Kit de Waal - My Name Is Leon

“What would I do without you, eh?” she says. “You’re lovely, you are.”

Even though her face is very old, Sylvia has young eyes and sometimes he can see that she used to be pretty. When the TV was black and white, she says, that’s when she was pretty, when everything cost a shilling and she used to go dancing at the Locarno. Sylvia is prettier than Maureen but Maureen is nicer and Maureen is coming back. That means that Leon will go back to his second bedroom. His first bedroom was when he used to live with Carol and Jake. His second bedroom was at Maureen’s house where he and Jake used to sleep. He remembers the wallpaper and the lampshade and the way the light came through a gap in the curtains. His mom came to that room and saw the photo of Jake and fell down. His third bedroom is next to Sylvia’s. It won’t take him long to pack his things.

Sylvia gets in the shower and when she comes out she has her hair in a different style.

“What do you think?” she says.

“It’s higher.”

“Higher and?”

“Bigger,” says Leon.

“Bigger and higher,” she says.

Leon nods.

“And is that good in your world, Leon?”

She sounds angry so Leon says nothing.

“You’ve got a babysitter tonight. I’m going out.”

Crazy Rose comes to look after him.

“Hello, Pete,” she says.

“Leon, Rose. His name is Leon. Leon. He’s ready for bed, so just send him off when you’re ready. He’s as good as gold. Won’t make a fuss.”

“Like your hair, Sylv!” says Crazy Rose and she walks all the way around Sylvia so she can see it from every angle.

“Did you do it yourself?”

“Me and the rollers and a can of Silvikrin Extra Hold.”

“It’s worked anyhow, hasn’t it?”

“Do you think?” says Sylvia, pushing it up at the back. “It’s not too high?”

“Goes with that dress and them shoes.”

“Ten ninety-nine from British Home Stores,” says Sylvia, putting one foot forward like a ballet dancer. “The dress was on sale and I took it in. Always had a tiny waist.”

“Well, have a good time, Sylvie, love. We’ll be all right together, won’t we, Pete?”

“Leon,” says Sylvia.

Crazy Rose puts the TV on and they watch a film about a shark and then she falls asleep, so Leon changes the channel. He is still awake when Sylvia comes back.

“Rose? Rose?”

Sylvia has to shake her loads of times to get her to wake up.

“Oooh,” she says, “was I asleep? How long have I been asleep? Where’s Pete?”

Sylvia cocks her thumb and tells Leon to go to bed.

“Come on, Rose. I’ve saved my taxi for you. It’s outside.”

Leon stays on the sofa. He’s taken seventy pence out of Crazy Rose’s purse and he’s already put it in his backpack. He also took her nail file with its purple plastic cover. He saw a film once where someone used a nail file to escape from prison. They put it in the lock and then the door opened.

When Crazy Rose has gone, Sylvia starts taking grips and pins out of her high hairstyle and it all comes down, wild and fluffy. She has black makeup under her eyes.

“Bastard didn’t turn up, if you want to know, Pete,” she says.

Leon gets up.

“We’re going to move to the seaside, that’s what we’re going to do. Me and Mo. Hastings. Or Rye. I’m going to make her do it. Give this all up and retire to the sea. A little cottage next to a pub.”

She’s swaying a bit from side to side as she lights her cigarette.

“Fuck this shit,” she says, waving her arms around. She flops down on to the sofa and a single belch pops out.

“Begging your pardon. Make us another one of your marvellous coffees, Pete.”

She begins to giggle.

“Pete! Pete! Crazy fucking Rose.”

Leon makes her a cup of coffee and puts extra sugar in it because Sylvia looks sad. He takes it in on a tray with the biscuits and a spoon.

He puts it carefully on the floor and sits next to Sylvia on the sofa. She doesn’t say thank you and so he doesn’t say anything, either. The room is so quiet he can hear the traffic on the road outside, just a few cars and a siren far away.

Then Sylvia begins to cry. She puts one hand over her eyes and the other hand, with the cigarette, starts shaking. Leon takes the cigarette and puts it in the ashtray, then he sits back down. Sylvia’s crying gets worse and her hair starts bobbing up and down. He holds her hand because that’s what she did when he started crying when he was sick.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Then Leon puts his arm round her shoulder.

“Don’t cry,” he says. “Maureen is coming home tomorrow.”

Leon knows Sylvia won’t wake up early, because she never does when she’s been drinking so, as soon as he gets up, he looks through every single thing he’s collected and all the things he has in his backpack.

He has nine pounds and forty-seven pence plus his granny’s five-pound note, which he’s saved for ages, a nail file, a writing pad and a pen, four Curly Wurlys but one is broken in the packet, a can opener, two small cans of baked beans that he can heat up, his Take-A-Chance seeds, his garden tools from Mr. Devlin, a comic, Sylvia’s favorite brooch in case he has to sell it for money, a can of soda with a dent in it, the gun, a key ring in the shape of a gun, a green plastic gun, the head, an axe with a wobbly handle, a map of Bristol, a map of London, a bar of soap with a crack in it, baby dinners, the photograph of Jake with his address on the back, a mini packet of cornflakes and a mini packet of Rice Krispies, some coins that aren’t English, a knife, the letter from Jake, his best Action Man wearing a beret, Big Red Bear, two diapers and a pacifier, a tea towel from Sylvia’s cupboard, and a baby’s blanket.

When he puts everything inside his pack it’s so full he can hardly zip up the top. He will never be able to carry it all at the same time. Maureen will ask him what’s inside and he will have to pretend it’s all toys. Then when he takes the pack back to her house he can hide some of the things under his bed. He’s going to have to leave the things that he’s stored in his shed but when Maureen brings him back to visit Sylvia again, he can see if his plants are growing and collect anything he leaves behind. Leon might have to wait to do his plan now that Maureen’s back. He might not have to do it at all.

When he has made his breakfast, Sylvia shuffles into the kitchen. She puts the kettle on and pulls the belt on her dressing gown. She sits down at the kitchen table and puts her hands together. She has lots of folds on her face and the black makeup is now on her cheeks as well as her eyes. But her hair isn’t high anymore.

“Listen, Leon, I’m sorry. I’m bloody sorry. What was I saying last night? Was I talking rubbish? Anyway, the point is, whatever’s going on in my life, it’s not fair to put it on you. It’s not like you’re having such a marvelous time, either.”

She gets her cigarettes out of her pocket and lights one. Leon starts to make her a cup of coffee.

“Mo will be here sometime today. I’m hoping she’ll move in for a few days. Or even for good.”

Leon splashes himself with hot water and nearly drops the kettle.

“Careful, love!”

Sylvia is up quick as a flash and takes the kettle off him.

“You all right? Let me see.”

But Leon moves out of her way and sits back down.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

Leon shakes his head. Sylvia is ugly in the mornings and her old lady smell is very bad. She can make her own coffee. She’s wrong about lots of things, so she is wrong about Maureen moving in. Like she said, she talks rubbish sometimes.