VASKNING

We woke up this afternoon to raw sewage coming through the shower tray.  I did a sink wash and put a black top on under my dress so the hole in it didn’t show.  Jake was smiling, he’d had his hand in the wallet of his pisshead mate, Liuz again.  He kissed me and said; “’E won’t remember what ‘e spent, will ‘e?”  The money will go to a landlord on Wales Street, not a plumber.  When I left for work the flat stank of shit and when I come back it’ll be the same.  We won’t have showers anymore, bad news in this heat.

I drove down the M3 in my smashed up old car.  People moved over for me when I changed lanes, they didn’t like the look of the bonnet.  There was some fella driving a Bentley and I saw a Ferrari go by.  They talk about austerity, but there’s money.  I hear that in Westminster, the MPs don’t bother to show up to vote, they spend the day in wine bars doing fuck all and still get paid.  Politicians don’t know people like Jake and me exist and there are women by the Hamble River who wish that I don’t.

I parked the car and walked in flats to the river, my heels in my bag.  Down there, the restaurants are full, even on Monday nights.  Yeah, there’s money everywhere.  Someone told me that on the continent there’s kids so rich that they’ll buy two bottles of champagne and ask the bar person to pour one down the sink – it’s called vaskning.

The Jolly Sailor was full of the yachting crowd.  I sat quietly at the bar with a glass of water.  There was a man there looking shifty, he was eighteen stone, jowly and sweaty.  My beat up car doesn’t have air conditioning, but I was decent enough to wear perfume, I doubted he’d smell as nice as me.  I smiled and he realised I was the woman from the internet.  He looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. 

Simon commutes to London to work in the City, he talked about being a stock broker, about cars he drove, his two homes, yacht, his wife and children.  He told me how they’d never want for anything.  He’s paying his kids’ tuition fees outright, so they won’t leave uni in debt.  I wanted to smash his face in and burn his house down.  Instead I smiled, let him buy me champagne and let him fuck me in the cabin of his yacht. 

Now he’s asleep and I’ve opened his wallet.  Gold cards, pictures of his wife, membership of Boodle’s club - the one that doesn’t let women in ...  I take the wad of cash and look at him lying there snoring, pissed on champagne, sated by sex.  Scumbag.  I’ll use the shower before I go.

BESIDE THE MEADOWS

It was winter when I caught you trespassing.  You claimed to be lost and gave me a beseeching look from innocent eyes.  I wanted to show off the rivers of ice, the frozen lake, the cold beauty of the frost and the dew laden spiders’ webs in the trees.  Most of all I wanted to share the quietude.  You were in awe of it and as I spoke of industry and economics you became impressed with me.  We met day after day in the spellbound winter and fell in love by the turgid river.

The dry cold season softened to spring and out came the birds, legions of them, laying eggs along the water.  You were so excited about the prospect of signets and ducklings.  You laughed at the monotonous song of the chiff chaff and danced with bare feet on the warm grass.  We were glad to see the back of winter.  “Live with me here, beside the water meadows,” I said.

And so, you moved into the house that was once my father’s, overlooking the land he’d left me.  Each day you watched for ducklings and signets, you marvelled over the blue bells growing from the yellowing grass.  I was perturbed by the height of the river – it was falling.

The summer came with searing heat.  I kept myself inside to avoid the relentless sun.  I didn’t want to look at the water, it was shrinking back.  I could hear my father’s dying words; “Beware the drought ... The things we have buried ...”.  I had to stop you from going outside.  You were confused when I locked you in the bedroom.  I made it a nice cage, decorating it with pictures of the birds you loved so much, indeed I would have given you anything you wanted, but there was no way I was letting you out.  I had to protect you from the horror that was unfolding out in the water meadows.  The river was now a slurry of slime and the lakes had receded.  The signets hatched deformed and the ducks abandoned their babies.  The trees in plunging their roots deep underground for water had found poison; their trunks turned black, their brittle branches fell away.  The chiff chaff was silenced.

This is my legacy my love, my water meadows, littered with the corpses of wildlife, guarded by decaying trees and the smell ... you can detect it from your room now, can’t you?  That metallic odour that my father once called success.

THE MAZE

“Hello, gorgeous!  Where are you?”
“Hello, my lovely!  I’m walking back to the hotel.”
“Big night out?  Are you drunk?”
“No, sweetheart, I’m not drunk.  Where are you?”
“I’m still in the maze.”
“What?  Still!  For God’s sake, I’d have thought you’d have found your way out by now.”
“It’s been trickier than you’d think.”
“But it’s been days!  And, honey, this hotel charges £200 a night!  I can’t wait forever.”
“Oh my love, please don’t go ...”
“Really, sweetheart, it’s time we sorted this out together.  I’m coming into the maze to find you.”
“No!  You mustn’t!  I’ve told you before, this is something I’ve got to work through on my own.  Besides, you don’t understand what it’s like in here.  It’s bad, it’s really dangerous.  Please, please, please don’t come in!  You sound out of breath ...”
“I’m on my way, I’m running to you.”
“No, darling, please don’t, please, please don’t!  Darling, I really think that I’m nearly out of here ...”
“You said that yesterday ...”
“Yes, but I’m convinced I’m right today and – and if I find my way out, you and I won’t be apart anymore.  It’s been so good of you to wait for me really it has.  All I’m asking, my angel, is for you to wait just a little bit longer ...”
“I’m sorry, but you’re all I’ve ever wanted and I’ve waited long enough ...”
“Well, there’s no need to wait anymore, my darling sweetheart, love of my life, I’ve found my way out!”
“You’re out!  That’s amazing!”
“Yes!  Where are you?”
“I’m uh, I’m in the maze.”
“What?!”
“It doesn’t matter, honey, I’ll just turn round and – oh – where’s the entrance?”
“The entrance disappears.  You have to find your way through.  Oh my God, darling why did you go in?  You’ve no idea how dangerous it is ...”
“Don’t cry for God’s sake, how hard can this be?  You survived in here and you’re lovely.  Oh, there you are ...”
“What?”
"I can see you, you’re still in the maze.”
“I can assure you I’m not.”
“But I can see you!  Honey, come here!”
“Darling, that’s not me.  For God’s sake, don’t go near it, don’t go near it!”
“It is you and I’m holding you in my arms!  The question I’m asking now is, who am I talking to?”
“Darling, it’s me, speaking to you.  The person you’re holding is not me, it is not me!”
“But it ... oh God, oh God!  It really isn’t you, is it?  Oh Jesus Christ ...!  Oh fucking hell! ... Help! ...”
“Darling ... darling ... Are you OK? ... Are you there, my love?  Please! ... Please talk to me!”

THE GOVERNMENT IS WATCHING YOU, MAURICE WINKLETON

“Simmonds, report.”
“Sir, Mr Maurice Winkleton no longer goes to his office.  He’s working from home.  Shall I remove the cameras we installed along his route?”
“No.  Place cameras inside his home.  All rooms but the bathroom.”
“Yes sir.  Why are we watching him?”
“Works from home, hmm?  Skiver!”

“Report, Edwards.”

“Maurice Winkleton spent the day at his desk.  He was distracted by an internet article on bees and news about the football team he supports.  Then he got a work phone call and remembered what he was supposed to be doing.  He left his desk ten times - five bathroom trips, three cups of tea and two trips to make food.  Breakfast was a bacon sandwich, lunch a Cornish pasty and Pringles.  He’s ordered a kebab, fries and mayonnaise from King Kebab via Nosh dot com, he’s awaiting delivery.”
“His girlfriend?”
“When she texted while he was reading about his football team, he reminded her that he had work to do.  I’ve got texts printed out for you and a transcript of his work conversation.  Why are we watching him, sir?”
“A kebab?  That man should be incarcerated for his eating habits alone!”

“Report, Farrington.”

“Sir, Mr Winkleton slept during the night, getting up to use the bathroom twice.  During the evening after he’d consumed a Kebab, fries and mayonnaise, his girlfriend visited and he refused sexual intercourse ...”
“What?!”
“He put music on and talked directly in her ear.  I couldn’t record what he said, it appeared emotional.  She left afterwards and is on her way here.  Sir, why are we watching him?”
“Refused to make love to Blake?  Unbelievable!  Kebab aside, I’m disturbed by the number of bathroom trips, once should be enough for a man in the night.  Have cameras installed in there.”

“Blake - the unrecorded conversation.”

“Sir, Mr Winkleton refused intercourse with me.  He’s paranoid the Government is watching him.  He used to point out the cameras along his route to work.  Now, he’s sure he's found little cameras in the walls of his bedroom.  When I tried to tell him it was ridiculous, he accused me of being in on it and broke up with me.”
“I want a report on his sexual habits.”
“Yes sir. Why are we watching him?”
“Sir, Blake, come quickly!  He’s been trying to pick the cameras out of the walls of his bedroom, but now ... Look at this!”
“Good God, Farrington!  The man is bashing at the walls of his bathroom with a sledge hammer!  Now he’s clutching at his head, sinking to the ground and crawling into the shower cubicle.”
“Sir, he’s having a nervous breakdown.  You didn’t answer me when I asked why we are watching him.”
“Simply because he thought we might watch him, Blake.  We don’t tolerate surveillance conscious citizens here and his paranoia has reached an unacceptable level.  Issue a warrant for his arrest.  Farrington, zoom in on his face, very close up, look at his tears ... I think they’re quite beautiful.”

ON THE MOTORWAY AT DAWN

That white van is at my bumper, headlights so close they look unreal – what a maniac!  As I pull into the slow lane he follows and continues right against me.  Was it that last minute lane change I did a while ago?  Am I a victim of road rage?  There’s no-one else around in these dark early hours.  I wish the boys were here.  They’d scare him off with their rugby physiques and James’ awful tattoo.  Their flight had to be at dawn, didn’t it?  I hope they took everything out of the boot ...

The van is passing.  I keep my eyes firmly on the road as it slowly goes by.  Then it pulls in front and slows - from 77mph, to 70, now 60.  Ridiculous!  I move into the middle lane and overtake.  Unable to resist, I look sideways into the driver’s cabin and see ... nothing.  That can’t be right!  Surely I would have seen the silhouette of a man; someone must be driving that van!  It’s a trick of the dark.  The boys would laugh at their old Mum panicking like this.  It was my imagination, wasn’t it?  I just feel such a sense of menace. 

I’m doing 90mph up a hill, but the van is at my bumper again.  When the speedometer creeps past 100, it doesn’t fall back.  The dark makes it impossible to check from the rear-view that someone’s driving it.  I’m doing 110mph now and it’s still there!  Those vans aren’t capable of these speeds!  I’m now convinced what I saw was true, that it’s empty and being propelled by some invisible, malevolent force.  I wish James and Sean were here!

Hang on.  When the boys were babies my life had one aim; raise them, protect them, make them feel loved.  I worked 12 hour shifts so I could send them to a good school; I tracked down their father and forced him to pay maintenance, despite his threats.  I confronted that burglar, alone in the lounge at 3am with a kitchen knife and he ran because he knew I’d defend my little boys to the death.  How did I become so dependent on them when they grew to men?  I’m still the person who fought, provided and knew no fear.  Right, next lonely stretch, I’m pulling alongside this- this mofo.  If he wants to play chicken, I’ll give him a game, I’ll run that empty van off the road!  After all, it’s just an empty van, what is there to fear?

The sun is coming up as I check the rear-view, the van is tailing off a little, there’s light enough to see now, no-one is driving it, I wasn’t being silly.  It’s slowing though, diminishing into the distance.  Of course the boys will be all right studying at that European university, they have each other and I’ll be OK alone ...

I look again, the white van is gone.  I drive home with confidence.