Bucket Nut by Liza Cody Page B

about the water-heater being electric but she didn’t take it in.
    â€˜Can’t you just turn the electricity on?’ she asked.
    I explained about Mr Gambon and the meter, but she just looked bewildered.
    â€˜Where am I?’ she asked.
    I told her. She looked bewildered and miserable.
    â€˜Why am I here?’ she asked. She couldn’t remember one single solitary thing about last night.
    I told her about the raid, the tear gas and the lady copper.
    She looked bewildered, miserable and frightened.
    â€˜Where’s my handbag?’ she asked.
    I told her she left it at Bermuda Smith’s club.
    â€˜Oh shit, shit, shit,’ she said and looked as if, on top of everything else, she was going to cry.
    â€˜What’s in it?’ I asked.
    She didn’t answer. She just flopped back in the bed and stared at the ceiling, a picture of despair.
    â€˜What are the polizei after you for?’ I asked.
    â€˜Oh Lord, I don’t know,’ she said to the ceiling.
    â€˜Come on!’ I said. I was beginning to feel a bit miserable myself. I thought I’d done her a favour but she wasn’t happy about anything.
    â€˜Don’t shout at me,’ she said. ‘I feel awful.’
    â€˜Drink your tea,’ I said and got up to go out. ‘There’s a bus stop at the bottom of the road. When you’re ready I’ll take you there.’
    â€˜Are you throwing me out?’ she asked in a very small voice.
    â€˜Ain’t you got a home to go to?’ I asked, a bit sarcastic. ‘My drum obviously ain’t good enough for you.’ I spoke rough just to show her I wasn’t good enough for her either.
    She stared at me.
    â€˜I got to protect myself,’ I explained. ‘I don’t want the polizei glomming round here. And that’s what you done. You brought them right to my doorstep and you don’t have the decency to tell me for why.’
    She burst into tears.
    â€˜Oh dry up,’ I shouted.
    I hate it when women cry. I never cry myself. I threw her a towel to blow her nose on and went out to make some more tea. Really, I wanted a beer, but someone who’s having trouble with her abdominal muscles should lay off the beer. Beer and abs are deadly enemies.
    The kettle was already steaming away. I’d put it on to heat water for Goldie to have a wash and then forgotten about it.
    â€˜Fuck it,’ I said, and got a can of Hofmeister out of the cupboard. I opened it and plonked myself down on the sofa.
    She came in a moment later. She was wrapped in a blanket and looked like one of those Help An Orphan posters.
    She said, ‘I’m sorry, Eva, really I am. I didn’t know.’
    â€˜About what?’
    â€˜About the police.’
    I said nothing, and she sat down beside me.
    After a minute she said, ‘I owe some money. I’ve got debts.’
    â€˜The polizei aren’t interested in your debts.’
    â€˜No,’ she said, ‘but when you get into debt you get into other trouble too.’
    That’s the truth. ‘Go on,’ I said.
    â€˜I don’t want to get you involved,’ she said. ‘All you did was help a stranger.’
    That was the truth too. I was beginning to like her again.
    â€˜The real problem is that I lost my bag at the club,’ she went on. ‘The police will have found it.’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜Well, so they’ll know who I am, where I live and what I was carrying.’
    â€˜What were you carrying?’
    She sort of swayed. She was pale as milk.
    She said, ‘You don’t want to know that, Eva. Look, if I could just use your phone, I could ask someone to pick me up. I can’t go home, but I have friends who might help.’
    â€˜No phone.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I don’t have a phone,’ I said.
    She stared at me, open mouthed. Nothing had amazed her more than the fact that I didn’t have a telephone.
    â€˜There’s