. She had black hair scraped back from her forehead in a ponytail, a white powdered face, and red-red lips. Why did she put all that make-up on? It looked dire. She tapped on her teeth with a red fingernail. “Yes, we have a vacancy for a kitchen hand, and we need someone presentable for front of house.” She looked at me. “Have you done waitressing before?”

“Of course,” I lied. “Golden Pear Restaurant. Skovoroda. Kiev.” After all, what’s so complicated about placing a plate of food on the table?

“Have you got a black skirt and shoes, and a white top?”

“Of course,” I lied again. I never used to lie before I came to England. Now it seems I’m quite skilled at it.

It was agreed that we would start tomorrow, working split shifts from eleven till three, and then six till midnight. The pay was four pounds an hour for kitchen hands and double that for front of house, plus a share of tips and service, meals and accommodation provided. She said it all fast-fast, without looking up at us.

“We don’t need accommodation,” saidAndriy. “We have our own.”

“Well, the pay’s the same, with accommodation or without. Take it or leave it.”

I did a quick calculation in my head.

“We take the job,” I said. “Without the accommodation.”

He got quite moody when I asked to borrow some money to buy the waitressing clothes. “You have to think capitalist,” I said. “See it as an investment.” I promised I’d share my money and my extra tips with him. I’d seen a shop with a big sign in the window saying SALE 50% reductions , and I couldn’t wait to have a look. I would go in the morning on the way to work.

When we got back to the caravan, there was a metal barrier with a padlock across the entrance to the site, but that was all right because we weren’t going anywhere. By then, we were starving hungry. Maria had packed a whole feast for us of her peculiar food. She’d even put in some tins of steak for the dog, but Andriy said that was ridiculous and the dog should go and catch some pigeons and sent him off outside, and Andriy ate the dog’s food.

There was an embarrassing moment when I had to go to the toilet, but fortunately it was dark by then. When I had to change into my nightie, that could have been embarrassing too, but Andriy very courteously pretended to be reading one of my books, even though he can’t really read English, and when it was his turn to get undressed I pretended to read the book. But I did sneak a look. Mmm. Yes. Definitely more interesting without the Ukrainian trousers.

I stretched out on the bunk which had been Yola’s, and he crawled onto the bunk that had been Malta ’s. We didn’t even fold out the double bed, because that would have meant we were going to sleep together. It was so quiet in the warm enclosed space of the caravan that we could hear each other’s breathing. Then I started to wonder what it would be like to sleep together in the double bed. Because really he has very nice hands. Sun-brown, with golden hairs. And arms. And legs. And he is also very gentlemanly, with good manners, just like Mr Brown, who is always saying please and excuse me and pardon. And I liked the polite way he talked to Emanuel and to Toby McKenzie’s parents, and even to the dog, and the attentive way he listens to people. Including me. OK, I admit he isn’t very educated, but you can see he’s no fool. But is he the one ? When it’s your first time, you have to get it right.

I lay listening to his breathing and wondering if he was lying awake listening to mine. Just as I was beginning to drift off to sleep, the dog came back and woke us up by barking at the door. Andriy got up to let him in and gave him a drink of water-slurp slurp slurp-and spread the old bit of blanket from the Land Rover down by the door for him to sleep on. The dog fell asleep almost immediately, whistling and snoring very loudly-sss! hrrr! sss! hrrr!-which made us both laugh. After that, I didn’t fall asleep for ages. My heart just wouldn’t slow down. I kept thinking of all the things that had happened to me since I left home, and about him, lying so close in the dark, and wondering what he was thinking.

“Andriy. Are you asleep?”

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

“We’d better try to get some sleep. It’ll be hard work tomorrow.”

“OK.”

In the darkness, I could hear the faraway sound of the city, a restless throbbing hum that is never still, like when you hold a shell to your ear and hear the sound of the sea, even though you know it’s just the blood rushing around inside your own head.

“Andriy. Are you asleep yet?”

“No.”

“Tell me about this Sheffield.”

“You know, this Sheffield is one of the most beautiful cities in England. Maybe in the whole world. But not many people know this.”

“What is it like?”

“It is entirely built of white stone with magnificent domes and towers. And it is set on a hill. So you can see it from a long distance away-it looks as though it is shimmering and glimmering in the light as you approach.”

“Like the Lavra monastery in Kiev?”

“A bit like that, yes. Go to sleep now.”

I AM DOG I AM BAD DOG I RUN MY MAN EATS DOG-FOOD GO RUN CATCH PIGEON HE SAYS I RUN I COME TO MANY-PIGEON PLACE EVERYWHERE PIGEON PIGEON PIGEON I JUMP I CATCH PIGEON I EAT STRINGY MEAT MOUTH FULL OF FEATHERS NO GOOD HERE IS MEAT SMELL GOOD MAN FOOD MAN SITS ON BENCH EATS BREAD WITH MEAT HE PUTS BREAD AND MEAT ON BENCH I JUMP I CATCH I EAT BAD DOG SAYS THE MAN I RUN I AM BAD DOG I AM DOG

Kitchen hand! How have you allowed this to happen, Andriy Palenko? Your definite plan was to drop them both off in London, then go on to Sheffield. Now suddenly you are not just kitchen hand, but kitchen arms, legs, shoulders, back, feet, etc. The feet are the worst. If the floor wasn’t so greasy you could go barefoot. Yes, when you get your first week’s pay, you’ll have to get some of those spacecraft-style trainers.

During the split in their shift they just wandered around the streets, which was not intelligent because by the time the afternoon shift starts their feet are already aching. The heat is intense in the kitchen, and the atmosphere frenetic. Do this! Fetch that! Faster! Faster! All the time your hands are wet and slimy from the strong detergent, your sleeves soaked, your feet skidding on the slippery floor, and each breath taking in a lungful of steam and grease.

The chef, Gilbert, is an Australian, a big beefy man with a terrible temper, but a magician in the kitchen, wielding the big knives, chopping and slicing like a wizard. This cooking business-Andriy had always thought of it as women’s work, but seeing Gilbert go at a piece of meat with a blade, then fling it in a smoking pan with a hiss of burning-that looks quite interesting. Maybe he will even learn something. Gilbert has two assistants who are from Spain -or maybe Colombia -who fly around at Gilbert’s command, and a team of choppers, stirrers and assemblers. And there is Dora, the only woman in the kitchen, who does desserts. Then there are the kitchen hands-himself and Huan-who clear and scrape the plates, wash the dishes, mop up spillages, and hump big sacks of stuff when the others command-really it’s like being a slave with ten masters, of whom Dora, who is maybe Croatian or Montenegran, and no beauty, is the worst.