Waving Not Drowning VIII: Queen of the Ladybirds

It was strange finding myself sitting in the courtyard, with the same people that only forty eight hours previously I’d taken pot shots at. Stephen passed me a large plastic bottle into which he’d decanted some vodka and three bottles of watermelon Bacardi Breezer. It was horribly sweet but I’d drunk worse.
‘We usually have trouble getting someone to buy us stuff from the shop. This’ll last at least two nights,’ Stephen said quietly.
Not likely I thought.
His yellow eyes flickered under the streetlight.
I’d only been down here, an hour or so and had already learnt a lot about them. Nice Eyes’s real name was in fact Danny. He wasn’t as scary as I’d at first thought. His hand was now wrapped up in an old tea towel, it didn’t seem to be giving him any pain. Well it was difficult to tell because I found it difficult to understand what he was saying, not because he spoke youth-speak but because he either whispered or shouted. There was no middle range. For the moment he was quiet, seemingly exhausted, laid out flat on the bench, his sweatshirt covering his face.

The one I’d nicknamed Triple Bellies/Battery Stoner was in fact John except they called him Guts which was accurate enough. His corpulence certainly wasn’t down to a lack of activity as he was constantly jumping on the back of his bicycle and doing wheelies. He was the most energetic of the group and was no doubt trying to impress the girls. He needn’t of bothered, the Scrunchie Twins stared blankly into space most of the time, both wore denim mini-skirts and white trainers accessorised with diamante earrings. Now and then they shot me suspicious looks (I still hadn’t forgotten the gibe about dying from a verruca and hadn’t warmed to either of them) Most of the time they passed their mobile back and forth, sniggering at some secret shared joke.

Stephen was definitely my favourite.

‘I’ve seen you doing all sorts down here,’ I said taking a swig from the sticky watermelon gloop.
‘Like what?’ Stephen asked jumping off the wall where he’d been sitting next to me.
Maybe it was because I was sitting on a wall that was about five feet high but he looked really small. His trouser leg was still rolled up but the wound on his calf was less serious than I’d imagined. Thank god I’d shot it from a fair distance with a rubbish weapon (or maybe it was my lack of technique).
‘For a start, you stopped that poor blind man getting into his flat,’ I said.
Tonight I was omnipotent. Drink did that to me. You could see why I found it difficult to stop.
‘We were just playing,’ Stephen said lighting a cigarette.
I resisted the urge to snatch the cigarette from his hand. He was way too young to smoke and really needed to consider his health. Even in the half- light of the street lamp his skin was pallid, underneath his eyes translucent with tiny purple veins. If he hadn’t been walking and talking I’d have called an ambulance.
‘That guy is a bastard anyway,’ he continued taking a deep drag and closing his eyes, ‘he’s always shouting abuse at us out the window, telling us to fuck off.’
I tried to reconcile this image with the frail old man I’d seen pottering about clutching his tabloid.
‘Of course, everyone’s the same around here,’ Stephen said offering me a drag, ‘everyone thinks we’re scum hoodies.’
I took the cigarette off him, yes I was smoking again and yes it felt marvellous.
‘I don’t think you’re scum,’ I said wobbling slightly as I tried not to fall backwards.
‘You did though,’ he said nibbling at a loose piece of skin that was hanging off his thumb.
‘Don’t do that,’ I said passing the cigarette back again, ‘you’ll get a hang nail.’
Stephen grimaced.
‘Don’t be a Mum,’ he replied.

When I woke up the next morning I didn’t even have a hangover. This might have had something to do with the fact that I’d been violently sick before I fell into bed (at least in my own toilet rather than in the courtyard). Nevertheless it was becoming clear that alcohol and myself were great bedfellows and all the stuff at Shady Sands was just propaganda to keep me chained to a coffee machine all my life.

As I went to get myself a glass of water from the kitchen I noticed I’d got three voicemails.

I listened to them whilst I sat on the sofa. The first message was from Ruth- her voice sounded panicked, apparently she’d turned up at the flat and I’d been out. Where the hell was I? Was I at the pub? What was going on? She was going to call my parents straight away.
Oh dear.

The second message was from Catherine, one of Café Jingo’s area managers. She sounded angry. Throwing coffee in a customer’s face was not acceptable, she was shocked that I could do such a thing, was I ill again? She was trying to be sympathetic but really after I’d had so much time off, she sincerely hoped I wasn’t ill. If she didn’t hear from me in the next two days my job would be filled by someone else.

So long Jingo Jango Hell Hole!
So long to grinding teeth and ungrateful customers.
Just the thought of never entering the cramped, depressing staff room and being forced to foam up endless cups of cow pus was exhilarating. And I had enough money to cover the rent for…well at least one month which wasn’t great but then maybe all this had happened for a reason and it was perfect timing. I probably would have stayed at Café Dwongo all my life otherwise.

Finally Dad had left a message. Which was weird as he never rang unless things were really bad like the time I’d run off to live in Amsterdam with the old hippie. He sounded confused. Apparently someone had called him at three in the morning, a boy who sounded no more than thirteen. The call had definitely come from my mobile. Where was I? Had my phone been stolen? If so, could the person who was listening to this message kindly return his daughter’s phone to the nearest police station as soon as possible.

Where was I and what was I doing?
Central questions that united these different voicemail messages. The first question was easy enough to answer as I was sitting on my sofa in my flat but the second one was much more troubling. But also quite exciting For too long I’d known exactly what I was doing. Every day I’d known that I would go to work in a coffee shop, that I would spend my lunch hour pottering about the Kings Mall looking for the tiniest of distractions and that every evening I would sit here at this very spot, looking down on them down there, fully aware that they were living life and I was merely existing.
Now all that had changed.
I was one of them.

As I sank deeper into my reverie I became full of unexplained energy, buzzing from the thrill of it, I felt more alive than I had in a long time. This ladybird wasn’t evil. This ladybird was full of the goodness of thousands of ladybirds. Mothers would tell the story of the enchanted goodly Ladybird Queen who made friends with all the little ladybirds and maybe even helped them get out of the doldrums and live better, more constructive meaningful lives.
When she wasn’t getting drunk that is.

But I hadn’t banked on Ruth’s persistence. Or my parents. They were out to perform another intervention if it was the last thing they did. Ruth, the meddling meddler had obviously rallied up the troops. As I walked into The Royal Oak, ready for my first nice cool refreshing white wine of the day, there they were. All dressed in dark clothes with solemn expressions like they were at a wake.
And they’d even brought Phil along with them!
Poor sod.

I quickly turned back on myself, hoping that they hadn’t spotted me but it was no use, Dad’s hand was already on my shoulder.
‘Don’t leave Jess,’ he said gently, ‘we don’t want a scene.’
I kept going as his hand pressed more firmly. Didn’t they understand I was undergoing my own personal renaissance? I was following my DREAM!
God they were annoying.
‘What are you doing here?’ I hissed spinning around, too tired to drag Dad all the way back to Royal Oak tube station and then the three stops on the Hammersmith and City line to Latimer Road.
‘Ruth guessed we’d find you in this pub,’ Dad said.
There was a big line in between his eyes like he’d been struck my lighting.
I changed tact.
‘Look Dad, I’m fine. I’m just taking some time out. It’s not like before. Really. It’s not.’
‘Don’t lie to me Jess,’ Dad said, ‘come back and at least talk to us. Your poor Mum is worried sick. She didn’t sleep a wink, we thought you’d been murdered or something.’
‘Well you can see I’m absolutely fine,’ I said confidently, pushing a strand of unwashed hair off my forehead. I could see my dishevelled reflection in Dad’s eyes. If only I’d brushed my hair.

There was no alternative. I’d have to deal with them, try and find some way to explain my behaviour. At least they knew nothing about the rifle or my new friends. With any luck I’d be rid of them in an hour and back in the wine saddle.

Ruth walked up to meet me as I entered the pub for the second time. Today my family and friends made up hundred percent of the pub clientele. The landlord looked up and smiled, he probably thought it was my birthday.
‘I was so scared,’ Ruth whispered as she squeezed me tight.
I resisted the urge to pinch her under the arm where it hurt. She was pregnant after all.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Phil. He looked like an actor who’d forgotten his lines. On the table were four glasses of Coke.
‘You didn’t have to do this,’ I said as I pulled up a seat.
Mum’s eyes were puffy and red.
Phil looked at the floor and said nothing.
‘I’ll get you a Coke,’ Dad said patting me on the shoulder.
‘And don’t bother asking for something stronger,’ Mum said angrily.
‘Look I know it looks bad but really I haven’t been drinking. Yesterday I went to Whiteleys and then I forgot the time and realised I was hungry,’ I was getting creative here searching for a plausible story, ‘so I really fancied a pizza so I ended up going to this restaurant and then… well actually it’s a bit embaressing.’
Two pairs of scrunched up eyes stared back at me. Phil was still looking at the floor.
‘Why’s he here?’ I mouthed to Ruth.
She scowled.
I continued with my story.
‘To cut a long story short…I met a bloke.,’ I said with growing confidence ‘I promise I’m not lying. His name is Stephen. Well anyway we... spent the night together,’ I looked at Phil who was studying the revolting carpet with such intensity I thought it might burst into flames, ‘sorry Phil but we were finished weren’t we?’
Phil didn’t answer. Poor thing, he didn’t even know what he was doing here. Why the hell had Ruth dragged him along? Dad returned with yet another Coke (probably the most the landlord had sold in one day) and before he’d even had time to sit down I’d drunk it all.
I was now rather dehydrated.
‘You’ve missed one of the tallest tales I’ve ever heard,’ Mum said sarcastically.
‘She says she was with a new boyfriend,’ Ruth said mirroring her sarcasm.
‘Can I have a sip of your Coke?’ I asked Dad.
Sometimes diversion tactics could work.
‘What’s really going on? Be honest Jess. Remember what they told us at Shady Sands. You’re not lying to us, you’re lying to yourself,’ Dad said.
‘I knew you were in the pub, I could even hear the bloody ‘Who Wants to be Millionaire’ tune,’ Ruth said pointing at the games machine in the corner.
The game was up. But maybe just maybe I could avoid sodding Shady Sands.
‘Alright,’ I said holding my hand up, ‘You’ve got me. You’re right. I did go for a drink. I got drunk. But I was home at nine, I fell straight to sleep, I didn’t hear the door bell.’
Phil stood up.
‘Look guys, I feel a bit weird being here to be honest. Jess, sorry about everything but I’ve got to go… I’ve got a rehearsal in Kings Cross that I can’t miss.’
His accent was back to its Sunday Best.
‘I don’t know what you’re doing here,’ I said.
‘Jess!’ Mum exclaimed.
‘No really I mean you three I understand but I’m not even going out wi…’
‘I thought the more people the better,’ Ruth said, ‘sorry for caring about you.’
She started crying.
Phil gave the assembled wake an apologetic look and then legged it.
This really would be the last time I saw him. I felt sad for about three seconds and then remembered I had more important things to deal with.
I was fighting for my freedom.
‘Why did that boy leave me a message in the middle of the night?’ Dad asked.
‘Must have been a wrong number. Sometimes these weird things happen. I had my phone with me all night.’
I picked up Phil’s Coke and downed the contents in one.
‘You’re hungover,’ Ruth said sniffing.
‘You have to surrender to a force higher than yourself,’ Mum said like a raving twelve-step junkie.
‘Mum, please stop with that. It was a one off. I promise. Never again.’
‘We’ve heard that before,’ they seemed to say in unison but really it was just Dad and Mum, Ruth was still crying, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones kicking in.
We sat in silence for a while. Then Desperado came on which started me off. They’d really succeeding in making everything feel tawdry and shameful. Finally after about twenty minutes (it seemed like an eternity) Dad spoke.
‘We’ll give you one more chance and treat you like a proper adult,’ he paused, ‘but you have to promise on our lives that you won’t drink again.’
‘I promise,’ I said.
It was easy enough to say it.

Mum and Dad gave me a lift home, dropping Ruth at the tube on the way.
She took my hand and stroked it before she got out.
‘Call me. Please call me before you do anything stupid.’
I tried to smile.
‘You’re making a big fuss you know,’ I said.
‘You’re my best friend,’ she said and kissed me on the forehead.
‘See you soon. I’ll have to start knitting baby clothes soon!’ I said brightly.
She didn’t reply and walked off.
Dad’s Talking Heads tape played all the way back to Latimer Road.
‘Do you want me to come up?’ Mum asked as we pulled up outside.
I kept my fingers crossed hoping that Stephen and the others wouldn’t spot me. It wasn’t cool hanging out with your parents. Especially parents that listened to Talking Heads and drove around in a 2CV with a great big piece of masking tape holding a hole in the roof together.
‘No it’s okay, I’ll call you later in the week. Don’t worry.’
I opened the front door and bent down and hugged her. She didn’t really hug me back. She seemed defeated. Really this was such a big palaver over nothing! Now if I could just get to the off licence. Dad accompanied me to the door.
‘What did the boy say?’ I asked him as he held the door open for me.
Dad didn’t answer.
‘Nothing. Must have been a prank. I could barely make it out anyway.’ he said.
‘What did he say?’
‘It’ll only make you nervy,’ he said shaking his head.
‘Dad, I’m not going upstairs till you tell me.’
Dad slumped a little.
‘He said something that sounded like ‘Check Yourself is Dead’. I have no idea what he meant.’