Kate Tempest - The Bricks that Built the Houses

Harry feels a whirling pressure mounting between them. If she was smoother or more confident or male she might have the nerve to lean in and kiss this girl. But as it is she rubs her face with a clumsy hand and stretches her legs out and crosses them at the ankles. She never knows if girls are coming on to her or just being friendly. She never knows. She always feels creepy for assuming. She sweeps the patio again for Leon or for a client wandering over, but seeing no one she recognises, she shifts on the bench and looks into Becky’s face for as long as she can without going blind. Which is about a quarter of a second.

‘I have a plan,’ she says, ‘that I’m working towards.’

Becky waits for more.

‘Go on then,’ Becky urges, waving her cigarette in the air like a conductor with her baton.

‘Go on then, what?’ Harry asks, laughing.

Becky rolls her eyes, looks away. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘What’s your name?’ Harry asks her.

‘Becky.’

‘Becky.’ Harry repeats it to herself. Logging it. Someone leans over and pushes the heater switch. They lean forwards together, ducking the arm that leans in, then backwards again. ‘What about you? How long you been dancing?’

‘Same, all my life.’

Harry finishes her cigarette, stubs it out carefully, places it on the floor, neatly, next to the leg of the bench. Becky flicks hers towards the corner of the patio; the little bulb blooms as it soars through the air. They sit in silence, listening to the party roaring.

‘So, is it always parties like this?’

Harry sways on the bench, knocked by the confidence of this woman.

‘I shouldn’t even be talking to you,’ she says quietly, looking away. ‘I don’t know you, do I? You could be CID. Or fucking. you could be working for anyone.’ Harry holds her knees. Eyes darting.

‘Yeah, but I’m not though,’ Becky says. ‘I’m obviously not.’ Harry watches her closely. ‘It’s alright. Keep your hair on. You don’t have to tell me anything. I was just trying to make conversation. I’ll keep it to myself next time.’ Becky looks away, at the people standing round. Her hair, almost black, has the remnants of a dyed redness running through it and when she moves, Harry sees the redness and is drawn towards it. She leans back, crosses her legs.

‘Tell you what.’ Harry’s heart is rolling up its sleeves.

‘What?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it.’ She pauses, holds the moment, watches strands of Becky’s hair ripple in the wind. ‘But you have to tell me something first.’

‘Like what?’ Becky leans back on to her hands.

‘Don’t know. Something you don’t tell people?’

‘Fine,’ she says simply.

‘Yeah?’

‘Why not?’ She flicks her hair and glances around, keeps her eyes elsewhere as she talks. ‘The dancing don’t pay so well. It’s not regular income and it’s crazy hours. So. ’ She drinks. Harry watches her throat pulse as she swallows. ‘I work as a masseuse.’ The word lasts a long time in Becky’s mouth. ‘You know, a masseuse .’ She shrugs. ‘It’s the same deal as your job really, no one knows. Except I don’t have a massive chip on my shoulder about it like you seem to.’

It hits Harry like a thrown brick. Knocks the wind out of her for a moment and she hiccups as she draws smoke in. She plays it cool. ‘No one knows?’

‘Nope. Well, a couple people know, obviously. But mainly I keep it to myself. Less hassle that way.’ Harry stares at her, eyebrows raised; Becky looks back, bold and unflinching. ‘So don’t worry. I can keep a secret.’ Harry’s blood starts pumping the other way round her body. ‘Now you,’ Becky says gently.

Harry looks up for Leon, sees no one, checks around her for the others on the patio and begins to speak softly, which pulls Becky closer towards her.

‘Well. OK,’ she says. ‘OK.’ She psychs herself up for it. ‘So. I go round offices uptown, all, like. pre-arranged.’ She measures her words as she speaks, her voice is low, slow and gradual. A soft lisp curls up from the ends of her words. Becky studies the body she sits beside. Legs apart, shoulders back, but still girlish, somehow. ‘Fucking media firms, literary agencies — I got a diary . We have meetings . You believe it, Becky? Coz that’s the truth of it.’

They have turned themselves towards each other, Harry’s knees touch in the middle like two oars. She feels like she’s at the crest of a ravine, tipping downwards. She breathes out through a weak smile.

‘I mean, I get phone calls from secretaries of company directors. I go in, like, we have a coffee, talk about the weather, then, like, I give them a load of gear. Eleven thirty in the morning, right in the centre of town! And then on to the next one. I could probably start doing bank transfers, make it all legit. Register as a sole trader. Taxes too. Coz it’s booming. It really fucking is. It’s fucking booming !’

She pauses, stares into Becky’s face.

‘Meant to be a recession on, right? I never sold so much gear! I never sold so much fucking gear in my life!’ Harry throws her hands up in disbelief. Lets them land gently in her lap. She checks around her. Lowers her voice. ‘I’m unthreatening, aren’t I, punctual. You know, female . So. No danger. They recommend me to their accountant mates, and then the accountant mates recommend me to their art-dealer mates, and then the art-dealer mates recommend me to their film-director mates. And that’s how come I’m here.’

Becky plays with her earring, leaning in towards her new friend, focusing on her mouth as the words come out. Harry dries up.

‘Can I have some then?’ Becky asks.

‘Have some what?’

‘Go on,’ she says.

‘You want some gack?’ Harry furrows her eyebrows.

‘Yeah, go on. Is that alright? I’ll buy it?’

‘Buy it? No way.’ Harry shakes her head, she lifts her shirt slyly and takes a wrap from a pouch in the waistband of her trousers. Becky glimpses the softness of her stomach, the sharp kiss of her hip bone, the stretch of her side as she reaches. She puts a decent gram into Becky’s hand. Becky widens her eyes in thanks, opens it in her palm like a seasoned pro, takes a little bump out with the edge of her lighter. Sniffs it up.

Harry watches her. Fucking hell , she thinks. She’d only had a couple of those cocktails, hadn’t she? What had she even been saying? Becky purses her lips in concentration, discreetly arranging another bump. She sniffs it, nonchalant. Arranges one for Harry. Nobody notices. Expertly done. Harry leans over, sniffs. Kiss . The slope of her neck. All over. Kiss her all over . The coke is nice. Sobers her up. She tilts her head back. Breathes in and out. Soon now, she’ll be back to normal.

‘I’m trying to raise enough capital to buy premises and start a business, you know what I mean?’ Harry nods at the seriousness of the statement.

‘What kind of business?’

‘It’ll be a restaurant and café and a bar, so that it pays for itself. But also it will be, like, a community centre. There’ll be workshop space. You know, it’ll be a place for people to go. To relax and hang out and learn things.’ Her eyes skirt around as she talks, she bounces a little in her seat, sitting up straight, seeing it. ‘We’d do classes there, for young people, get them cooking healthy food on a budget, and, like, cooking meals for OAPs’ — she pulls her words out of the air with her fingers — ‘and then, right? They’d all eat the meals together, young and old, build relationships back up in the community, that was my thinking, and you know, gigs, we’d have gigs there, and a recording studio too. It’s. ’ Her batteries flicker and die. She winds down. ‘I got a big plan.’