2019 Portobello, Edinburgh
‘I didn’t expect it to be so…’ Amy paused, ‘so violent.’ She was sitting in Janet’s living room, sipping warm milk from a short stubby glass. ‘It really stung,’ she said, holding the glass against her cheek for a moment. ‘It was like being shot at.’ Her face was flushed and her fingers trembled. Water droplets hung in her hair. Her eyes looked moist. Dan, who’d stood up to give Amy his seat, had his hand on her shoulder. He was scowling. The couple on the sofa opposite were looking at Amy with entwined fingers and wide eyes. No one replied.
Janet was standing in the doorway, watching her visitors. She’d ushered Amy out of the bathroom, shut the door, and warmed up milk for her. She’d have given Amy a rusk if she’d had one. It had seemed the only sensible thing to do. But now she didn’t know what to say. She’d been surprised by Cyril’s icy outburst. But somehow glad. He’d never done that to her. The cloud must trust her. Must think he’s safe. He’d defended them both. Prevented a catastrophe. She smiled. She felt a pleasant fuzziness around her chest. He must like her. Perhaps even love her. She wanted them all to get up now. To offer to leave. To leave them both alone.
‘I think I should have a look.’ Dan’s words interrupted her thoughts. The young man on the sofa, still without a name, let go of his girlfriend’s hand and stood up.
‘I’ll go with you,’ he said. Janet shook her head. She braced herself in the doorway. Pushed her feet firmly down on the wooden floorboards. The two young men moved towards her. They walked like dancers. Straight and lithe. Soft-footed. They were taller than her, and the skin of their hands was still smooth and unblemished. They stopped in front of her in the doorway.
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Janet said. She felt the quiver of her words. They’d know she was afraid. She thrust her elbows into the door frame. Felt the pain of her shoulders immediately from the strain. ‘It’s not a circus, you know,’ she said, her eyes on the men’s slim legs. ‘We’re not freaks.’
‘Back off,’ Dan.’ Amy’s voice came from behind the men. Janet couldn’t see the young woman’s face.
‘We’re here now, Amy. And we agreed. We all did. She shouldn’t have it in captivity.’ The nameless man had swung his head around to speak to Amy but kept his position. Janet caught the smell of him. A woody smell. Cut grass or fresh figs. The patchouli scent must be from the girlfriend. An odd combination, those two smells. The ache in Janet’s shoulders intensified to a deep snarling throb. She couldn’t hold out much longer.
‘Come on, Janet,’ Dan said to her, speaking to her as if she was a child. ‘Just a quick look and we’ll be out of your hair. What harm can it do?’ Janet dropped her arms to her sides. Felt the pins and needles around her shoulders, her elbows. She looked up at Dan’s face.
‘Please don’t ask me again,’ she said. And as she rubbed her hands together to bring back the circulation, the young man without a name pushed past her, shoved her forward into Dan’s arms, and shut the door behind him. Janet, engulfed in an unexpected firm hug, heard a sharp squeak that could only mean one thing. The bathroom door had been opened. And that fresh-smelling man was going to take Cyril.
To be continued.
SANDERLINGS 