Monkey Wrench (7 page)

‘Takes you back,' I said, and went inside.

Crystal came behind me, and that was the same too. Whenever we were together I always used to go first. Just in case. And whenever we had to talk our way out – Crystal went first. She had a good mouth on her, even in those days.

‘Plenty of space,' Crystal said, waving her torch around. The circle of light boogied around the walls and empty corners.

‘I'll get some carpet in,' she said. ‘And a bit of mattress or something like you got at your gym. See, it's much better here. It's nearer where the girls and me live. And you too.'

‘Count me out,' I said. ‘I
told
you.'

‘And it's private,' she said. ‘None of those stupid blokes poking their noses in and telling you what's what. Making you feel like a carrot. You'd be in charge here, Eva. Your own private gym. And we wouldn't have to pay anyone but you, see. That fat geezer, up your gym, he said we'd have to pay entrance money or we couldn't go there. Mean git. Whereas here. Well, see, if we don't have to pay entrance money you could charge more for your classes, couldn't you?'

‘How much?' I said.

‘It's up to you,' she said. ‘Charge what you like. You're in control. I'll collect the money for you if you don't want to be bothered.'

‘Fuck off,' I said. ‘I'll collect me own money.'

But I had a thought. ‘What about the rent?' I said. ‘Who pays the rent?'

‘Rent?' Crystal said. ‘Leave all that to me. It's the least I can do. If only I'd thought of it before poor Dawnie …'

‘And light,' I said, before she could get sniffly again. ‘I don't want to take that boarding down. I don't fancy people in the market seeing in.'

‘Yeah,' she said. ‘Nor me neither. I'll figure something out about the light. Ain't you hungry yet? I'm starving.'

‘What about the door?' I said. ‘It's broken.'

‘Almost forgot,' she said. ‘I brought a padlock. Just temporary, like.'

She'd come prepared, I'll say that for her. She held the torch while I rigged the padlock, and then we went for the pizza.

She stood me for two deep pan, twelve inch, double cheese and ham pizzas.

‘Do you remember?' she said, with her mouth full. ‘When we was up the West End one time? And all we could snaffle was cold pizza out of the bin?'

‘No,' I said. But I did. and let me tell you, hot pizza, with the cheese all soft and supple beats the shit out of cold pizza, half eaten with stuff set in it like bricks in mortar.

Crystal, when she's feeling sentimental, like about the old days and dead Dawn, is a bit of a soft touch. Which is why I was feeling quite pleased with myself. I mean, she's supposed to be such a sharp operator but she'd coughed up rent-free premises and two twelve inch pizzas all in one night.
Now
tell me who's the operator?

‘Where's the Dirty Half Dozen?' Gruff Gordon said. He rolled in whiffing of bitter as usual when I was just about finished and ready for my shower. ‘Where's all that lovely hot buttered twat?'

‘Eva's mucky mates,' Pete Carver said. ‘I thought it was my birthday – all those prezzies just waiting to be unwrapped. What you got for us today, Eva?'

‘A snootful of knucks,' I said, backing off.

‘That reminds me,' Gruff Gordon said. His hairy eyebrows scrunched down, and his shoulders went up to keep his ears company.

I beat it to the ladies' shower. I'd thought I was too early for them. I thought I'd have done my work, washed and been long gone before they shambled in from the boozer. But those two heavyweight tossers never do nothing to suit me.

Their idea of a chat-up line would be, ‘Lay down and spread 'em.' But I reckoned Bella's Babes could look after themselves in that department. And it wasn't because I couldn't look after myself – punching Gruff in the lunchbox was a pleasure I was willing to pay for. And I would if I knew anything about him. I wasn't scared of him. And I wasn't scared of Pete. I just didn't want to see them. That's all.

For your information, in case you think I'm telling lies and I really beat it to the ladies' shower because I'd made a belly-button sandwich out of Gruff Gordon and I was scared he'd return the favour – I'll tell you – those two blubber boys don't scare me one tiny bit. But I hate them, really loathe them with a capital L, and I'll tell you for why. They are chip-mongers, chip-chip-chipping away at everything important. That's why.

I am a self-made woman. I was nothing before I took myself in hand. Zero. I'm strong because I made myself strong. I got a career
ahead of me because I made it happen. I hung around on the edge of the wrestling scene until Mr Deeds got so fed up with me he gave me a go. And once I'd got my foot in the door I wouldn't take it out. I've got jobs. I've got a home. I've got dogs I trained myself. I done all that,
and
I'm getting a reputation. I'm going to be famous. I'm going to be top of the bill one day.

What I hate is Pete Carver and Gruff Gordon chip-chip-chipping with their smelly yellow teeth, trying to make me small and weak again. Miserable, mean-minded snot-bags who can't bear to see someone succeeding.

That's why I beat it to the ladies' shower. Got it?

And if I want to teach Crystal, Bella, Stef, Mandy, Kath and Lynn how to defend themselves, I sodding well will. So there. Stick that somewhere. Sideways. You won't stop me by taking the piss out of me. Or them.

But I didn't really know how. Which is why I asked Harsh for advice. Harsh knows things. He uses his head for more than stopping footballs.

I caught up with him on his way to the tube station.

‘These women, Harsh,' I said. I was walking backwards because Harsh didn't stop. ‘These women,' I said, ‘they want to learn self-defence but they're just a pile of parts. They can't even walk straight. It'd take fifty years to get them fit. And they ain't very bright either.'

‘Well, Eva,' Harsh said, ‘first you should ask yourself why you wish to spend your time in this way. Second, why do the women wish to learn. And third, what do they wish to do with such skills as you are able to impart.'

I wished he would stand still. He is a very clever bloke who has been to college and all that. He can think and talk and walk all at the same time.

‘Do not walk backwards, Eva,' he said.

‘Why?' I said.

‘We are arriving at the station stairs,' he said. ‘I do not wish to carry you up them after you have fallen down them.'

‘Oh.'

‘Speaking spiritually, also, it is better to know where you are going and to approach problems from the correct angle.'

‘Yeah, right,' I said. ‘These women …'

‘And I wonder,' Harsh went on, ‘if the fact that you have been walking backwards is symptomatic. Have you considered, Eva, that you might be approaching the problem from the wrong angle? Why, for instance, are you asking me for advice of this nature? Wouldn't it be better to ask a woman what it is that women wish to know?'

He started down the tube station stairs, sort of gliding, weight perfectly distributed. I notice the way people move, and it's always a pleasure to notice Harsh. But I had to gallop to keep up.

‘Yeah, but Harsh …' I said.

He was buying a ticket from the machine and I had to decide what to do. Between you and me, paying good money for a little piece of cardboard is against my religion. And another thing, if you must know, I hate travelling underground. It makes my teeth ache and my scalp sweat.

I planted myself between Harsh and the barrier. ‘These slags are useless,' I said. ‘How'm I going to teach them to fight?'

‘This is precisely what I mean,' Harsh said. He stepped neatly round me. ‘You cannot teach them to fight. They probably do not want to learn. You think you should teach them because it is what you yourself know how to do.'

He went through the barrier and glided towards the escalator.

I took a deep breath and vaulted the barrier.

‘But Harsh,' I said when I'd caught up, ‘what else is there?'

‘What else but fighting?' He laughed. I do admire his teeth, I really do. One day, when I've saved up enough money, I'm going to get mine done so they look just like his.

He stood on the escalator. It was moving, but at least he was standing still. I went after him.

He said, ‘Most women do not want to learn to fight. This is the advantage men take.'

‘Well then what can I do? If they don't want to fight and they're too lazy to get fit and they go in strangers' cars and
down dark alleys, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?'

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘You have no respect for the problem so you will never solve it.'

‘Respect it?' I said. I would have been really narked if anyone but Harsh said stuff like that.

‘An act of imagination,' Harsh said. ‘Think of one of these women and put yourself in her place. Then think what she needs. She, Eva. Not you.'

The escalator slid Harsh softly on to the ground, but it tried to trip me up.

‘Me?' I said. ‘Think like a slag?'

‘Please don't shout, Eva,' he said. ‘No, maybe it isn't possible. If it were possible you wouldn't use rude words about it.'

‘It's a rude job,' I told him. He doesn't know about these things.

The trouble with Harsh is that he's far too high-minded. A couple of rounds with Bella would change his tune. I couldn't imagine that either.

He stood on the platform with his sports bag slung neatly over his shoulder. Every thing he does looks right. He taught me just about everything important about training and diet and personal hygiene and mental discipline. It's not because he's a teacher. It's because he's so perfect that I copy him. Or I ask him. He doesn't make fun of me not knowing stuff. He doesn't say, ‘Don't you know that, Eva? I thought everyone knew that,' in that superior tone of voice which makes you wish you never asked.

All right, so I don't know everything. Who does? But being ignorant of a few things doesn't make me stupid. Does it? Well,
does
it? It'd better not, because if it did, everyone would be stupid.

Most people make you feel stupid when you're only ignorant. But Harsh doesn't. Maybe it's because he comes from foreign parts. Maybe where he comes from the people are politer about ignorance than they are here.

So I don't mind asking Harsh stuff. And, if he has time he always answers. But he doesn't always understand the problem.
And I don't always understand the answer. Apart from that, we get along perfect.

We stood on the platform in the gritty wind, and after a bit he said, ‘Have you thought about personal alarms, Eva?'

‘No.' I thought about it. Trust Harsh to see things sideways.

I said, ‘You mean go mechanical? Alarms, mace, flicks and knucks?' It was a good idea.

‘No,' he said, ‘I did not mean flicks and knucks. Those things are weapons. If you can't teach someone to fight, then most certainly you should not give them weapons.'

‘What then?' My skull was prickling. I could hear the rumble in the tunnel, and the lines were singing. The train was coming. Harsh would get on. I did not want to get on with him.

‘Eva,' he said, ‘the first line of defence is to be prepared for attack: to know your weaknesses and to make sure they are not exploited. A woman in isolation is in a position of great weakness, therefore …'

But the train burst out of the tunnel, crashing and roaring, and I couldn't hear what he said. It stopped. The doors opened. Harsh got on saying, ‘And that is what you should address.'

‘What?' I yelled. ‘Harsh, what am I supposed to address?'

The doors closed and the train carried Harsh away underground.

‘Shit!' I said. ‘Fuck and daggers. I know they're “in a position of great weakness”. I
know
that. That's why I fucking asked.'

Harsh had said something brilliant and I hadn't heard. Now his secret had gone down the tunnel. Typical.

That's the story of my life – the important bits go down the tube. I hate the tube. It's like a human sewer. Everyone is squashed in together and flushed off underground. There you are, cramped, sweating, with tons of bricks and earth and worms on top of you. And you can't get out. I mean – what if there was a fire or a flood? What if the tunnel collapsed? Sewers collapse all the time round here, so why should tunnels be any different?

I'm prepared for a lot of things. Do you know that I carry a survival kit? I've got stuff for purifying water, making a fire, sawing through wood or metal. I've got stock-cubes for making
soup, candles for light. I've got a blade and a bola for hunting or defence. All these things are in a small biscuit tin. It used to be a tobacco tin, but I had to expand. I carry the tin in my kit bag.

I got the idea from the SAS survival manual. Which is a book you should get if you want to be prepared. At the back there is a bit about disasters like tornados, volcanos and nuclear explosions, so it's a very useful book. But even the SAS can't tell you what to do if you're in a tube and the tunnel collapses. That is a disaster they've left out of their survival manual. And it is a disaster I mean to avoid by never travelling on underground trains. Because even if you're as well prepared as I am, there's not a lot you can do with a ton of bricks on your bonce.

I felt better back in the open air, but as I was walking along I met Flying Phil coming the other way. I would've walked past, but he said, ‘Hey, Eva, stop a minute, will you? I've had an idea.'

So I stopped.

He said, ‘Look Eva, never mind self-defence for those girls. It won't work. What you want to get into is portable phones. Geddit? Each girl has a portable phone, right? So if she gets in trouble she can call for help, see?'