Mum and dad had Matt’s wound seen to, making sure it didn’t get infected. The boy reported me to the police and I spent the night in a cell. We paid a huge fine, all of it coming out of my wages. I explained what had happened but mum and dad still had me mucking out the animals for the next three months. No clowning, no Freaks and Wonders, just piss and shit.
London, 29 – 30 November 2011
I need an anchor. Queen Isabella, Scholler, Amelia and Monsta are keeping me safe but I need more than those old ghosts. I avoid Mac because all I can think of when we’re together is the last time I saw him when we were kids and I can’t be reminded of that all the time.
I’d kept in touch with Tim over the years; no real details about our lives, just sending each other postcards of art we liked, sending holiday greetings. I never thought I’d see him again, but here I am, going to see Tim, my Fish Boy.
It isn’t a shock to see him. He looks much the same. My imagination had exaggerated his age so much that the actual changes don’t matter. His scales have faded. They emerge from beneath the collar of his shirt, flow up his neck and disappear into his grey beard. It was all polite niceties all hello how are you can I take your coat would you like a cup of tea, weren’t the riots a blast.
‘I danced amongst the flames,’ I say.
He laughs and I laugh and I spill my tea I’m shaking so much.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he says.
‘I’m old.’
‘We’re both old.’
‘We are.’
‘Did the rioters join you?’
‘They did,’ I say. ‘They danced too.’
‘Of course they did.’
‘What…’ I say, trailing off and looking down at my tea and back at him again, ‘What have you, I mean, all these years, what have you done with yourself?’
‘This and that,’ he says.
‘Me too. This and that.’
We both smile.
‘Is that your wife?’
I gesture to a photograph on the mantle.
‘We were never married.’
‘No?’
‘Together for forty-one years, though.’
I nod.
‘It’s strange being on your own after that,’ he says. ‘Almost ten years now and it’s still strange. What brings you here?’
‘The police. Dead animals.’
‘That right?’
‘You know me,’ I say, smiling.
‘Repeating patterns.’
‘It can’t go as badly as last time,’ I say. ‘The dead are already dead.’
I stare at his hand clasped around his mug and I look at the faded scales and half-smile before I notice what’s missing and I’m sure I’ll be sick. I put my mug down clumsily, spilling, shaking with grief. Grief for skin.
‘G? What is it?’
I find myself at his feet, kneeling, taking his mug away and holding his hands in mine, inspecting. I weep, his old scaled hands wet with my tears.
‘G, it’s okay. It was a long time ago, after the circus.’
Finally crying and it’s for missing skin. He wraps me in a blanket, like I’m some old lady, frail and pathetic. I wake up on the couch. I squint into the gloaming, unsure where I am. I open the curtains and I look round the room, taking in the strange objects illuminated by the orange light from the street. I find my way to his room and I climb in beside him. I put my arm around him and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart. In the morning I run my fingers over his scales and his wrinkles. We fuck away our loneliness; there is only us. The world disappears.
I tell him over breakfast that I don’t mind. ‘It was just a shock. I’d imagined all kinds of ways in which you’d changed but I never thought that.’
‘It was practical. After the circus I retrained in joinery and the webbing was an annoyance. It got in the way.’
‘It wasn’t even that,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t really about that.’
‘Tell me then, tell me why you’re here.’
‘I’m a witness. They’re dragging me all the way back to 1939. How am I supposed to remember that long ago? But I do. I’ve been holed up in my hotel, writing it all out.’
‘What do you remember?’
‘Cinema tickets. Devil. Scrumping with Mac and Stevie.’
‘You can stay here, you know. You can stay here as long as you need.’
‘I have a hotel.’
‘We’ll go today and pick up your things. You’re staying.’
‘It’s not just me. There’s Red Queen, a ginger cat I found. I shouldn’t have left her alone all night.’
‘You can stay. You and your strays. You can all stay.’
We go to the hotel to get my things, to get Red Queen, and there’s Ben, Sam and Mahler at reception. Mahler runs to me and I kneel, letting him slobber all over me as I breathe in his smell and ruffle his ears. Sam joins in and there I am, bowled over on the hotel floor.
‘Yer hard to pin down, old lady.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wis worried about ye,’ Ben says, eyeing Tim. ‘But maybe I didnae need to.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ I say, extricating myself from the dogs.
I hug Ben, holding him tight, then introduce him to Tim. Ben, Tim and the dogs sit together and I watch them from the reception desk, trying to hear what they’re discussing.
There’s a message for me from Detective Curtis asking me to call back. I go up to my room, feed Red Queen, and I call him. He tells me they’ve found human remains amongst the pet bones.
‘I want you to tell me your story, Goblin.’
‘Mac told you.’
‘I need to hear what you have to say.’
‘I don’t have anything to say,’ I say, petting Red Queen.
‘Goblin, I know it’s a shock. You take some time, okay? But I’ll be in touch. We’ll need to talk this through eventually.’
I give him Tim’s number and when I hang up, the phone rings.
‘Detective?’
‘You lied to me.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You said you had nothing to hide.’
‘Who is this?’
‘They found human remains in the pet pit. It was murder. Was it you? Did you kill someone?’
I say nothing.
‘I know your real name.’
I sigh, realising who it is.
‘It’s not real,’ I say to Linda. ‘I’m Goblin through and through.’
I hang up.
We all pile into the kitchen and I feed the dogs and Red Queen as Tim makes tea. Red Queen is first to finish her food and goes over to sniff Mahler and Sam. I watch her, ready to snatch her up if it looks like a fight will break out, but they just sniff her too before going back to their food.
‘I hope ye dinnae mind, old lady. I know ye said ye wanted Mahler to be safe, but the riots are over and he wis missing ye like crazy.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m glad you’re all here,’ I say. ‘I really am. No tea for me,’ I say to Tim before turning back to Ben. ‘I’m sorry, Ben, but I’m tired. We’ll catch up later, okay?’
‘That’s alright. Get some rest.’
I scoop up Red Queen in one hand, dragging my bag in the other, and retreat to Tim’s room. Mahler follows me through. I get into bed, pull the covers over me, trying to block out Detective Curtis, Linda Cartwright, the discovery of the ‘remains’. Red Queen pads around on me, turning in circles until she’s comfy and settles. Mahler jumps up, sniffs at Red Queen who ignores him, then settles down next to me, his head on the pillow. We sleep away the morning and when I get up I pull my typewriter out of my bag, setting it up on Tim’s desk.