Petes’ Birds
The wailing was giving her a headache, her head felt like it would burst open and splinter and ping off the wall like pins. She pushed the back of her legs against the metal railings; it ribbed her calves like a Sunday joint and gave slight relief. The breeze was nice against her skin which had felt prickly all day. A metallic taste in her mouth, she swallowed but couldn’t seem to muster enough saliva.
She heard the toilet flushing and Keith came out, a little bounce as he adjusted his balls. She smelt the urine and spice on his hands as he placed them on the balcony. She imagined the blue and red of the germs on his imprints and shifted away. He sensed the distanced heat and turned, his eyes resting for a second on her breasts and she straightened her shoulders but he’d already looked away. He sniffed the air and tapped his beer can with his nails. Tried to make out what the noise was, fading up and down as though someone was adjusting the volume. She snorted and her hand flew to her face to muffle the noise. She opened her mouth to say something in compensation but the thought plopped back into the darkness like a fish. The fading light reflected off Keith’s’ receding hairline, either side of his skull like horns. Maybe that’s what was making her laugh, sometimes she felt as though her body had its own mind, its own way of doing things that she had no control over.
Keith met her eye, searched to see if she was laughing at him but the noise of shattering glass steered his gaze back to the estate. Sandra rubbed her eyes with her fists, a kind of grit like nail filings under her eyelids but she seemed to be making it worse and while she rubbed an ache began in the centre of her forehead. She pulled out her lips like a duck’s bill with her fingers then moulded the inside of her mouth around her teeth, her pig’s teeth as Keith called them. He gave her a questioning look and made to throw his crushed beer can over the balcony but changed his mind at the last second and opened his hand. It dropped to the floor and the clean clang interrupted the sobbing that she guessed was a horny cat and her hand flew to her mouth again as she snorted. Keith went back into the sitting room and the leaves suddenly rustled as though the night let out a pent up sigh.
She didn’t turn on the kitchen light. She went to the fridge and took a beer from the back as he liked them cold and her hand hovered over a can of coke. He didn’t like her drinking coke as the dentist said she’d have to have all her teeth removed if she continued. Her mouth filled with saliva as she imagined opening the can and taking a crafty swig but she resisted and placed the cold beer on the side board. She’d have a cup of tea instead. She’d filled the kettle and put her finger on the switch when there was a pop and her knees buckled. She didn’t know what had happened just that her fingers hurt so she sucked on them and her nose began to run. When she took her fingers out of her mouth a pain shot through her arm so she started to cry.
Sobbing she crawled to the fridge and took out that can of coke, she opened it quietly under her t shirt and gulped it down. She enjoyed the pain of the soda on her gums, the way it made her teeth sticky, the drying in her mouth. She suppressed a burp and thought about getting another. Then Keith shouted for his beer so she hauled herself up and refilled the kettle. She’d have it black and looked sideways at the fridge. There was something about the milk that was upsetting her stomach recently. She poured water into the cup and careful not to spill any drips, carried the hot tea bag to the bin. She took the beer to Keith who held up his hand taking the can from her without looking.
She went to draw the curtains then ducked instinctively as something flew past her head. It was one of those white moths she’d been seeing a lot this summer. She caught it in her fingers, examined its powdery white wings and black markings then pushed her palms together. She knew its juices were bitter so she wiped her hands on her T shirt instead. Clouds moved over the moon; it looked like a hand closing slowly over a heart. She pulled the doors to and silenced the weeping.
Another snort pushed up from her throat. Keith tutted and looked annoyed then motioned for her to come over. She knelt in front of him and put her head on his lap, he scratched her neck with his stubby nails. She noticed he’d changed shower gel, but she could still smell his scent through it. She moved her head away from the seam of his jeans which was cutting into her face and he pushed away her head and reached down for his beer. She sat for a while on the carpet by his legs pulling bobbles out of the rug but he moved her out of the way with his legs so she went into the bedroom.
A daddy long legs bobbed up and down on the ceiling, tugged by invisible design. The dull thud thud thud of a child kicking a football against a wall filtered into the room as though the noise carried through water. She ran her tongue over her lower lip then went to Keith’s bedside cabinet to get lip balm. As she opened the drawer she heard a familiar crackling sound, it had the same effect as Santa’s bells on a child. She put her finger to her lips to hush herself and sucked on her tongue in concentration. Keith said the doctor had stopped her prescription but she could make out her name on the packet, even in this dim light. Her heart leapt strangely and frightened her for a moment. It did this sometimes and someone had told her it was angels tapping the inside of her chest. She wondered if she was being punished for going through Keith’s’ private drawer and stood very still.
She popped out two of the white oval pills, placed them on top of the cabinet and put the rest of the packet exactly where she’d found it. She sat very still on the bed for a long time with the pills nestled in the sweat of her hand. When certain she wouldn’t be disturbed, she put them carefully under her tongue. The crumbly texture, like sweet chalk was already beginning to dissolve. She flopped onto the cold fabric of the patchwork quilt and listened to the music. She recognised the song and smiled but it stopped then she realised it was her own humming. The tune disappeared even though she tried to bring it to the forefront of her mind: difficult as tugging a metal splinter out of a woollen weave. When she’d given up, the tune tickled the back of her throat like heartworm and melded with the fizz of the pills at the roof of her mouth. She imagined them meeting like the church arch she’d made with her fingers as a child. “Here’s the church...” Her lips stung as she murmured and she couldn’t remember the rest of the rhyme.
She fell back against the pillow; it seemed to move up to meet the small of her back. She brought her knees up to her chest and her face brushed against the warm thermal of her father’s shirt. Sandalwood. Sweat. She could feel the spring of his chest hair on her face, it tickled. She smiled and gurgled a saliva bubble that popped and made her smile more. She breathed in deeply his freshly showered scent, the clean shirt that smelt of the iron. Her mum humming to herself as she made the tea, her sure steps padding on the lino and her dad doing the crossword and listening to the news. She played with his thumb ingrained black with engine oil even after he’d scrubbed them with that strong soap kept in the cupboard under the sink.
She’d play with his hand, his breath made tiny rivulets on her scalp and the steady beat of his heart. And the steady beat of his heart. She clawed at his shirt, her nails weak and sharp as a kittens’ dug into his shirt but there was something hurting her shoulder. Her eyes rolled up like dusty blinds and something white like cotton wool came towards her face. Tears sprung out of her eyes as she gagged. She couldn’t breath and her jaw felt as though it would come away from under her ears. A noise like someone ripping through stitches and blood trickled from the corners of her mouth and through it all she heard a low laugh. He pushed his foot further forward, it rammed into the back of her throat and sweat moved slowly down his forehead. She felt as though each lung had been punctured and someone was squeezing all the air out of her body and she knew what it was like to want to die to stop the pain. Then it was gone and she fell onto her hands and knees coughing and spitting. Keith sat on the bed breathing heavily and examined the flecks of blood on his sock.
***
Sandra woke suddenly to Keiths’ stomach, round and bloated like that of a dead rat she’d seen one summers day when walking back from school. Flies buzzed around the body and it jerked with maggots. A cuckoo in a nearby tree (or was it a woodpigeon) and she’d prodded it with a stick. A pop and a sigh and a smell like rotten potatoes and she’d seen its soul move up towards heaven. Even though it made her gag, she’d scooped it up in an exercise book and buried it at the roadside. “Made you some toast.” He nodded towards the plate he’d put down by her head and pulled back the balcony curtains. He stepped out in his bare feet and gently pummelled his chest and took a deep breath. She surprised herself with a croak as she sat up and moved her tongue slowly over her teeth, the texture of velvet. She snorted and pushed the pillow behind her neck. Keith winked as he passed on his way to the shower, she answered with a smile and bit down on her toast.
***
George opened the door and they’d both blinked as the smell came out like a wall of fetid bile. He wore tan colour trousers with stains around the upper thighs and jumped when Keith popped his head over Sandra’s shoulder and shouted “Surprise!” waving his hands rag time style.
“All right Georgie Porgie.” He said as he shoved Sandra out the way, his eyes darting round the flat. She stood cupping her jaw against the throb and waved away a fly that hovered near one of the weeping sores. She attempted to step into the flat but was kept at bay by an invisible force like an electric fence, so she stood in the hallway amongst the junk and the sun beat against the back of her head and the smell settled on her skin like gel.
She stared at the strange wallpaper pattern in the hallway until her eyes adjusted to the light and she realised it was handprints. A puddle of fluid in the corner near the boiler was drying into a brown dust. George was in the kitchen unscrewing something, she could see his springy black and white hair through the crack in the door. She tried to move forward again but her legs had seized up like one of those collection dolls with metal braces. Her face felt soft and wet as plaster of paris.
She jumped as George appeared, breathing frantically through his nicotine stained nostril hair that sprung thick and oily from his noise. He smiled, his teeth discoloured in layers like the sides of sea cliffs. His skin varying shades of yellow from bright to dark orange from the roll ups he chain smoked. He handed her a chipped white enamel camping mug that she accepted with a snort, nostrils flaring like a camels’. Keith heaved an old sixties television set he’d had his eye on for a while now he’d picked the place clean and George scuttled into his bedroom like a gigantic spider.
Keith put the TV down by Sandra’s feet and squatted to sort through the mail clean and fast like an expert tea picker. A strong scent of mint wafted over, mixing with the stale alcohol fumes as Keith pushed a handful of envelopes into the back pocket of his jeans. His knees cracked as he stood up and he murmured something about his back. He brushed dust from his bare freckled forearms, the tinkle of his gold bracelet as it fell back into place on his wrist. “I’ll take this off your slate Georgie boy, sort out these cheques for you and all. He winked and picked up the TV with a groan. “Get the door Sandra love.” She put down the mug and held the door open. She felt the tips of George’s fingers against her backside as she waited for Keith to walk through. George stood at the door like a rabbit in brush, then he was gone and the stairs reverberated with the slam of the door.
They stopped in front of a door on the first floor, Sandra rapped on the green chipped paint and before she’d had the chance to drop her arm, the door swung open. Kath flashed a set of large grey teeth and waved her fat arm to usher them in. She grabbed Keith’s cheeks as he pushed past and cooed into his face. Sandra went into the sitting room followed closely by Keith who wheezed like an old rusty bike tire. He dropped the TV onto the sofa and fell into a nearby armchair. Budgies tweeted agitated in their cages and seed husks spiralled onto the emerald green carpet. A beam of sunlight escaped the drawn curtains and cut the room in half.
Sandra ran her fingers over the brown velour sofa, and a smell like pine floated up with the dust and smoke that marbled the sunlight. The budgies had settled although they chirruped and hopped nervously. She no longer fed them as they kept biting her fingers and had once nipped her chin. Keith and Kath were talking, sounded like they were in the kitchen. He had left the room very silently she supposed as she made patterns with her fingertips and watched the sawdust catch in the sunlight like tiny stars. She held out her arms and stretched her fingers hoping to make her skin shimmer but, like pebbles from the sea, they were disappointedly dull when she withdrew her arms.
Keith came back into the room fixing his belt buckle, he stood at the door, stuck his hand deep into his jeans pocket and took a large gulp of tea. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat down heavily in the armchair. Kath came in the room smiling, avoiding his eye she put a tray on a small round coffee table and offered out a plate of biscuits. She broke one into bits and fed it to the birds through the tiny bars and made chucking noises. She turned and fixed her small black eyes on Sandra, they flicked up and down her body like a knife slicing through polythene. Sandra crossed her arms in front of her chest. Kath nodded to herself then turned to Keith and they laughed. Sandra gave a large snort and they stopped laughing as though she’d flicked a switch. Kath paused then put the plate of biscuits down carefully, hands splayed because of her long false nails.
She lit a cigarette and perched on the arm of Keiths’ chair, he put his hand on her knee and she brushed it off giggling. They all watched the smoke merge with the sunlight, listened to the clock tick and the birds cheeping. When Kath had ground out her cigarette she sat down next to Sandra who hadn’t noticed when the TV had gone. Kath smelt of a heavy musky scent and stale sweat.
Sandra burped and a little bubble formed at the corner of her mouth. She felt her face reddening but they seemed not to have noticed. Kath reached for another cigarette then dropped her lighter. She tutted and reached down the back of the sofa which rocked as she rummaged around. Sandra burped again and this time a stream of vomit like thin gruel trickled down the side of her face. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Kath found her lighter and placed the cigarette carefully at the corner of her mouth. She held the flame to the cigarette and was just about to breath in when Sandra gave a huge burp and vomit streamed from her mouth and throat and dripped into her crotch.
Keith’s mouth opened and closed, he blushed then blanched. Kath jumped up and screamed, then fled to the kitchen and ran the tap. Sandra didn’t move. She sat with the sick running down her and a peaceful emptiness in her stomach. Kath came back with a bowl and damp tea towel. She knelt in front of Sandra and took her hands with her finger tips, ever watchful of chipping her nails. She wiped down her hands, arms and face then scraped the vomit into the towel and took it out.
She came back in with a fresh t shirt. “Come on darling,” she said, “Lift your arms up.” Sandra raised her arms and felt as though she was floating above her body watching it all take place. She smiled and snorted to herself, couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the wall opposite. “What’s wrong with you, you filthy cow.” Keith said as Kath left the room with her dirty t shirt. He got up and made a grab for her arms. Sandra felt him snatch her from the sofa and force her towards the hall. Kath stood in the kitchen doorway with a glass of water. “Don’t go yet Sandra. Rest a while.” But she didn’t move as Keith opened the door and pushed her out.
The fading sun glared in her eyes and made them sting after the dim living room. An intake of breath as Keith leant over to say something in her ear but someone approached, a black stick figure wobbled towards them. He bit her earlobe instead and smiled, “All right Pete.” Pete looked up at Keith, his lips pursed and eyes full of tears. He was cradling something to his chest, he looked from Keith to Sandra then staggered a couple of steps backwards. “Two sheets to the wind as usual.” Keith grunted through his teeth, a vein throbbed above his left eyebrow.
“What’s wrong Pete mate?” He patted his shoulder, and Pete, fragile as dried bones fell into the wall. The sun sunk behind the rooftops. “That you I heard making all that racket last night?” Pete nodded and looked up at Sandra but she was biting her lip and holding her ear shuffling from one foot to another. He flicked his long greasy hair with a sway and held out the precious object in his hands. They both leant over to look. It was a dead bird, yellow chested with a lolling head and missing patches of feathers revealing skin like broiled chicken. “What you done there mate?”
“Wasn’t me!” Pete curled his hands gently around the bird and placed it back against his ribs. “An hawk.” He nodded and looked up, they followed the movement of his eyes but it was nearly dark now. Their shadows long on the hot paving stones. He opened his mouth wide and air whooshed in like the sea in a cave. And for a second all Sandra could see was his teeth with their stains and fillings and his glistening tongue.
Then there was a sound like a gun shot that bounced around the walls. They all stared at Pete who had dropped his bird and was holding his right cheek. Then they stared at Sandra, Keith with bulging eyes and a kind of white foam at the corner of his mouth. “What you do that for?” “What?” She absorbed, just for a glorious second, their intense attention. “Sorry Pete mate she isn’t well.” Pete bent down very slowly and picked up the dead bird. He looked at Sandra closely, lips tight against his teeth and a red and white mark, the shape of a starfish across his face. Then he walked past them without another word, around the building to bury his bird.
This was entered for the 2006 Bridport Prize
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