Poppy Shakespeare (26 page)

'Course you will!' I said. 'If you want to.'

'What's that s'posed to mean, "If I
want"?!'
she said.

'If you
want,'
I said. Do you see what I'm saying; couldn't win!

Poppy kept on about coming round mine. It weren't that I had a problem with having her round, do you know what I'm saying,
it's just aside of police and social workers and the man come to put in the pay as you go, and the man took the phone, who
I told you about, and the men from the Lease of Life Furniture Project and about twenty doctors and ambulance men, which weren't
none of them sociable visits exactly, I weren't used to having company.

I'd give my flat a bit of a
Changing Places
over the past few months. I'd done the sitting-room walls this pale lilac colour I found in the Woolworths down by Sniff Street
Tescos. I never even realised how close it was to the colour of Poppy's kitchen. Or not till I'd started anyway, which I couldn't
hardly undo it, could I! I'm like 'Hang about, girl. Ain't you seen this before?' So next night when I gone round I taken a bit, just like dabbed on my inside arm. And when she
gone to the toilet I had a quick check. I'm telling you; it could of come from the same fucking tin. Then of course there
was all the stuff she'd give me. Like wherever you looked it was all her stuff. Not that there weren't nothing wrong with it,
you just couldn't help wondering what she'd think, like if I was copying her or whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying
to be honest but I can't describe it no clearer.

The night before she come I done this thing, like imagining I was her in my head and I even gone out in the hallway and that,
like shutting the door and then walking in to see what she'd think first impression.

I don't think she noticed to tell you the truth, 'cause either way she said nothing. Just sat at the table drinking her wine,
as I stood in the kitchen stirring the pasta, testing bits to check how it was doing.

'Half an
hour
should be enough, innit,' I said.

'I should think so,' Poppy said.

'I got to make sure it's cooked!' I said. The pasta come from the Turkish shop. I'd lifted it straightforward enough but cooking
the stuff was something else; the instructions was all in Turkish. 'Don't want to send you home sick,' I said. 'You won't
come back, will you, if I send you home sick!'

'I'm sure I'll be fine,' she said.

'Here,' I said. 'Here, have a top-up,' I said. 'I'll give it another ten minutes just to be safe.'

I needn't of worried; the pasta was good. Poppy said so herself, it was really good. I done it with tuna and salad cream.
'I can do you some more, if you want,' I said. 'It was lovely,' she said. 'But I'm fine, honestly.' 'Don't want to send you
home hungry,' I said. Poppy smiled. 'It was great, but I'm fine.'

'Ain't had no one for dinner in ages,' I said. 'You get out of the habit a bit,' I said.

'I know what you mean,' she said. 'Jesus, do I! I haven't seen a friend in months!

'An
old
friend, I mean,' she said.

'Can I go to the loo?' she said.

'Don't have to ask,' I said. 'Through that door, on the right.'

She was out there for ever. I gone through the kitchen, done the washing-up.

Then I heard her calling. 'N! Is this you?'

'Is what me?' I shouted.

'The picture,' she said.

'What picture,' I said.

'Through here,' she said.

She'd picked up the photo off my bedside table and was stood there looking at it.

'Is it you?' she said.

'It's my mum,' I said.

'The kid,' she said.

'Yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, that's me.'

'Oh look how she's holding you!' she said.

'Is that chocolate?' she said.

'Dunno,' I said.

'Oh look!' she said, laughing. 'It's all over your face!'

She looked at me. 'Oh, N!' she said. 'Come here!' she said, and she give me a hug. 'I'm so sorry,' she said.

'What for?' I said.

She got tears in her eyes. 'Oh, N!' she said.

'S'not
your
fault, is it!' I said.

When we gone back through, Poppy sat on the sofa. We drunk another bottle of wine. 'What are you doing over Christmas?' said
Poppy. The Dorothy Fish always closed Christmas Day, and Boxing as well and Good Friday and Easter. And every bank holiday
on top. Seemed like they shut more days than they fucking opened. 'Dud's taking Saffra skiing,' she said. 'Or his parents
are; they've booked a chalet. His sister and her husband are going with their little boy, Sholto, same age as Saffra. He goes
to Dulwich College,' she said. 'Can you imagine? At
seven!'

'Fuckin'ell!' I said.

'Last year we went to my dad's,' she said. 'I said to Natalie, "Never again!" Pam's like "Make yourselves at home. There's
tea and coffee in the corner cupboard." I'm like "Oh, thanks, Pam!" Do you know what I'm saying! I've lived in that house all
my fucking life, not that you'd recognise it now. That's the first thing she did was clear everything out, like
everything;
they hired a skip, furniture, carpets, curtains, the lot. Like one of those TV makeover shows,
Changing Places,
do you know what I'm saying! Like my whole fucking childhood, everything gone, every trace of my mum . . .'

I don't know if Poppy'd got a bit pissed or what. The words come spilling out like they'd overfilled her.

'I just want Saffra to know her grandad,' she said. 'Do you know what I'm saying. But he won't stand up to Pam at all. She's
painted the sitting room apricot. He's allergic to fucking apricots! Before that it was lemon and before that pink; she changes
it every year. Must be fifteen layers on top of Mum now; she'd paint me and Saff out as well if she could.

'That's why I came to London. I was only sixteen. My mum hadn't even been dead a year. It was all so quick. One minute she's
working, then she goes to the doctor and three months later she's dead, do you know what I'm saying! Me and Dad are like,
'What happened? Where did she go?' and Pam saw her chance and stepped into the gap; by the time Dad came to she was there.
Every picture of Mum disappeared. She even got rid of the cat. 'She gets asthma,' my Dad said. 'From photos?' I said. He's
like, 'Don't put me in the middle, Poppy.' 'You
are
in the middle,' I said. 'Face facts,
I
didn't ask her to move in, did I?' 'She's insecure,' he said. 'Give her time.' I think
what it was he was scared of being left on his own.

'Sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to go on.'

'S'alright,' I said.

'It's just Christmas,' she said. 'Brings it all up, doesn't it?' she said.

'Dunno,' I said.

'What about
you?'
she said. 'What happened with
your
Mum? I mean I know . . .'

'Jumped in front of a train,' I said.

You could tell she was shocked.

'Mill Hill East,' I said.

'How old were you?'

'Twelve.'

'Jesus Christ!' she said.

'Yeah,' I said. 'Know what I'm saying!'

In the end Poppy spent Christmas round mine. We just drunk and watched telly and Poppy rung Saffra. It weren't nothing special,
but like I said to her after, 'You know some ways, Poppy, that's the best Christmas Day I've had.'

42. How Tony Balaclava
washed his hands

By February Poppy was doing so good, it would of needed a very expert doctor to tell she was putting it on. She taken to boiling
the skin off her arms, pouring the water straight out the kettle, dreamily moving the stream up and down, like watering plants,
as the skin slid away in sheets. She was pulling her hair out by then as well, not just the odd strand, like huge fucking
clumps. Parts of her scalp shown through totally bald like the coat of a mangy dog. You wouldn't of known 'cause she covered
it up with this knitted black hat pulled down over her ears and her hair, what was left of it, hidden, pushed up inside. I
never even realised myself she was doing it till I walked in her bedroom one time I was round (I'd gone in to borrow some
make-up or something) and I found her in front of the chest of drawers, got this mirror on top you could turn different angles,
just stood there with her hat in her hand staring at her reflection. She never noticed I'd come in at first, just stood there
gazing back at herself, not happy or sad or surprised or nothing, just totally blank like it weren't her at all, like looking
at a poster.
I
was quite shocked, do you know what I'm saying. 'Steady on, Poppy!' I said to her. 'You'll be Middle High Middle if you go
on like this. Or Middle High Low at any rate. No need to overdo it!' I said. I was joking her but she didn't even smile, jumped
a foot in the air and her hat back on quicker than it took to say 'Steady'.

'But I've only got until April,' she said. 'My six months is up in April, N. What if I'm still not on MAD money then? What
if they kick me out?' she said. 'There are no guarantees; they got rid of
Brian!'

'I know,' I said, 'Poppy. I know,' I said. 'But you got to think positive,' I said. 'Look at it this way, Poppy,' I said. 'There
ain't hardly nobody left,' I said. 'If you hung in this far, must be doing
something
right!'

It was true there weren't hardly anyone left who'd been there from the beginning. Banker Bill sat in Brian's chair, Professor
McSpiegel taken over from Michael - though Michael taken it pretty well. 'No hard feelings,' he said as he left and shaken
McSpiegel's hand. Some weren't even
second-floor
flops. Curry
Bob
sat in Candid's chair; Clifton the Poet been and gone and was already back on the seventh. The only originals still left was
me, Astrid, Dawn and Sue the Sticks, formerly known as Slasher Sue before she give up self-harming. Omar survived eating pic
'n' mix, used to wind Astrid up something chronic, and Elliot made it through as well, though you wouldn't of known 'cause
he stayed in his locker; only opened the door for Poppy, who give him her dinner every day save her having to throw it up.

'Poppy reckons she's going in April,' I said in my one-to-one. 'She ain't though, is she, Tony?' I said.

'I can't discuss Poppy with you,' he said.

'I'm just saying,' I said. 'She ain't ready; that's all.'

'I thought she
wanted
to leave,' he said.

'Well she does,' I said. 'But like not till she's ready. We
all
want to leave when we're ready,' I said. 'But she
ain't
is she, Tony; she's really unwell. I don't like to think if you kicked her out . . .'

Tony didn't answer. He looked like shit. He looked like his skin gone grey in the wash. The rings round his eyes was so dark
they looked bruised.

'We
all
want to leave when we're ready,' I said. Do you know what I'm saying, like Shut the Fuck Up!

Suddenly Tony rung this bell; it was a small brass bell on the floor by his chair. I'd never even noticed it was there till
he rung it. 'Tingalingaling' and instantly, I mean
instantly
like she must of been waiting, in come that Beverly Perfect woman, carrying this silver bowl with a white towel over her arm.
She bent down holding out the bowl, bowing her head so her pony-tail stuck up in the air like a yorkshire terrier's topknot.
And I seen the bowl was full of water and Tony started washing his hands and he washed them really careful and thorough like
a Brian the Butcher job. Then he taken the towel and wiped them dry and draped it back over her arm. And Beverly Perfect stood
up straight and turned and was gone as quick as she come, so you'd almost of thought nothing happened at all if it weren't
for the splashes on the carpet.

43. How Tony give us a piece of good news and Middle-Class Michael called a crisis meeting

Assessments was changed from once a month to once a fortnight to once a week. We sat in the common room clutching our chairs
like sailors clutching the wreck of our ship, never known when the next wave was coming.

Rosetta got sectioned back on the seventh. They herded her down with the flops for her dinner. She worn a MAD nightdress flapped
open up the back, shown us her off-white knickers. 'How you doing, Rosetta?' we'd say and she'd shuffle across to say 'hello'
and we'd give her fags, even
Astrid
give her fags.

'Wesley came to see me,' she said. 'Lord knows! He's truggling! "Why did they discharge you?" I said. '"Cause you're well enough
to leave! No good weeping and wailing about it; that will just make you feel even worse. You're a good boy," I told him. "Got
your whole life ahead. Don't be a fool! You sort yourself!" Lord knows, though! He looked terrible. Not eating, not sleeping,
all that business. He'll be back in here before long.' Then one of the seventh-floor nurses would spot her and come and fetch
her back into the queue like a cow wandered off from the herd.

Sue the Sticks still seen Verna sometimes. 'But it's just so hard,' she said. 'What do you
say?
I mean, here's me getting all this support and Verna's got nothing. Ain't
right
is it? "Least you got your Scrabble, Vern," I said. I mean, what
else
could I say? But she ain't even doing
that
no more. Lost the urge, that's how she put it. "So what
do
you do?" I says to her. And you know what she said? "I bake cakes," she said. I promised I wouldn't say but I got to. "What
sort of cakes do you bake?" I said. "Chocolate, Carrot and Lemon Drizzle." Just like that, no hesitation. And you know what
she told me? Every morning,
every
morning, 'cept Sunday when it's closed, she's off down Sniff Street, five-thirty sharp. And you know that twenty-four-hour
Tesco, right down the bottom?' 'No,' we said. 'Well, there
is
one,' said Sue. 'She walks right down there, miles it must be, and she buys all her ingredients, then she carries them all
the way back. You know eggs and flour, muscovado sugar, caster sugar, lemons, cocoa heavy, you know; must hurt her hands.
Then as soon as she's home it's straight in the kitchen and weighing and measuring and mixing them up; the chocolate then
the carrot then the lemon drizzle, always that order, one straight after the other. While they're baking she goes for a run.
Up Paradise Park and four times round, twenty-eight minutes exactly. Then she turns them out and leaves them to cool, while
she washes the tins and the mixing bowl and the scales and the grater and the jug and stuff, really slow, like taking her
time 'cause she can't do nothing till nine. At nine exactly she does the toppings, chocolate fudge with all curls of chocolate
and the carrot cake icing with walnuts all round and when she's finished she clears up again, bags the leftover ingredients
and takes them out to the rubbish.

'At half-nine, she says, she's allowed a slice. She can choose which cake to take it from but she tells herself after she's
ate that slice, she's not allowed nothing more for seven hours. Inside of ten minutes all three cakes have gone and inside
of twenty she's chucked them back up and inside of a half hour she's heading back down to Tesco's. Four times a day, she's
doing it,' said Sue. 'Can you imagine? Four times a day! Two grand she told me she owes on her card. "Visa!" I said. "What
you doing with a Visa?" "Dunno," she said. "They just give it to me." "You got to stop," I says to her. "Cut down at least,
maybe three cakes a day." But it's the only thing gets her through, she says. What sort of a life is that!'

Not much of a life is what we reckoned, and the more we heard about the dribblers who'd left the more desperate we was to
stay. No one weren't taking no chances now; we madded it up so concerted and thorough the wards looked like Sniff Street compared.
Omar overdone it in fact, took all his clothes off in Relaxation, done like this headstand against the wall and sung the National
Anthem. He would of gone upstairs Rhona said, if he hadn't recovered hisself so quick and decided her not to tell Tony. He
would of gone up and Owen come down that was how close he come to it.

Fat Florence was s'posed to have Faith's empty chair, next to Omar Bombing, but she said she weren't moving so much as a muscle
till Second-Floor Paolo been given his rightful and nobody else shouldn't neither. And she sat there besides him day after
day, arms folded like huge wings across her chest, staring daggers at Poppy. But it didn't make no difference how evil she
looked, weren't nothing compared to the view behind: the whole of London spread out like a giant warning.

So there we all are one afternoon, what's left of us, and the flops down the sides - disgusting they was to be perfectly honest,
even Jacko the Penguin said they made him feel sick, and he'd
been
a flop till the week before. 'Like vultures,' said Tadpole, 'that's what they are!' 'No self-respect!' said Curry Bob. 'Waiting
to pick our bones,' said Tadpole, when suddenly there's this rolling of drums, like seriously, a rolling of drums, like 'Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!' and the double swing-doors swing open wide and three flops jump up start blasting
three golden trumpets. Then in comes this man in a dark grey suit, shiny shoes, shirt, tie, everything, and he ain't so much
walking as bouncing towards us, like the shit-coloured carpet got springs underneath, and he's beaming all over and rubbing
his hands and looking so general pleased with hisself that the flops, who ain't got separate minds of their own, just pick
up the mood like plants pick up weather, they all start up clapping and cheering and whooping till he holds up his hands and
they all fall silent 'cept Schizo Safid who does this wolf-whistle. 'Thank you, Safid!' the man says, laughing. And it ain't
till then, it ain't till he
speaks,
and even then, do you know what I'm saying, it ain't till then I got to admit what my eyes have been seeing but my brain won't
believe, that this Kellogg's Cornflakes Sunshine Man is Tony Balaclava.

The flops all start clapping and cheering again and he raises his arms in a giant 'V'; his hair's different too, not a purdy
no more, like all short up the sides and all smooth on the top. 'Everyone!' he goes. 'Everyone! We've just had some wonderful
news!

'I've just this second come off the phone to the Ministry for Madness!
[loud cheers],
I'm thrilled, I'm delighted; above all I'm honoured, to be able to tell you the Dorothy Fish has been shortlisted for Beacon
of Excellence status!
[cheers,
whoops, whistles, stamping of feet]
Allow me to read you something!' he said, and he reached a hand in the pocket of his suit, pulled out this leaflet, scanned
it a sec then held up a finger. 'Here we are!' he said.' "To be awarded Beacon of Excellence status
[cheers, whoops, whistles, stamping of feet] . . .
To be awarded Beacon of Excellence status
[cheers, whoops,
whistles; Tony held up a finger],
an institution must consistently offer a standard of service of
such a level as to serve as a
guide and inspiration to others in the same field.
A Beacon of Excellence
[cheers, whoops, whistles]
. . . A Beacon of Excellence denotes that the said institution has achieved
a
'good' or 'very good' service rating
in
each of the five key target
areas
of mental-healthcare delivery.
[By this time the flops was
like hugging each other. Fat Cath sat back gazing at Tony,
fanning herself with a blue paper towel as the tears streamed down
from her eyes.]
Beacons of Excellence enjoy a degree of autonomy. Freed from direct line management by the Ministry for Madness, they are
able to vary staff pay and conditions . . . " In other words,' says Tony, slipping the leaflet back in his pocket. 'In other
words, thanks to all of
you,
every single one of you here, the Dorothy Fish has been singled out as one of the highest performing day hospitals in the
country!
[whoop, whoop, whistle],
I'm proud of the service we offer here, I'm proud of my team, their commitment and vision, but most of all I'm proud of our
service users!
[He started to clap, like slow and deliberate, turning
each side, and behind him as well and the flops was going crazy all
screaming and stamping and Fag Ash Devine thrown a pair of her
knickers]
Come on!' shouted Tony. 'Applaud yourselves! [and slowly us dribblers begun to join in] don't clap me; clap each other!' he
shouted. 'Go on!
Tell
each other, "Well done!" ['
Well done,' we's all muttering, Well done, well done'
under our breath, do you know what I'm saying, never felt like
such a fucking arse in my life, but I s'pose with everyone like doing
it you stopped being embarrassed after a bit and soon we was
shouting across to each other. Well done, N!' shouts Sue the
Sticks. 'Well done, Astrid! Well done, Tadpole!' 'Well done
you,' shouts Tadpole back. 'Well done, Poppy! Well done, N!'
Poppy didn't answer, but I done for us both. 'Well done, Sue the
Sticks!' I said. 'Well done, Tadpole! Well done, Professor!' I did,
I give Max McSpiegel 'Well done!' And then, and then Astrid
turns to me and she holds out her arms, she's got tears in her eyes.
'Oh well done, N!' she says. 'Well done. Oh N, come here,' she
says. 'Well done!' and she smothers me up in this massive pink
hug. Do you know what I'm saying, proper bury the hatchet
time!]'

But Tony weren't the only one with a piece of news up his sleeve. When we come out the Abaddon that night, who should me and
Poppy run into but Middle-Class Michael sat on the wall by the entrance. 'Michael!' I said. 'You heard the news! We got Beacon
of Excellence innit now!'
'Short
listed,' he said. 'I know. You've still the final inspection to come . . .' 'Alright,' I said, 'Michael! Nitpicking!' 'We're
calling a meeting tonight,' he said. 'Darkwoods drop-in. Seven o'clock. It's absolutely essential you come.
Both
of you,' he said, looking at Poppy. I seen his eyes jolt like he sat on a pin. 'What's it about?' I said. 'Be there!' he said.
'It's a crisis. I can't tell you now, but just make sure you're there.'