school photos 26

‘Hi Sweets.’ Janine rushed out of her room, just as John shuffled out of his, pulling the door shut behind him. ‘We’ll need to stop meeting this way.’ She laughed. But he was easily bruised, his lip buttoned down, his eyes straying away from her face and finding something of interest in Eddie’s mad pacing at the bottom end of the corridor, waiting for visitors so he could cadge fags off them. ‘You’re parents coming today?’

            ‘Maybe.’ His voice was cautious. He studied her face and lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.

            ‘Hope so. You smell a bit ripe. Hope they’ve brought some of that Hai Karate.’

            He tried on a shy smile, his fingers dipping into his pocket and pulling out a white square of toilet roll. ‘Afternoon meds,’ he whispered and couldn’t help ducking his head down as he slipped the package to her.

            ‘Aw, a present.’ Her voice was playful, palming and slipping it into the inside pocket of the pair of Levis she’d changed into. ‘That’s a lot better than that other present you gave me.’

            ‘Whit?’

            She tilted her chin up, stretching her long neck and moued her mouth. The tip of her forefinger acted as a pointer, dotting round her lips and chin. His sea-blue eyes followed her exaggerated posing. ‘My mouth’s rubbed to a dishrag by your kisses, and my chins scraped raw by your bumfluff and your passion.’ She reached for his hand and drew him in closer. ‘Feel.’

            His cheeks began to flame a purple-plum colour and his arm jerked up like Frankenstein reaching for a bath robe, but his fingers were surprisingly gentle, circling and patting her mouth and chin.

 ‘Sorry.’ His hand flopped down to his side.

            Down the corridor the double fire-doors were pegged open. The first of the visitors to arrive was being ushered in Karen, a stout woman, that doubled up as a staff nurse in another ward.

            ‘That’s not the only place that’s bruised and needs kissed better.’ Her eyes met his and he was drawn into her challenge, his head tilting and dropping down sideways to meet her parted lips.

            He kissed chastely at first. Then more feverishly, forcing her backwards, shoving her up against the wall, with a shaky-legged urgency. How long they kissed, she wasn’t really sure—four or five minutes—when she snatched a glance sideways she pulled away. Stood demurely, as if a bucket of water had been slung over her. His head dropped again, his eyes glazed with need, he moved in closer, the heat from his body a physical presence like the bristles of winter fur on a black bear catching heat. Her eyes darted towards the few visitors coming through the door. His mother was one of the new arrivals. She was stranded mid-stream in the corridor, her knuckles white as she clutched her flower-patterned carpet-bag against her stomach for protection, as the last of the stragglers filed past her. Her eyes were fixed on them and not in a friendly way.

            ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Janine slipped back into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She dallied looking out the window at the same old sights of trees and grass and the Gothic architecture of the hospital wards. Sitting on the bed she slid open the top drawer of the dresser where she kept knickknacks. The palm of her hand slid to the back and her fingers expertly pried an old black-and-white photograph. It was blu-tacked face up to the top shelf of the drawer. She unwrapped the cellophane from a fresh packet of Silk Cut, Jockey had given her, and put the photo in her lap. The cigarette in her lips soothed her nerves, allowed her to inspect her clean shaving fresh-faced father looking up at her. He wore a shirt and tie and pearly-grey double-breasted suit. She was little more than a baby then, peering up at him in a way that suggested she was bursting with pride and clutching daddy’s hand as if she would never let go. Her mum wore a dated cloche hat, her hair peeking out like raven’s wings. She was laughing, looking down at her daughter in the photograph.

            ‘Bitch,’ said Janine. The lit end of her fag hovered above the image of her mum’s face. The burning smell when she burned out one dark eye then the other made Janine’s nose twitch in disgust. Her dad’s eyes had already experience the same surgical procedure, two black holes in a handsome face. She blew away the ash debris of her remodelling efforts. Her eyes remained pinned to the untouched little girl’s smiling eyes in the photograph, until the fag ash drifted down greying the floor and the side of her hand recoiled from the heat. She stubbed it out, shaking her head at the mess she’d made.

            ‘Don’t worry little girl I’ll get you home.’ The blue-tac had lost much of its stickiness. Her arm was stuck inside the drawer like a shoe-box ventriloquist with her fingers dummied up and running around the border of the photograph until she was satisfied it had once more stuck. Job done, she flicked on the radio by her bedside and lay down on the bed. The drone of chart-toppers Status Quo filled the room. In her haste to turn it back off again she knocked the half-filled glass of water over and onto the floor. She giggled, dipping her hand into her side pocket pulled out the package John had given her. Swallowing both tablets down dry, she swung her legs off the bed and sat waiting for the band saw buzzing of voices in her brain to stop chattering. There was work to be done. ‘Don’t worry little girl, I’ll get you out of here,’ she said once more, watching the drip, drip, drip of water falling onto the matted carpet by her bed. Outside her window someone screamed. There was a mock fight going on with some nurses jousting with each other before coming on shift. One of them was The Poof.  Janine laughed and laughed and laughed.