Anywhere's Better Than Here

 

Zöe Venditozzi
was born in 1975 and grew up in a small village in North East Fife. After graduating with an honours degree in English from the University of Glasgow, Zöe worked in a variety of jobs including selling answerphones, nannying and editing the letters page on The People's Friend. When Zöe and her husband moved to New Zealand she decided to train as a teacher and dreamed of becoming a writer. However, it was only when she returned to Scotland and started having children that Zöe started to write seriously. Zöe gained her Mlitt in Creative Writing from the University of Dundee.

 

 

 

www.sandstonepress.com

© Zöe Venditozzi 2012

Editor: Moira Forsyth

 

For my late father, David Johnston.

Everywhere and inaudible.

 

 

First of all, thanks to Dominic for the constant support and to Luca Tavita, Lola-Ray and Rocco for their distraction techniques. Thanks also to my mum for paying for most of my MLitt which gave me the confidence to call myself a proper writer.

I am also grateful to Professor Kirsty Gunn who was and is an amazing mentor and friend. Anna Day, Eddie Small and Emily Dewhurst kept me going when I was thinking of giving up and Jane Fulton, Jill Skulina and Rachel Waites who read drafts at different stages and made me feel like I was writing something worth reading. Thanks also to Bob McDevitt, agent
extraordinaire
, and to Moira Forsyth at Sandstone who edited the book into shape.

 

Laurie scanned and rescanned the endless rows of soup. This task was clearly beyond her. Each can she picked up was heavier than the last and she had difficulty finding its station on the shelf. The dietary information was baffling; she kept losing her place in the column that showed the calories or saturated fat content or whatever it was she was supposed to give a shit about. She eventually tossed some low-fat, low-salt vegetable stuff into the basket, shrugging the handle further up her arm.

She made her way towards Toiletries veering around an infuriated toddler. There was a temporary stall set up at the end of the aisle. A small woman with a big orangey mouth smeared a yellow substance on what appeared to be tiny squares of lino. She was talking at everyone passing about how great the stuff was. Laurie moved closer and joined the growing crowd of people keen to see this new food stuff. It was some sort of spray-on cheese.

She knew that Ed would love this faux-food. Anything processed was ingenious to him; the more nutritionally deficient the better. She smiled at Orange Mouth and picked up a jar. Easy Cheese – No Cutting Required. She could picture Ed's delight at this new-fangled snack food. She imagined spreading it on Mother's Pride and handing it over to him with a fanfare. The jar clunked against the counter as she dropped it back in place.

The shop was filling up. She uncovered her watch. 5.18.

She turned in to Toiletries. Again the array was bewildering. She grabbed an apple shampoo and a coconut conditioner. Despite how shit she was feeling, she wasn't above smelling sweet.

There was something else she needed but nothing in her memory made itself known. Moving along the crisp and biscuit sections, she willed herself to think of the something else. She mentally walked around her tiny kitchen, peering in cupboards seeing if anything came to her. Nothing – the trick didn't work and she knew that as soon as she put her key in the front door that the mystery item would resurface. She ran through her constant shopping list: milk, bread, toilet paper, cereal, butter …

She had wandered into a corral of pensioners. They bumped their trolleys against the edges of shelves. They didn't appear to know each other but were all dressed similarly in pale biscuit-like colours. Did you reach a certain age and then felt the need to dress in comfort food colours? They milled around her, clogging up the aisle, getting in the way of everything. She felt like manhandling them out of her way. As she stood, hemmed in by their chat and indecision, she felt the last drop of patience drip out. Tutting loudly, she put her basket in the nearest dawdler's trolley and headed for the door.

The arcade that led to the bus stops was suffocated by Christmas decorations. They were intricate and fierce, the colours mashing together behind the plate glass. Laurie kept catching sight of the patterns blinking out of the corner of her eye. She'd turn her head towards the movement, convinced someone was motioning towards her. She really ought to get on with decorating the Christmas tree. It was only, what, nine days until the big day? But what was the point? Why bother getting lots of sparkly pointless tat and finding places to put it all? Ed wouldn't notice the tree anyway. He took these things for granted more and more. And there was certainly no excitement in her for the event these days. It was all just a hassle really.

A group of boys was clumped around one of the shelters. She had to pass through their cigarette smoke to see the timetable. Her wrist goose-pimpled when she pulled back her sleeve. 5.27 Almost time for Neighbours. At least the TV would drown out the noise of Ed's computer game.

The journey was slow. The bus negotiated the route to Queen Street in a stop-start, sick-making fashion. When she arrived home she stood outside the block and looked up at the flat. She could see Ed through the lace curtain his mother had insisted on giving them. Laurie could only imagine this was a last-ditch attempt at respectability. They may be living in sin but at least the view of them at it was obscured.

‘‘Chance would be a fine thing,'' she muttered, reaching into her hand bag for her key. She raked around through all the bus tickets, sweet wrappers and scraps of paper. Her bag was looking more and more like a bin. It was then, of course, she realised.

‘‘Fucking bin bags! Fuck! Fucking fuck!''

She kicked the door closed behind her. Inevitably, it caught on the invisible rise in the concrete floor, requiring her to turn back and push it home. She felt like smashing the glass out. Why did nothing ever work properly around here?

She could hear the shooting before she reached the top landing. As bloody usual, there was a pile of mail by the front door. Not even on the table, just toed out of the way. She moved towards the green glow.

‘‘Hello.'' She tried to sound cheery.

‘‘Check this. You can actually see his brains splatter.'' Ed kept his eyes trained on his opposing number's death. ‘‘Did you get anything for tea?''

‘‘No, the shop was closed. Power cut.''

Her so-called boyfriend accepted this without even turning his head. His hand reached out for the phone and he dialled without looking.

‘‘Yeah. Curry meal for two. Chicken Korma and Passanda. Peshwari naan. MacDonald. Yeah, that's the one. Cool.'' He hung up.

‘‘You know, Ed, It might be nice to be asked occasionally what I might like.''

He finally turned round to her.

‘‘Did you want something else?''

‘‘No. But it might have been nice for you to ask.''

A look of confusion passed briefly across his face. Then he swivelled back to the screen.

Laurie walked out of the room and went into the bathroom. She sat down on the toilet and tried to cry. Nothing happened. She stood up and looked into the mirror and gave herself a severe look. Something had to be done. Whatever looks she had were sure to go soon. She was pale and grimy looking. She probably needed to get her hair cut and try some new make up. But what for? Things were definitely going tits up here. There was only so long she could put up with take-aways and being ignored. When she was younger she'd envisioned a different relationship. Even when imagining an unhappy relationship, she'd pictured a Bastard. A thumper or a philanderer. Not this boring nothingness. She'd almost put up with a bit of domestic abuse just to relieve the monotony.

The door bell rang. Laurie dragged herself up and answered the door.

‘‘Awright. Delivery for ya.'' The guy was about seventeen. He had the ubiquitous fauxhawk and an eyebrow piercing. He wasn't her usual type, but he was good looking. He raised his eyebrows at her. She realised she'd been staring.

‘‘How much?''

‘‘Twelve fifty.''

She ducked in for her purse. Twelve fifty, plus tip, of course. It wasn't enough that she'd already be paying the best part of two quid for delivery, she also had to pay the delivery guy. For what? Driving a mile and climbing a flight of stairs.

‘‘Here.'' She handed over the money, almost everything she had in there. It was mostly pound coins – the least she could do was weigh him down a bit.

‘‘Listen, can I get a lift off you?''

‘‘Yeah, whatever.'' He shrugged and turned to go back down the stairs. ‘‘I've got to go back to the shop anyways.''

She put the bag with the curry round the corner into the hall. Ed still hadn't shifted. He'd stay there all night without even looking her way, shovelling his curry in, then some sweets and several cups of tea.

She reached into the bag, took the naan and followed the delivery guy down the tenement stairs.

The delivery car was a dressed up black and yellow Punto. There were lights under the wheel arches and a good deal of chrome. She climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the racing seat belt around herself.

‘‘Where you goin'?'' the driver's accent was that strange Pakistani-Scottish hybrid. He was acting less confident now, unsure how to behave in this unfamiliar situation.

Laurie looked out of the window.

‘‘I don't know, Vicky Park? Do you mind if I …'' She waved the naan at him.

‘‘Please yourself. Roll the window down though. I don't want my car stinkin'''

‘‘Don't you like peshwari?''

‘‘Not all Asians like curry y'know.''

‘‘Oh sorry, I didn't mean anything.'' She felt wrong-footed. Had she been racist? She didn't really know any Asians. There was a Nigerian guy in her office, but that was the extent of her multi-cultural interaction. Had she implied something?

‘‘Nah, I'm only messin'. It just interferes with ma aftershave. Y'know?'' He smiled at her.

Still, she didn't unwrap the naan and her stomach was starting to hurt with hunger pangs. The warmth was seeping out through the tin foil and she could smell the almonds.

‘‘Seriously, go ahead.'' He flicked his head at her. ‘‘Go on.'' He grinned again. She peeled away the foil, careful not to spill the sugary powder. She peeled off a corner and took a bite.

‘‘Here we are.'' The car pulled up at the wrought iron gates. Now they'd arrived, Laurie didn't want to get out into the cold. Still, she couldn't hang about with the delivery driver all night. She didn't even know his name. He looked at her. She started to wonder why he was being nice to her.

‘‘Well, I suppose I'd better get going.'' She half-wished he'd ask her to stay but he just kept looking at her expectantly. She opened the door.