Who I Am Read online

  Reluctantly, I join the end of a small queue, just the two of us and find myself behind the hugest bottom, I step back in case it’s catching. From my position I can’t help but stare at it, squeezed into dark thick leggings with a line, which I’m guessing is supposed to run straight down the side of the leg, except the bulging thighs have skewed it off centre. Her legs look as though they’ve been placed on back to front, forming an A shape rather than a V shape. All squashed into trodden down Ugg-like boots. She’s wearing a fluorescent pink sweatshirt, on the back is a huge smiley face. It isn’t until she swivels around, that I get to read the words, Head Space. Elliott discreetly shakes his head at me, whilst handing over her loaded liquor coffee topped with a volcano of whipped cream and chocolate sprinklings.

  He throws me a warning look as she adds toppings onto toppings to the side of the shack. ‘Now. How can I help you, young lassie?’ He beams at me, urging me to please behave myself.

  ‘A skinny latte,’ I say through gritted teeth. Elliott is well aware, something I did share on a drunken rant one evening, of the weeks I spent in group therapy that only led to more heartache than before I began it. It didn’t help one bit with my comfort eating or the consequential bullying. How could it? It didn’t matter how much time they tried to encourage me to open up, talk about these issues, at the end of the day I would always return to the same old toxic environment. All it did was provide extra ammunition to the kids on our street, who would follow me there and back. More – Head Fuck than Head Space.

  The pink illusion turns with her now dribbling coffee, deliberately casting her eyes up and over me. ‘You’re not serious?’ She squeals. I tilt my head to one side as sweet as a puppy, pretending I have no idea what she is insinuating. Things aren’t ever as bad as they may appear, they used to tell me. ‘You don’t need to drink skinny latte, look at the size of you. Not got a pickin’ on you, has she?’ She nods towards Elliott who discreetly shrugs. ‘Go on. Have a special one for Christmas at least, surely you’re allowed one at Christmas. I have. Go on.’

  I remove my eyes from her marshmallow face, to Elliott and back again, always an authority on what’s best for people these kind, with no sodding idea. ‘I like skinny latte, that’s why I ordered it. You people honestly, always think you know what’s best.’ She pushes her philanthropist shoulders up to reduce her neck further and bids farewell to Elliott.

  ‘You’re such a troublemaker,’ he smiles at me, ‘Guid gear comes in sma’ bulk, my grannie used to say, but you, Cam, you’re pure evil.’

  ‘No, Elliott, I’m not, I’m honest.’ I step closer to the counter. ‘I mean, why do some people always think it’s their right to make comments, give an opinion, that somehow they have this higher understanding of life and what makes us tick?’ I hit my head, ‘not everything can be fixed by opening the gob and letting it vent. Clueless, do gooding, groupies!’

  Elliott chuckles. ‘Bad day?’ He spouts over the noise of the milk frothing machine.

  ‘No actually, the opposite in fact, a very productive one, I’d say.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah, planning and, things. And stuff.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing, to do with your Uni course?’

  ‘No, I’ve already told you. Don’t you pay any attention to me? I told you last week, I’ve pulled out of my course, let’s just say, it didn’t work out. Can’t be doing with deadlines and assignments crap.’ Elliott flinches as if I’ve hit him. ‘Not for me, waste of my time. I’ve bigger fish to fry, as they say. Told them to stuff it last week, but I’ve already told you this.’

  ‘Sorry, must have slipped my mind. Shame though, about Uni,’ his smile broadening, handing over my coffee, ‘quite fancied a graduate for a wife.’

  ‘Nothing stopping you there, Elliott, the town’s full of them.’ I’m too aware, my words and face don’t really match up to the feeling deep in my stomach, that funny warm feeling again – I bat it away. It’s a shame I didn’t get to finish my course but perhaps they were right, University possibly wasn’t for me. Pompous idiots that they were, I hate to admit – they probably had a point. My personal life studies, as I choose to call them, demand far too much of my time.

  ‘What was it you said you were doing, at Uni?’ Elliott asks, wiping the already pristine counter.

  I take a sip of the strong milky coffee, ‘Philosophy. They’re another lot, too many people with too much thinking and not enough doing. Bloody hell, talk about debating a point to death, in reality, who gives a shit? How the hell do these wannabe philosophers ever make a decision or get anything done? What’s the point? Don’t ever start a conversation with a philosophy student, trust me, it will be the most pointless, boring hour you ever spend, leave you wanting to stick your head in an oven.’

  He laughs out loud, creasing steel blue eyes. ‘Don’t ever stop being you, Cam, please.’

  Sorry, Elliott, but that’s exactly what I intend to do, just wait and see. I hand him the change from my pocket and as usual he refuses, so I pop it in the Christmas tips box. ‘See you tomorrow, same time.’ I blow him a kiss and leave, ignoring the growing ache in my chest. Don’t give in to it, Cam, I tell myself over and over each day. Elliott can never be.

  Clasping my coffee and paper bag as if my life depended on it, I speed up along the grey concrete street on the run to the place I don’t call home. My shoulders tensing as I draw closer to the estate. Turning into my street, an impending doom shadows my mood. A group of grimy, tracky bottomed lads kick their ball to deliberately brush my shoulder before bursting into spasms of laughter. I stop short to glare at them, fighting the urge to hurl abuse at full pelt. Which is what I would have done twelve months ago, but I’m moving away from this world. I wonder what Andi would do, ignore them, rise above them to take the moral high ground? But then, Andi wouldn’t be likely to be in this situation. Why would Andi ever find herself on a street like this? I bet she hasn’t as much as dangled the floppy Google man over streets like this.

  I march towards them as they scamper around the back, an irate face stares out from behind grey tinged nets, hanging lop sided from the grease smeared glass. I swish back my hair and shake my head in disgust. I’m better than this, than all of you. I turn to continue on past the garish Santas and flashing disco lights. Whatever happened to less is more? Who could be bothered anyway? Only to take them down again in a matter of days, more to the point, why would you want to? I hate Christmas. Sad losers. Our house, now only a few steps away, stands out in the dark, no lights to be seen, no tacky waving snowmen, no miniature flashing three wise men, something to be thankful for, at least. As I reach the path to the front door, another curtain twitches, I pause to pleasure them with an exaggerated smile as I hear them voice, eee look at the sight of her, who’s she thinks she is?

  How can these people be content to live like this, generation after generation? Happy with their pathetic lot in life, day in, day out, nothing changes. I’d rather die. I reach the tired front door with peeling multiple layers of council paint, foot indentions in the bottom panel from when Dad has forgotten his key or he’s too pissed up to get the key in the lock. I let myself in to the familiar dank smell, the very smell I urgently spray over on leaving the house with borrowed samples from the perfumery to disguise it. To hide who I am, or who I was? Who I was. A leopard bloody well can change its spots.

  I shut the door behind me and breathe, then almost tumble over the stuffed bags of rubbish gathered in the narrow hallway. ‘Dad?’ I shout, ‘Dad?’ Silence and darkness. ‘Have you been smoking again?’ It stinks above the dankness. Something sweet lurking in the background.

  ‘In ‘ere,’ he returns.

  I find him glued to EastEnders, which from the look of him, has simply rolled on from The One Show and whatever was on before that and before that, and so on, since he turned over from the Jeremy Kyle show this morning. I sniff the dank air exaggeratedly. ‘You been smoking in here?’ I persist, I know he has, he’s supposed to have given
up with the doctor’s orders. But what’s really bothering me, what I really want to know is, where he’s got the money from to pay for them, or who’s nicked them for him, who’s his secret supplier? Probably that skank I caught scuttling from the doorway last night when I returned home.

  ‘What else do I ‘ave to live for, eh?’

  Great, I’m in for a night of self-pity. ‘You’re ill, Dad, because of what you’ve done to yourself, what you’ve done. No one else’s fault. I keep telling you, you’ve done nothing to help yourself. You get what you deserve in life.’

  ‘Give it a rest, Cam, for gould sake, will ya. Where’ve you been anyhow?’

  ‘You know where I’ve been. At Uni.’

  ‘Do I? When did you start there? Thought you were at school, how old are you then? Can’t be any more than fifteen. Uni? Waste of bloody time. You got anythin’ for dinner? Dunno where your mam’s got to. Should have had it hours ago, I’m starvin’.’

  I ignore his last words, treading up the stairs, doesn’t matter what hope I have or what light relief I absorb during the day, coming back here always feels like a heavy weight attempting to grind me down. It’s why it’s been necessary to fight back, to keep the diseased house from entering my soul and stealing it. I have the same conversations each and every day with Dad, pointless, he won’t remember them anyway. I’d rather he drank himself to oblivion and knocked himself out. These days, he needs full time care, he doesn’t bother to wash or dress himself. I’m assured help is pending, I really can’t cope for much longer. Sometimes it hurts – I can’t feel anything for him but he’s made my life a living hell, him and my mam. At least she had the good manners to take an overdose, accidently or not, she did the right thing. Other than she left me with him, alone and so frightened.

  But now I’ve got you, Andi. And remember, you’ve as good as promised to make things better for me. I recover my mobile, taking a few moments to ensure the correct wording. No text speak allowed. I’m a University student, it’s not only my tongue, I’ve needed to refine, it’s everything. Watching and learning, how to behave, how to express myself – it’s taken time. I’ve still loads to learn.

  Hi Andi, had a great night with you all last week! Been thinking about your offer of a room share. If it’s still on, think I’ll take it, thanks. Don’t want to mess up on my course. Need so bad to get away from here! x

  8

  Cornwall 1999

  Andi

  Reluctantly, I wrench a muzzy head from a goose down pillow, squinting towards the door. As usual, an exquisitely embroidered velvet stocking swings weightily from it, on the floor are fine white flakes outlining the perimeter of a boot, of Santa’s late night visit. Despite the boom box bouncing off the walls of my skull, I smile. I bet if I lived at home for the next forty years, Christmas Day would always happen in the same manner. Customs passed on through the generations. The aroma of sizzling bacon creeps under the door, and my father’s full bodied voice meets my mind, a hearty cooked breakfast, the best cure for a hangover, nothing else will suffice. I picture him now at the industrial sized Aga with his Cornish beaches, RNLI apron tied around a portly waist. Something he appears to be strangely proud of. A sign of fine living and a happy home, he brags.

  But it hasn’t always been happy here, has it, Dad? I close my eyes to push away the memories of Mum’s tears, the rows, the cruel words, the air of betrayal. Poor Leo, being older, was more exposed to it than me, I couldn’t have been older than seven or eight. But then Leo got his reward, his freedom to do pretty much whatever he wanted, his pay off for being caught in the middle. In the middle of what, I’ve never managed to get to the bottom of. Leo’s payment was – no rules, no boundaries, no expectations. Sometimes I have to work hard to not feel resentful, his freedom, I believe – became my imprisonment, double the boundaries, double the stifling family rules and requirements. All because of some big family taboo.

  I tap my stomach, beginning to grumble with the smell of cooking bacon as my glucose level crash through the floor in response to last night’s alcohol. Bottles and bottles of Bollinger lined up like soldiers in the kitchen before our guests arrived, all now upside down in the recycling crate. Leo played the perfect sommelier, paying extra attention to his little sister’s consumption much to Daddy’s disapproval. Tenderly, I ease myself up, I’ve missed Leo but now I think of it, even he believes he has a say in my life, how I should lead it. For over an hour yesterday, I was forced to listen to what I should be considering post graduation. I half climb from bed, keeping one foot anchored to the safety of my white linen, reach for my stocking. Grabbing it, I slump back again, plumping my cushions and pulling the duvet snugly around me, dragging the stocking across the king size bed to me.

  I reach to my side to switch on my bedside lamp, there’s help to be had somewhere near, the aspirin and water placed for me in the early hours, just in case. Leo had stuck his head round the door asking, if madam required a bucket – to puke in, my slipper I threw at him, is still wedged against the door. My stocking has been lovingly and painstakingly filled by Mum with individual gorgeously wrapped indulgencies. A proper girl’s stocking. Then, of course the obligatory tangerine. Yesterday it was simply a dreary piece of fruit neglected in the wooden crate in the utility, now it’s something of wonder. A Christmas gift. I inhale deeply, sniffing the pitted skin before placing it carefully on the bed with the other parcels of expectation.

  ‘Andi?’ Mummy’s voice beckons from, I’m guessing, the bottom of the old wooden oak staircase. Dad’s pride and joy, with elaborate carpet treading down the middle, delicate beading holding it tight. ‘Andriana?’ She persists. ‘Are you coming down? It’s Christmas, darling. Daddy’s done your bacon extra crispy.’ Said in sing-song words, causing my mouth to water, cloaking its dryness.

  I wake up my mobile screen, crikey, it’s later than I thought. ‘Coming. Two secs.’ Flipping my legs over the side of the bed, I locate the abandoned slipper and stand. Then sit back down again, too quick, everything hurtled to my head, making it float on bumpy waters. Gradually, I ease myself up and draw back the curtains, absorbing the view of the estuary running down to Fowey harbour. All is relatively quiet except for a salt and pepper bearded man tugging at the saltwater wearied buoy, apparently even on Christmas morning, fish need to be caught. I wonder why he’s not at home with his family and a moment of sadness washes over me. What would it be like to be alone at Christmas? Camilla’s face comes to mind; she never did say what she was doing today. I asked her but she lost eye contact before diverting our chatter. I sensed dejection behind those zealous russet eyes, something not quite right, I didn’t push the topic.

  I wrap myself in the luxury of my housecoat to make my way down the stairs where I am embraced by Christmas tidings, squeezes and excited babble. Eventually we make our way through to the sitting room, having satisfied the carbohydrate craving, washed down with the hair of the dog, Bucks Fizz. Our Christmas tree reaches high up into the vaulted ceiling, practically each and every branch singing a sparkly song. Flames from pillar candles dance in time, lining the tall marbled fireplace, surrounded in holly and crimson berries. The oak floor almost submerged under indulgent gifts beyond the need of anyone, though all thoughtfully got and intricately wrapped. Superfluous. The man in the boat floats through my mind.

  We’re just about to begin the opening gifts performance, when a ribbon entwined present flutters through the air like a butterfly, landing perfectly on my cross legged lap. ‘Here, squirt, this one has your name on it.’ Leo says. I pick at the perfectly tied royal blue bow, a voucher maybe, a subscription to something perhaps? I’m conscious that the room has become quiet, expectant eyes watch me, knowing smiles are exchanged. My heart tizzies in response. What could it be, why the excitement? Fumbling fingers unwrap the small package.

  Inside is an envelope, I explore further and pull out a striking embossed letter.

  Miami Life

  M + A Media

  16352 Tarver Road
, Suite 109

  Palm Coast, FL 452 31-8645

  Reference: Your Placement 2000

  A feeling of dread swamps me, as a pinkish blush journeys down my face to reach my neck. No, please, don’t make me choose. Not today especially. ‘Squirt?’ I hear. ‘What do you think. Can you believe it?’ I cast my eyes over the content, skimming at speed. ‘Your big brother has only secured you a placement with the biggest magazine in Florida.’ I feel Leo beaming at me, I can’t bear to meet his enthusiastic eyes, instead I read the words over and over. Not knowing how I’m supposed to respond. How can they not realise, I am different, I want more than this? I want to make my own decisions.

  Mummy steps towards me, her warm aging hands reaching for my shoulders as I gaze into her eyes, praying she’ll comprehend. ‘We’ve something to tell you, Andi,’ her features light up as she pulls me in for a hug, ‘we wanted to wait until today to surprise you. It’s nearly killed us keeping it secret. It’s been unbearable, darling.’ Excited eyes reconvene around the room.

  I didn’t need to hear what came next, I already knew.

  How could they? Why can’t they leave me to live my own life?

  Do they have no appreciation of who I am? Leo gets to choose and I'm expected to conform. No one ever asks me. Underneath the obvious family closeness, no one sees me as worthy of a life of my own volition. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t have the perfect suitor lined up for me too. The perfect preppy groomed partner.

  Do they not know me at all?

  9

  Unnoticed, I’ve always been and I reckon – this is how I’ll always be. And now I get it, I understand why. All there for me to read in black and white, clear as day, the reason for me being unnoticed. How many years have I needed to wait to discover this truth? Why didn’t anyone tell me, why didn’t she tell me?