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Authors: Alison Miller

Demo (6 page)

BOOK: Demo
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Where are you going?

I pick my jeans and my knickers off the floor and go into the bathroom. It's white too, same as ours. I lock the door. My face is pale in the mirror and my hair is stickin to the side of my head where Julian's slavered on me. I set my clothes on the bidet and fill the basin with hot water.

Julian's at the door. Listenin.

Clare? Clare, please talk to me. What's the matter?

I pick up my torn knickers and dip them in the water and squeeze them.

Are you alright? Clare!

Then I wash myself down there. I'm still sore. When I look at my knickers, they're all blood and slime. I rinse them again. The water turns pink.

Talk to me, Clare. Are you there?

I wash mysel and rinse and wash and rinse and wash and rinse. Then I pull the plug out. All the pink water swirls away.

Clare! He bangs once on the door. C'mon. What you doing? You're scaring me.

I take one of the white towels off the chrome rail and dry
between my legs and where the water's ran down them. I hang the towel back up. There's only a faint pink smear. I hope Mr Abensur doesny see it.

He thumps again. Harder. Clare!

I lift my jeans, put my arm down the legs and turn them the right way out. Then I step into them, pull them on and do them up. I make sure the zip doesny catch any a the hairs in my pubes.

Clare, you're being childish. Open the door.

I pick my knickers out the basin, squeeze the water out, drop them in the pedal pin beside the sink. No. I press the pedal again with my bare foot and fish them out. It might be Mr Abensur who empties the bins. Or his wife. I squeeze them a bit more into the sink. Then I stuff them in the pocket of my jeans.

Clare, I'm going to break the door down… if you don't talk to me… tell me what's the matter.

I slide back the chrome bolt and open the door. Julian steps backwards. It looks like the whole room behind him is full of sun. But it's only the yellow walls and the orange duvet.

Clare. Julian takes my hands and looks at my face. His eyes look worried. Clare, did I hurt you? I'm so sorry. Tell me, Clare. It's just I thought…

I'm alright, I says. I walk past him and pick up my boots. Then I go to sit on the bed to put them on. There's a stain right in the middle of the duvet. Like a big red poppy.

Oh God! I start to cry again. Look what we've did…

Julian sits on the bed beside me and puts his arm round my shoulder. Clare, it's alright. I'm sorry… I didn't realize you were… I didn't know you hadn't … you'd never… you know… done it before.

I told you…I told you…I told you…

Shhh, Clare, shhh. It's alright. I'm sorry. It's alright.

Somebody hammers on the door. Really loud.

Julian, you there?

It's Danny!

Time to go, man. Demo's due to start.

I stop breathin.

Is Clare wae you?

Julian puts a finger to his mouth and squeezes my shoulder with his other hand.

Julian?

They should be back by this time, Danny says to somebody. Twisted cunt, that yin.

A woman's voice answers. Laetitia it must be, but I don't hear what she says. Danny gives the door one last thump. Then they go away.

Julian comes round the front of me and kneels on the floor. Forget about Danny, he says. He pulls his hand inside the sleeve of his shirt and uses it to wipe my face.

Don't cry, Clare. Please. I'm really sorry. That was insensitive of me.

Is that what you call it? I think to myself. I'm cold. I cross my arms over my chest. Julian takes my arms and pulls them apart. Slow.

Don't, I says.

Clare… don't be like that. Please. He puts his hands under my oxters, stands up and pulls me up at the same time. I notice he's got his jeans on again. He presses me to him and puts his arms round me and sorta rocks me. And sways me. Then he like starts to slow dance me round the floor. Singin.

No woman, no cry…

He kisses the top of my head.

No woman, no cry …

He combs my hair with his fingers and sings about Trenchtown and havin good friends and losin them and dryin my
tears. His voice is soft. It doesny sound posh when he sings. He even looks a bit like Bob Marley, only white. He kisses my eyes.

… Everything's gonna be alright …

He sings over my head into the bright room.

… Everything's gonna be alright, now …

Clare, he says. The front of his jeans is hard again.

He dances me slow across to the bed, flings the duvet back and pulls me down onto the rumpled sheet. Then he reaches for the cover, tents it over our heads and kisses my mouth in the warm dark.

This time I know it'll be OK.

When I wake up, Julian's arm is heavy across me and his face is at the top of my head, blowin my hair when he breathes out. It's nearly dark in the room. The sky at the window is a deep kinda mauvey blue. I lift my feet up under the duvet to let some air in. The cold makes me feel the wet between my legs. I get embarrassed even in the dark thinkin about Julian's face there, me holdin on to his dreads with both hands. When he's came back up, he says, Am I forgiven then? And his face is all shiny with slavers and like… my juice. He makes me laugh; he reminds me of my aunt Patsy's big daft dog just out the sea at Helensburgh wae a stick. He says, Here, taste yourself… He kisses me and puts his tongue right in. And I think maybe I
can
taste me, mixed in with the tobacco and his own salty taste. And when he's came into me again, it's totally different. It's so warm under the cover and he's movin slow and his tongue's in my mouth… I don't remember now who's fell asleep first.

I pull my hand out fae under the duvet and look at my watch: four o'clock.

Julian. I lift his arm off me and sit up. He says somethin in
his sleep I canny make out. Julian. I shake his shoulder. He turns slow onto his back. His hair's all over the pillow. Then he opens his eyes. I can see the whites of them sorta gleamin in the half-light in the room. He looks a bit creepy. I swing my legs out fae under the duvet and run with my bare feet on the cold marbly floor to the light switch beside the door. The light's as bright as sunshine and the yellow room is there again. Julian squints in the sudden glare but his eyes are back to normal. He's watchin me. I put my arm across my boobs and my other hand over my pubes and go back to the bed.

He laughs, You can't hide from me now; I know you inside out. His eyes are blue and I get that funny feelin again.

Pass me my jacket, will you? Julian says, and points. It's crumpled in the corner where he's flung it. I feel him watchin me when I go over to get it. I try to imagine what he's seein but I can't. He's lookin at me fae an angle I've never even saw mysel. Nobody has. Except when I was a wean. I hold the cold jacket in front of me when I go back to the bed. It smells of Julian. The metal buttons make wee burny-cold spots down my belly. I hold it out to Julian and he takes it from me and pulls me down beside him at the same time.

Are we gonny go to the demo? Close up, his eyes have got wee violety flecks and a few gold ones, and the really really blue bits are round the edges.

Do you want to? He's took his tobacco out his pocket and he's smoothin out a Rizla.

My da'll kill me if don't.

He laughs and takes a big pinch of tobacco out the pouch and sprinkles it slow and even along the paper. Some wee brown strands fall onto the duvet and he picks them up and rubs them off his fingers into the green packet.

Sure, we'll go. I promised I'd get you there, didn't I? His hands are the only bit of him that's no dead white; they've got
some sun on the backs and gold hairs, and the fingers are stained with nicotine.

Aye, but … when? It'll be all over if we don't go now.

He starts to roll the fag, foldin the thin paper over careful, then workin it between his fingers till it's closed over the tobacco.

Soon… when I've had a smoke. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and licks the edge of the Rizla, sticks it down. He fishes out a clear turquoise lighter and flicks the flame under the roll-up, narrows his eyes and takes a long draw. He clocks me watchin him.

Would you like a drag? He holds out the roll-up like it's one a they spliffs.

No, you're alright. I don't smoke.

What a good little girl you are. He takes his fag back and takes a deep draw. Why's he sayin that? After what we've just been doin? Nobody in our house smokes – no even Danny. My da's dead against it. Says he watched my granda cough hissel to death at the age of fifty-two.

The stain on the duvet is dried now. It's turned more a sorta browny-pink. The colour of Laetitia's lipstick nearly.

What we gonny do about that? I says.

Nothing.

Nothin?

Not a thing.

But —

Clare, this is a hotel; there are people to do the washing. That's what we pay for. He sounds annoyed.

OK… Are you mad at me?

Of course not.

It's just… you sound mad.

He sighs out a big cloud of smoke. Well, I'm not. Come on. He nips the end of his roll-up and tosses it in the bin. Then
he jumps out the bed. His prick's smooth and kinda long and a bit red. But no hard. No wee and wrinkled either. I wonder if it's on the way up or down. He goes into the bathroom and I hear him peein. When he comes out, it looks smaller again. I've no saw it lookin the same way twice.

Right, let's go, he says. And he starts pickin up his clothes off the floor.

It's funny how you can be dead close to somebody, then it's like you don't even know them.

It's no completely dark when we come out the B&B, but it's gettin there. There's still a few light silvery streaks in the sky.

How will we know where to go? I says. Julian's holdin my hand and his fingers are cold. He's got the collar of his combat jacket up.

We'll find it. Trust me. He starts walkin in the same direction as l'Accademia. It feels like a week at least fae we came along here before. The big door of the gallery's shut now and the windows are black. Julian is walkin faster and I'm kinda half runnin to keep up. He doesny look at the place. Funny to think of the
David
in there, gazin into the distance in the dark, his body all white and still. And the slaves strugglin, strugglin out the stone for ever.

We start goin across a big square wae a church at one side and a statue in the middle. It's dead quiet for a Saturday. Maybe everybody's went to the demo. Then we go through some more narrow cobbled streets. Some of the shops have big planks of wood bolted across their windows. They're all closed.

Are the shops always shut like this on a Saturday? Even though he's holdin my hand, Julian seems awful far away.

What?

The shops?

Not sure. Think perhaps it's the
manifestazione
.

The what?

That's what the Italians call the demonstration.
La manifestazione.
Manifestation. See. He points to a notice on the dark red door of a ristorante :
Chiuso per la manifestazione.
Closed for the demonstration. Bastards.

Why?

Don't want the riffraff of Europe coming into their nice clean restaurant.

Maybe they've went to the demo theirsels and that's how they've closed it. I think this might make Julian laugh, but he says nothin and just starts walkin faster again.

We cross another wee square, this time wae trees round it. Some of the leaves have fell onto the street and they swish under our feet. They're different fae the ones in Glasgow. More like old paper. No soakin wet or dry and crumbly like in the park at home. I wish Julian would say somethin.

What kind a trees are they?

Dunno. He's lookin straight ahead and doesny even glance at them.

Only the leaves are different fae in Glasgow.

I don't know, Clare. A tree is a tree is a tree. D'you want to make the demo or not?

I don't say nothin. The next street we come to has leaflets and streamers and things in among the leaves.

Well, here's where they started from, going by the evidence at our feet. He bends down and picks up a yellow leaflet with black writin. It seems to be all in Italian.

So, I guess we just follow the paper trail. He looks at me for the first time for ages and I remember when I first seen him standin in George Square and wondered who he was.

Alright? he says. I nod my head and he starts off walkin fast again.

It's like there really is a paper trail. First it's just leaflets and the odd placard wae a broken stick. But then we come to a bit where the road's wider and there's signs to different towns – Pisa, Bologna, Roma – and we're out of the centre of Florence. There's no old houses here; just modern flats. Concrete boxes for the masses, my da would say. And all over the road there's hunners a wee bits of paper scattered, all different colours. A few of the flats have posters and banners hangin out the windows. I can see right into some a them where the light's on. There's this one… a young guy with a bare chest is dancin round the room hissel. He sorta boogies over to the window and looks out. Then a dark-haired girl comes up behind him and puts her arms round his waist and her cheek against his shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look at Julian and I'm gonny say somethin, but his eyes are far away.

A couple a guys and a lassie are walkin towards us. It looks like they could a been on the march by the style of them. Jeans and T-shirts, green jackets and coloured scarfs. The lassie has on a red and yellow stripy jumper and a floppy rainbow hat.

Buon giorno,
Julian says.
La manifestazione?
They look at each other, then start to talk dead slow in Italian and point the way they've came.

Ah, American? Julian says. Hi.

They smile and say, Hi, like it's a big relief. Yeah, just keep right on along this road, then it's on your left? You can't miss it. It's e
nor
mous. Bigger'n any we've seen in the States.

BOOK: Demo
12.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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