Poppy Shakespeare (18 page)

'About
me?'
said Poppy. 'What
about
me?'

'I'll tell you later,' Rosetta said.

'No,' said Poppy. 'Tell me now.
I
don't care, do you know what I'm saying. I'm really not bothered if everyone knows,' which everyone nodded agreement at that,
being about the most sanest thing Poppy said since she'd arrived.

But Rosetta leant forward and beckoned Poppy and Poppy leant forward so they's head to head, over the stacks of empty cups,
and saucers swirling tea and soggy fag butts. And Rosetta whispered in Poppy's ear, which even though I was listening so hard
I sprained my fucking eardrum, I still couldn't make out what it was she said, sounded like 'Tony Warrior Cop', like a fucking
Nintendo Gameboy.

'He what?!' said Poppy. 'Do you know what I'm saying!'

Rosetta whispered something again.

'Well what do they expect!' said Poppy. 'Of course I'm fucking stressed!' she said. 'I wouldn't
be
stressed if they let me out! Jesus!' she said; she gone red in the face. I thought she was going to start crying again and
she lit up a fag and smoked it so fast the ash come spraying off of the end and all down the front of her see-through black
top, hardly what you'd call practical clothes for a psychiatric loony bin chock-full of perverts and fuck knows what, but
there you go that was Poppy.

'Maybe I shouldn't have said,' said Rosetta.

'Said
what?'
said everyone. 'What did you
hear?'

Poppy threw her butt at a cup; it fizzed as it gone in.'Goldfish!' said Zubin.

'They're worried I'm not coping,' said Poppy. 'They're worried I'm cracking up, alright? The stress of being mentally ill
is starting to make me mentally ill. I'm here 'cause I'm mad and I'm mad 'cause I'm here.' She tapped her head. 'D'you geddit?'

No one said nothing for maybe a minute. Poppy lit up another. She was sat bent forward with her elbow on her knee, one hand
shading her eyes like a baseball cap, while the other worked the cigarette up and down in a cloud of B&H. I ain't sure what
it was she expected, but if she was hoping for sympathy, do you know what I'm saying, you'd of felt for her more if she'd give
you a good hard slap round the face then complained how she'd hurt her hand. There was this sudden dazzling splinter of light
seemed to shatter the whole fucking common room, then three claps of thunder like suicide bombs and the panic alarm begun
screeching as the lights gone out.

When the lights come back on, I couldn't work out for a second what had happened. The carpet turned into this giant chessboard
with the flops lined up down the sides like prawns; you got a shit-coloured square then a white-coloured square then a shit-coloured
square then a white-coloured square. I thought I was fucking seeing things for a second, I honestly did. Then I glanced up,
do you know what I'm saying and there's all these wires poking out of the ceiling between the round plastic lights. And what
it is right, it's the tiles fallen down where the lights ain't holding them on. 'Cause one landed right on Astrid's head,
till she shaken it off and it slid down beside her chair. 'I could of been killed,' she said as Tony run in and Dr Neutral
behind him. 'Surprised it didn't smash my head in.'

'Hardly,' said Michael. 'It's polystyrene.' He picked up the tile and give it a tap, made a hollow sound; I sniggered, couldn't
help it.

'Don't you tell
me
what I felt,' said Astrid. '
You
ain't the one with the fractured skull. I'd like to see . . .'

Tony cleared his throat. 'Everyone! Can you pay attention please!' Then he told us we all had to go downstairs, like a fire
practice, he said. 'Cause they had to make sure if the room was safe and he clicked his knuckles in turn as he spoke, and
it sounded like pulling crackers.

So then we's all stood in the car park for about five hours, do you know what I'm saying, 'cept for Elliot, that is, stayed
under his chair, which they never even noticed.

'You forgotten the gravity anyway,' said Astrid, weren't like one to give up. 'You got to add on the gravity. Ten miles of
gravity, that's what they say. Felt more like a paving slab,' she said, which even if it did, which it didn't, she wouldn't
of felt nothing anyway, fucking bull-terrier jaws she got and bull-terrier skull to go with them.

Middle-Class Michael didn't reply. He was stood squinting up at the common-room windows, trying to make out what was going
on inside.

'He won't be told,' said Astrid to Sue. 'They're all the same, men. Can't bear to be told . . . My husband was the same,'
she said.

'You heard from him?' said Sue the Sticks.

'Two years, man!' White Wesley said. 'My brother got longer for jacking a car!'

Poppy was over by the barrier, redoing her make-up in the mirror of this four-wheel drive. 'Don't look stressed to me,' said
Astrid. 'I seen
Tony Balaclava
look worse than that!

I seen more signs of mentally ill in the check-out down Sniff Street Tesco!

'You can't of heard right, Rosetta,' she said. 'Worried she ain't coping! What's
she
got to cope with anyway! That's what I want to know.' And everyone agreed with her, except for Rosetta who known what she
heard how Tony was worried Poppy was cracking up.

'What I don't get,' said Sue the Sticks, 'is what all this has to do with hoovering.'

'Alright, Poppy?' I said. Didn't answer. She was bent to the wing mirror doing round her eyes, soft grey pencil, smudging
out at the corners.

'We used to collect them down Sunshine House,' I said to her.

She turned her head slightly. 'Sorry?' she said.

'Wing mirrors,' I said. 'We used to collect them.'

'Right,' she said and gone back to her make-up, like turning her head to check from different angles. Sharon was stood by
the entrance, watching, huge arms folded across his chest, his business thrust forward and his legs spread so wide you could
of drove a bus in between them.

'I ain't never thought of that,' I said. 'I wonder what happened to them.

'Most probably Nasser the Nose,' I said. 'Most probably helped hisself when I left.

'Made out they was his,' I said.

'I bet that's what he done as well!

'Do you know what I'm saying, Poppy?' I said. 'I bet that's what he fucking done. Taken my mirrors then tried to make out
how they'd been his all along.

'I should track him down, ask for them back,' I said. 'D'you reckon?' I said. 'Do you reckon I should?

'Fucking pisses me off,' I said. 'Now I've remembered about it.

'What's up with you, anyway?' I said.

'I'm fine,' said Poppy.

'I was only asking.'

'I know,' she said. 'I know; I'm fine.' She was finished doing her make-up now, zipped it back in her bag and turned to face
me. Bit overdone to tell you the truth but there you go, that's me, subtle.

'I was only checking,' I said. 'That's all. No need to bite my head off.'

She smiled. You could see it like crack at the corners. 'It's just what Rosetta said,' she said. 'About them being worried
I'm losing it. What if they don't let me out of here! I don't know what I'm going to do . . .'

'At least they's concerned about you,' I said.

She looked at me.

'Well they are!' I said. 'At least you know they's
worrying!'
It pissed me off to be perfectly honest, the fact she couldn't see it, the look she give me like
I'm
being slow when it was me said to Tony Balaclava 'bout her slashing her arms in the first place! 'If I was you, I'd be grateful,'
I said. 'Not being funny, Poppy,' I said, 'but I would. If I was you, I'd be counting my lucky chickens!'

29. How the dribblers gone on about fetching the sangers till it done me and Poppy's heads in

Assessment day and Poppy shown up with her long flowing hair cut off in a bob. 'I thought I'd go chic,' she said. She'd had
her nails done too and she worn this jacket, like the smartest thing you seen in your life and there's everyone else in scabby
old tracksuit bottoms.

The assessments begun half-nine with Astrid and finished half-four with Zubin. I was first on in the afternoon and Middle-Class
Michael was last in the morning and everyone else fitted somewhere in between. At nine-twenty Astrid got up out her chair
and everyone said good luck. All except Poppy who was going through her notes with a highlighter pen what was pink at the
one end and fluorescent yellow the other. Her books was all piled on the table between us:
Madness Made Easy, Psychiatry for Idiots,
Assessment in Mental Health Nursing.
Every few minutes she'd pick one up, flick through it to find the page she was after, and check to make sure she hadn't missed
nothing. 'If you highlight
everything,
Poppy,' I said, 'there ain't no point, innit!' and everyone laughed and I reckoned I been pretty funny as well, but I needn't
of bothered; they was strung so tight they'd of laughed at anything.

'Where's Rosetta?' said Sue the Sticks, who'd forgot to put her false leg on. ('Can you believe it, Vern!' she said. 'I'd
forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on!') 'Where can she have got to?' she said. 'She's
always
here by twenty past nine . . .'

'She rung me last night,' White Wesley said. He got sunglasses on and worn underpants outside of his tracksuit bottoms. 'She
was worrying, man.'

'Aren't we all?' said Astrid. 'She should just be glad she's not in first!' And she stalked out with her nose in the air 'cause
Rosetta stolen what ought to of been her moment.

What cracked me up was two minutes later when Brian the Butcher come crawling in, after climbing the hill like seventy times
to make sure we all got through. As he opened the double swing-doors, this huge pink seal snuck out of the toilets and hurried
across the landing. Which if you ever seen a panicked seal trying to hurry, flubbering past with a bear behind him and David
Attingborough doing the comments, you'll know why I was pissing myself at the sight of Astrid Arsewipe. Especially, that is,
when I seen the lipstick, bright pink lipstick to match with her sweatshirt; after stunking it up like a tank of dead fish,
with the cats keeling over and dying in the gutter, she'd snuck off and put on her lipstick (perfume too, must of swum in
the stuff; you seen the flops drowning one by one as the wave crashed over the common room) 'cause she couldn't have Tony
thinking she was disgusting.

Twelve o'clock me and Poppy gone round the Gatehouse to fetch the sangers. Every day since Canteen Coral wouldn't serve us,
we'd took it in turns to go round the Gatehouse fetch sangers for everyone else. It weren't worth the hassle to be totally
honest what with everyone getting so arsey. Like, if you brought them ham instead of tuna or egg instead of cheese or something,
or even if you just forgot who was white or brown, or no salad cream. And the money always got fucked up as well, like everything
cost one ninety-five, or two twenty-five or one pound fifty - egg was the cheapest - and some people wanted crisps and some
didn't and some said 'Get us ten Superkings, will you?' but I drawn the line at that.

I reckoned we should all get our own, to be honest, and I said so as well. 'It's only next door,' I said. 'Ain't worth the
hassle.'

'You never thought it was such a hassle,' said Astrid Arsewipe, 'when
I
was fetching them yesterday. When you wanted five packets
of cheese and onion, you reckoned there weren't nothing to it,' she said, which was lying as well 'cause I'd only asked for
three.

'Fuck off!' I said. 'Get your own!' I said. So then they
all
ganged up. And Astrid sat there preening herself like an overfed duck up Paradise Park and just 'cause she done her assessment
first, which was alphabetic, and she known what they said and she wouldn't tell nobody neither.

'Come on,' said Poppy. 'Let's just go and get them. If I don't get some air soon I'm going to pass out,' which I thought that
was fucking funny as well, right on the Nasser the Nose. And Astrid the worst hump you seen in your life, like red in the
face, do you know what I'm saying, and everyone trying to make out how they wasn't laughing.

The Gatehouse was pretty much empty for once on account all the flops was so shameless and gagging for news of our assessments,
they was sat all along the corridor checking each dribbler as they come out, trying to tell from their face if they been discharged
or not. They was so fucking desperate they missed their dinner rather than give up their places, all except Curry Bob that
is, sat in the Gatehouse drowning his sorrows: Candid Headphones gone through with flying colours. 'Fucking dribblers,' he
said. 'No offence. I knew she wouldn't be going anyway. I said to Gunga Din, I said, "Forget it, mate! They ain't going nowhere.
It's all a fucking sham," I said. "First this Poppy Shakespeare shows up. No offence," he said. "Ain't your fault is it, but
how long's Paolo been on the wards! Just 'cause you got a nice pair of legs. No offence. I don't trust them fucking quacks;
never did but now I
know
I don't." I said to Gunga Din, I said, "You're better off having a drink with me. Got to be realistic," I said. "That Gita
ain't stupid." She's through, I suppose?' I nodded. 'Fucking sham!' he said and he shaken his head and gone back to his pint.

I give the order to Gatehouse Pete three times. The first and the second was different, he said. So I done it a third time
and that was different as well. 'Fuck it,' I said. 'Just do what you want. Do
you
remember?' I said to Poppy, but Poppy said she didn't remember and she hadn't been listening anyway.

Pete laughed. He was alright, Pete, as long as you knew how to take him. 'D-day today, girls,' he said. 'How you feeling?
Look at you!' he said to Poppy. 'Very nice. Why don't
you
dress like that,' he said to me. 'Bit more feminine.'

'Fuck off.' I said.

'I was only joking!' He wiped his knife on this blue-and-white tea towel he'd stuffed in his jeans for an apron. 'Now,' he
said. 'Decision time! Shall we go for salad cream with both ham, neither or one?'

Me and Poppy eaten our sangers sat at the table under the TV screen. We still had eighteen minutes to go before Sharon had
said he'd
have
to report it if Poppy weren't back, and she wanted to make the most of them. 'It's good to get out of there!' she said, picking
the cheese out her sandwich and leaving the bread. 'Just a bit of normality, N, do you know what I'm saying! Sorry,' she said.
'I know it's different . . .'

'No,' I said. 'No, I agree with you! Jesus, Poppy, they was doing my head in! Especially Astrid, do you know what I'm saying.
Stupid cow!
Michael
don't fetch the sangers and neither does Dawn
or
Sue, they's exempt, so how come
we
got to fetch them then? Just 'cause she done her fucking assessment, it pisses me off, do you know what I'm saying. One rule
for some and some rule for others, or whatever. Are you eating your bread?'

They was showing the news on the telly and Poppy was pissing me off a bit 'cause she kept on glancing up at it while I was
talking. 'Anything interesting?' I said.

'Just the news,' she said.

'Oh right,' I said. I picked up her cling film and unwrapped four buttered brown triangles.

'It's all this league-table shit,' she said. 'They're measuring everything! You know my little girl, Saffra?' she said.

'Of course I do,' I'm like what do you think!

'She's got exams this summer,' she said. 'Six years old, do you know what I'm saying! The other night she was really upset.'

'Oh dear,' I said. 'Poor Saffra!' I said.

' "What's the matter, sweetheart,"' I said. 'I could see there was something like eating her. And it turns out she's worried
about her exams! Six years old, do you know what I'm saying! Something her teacher had said, you know, I was fucking livid,
I nearly gone up there, but the thing is
they're
under pressure as well; I mean it doesn't excuse it, do you know what I'm saying, but if they fail their inspection or come
low in the league, they can close them down, that's what Natalie said, and there's Saffra thinking it will all be her fault
'cause she can't remember her four-times table! I mean not that they'd close them down anyway; they're a really good school,
like top twenty per cent, but
she
doesn't know that at six years old. She's all stressed out, bless her; six years old! It's not right is it, N? It can't be!
At six? I didn't have a care in the world! It's her teacher; she's just scared of losing her job. Mind you,' says Poppy, 'I
can't say I blame her. Not after
my
experience . . .

'I told Dud about it. D'you know what he said? Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. "They're just concerned about standards,"
he said. "We want her to get into Uni, don't we?" "Dud!" I said. "She's
six years old!
And what's wrong with
not
going, anyway?
I
never went to college," I said."Yeah, but they've got targets now," he said. "Seventy-five per cent," he
said. "Three quarters of kids, they want, going to Uni." "Why?" I said. "Because
that's the target,"
he said, like I'm thick. "You're just being neurotic." Neurotic! Do you . . . One sec,' said Poppy and turned back to look
at the telly.

It weren't that I didn't feel sorry for Saffra, getting all stressed about her exams, but if that's all she got to worry her,
do you know what I'm saying, not having a go, but to tell you the truth, I'd of give her a good fucking slap.

'Who
is
this Veronica Salmon?' said Poppy. 'What the fuck does a Mad Tsar do?'

'Dunno,' I said.

She glanced at me, then back at the telly and started to laugh. 'What does she think she's wearing!' she said. I looked up,
couldn't help it. 'A tartan trouser suit!' she said. 'Jesus, N! No fucking wonder!'