Deborah Levy - Billy and Girl

‘Billy’s a bit of a doctor,’ FreezerWorld Louise says.

‘Is that right?’ Mrs O’Reilly is interested.

‘Yeah. He’s writing a book on pain.’

Mr Tens is gargling with mouthwash. Listening in. ‘What’s it called, Billy?’ Terry Tens spitting out FreezerWorld own brand for tender gums.

‘’S called Billy England’s Book of Pain .’

Billy doing up his trainer laces. Mom combing through Girl’s hair with her fingers. Louise washing her face in the little managerial basin in the corner. Stainless-steel taps. Soaping her hands with the nice FreezerWorld soap. Smelling it. Rose petal and geranium. Bringing it to Mom to smell. All of them still waiting for Billy’s answer because Mr Tens is gibbering, gargling, licking the lemon icing off the plate.

Mrs O’Reilly smiling at her boy and his pizza pangs. ‘Go on, Girl, wash your face too.’

‘Louise,’ Girl says. ‘My fucking name is Louise.’

‘Louise.’ Mom nods. Looks around her. They all look so tired. Worn out. Exhausted. Blood spots on their clothes. Bruised. Billy’s put his arm round his sister.

‘My name is Louise. My fucking name is Louise.’

Billy murmuring something to Mom. Crazy for his mother. ‘Good thing Girl’s mad, otherwise I wouldn’t have had a patient to practise on at such a young age.’

‘She’s called Louise.’ Mrs O’Reilly stands up. ‘And she’s not mad. We got to sort ourselves out.’ Makes her way to the neatly arranged shoes under the chair. Slips them on. Walks to the table, picks up her script, reads it through, puts a line across a few sentences. Reads it through again. ‘That’s ready to go for Monday, Terry,’ she says with a note of stern last-draft finality in her voice.

Mrs O’Reilly feels something rushing at her. Stinging her. It’s joy. Like an Arctic wind burning up everything that isn’t here, her kiddies, with her, in the present time.

‘Mom?’ Billy asking her a question.

‘Dear?’

‘Why didn’t you stop Dad pulping me?’

Mrs O’Reilly. Suddenly the wind chills and freezes the tips of her ears. Tips of her fingers. Crashes into her cheekbones. Bruises every vertebra of her spine. Her lips taste of salt and blood. Arcs of ice crystals cover her eyebrows. Ice and light and space and the bottom of the world melting so there’s nowhere to put her tan nylon feet, nowhere to flee from her hunters.

‘Terry. I think you should take out the second “and” in Monday’s broadcast. Just run the words together.’

‘Uh?’

Billy looking dangerous now. ‘Say why.’

‘Yes, I will,’ says Mrs O’Reilly. But she doesn’t. She just stands there. Silent. What’s Mom thinking about? Grand-Dad who died three weeks ago? Her father buried under the wreath she ordered from the florists? Lilies and roses for her father. ‘Graham England Rest in Peace.’ Anything for a bit of peace and rest.

FreezerWorld Louise helps her out. Dearness in her voice. Sort of whispering because they met each other when they both needed love and they help each other out.

‘He’s saying … wants to know why you didn’t protect him.’

The FreezerWorld wind is a crisis wind. Frostbite and trackers baiting their steel traps.

Mrs O’Reilly. Numbness is pain turned inside out. Wearing her cardigan the wrong way round. ‘It was my beehive, Billy.’ She smiles through the wind and silent falling snow. How many words are there for snow? For pain, poverty, love, regret, knowing how to say the right thing at the right moment, for little vests with poppers between the legs and fingers of fish and No Tears Shampoo?

‘Was a very difficult hairstyle to get perfect. Took such a long time to get it right. The teasing and lacquer. All those pins. Combing out the fringe. Pleating in all those little stray bits. Folding and tucking.’

Billy lunges at her. Knocks her to the ground. Kill her Kill her Kill her. Dump her in the FreezerWorld freezers. Taking out his knife.

‘Say why.’

‘I was very proud of my hair …’

‘Why didn’t you stop him?’

Mrs O’Reilly shaking her head at Billy’s knife. ‘Say why for me in your pain book.’

Billy thinking about this. Rubbing the lobe of his left ear between his fingers. Scratching the back of his hands. Digging his front teeth into his bottom lip. Fluttering his eyelids and making them still again. Curling his toes up tight, straightening them, doing that three times, a boy full of tics and twitches. Something to think about on a rainy day when he’s got a bit of time on his hands.

‘Why should I?’

FreezerWorld Louise interrupts. ‘Because you can.’

‘Yeah.’

Although Billy says ‘yeah’ his voice is cold. Blank. Yeah, he can. So what? Worth being born for, is it? That’s all right then, is it? Being all right. Being brave. Being okay. What kind of Being is that? Being clever, does that make it all right then? Is it all right being in a concentration camp cos you might live to write about it afterwards? Live through it again so other people get the gist, and then top yourself — probably before your bloody royalty cheque comes through? What is a man? What is an ashtray? Naaaa. Better to go down the Leisure Centre and do trampolining. Write a book about how to perfect a triple backward somersault. Better to sell carpets and make your customers happy with a special deal for the underlay and fitting. Should have put a stop to her. Cut her throat there and then and chucked her into the fridges with BELOW ACCEPTABLE STANDARD labels on them.

Mrs O’Reilly manages to stand up. Her nose is bleeding and her daughters scrabble about to get her a tissue. A sad, angry smile on their faces, watching their mother stroking Billy’s neck. Louise England giving Raj or Rajindra as her mother called him — how did she know his full name? — the tiniest kiss she can. She wants to kiss him tiny beginner’s kisses. Holding his hand in her hand.

‘Hi, Louise.’ Raj grimaces.

‘Hi, baby.’

‘Will you ever be normal?’ Raj’s enquiry is really heartfelt, even though it’s a sexy fuzzy whisper in her ear.

‘Dunno, Rajindra.’

Raj ties back her peroxide hair for her with the elastic band she’s just given him.

‘Might be all right if I never have to ride in a minicab again.’

Billy, who is soaping his face with the lovely FreezerWorld rose-petal soap, interrupts. ‘That’s right, Raj. I never want my sister to ride in a minicab again. Understand?’

Raj checks out Billy under all that soap. Keep the boy talking. ‘Will Louise … be all right, doc?’

‘It’s not “all right” we’re after here, Raj.’

Raj sighs. Perhaps he shouldn’t encourage the creep to talk after all. Not so much an answer as a tutorial.

‘Pain has its own language. You got to listen in.’

‘Are you ready?’ Mrs O’Reilly calling out to everyone, soaping themselves, gargling, brushing their hair. No one is ready. For anything. Whatever ‘ready’ means.

‘You’re coming too.’ Mrs O’Reilly tugs at Mr Tens’s shoulder.

Billy and his sister glance at each other. Jeezus. Mom collects ’em like carrier bags, doesn’t she? Mrs O’Reilly putting her arm round Louise and Louise. Raj and Mr Tens discussing the low points of running a business as they all troop downstairs towards the exit doors. Billy leading the way. FreezerWorld. A zone where the weather is always the same. A one-season Eden without sunrise and birdsong. Its children crying real tears for crisps and juices.

‘To tell the truth, Mrs O’Reilly, I don’t feel up to driving.’

Raj is resting his hand on the Merc roof. Leaning against the door. His arms feel weak. Tears are about to leak down his cheeks. Suddenly finds himself thinking about his little brother reading comics by the till. The Alsatian lying on a bit of old cardboard on the floor. His mother smiling politely at Stupid Club all day. His dad promising her a better life soon. What kind of a better life? His mum says she wants to try that happy drug. Get the prescription for her. ‘Patel, Mrs Prozac. Take X times a day.’ Raj interferes. Says, ‘No way, Mum, I’ll get you some crack instead. That will cheer you up. We can smoke it when Dad visits Uncle. Light up and watch repeats of the Alan Partridge Show .’