arriving?”
“About seven-thirty.”
“So that’s when we’ll arrive.”
Ralph sighed. Today was hard work. “Dad said you have prickly heat.”
“Did he? Fancy telling you that. Well don’t worry, I’ll cover myself up. I’ve bought new trousers and a lovely yellow cardy from TK Maxx. They’re women’s golf clothes. Quite nice, I think. I’ve never tried golf. Have you tried golf? Did I mention that Auntie Madge has piles?”
Ralph knocked on the bathroom door.
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“No we don’t.”
“Of course we do. Before tonight.”
“I don’t see any point.”
“Sadie, can you unlock the door?”
“Not right now.”
“Why not?”
“I’m on the loo.”
“No you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“Just let me in.”
“No.”
“Why are you listening to Suzanne Vega? You hate Suzanne Vega.”
“I do not hate Suzanne Vega, I’ve never said that.”
“Are you smoking in there?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s that smell then? Are you tweeting and smoking?”
Ralph thought about kicking the door down. Was he even able to do such a thing? Was he strong enough? He’d seen it done a thousand times in films, but the doors were probably made of imitation wood with fake locks. Did he and Sadie have a fake marriage? They had sex today. Sex means hope, surely? He told himself that if Sadie unlocked the door within the next two minutes, everything would be all right. She would find him and he would find her. He looked at his watch. He waited. He listened to the music coming from the bedroom, a song about a soldier and a queen, and he followed its narrative, mesmerized by the words and the melody, wondering what it was called, walking into the bedroom to find out, not hearing the bathroom door open and close as Sadie made her way downstairs.
9
A SUPERHERO, A COW, A BISCUIT
T o celebrate their one-year anniversary and the way they first met, Frances Delaney and the headmaster entered a nudist phase. (Why say it with flowers when you can say it with your whole body?) It was during this time that Miriam started to wear as many items of clothing as she could, all at once. While her mother sprinted around the house, naked apart from her bowler hat, talking about the end of the world and how they must prepare, Miriam sat in front of the TV in pyjamas, jeans, three T-shirts, five jumpers and a bobble hat. It was an act of rebellion, a corrective impulse: I will wear the missing clothes so that the clothes are no longer missing . And it was HOT. Miriam’s super-smart unconscious hadn’t thought of that when it spawned the corrective impulse. She wobbled from room to room, feverish and slow, wondering if five jumpers could kill a person. She pictured five jumpers hovering in front of her with machine guns. Death by excessive knitwear. She was delirious. By trying not to be her mother she had ended up just like her. Would this become the pattern of her life?
She ran upstairs, feeling like the Honey Monster, and took off all her clothes apart from her Batman underpants (Frances hadn’t been able to find any Batman knickers, because only boys have superheroes on their underwear, according to the lady who owned the shop). She looked at herself in the mirror: a girl in boys’ pants with no control over anything in the world. The headmaster popped his head around the door. “Dinner’s ready, Miriam. Chop chop. Nice pants.”
A ceramic cow. A Superman pyjama top. A pair of Batman underpants. A fisherman’s jumper, bought for a girl who had never been fishing. Miriam found these things this morning in the cupboard on the landing. Why had her mother kept them? Frances had never been a hoarder—she preferred throwing things away to keeping them. When people bought her presents she said she felt burdened, saddled, loaded.
Miriam squeezes into the Superman pyjama top. I’m wearing the past, she thinks, or is the past wearing
“About seven-thirty.”
“So that’s when we’ll arrive.”
Ralph sighed. Today was hard work. “Dad said you have prickly heat.”
“Did he? Fancy telling you that. Well don’t worry, I’ll cover myself up. I’ve bought new trousers and a lovely yellow cardy from TK Maxx. They’re women’s golf clothes. Quite nice, I think. I’ve never tried golf. Have you tried golf? Did I mention that Auntie Madge has piles?”
Ralph knocked on the bathroom door.
“What?”
“We need to talk.”
“No we don’t.”
“Of course we do. Before tonight.”
“I don’t see any point.”
“Sadie, can you unlock the door?”
“Not right now.”
“Why not?”
“I’m on the loo.”
“No you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“Just let me in.”
“No.”
“Why are you listening to Suzanne Vega? You hate Suzanne Vega.”
“I do not hate Suzanne Vega, I’ve never said that.”
“Are you smoking in there?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s that smell then? Are you tweeting and smoking?”
Ralph thought about kicking the door down. Was he even able to do such a thing? Was he strong enough? He’d seen it done a thousand times in films, but the doors were probably made of imitation wood with fake locks. Did he and Sadie have a fake marriage? They had sex today. Sex means hope, surely? He told himself that if Sadie unlocked the door within the next two minutes, everything would be all right. She would find him and he would find her. He looked at his watch. He waited. He listened to the music coming from the bedroom, a song about a soldier and a queen, and he followed its narrative, mesmerized by the words and the melody, wondering what it was called, walking into the bedroom to find out, not hearing the bathroom door open and close as Sadie made her way downstairs.
9
A SUPERHERO, A COW, A BISCUIT
T o celebrate their one-year anniversary and the way they first met, Frances Delaney and the headmaster entered a nudist phase. (Why say it with flowers when you can say it with your whole body?) It was during this time that Miriam started to wear as many items of clothing as she could, all at once. While her mother sprinted around the house, naked apart from her bowler hat, talking about the end of the world and how they must prepare, Miriam sat in front of the TV in pyjamas, jeans, three T-shirts, five jumpers and a bobble hat. It was an act of rebellion, a corrective impulse: I will wear the missing clothes so that the clothes are no longer missing . And it was HOT. Miriam’s super-smart unconscious hadn’t thought of that when it spawned the corrective impulse. She wobbled from room to room, feverish and slow, wondering if five jumpers could kill a person. She pictured five jumpers hovering in front of her with machine guns. Death by excessive knitwear. She was delirious. By trying not to be her mother she had ended up just like her. Would this become the pattern of her life?
She ran upstairs, feeling like the Honey Monster, and took off all her clothes apart from her Batman underpants (Frances hadn’t been able to find any Batman knickers, because only boys have superheroes on their underwear, according to the lady who owned the shop). She looked at herself in the mirror: a girl in boys’ pants with no control over anything in the world. The headmaster popped his head around the door. “Dinner’s ready, Miriam. Chop chop. Nice pants.”
A ceramic cow. A Superman pyjama top. A pair of Batman underpants. A fisherman’s jumper, bought for a girl who had never been fishing. Miriam found these things this morning in the cupboard on the landing. Why had her mother kept them? Frances had never been a hoarder—she preferred throwing things away to keeping them. When people bought her presents she said she felt burdened, saddled, loaded.
Miriam squeezes into the Superman pyjama top. I’m wearing the past, she thinks, or is the past wearing
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