Bright

Words. People spoke, too fast, too laughing. An ache in his head,
noise like the distant crackle of a radio on a hot day. He thought of
lying on the cool night earth of the allotment, finding silence in the
darkness. Words were like the stars, he'd grasp but they were always
just out of reach.
They were in the pub. A shaft of winter sunlight fell through the tall
window. Clear glass. People would know he was in here, in town, with
the lads.
They were all stood round the pool table. No one asked him to play,
although he bought the last round. They were celebrating. Dave had just
got out of prison. A while ago now, since they'd stolen the car and
Dave torched it. Stu had been there, not with them, but on the midnight
edge of the park, crouched behind the shed of the allotment watching
the gorgeous block light up the night, feeling it scorch his face, the
strong bright smell choking him.
Dave came and stood by him.
-Alright Stu?
-'Right.
-How's your Sarah?
-'Right.
-She's not fallen on again? He smiled through his dirty-blonde
fringe.
-Not yet.
-And how old's your Kelly now? Dave's voice was quiet and he looked
right at Stu when he said that, when he said your Kelly.
-Nearly three now.
-Well, make sure you take good care of her.
Stu shrugged. Dave whispered to one of the others and then all the
lads were laughing, said they had something for him.
He didn't remember all the other times. He didn't remember when his
Mam had said, Don't be led by people. All that mattered was that he was
here, with them. He just had to try and work out what it was they
wanted, but it was hard, with the words flying so fast.
-See her over there, someone was saying, -she wants to go with
you.
He'd got Sarah, didn't need anyone else. They'd met in the last year
of school. She'd had brown hair falling into her face and a shy smile.
He'd stood staring right into her pale eyes, as his lips puckered
uneasily into a kiss, one cold afternoon waiting for the bus. Green
pleats in her skirt and cloud-coloured bruises on her bare legs, though
she was too old for playground falls. Said her Dad wouldn't let her
wear trousers, even in winter.
She'd told Stu she loved him. He'd waited for her every day and they'd
got the bus together, till one day he'd seen her with someone else. He
was older, had left school, and even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have
been at their school. He could tell that by the sneering smile. Shortly
afterwards she'd gone away. No one knew where she'd gone but she came
back one night in a taxi, wordless and pregnant, tear streaks and
eyeliner blackening her face, her hair bleached the colour of
straw.
Stu still missed her, so after she got the house off the council, just
down the road from her Dad, he made it up with her, moved in, even
though it meant less money, even though he was far away from his own
Mam and Dad who were good to him, two buses away too much to manage,
too much for them as well. He did all this even though she had a kid to
someone else.
The woman came over. He felt a fluttering in his belly, wasn't used to
drinking in the day, two bottles of strong lager had made him feel
sick. He tried to remember if there was something else he should have
done, after he'd cashed his giro. Saw himself in the queue, wondered
where he should have gone next.
They were all laughing, he realised, and she had her arm round him,
was making as if to sit on his knee. She was tall, taller than him,
much bigger than his Sarah, even when she'd been pregnant.
-No! he said.
-Whass up wi' you? She was wearing make-up, coal-black lines round her
eyes. He didn't like it.
-I've got a girlfriend.
-So? She grinned at him. He hesitated, stared at her. Tried to think
what his Dad would say, saw him red-faced with drink, heard the rhythm
of his smiling voice.
-Don't want another. They only take all your money!
The lads laughed at that. He laughed too. He was in this pub, with his
friends, making jokes.
The woman looked at him, swaying slightly. -You calling me a
whore?
Words. New words. -I don't know, he said.
The others laughed some more. She raised her arm, swung at him.
-Bastard!
It was wrong to hit a woman. Wrong. That's what his Mam and Dad said.
It was wrong to hit at all.
-Got to go, he said. They laughed louder and he didn't know why, but
he knew that they were laughing at him.
Stu stopped on the way home, bought some spice for Kelly. Red
liquorice strings and fizz bombs. Thought of Sarah, their first kisses,
her with a strawberry mouth.
When he got back he handed her the money from his giro. She looked at
it, knelt to sort it in piles on the coffee table, her brown hair
falling in her face, the blond all cut away now.
-This much for tokens, this much for food. Speaking as her hands
moved. Did you pay the club?
His face fell. -Forgot.
-There's not enough now! I wanted to buy a new top for Kelly. Adidas.
Two pounds a week. They won't let us though, if we don't pay.
-Don't go on, he said. -Can't help it. Forgetting.
-But I shouted you, before you went. Where you been?
He smiled at her. -Went for a drink. With Wayne and his mates. Special
occasion.
He stopped himself.
-What do you mean?
-Dave. He's just got out.
She looked away. -Dad says can you go up to the allotment. You didn't
finish the shed.
-Why can't he do it?
-He's gone to town. He's gonna buy that doll Kelly wanted.
-I brought these for her.
She looked in the crumpled paper bag, pulled out the liquorice
strings. -She's too young for these! She'll choke!
-Didn't mean nowt by it. I just - well, I thought you could have
them.
-Me?
-You used to like them best.
She shrugged. -That was when we were kids.
He unwrapped a sweet for Kelly. She smiled, -Ta, Dad. She had a mess
of blond curls, lighter even than Dave's. Stu had asked the health
visitor if people could tell he wasn't her Dad, she'd smiled and said
children often had different hair colour from their parents.
He took the guard from the fire, poked it into life. He loved the way
the flames curled. He thought about the burning car, a tangle of dreams
across the scorched insides of his eyelids. Kelly rubbed her hands in
the soot of the grate, wiped them on her face, reflected amber smiles
dancing in her eyes.
His Dad had been a miner, Sarah's Dad too. His Dad hadn't worked for
ten years, moved slowly about the house, had a look of grey about him
as if the coal were buried in his skin as well as his lungs. No need
for words with his Dad, they moved easily around each other in the
house where Stu was born. Not like here. Her Dad always complaining,
said Stu was moody, too quiet.
Sarah's Dad knew he'd never work again either, but he liked to be
busy. He went to college through the day, he'd got on a scheme When it
ran out, then he'd go back to his allotment, sign on till he could go
on another. Not that he got much for signing because he still had some
redundancy. Stu's Dad had spent all theirs on a holiday and a new suite
and drinks with his mates and his kids.
-Went to the clinic while you were out. Said our Kelly's doing really
well. She's walking and talking ahead of her age. She's gonna be
clever!
Sarah picked up a basket of laundry. -Got to take this upstairs, she
said. -You watch Kelly.
-I'll take her with me, if you like, he said.
-Okay.
It wasn't far, and the pretty, bright child who held his hand loved to
explore, eyes wide open. She'd never crawled, got straight into
walking. And she had a temper on her, Sarah found it hard to say no to
her. There was something about that which hurt him. He searched for the
words, but they weren't there.
His Dad's cough and Sarah's pale face in the taxi and the lads
laughing in the pub and the child who was going to be clever, not like
them, and the cold face of Sarah's Dad as he raised his hand to Sarah
when he thought Stu wasn't there. There was an itchy-blue rage inside
him, pushing but he didn't know how to let it out, how to stop smiling
flatly at every laugh and sneer.
It was quiet at the allotments, just a patchwork of brick-bright soil
and yellow-threaded carpets, their soggy weight making it softer than
home. He looked at the compost heap, egg shells and carrot-tops,
bruised potato peelings and cut grass, white like straw. The tangle of
dead blackberry they'd cut away, Sarah's Dad said there was too much to
compost, they could make a bonfire one day. The tin of creosote where
he'd left it, by the tap and the watering-can, he was always forgetting
to put stuff away. Strong and dark, it smelt rich enough to drink, as
he poured it over blackberry canes and carpet and all. The match
fell.
He wanted to shout and laugh, tell everyone, but the words were dead
in his mouth, his throat stinging, his heart beating. Kelly stared,
jumping and laughing, something else in the great new world to
understand. The flames eating the frost-white air crackled loud and she
reached to hold them, wanting to play. He moved just too slow to stop
her and for once, the words came clearly to him, like someone else had
said them: she's just like her Dad.