Deborah Levy - Billy and Girl

But she’s lost heart today. Not dressed for Frozen World. Not interested. Except for the girl in FreezerWorld overalls packing frozen peas into the industrial fridges. The way she holds the packets. Pressing the palms of her hands flat on each one of ’em. Cooling her hands as if her fingertips are on fire. Complete concentration. A man is walking up to her. Watching her. He’s got a bit of power, that’s for sure. FreezerWorld prestige. The manager. Yep. Little plastic badge on his red blazer tells the eager shopping public that he is ‘Mr Tens’.

‘Hello, Louise,’ he says. ‘You’ll have to work a little faster than that.’

Mr Tens is a kind man. Not scolding Louise. Telling her a fact. Louise. Girl just can’t bear to hear that name, though she knows lots of girls are called it. Mr Tens says something strange. Girl can’t be sure she’s even heard it right. Something like, it’s not your hands that are hot, it’s in your head, Louise. And Louise is nodding her silky head, her lips moving, sound coming out. ‘I’m as stupid as a blonde can get,’ she replies, working faster now.

FreezerWorld. Deep-freeze pain. Frozen World. Pain tics in ice blocks. Dolour. The frozen tumour twilight. Louise and FreezerWorld. Girl and FreezerWorld. An autopsy waiting to be interpreted. Call in the anaesthesiologists, biofeedback technicians, occupational therapists, neurophysiologists, dieticians, pain peripheralists and pain centralists. Girl and Louise. Both know something useless.

Knowledge that won’t even buy them a week’s shop. They know that childhood is a primitive culture. Soothing words can relieve pain and harsh words can kill you even though you’re still alive, drinking Fanta, watching breakfast TV, saving up for a kitten in the pet-shop window.

Louise turns her back on Girl. Talking to Mr Tens. But she wants Girl to hear what she says. Girl feels it with her girl intuition, snarled in the whole Louise thing, her secret name, knowing with terror that one day she’s going to have to give up Girl and own up to Louise. Louise is asking her supervisor something. Important stuff. ‘I start on the tills this Saturday, don’t I?’

Mr Tens is nodding. Looks proud of her. ‘Yes, you are, Louise. We’re going to start you on Express. Customers with just a few items in their baskets. See how you go and then we’ll have a think about where to put you next.’

Louise stares at him blankly. Nods and looks down at the packet of frozen peas in her small hands. Like a saint. Saint Louise of the Frozen Peas. Stupid as a blonde can get. Louise is just girlmeat. FrozenWorld girlmeat. No wonder Mr Tens feels like a celebrity.

Cruising the aisles. Checking out the panic population in FreezerWorld. Girl feels safe here. She can mingle with complete strangers at any time of the day and not feel afraid. It’s as if the Voice broadcasting FreezerWorld news can read her thoughts because suddenly, in the middle of announcing a discount on mixed nuts and raisins, the Voice goes on a little detour.

‘In winter when it gets dark early and certain neighbourhoods are out of bounds at 4 pm, FreezerWorld is well lit and warm. You are all here because you care. You want to feed your families. To nourish your wee ones. To indulge those you love. To treat yourself. Or even to stock up for a party. Cheers, everyone! Have a safe journey home.’

A frozen warm world. Girl can gaze at anything she likes, for as long as she likes, without having to explain herself. If FreezerWorld was a suburb, Girl would move there. She makes her way to the DIY section and reaches for an aerosol of red spray paint, thinking about stopping for a McChicken burger on the way home and checking out the mothers who eat there with their kids. Seems to take hours to walk back to the tills. FreezerWorld is a big world. She’s not going to stand in a long queue for one bloody item. Where’s the Express Mr Tens was talking about? Girl takes a white envelope from her jacket pocket, feels to check how thick it is and then rips it open.

Jeeezuz. Not much cash this week. A note in Grand-Dad’s shaky biro scrawl tucked inside: ‘I’ll make it up to you next week. The two thirty didn’t come home. Love Grand-Dad. PS Has Billy got a girlfriend yet?’

Of course Billy hasn’t got a girlfriend. Spends all his time reading pain books. Billy doesn’t want girlfriends, he wants patients to practise on. Girl sometimes obliges if her brother makes her a banana Nesquik. Lies on the settee and says the first thing that comes into her head. ‘Smoking causes fatal diseases.’ ‘Diesel.’ ‘Wonderbra.’ Her brother asks her to join up her words into sentences, sitting where she can’t see him, sieving through Girl material. He’s working on Raj too. Except Raj refuses to lie down on the settee even though Billy has explained the ethics of his practice. Raj prefers to talk over a pint at the Pickled Newt and Billy, who doesn’t really like pints, prefers halves, takes tiny sips, his mouth stuffed with peanuts so as not to give away his thoughts. That’s his special technique. Peanut blankness. Raj loves it when Billy does peanut blankness. Specially as Billy, being fifteen, is not supposed to be in the pub anyway. Raj has to hide him in the darkest corner, away from the action, sit him down with his back to the publican while he orders the drinks. He never tells Billy that the halves are really lemonade shandy.

Jeeezus. Even Express takes a year. Girl suddenly recognises the Voice. It’s that man who was talking to Louise. Mr Tens. Thanks, Mr Tens. Don’t get too carried away with mackerel in mustard sauce newsflash reverie. Stick to what you can do best, i.e. raise retard stock on the FreezerWorld floor. Girl finally pays for her aerosol with Grand-Dad cash and calls up a minicab on Raj’s mobile. He lent it to her for trimming his hair.

While she waits for the cab to arrive, dreading the moment she claps eyes on it, always disappointed and hurt about the minicab wrecks she’s forced to ride about town in, she prowls around the car park shaking her aerosol. Just what she wants. A wall that thousands of shoppers have to pass by in order to enter FreezerWorld. Girl knows exactly what she’s going write with her red paint. She can do it with her eyes shut.

MOM CALL HOME. GIRL X.

Girl wears her famous tears like jewels. Like glass blown from grief. Each tear takes approximately five seconds to form in the corner of her eye. You’ve got be careful when you ask Girl what she feels. Here goes.

Say what you feel, Girl?

Say what you feel

You Nescafé slut

You cruel baby wolf

Say what you feel.

‘I did a Mom check.’

‘And?’

‘Hopeless. She just stared at me and said, “I got no recall.”’

‘Well, maybe she was Mom, then?’

‘Naaaaaa. She’s someone’s Mom, but not ours. She called me a Mercedes cab paid for on her account.’

‘Did she look like our mom?’

‘We don’t know what our mother looks like, now do we? But she didn’t sound like her.’

‘Did you tell her about me?’

‘Of course I did, Billy. I always do. I said Billy is well but not that well.’

‘Next time you do a Mom check, tell her I’m sick and dying.’

‘She wouldn’t be interested,’ Girl snarls. ‘No one’s interested in a loser.’

‘Mothers are supposed to be interested when their children are sick and dying, for God’s sake!’

‘The worst thing,’ Girl says incredulously, ‘was that she was wearing a pair of cute slippers.’

‘Cute?’

‘Little pink furry things, really dirty. Like the fur on a gonk.’