“Miss Mint, I won’t do the full clean today. I think it would aggravate what’s already a delicate mouth.”
I think Taff and of my dog, Tao, who had a soft mouth too. And I wonder if she is as well.
“You have acid erosion and we probably both know what from.” She peels off one of the membranes.
I wait to hear more.
“It’s not good,” she says sadly, “ and unlikely to improve ...”
“... if its cause continues.” I say. “Yes, I know.”
We agree with our eyes. There’s relief.
“If you know what to do and you can, then I’m glad.”
And I wish I could understand why she’s so sad.
Mum cleans up while I take in the clinical room she spends half her life in. There’s no bits and bobs, ‘cept a coffee cup she bought for herself in France when we went for my birthday four years ago. Dad saw it and swiped it next day, saying he loved it; he’d ‘buy you another one, Debs.’ And they’d laughed. But he never did, so she took it back when he left, to remember him by.
I miss Dad quite a lot. We speak a fair bit; we Skype and all that, but Sri Lanka’s a long way to go just for tea. So I’m going to visit at Christmas. Mum said, ‘you but not me.’
Oh my god. I’ve just realised. If we don’t switch back, Miss Mint will go, won’t she?
My flight’s the first day of holidays. I’m going for a fortnight, including my birthday. What if we don’t switch our lives back in time? Does that mean Miss Mint gets to go? What if she stays with Dad in his big house that I’ve never seen in Colombo? The thought’s just obscene. But this is sixth night.
And I ache to see Josh. Miss Mint’s wrapped up in Christmas present shopping with Kai, so he might need an ear and who’ll be there? I wonder if he’s read the note yet. He always went quiet if I’d talk about Dad and he’d listen like I wasn’t completely mad. And I’d do the same for him, but I don’t know if she would. Mum’s done.
I pick up my bag but a glint on the windowsill snares me
Dangles me.
Dares me to say, “who’s that girl?”
“It’s my daughter. My youngest.” She smiles, then sighs. “She’s an angel. I love her too much, to be honest, but she lies.”
And I think, no she doesn’t. She used to; not now. But there’s something else in the deep cleft of her brow.
“I’m not sure why,” she laughs. “You might know her, in fact. Lisi Reynolds?”
I say I don’t know about that.
“She’s lovely,” she says, then her face gets all tense, “and I’m terribly worried you might take offence, but your teeth — the erosion — the fact you’re not well; um, the thing that you do that must make your breath smell ...”
She’s embarrassed. It’s cringey. But somehow it’s right. And her eyes get all misty; her fists are clenched tight.
“I think Lisi’s got it. An eating disorder, I mean.”
And the floor slips away and the walls start to lean
In. “No, she hasn’t,” I say, ‘cos it’s true. But it’s close to a lie, so I’m really confused. ‘Cos to Mum it’s her daughter she’s panicked about. And nothing I say will get rid of her doubt.
So what I do’s this: I’m really relaxed. I go to the sink and I turn on the taps and I say, ‘wash your face, Mrs Reynolds. It’s fine. Lisi Reynolds ... I know her ... she used to be in mine for English. She swapped.” I don’t have to say what. “It depends, you see, on the grade that she got in year 9. The exam set they’re put in.”
She’s wiping her face. She can see she’s crossed boundaries: a time and a place and all that. But she’s grateful.
“She’s mentioned you, yes. I think she said last week she loves how you dress.”
It was two weeks ago, I think; one and a half. So much has happened that I start to laugh helplessly. And she looks shocked, then joins in as well.
“I’m sorry; the last thing you need’s more school hell. How annoying it must be to have people who try to get you to solve all their kids’ problems. Oh my. That nice Mr Morlis, the one with no hair. I’ve told him some things when he’s been in this chair. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. Really; you must.” I think, Mum if only I thought I could trust in you not to freak out if I told you my name.
But I’m still not sure of the rules of this game.
* * *
Oh Em Gee is what Rach used to say when a fit boy walked by. I’m swinging along past the park and I think it like reflex or something, ‘cos right in the middle’s a man and his dog.
And it’s fit. Not the man, but the dog. ‘Cos the longer I look, the more I realise for me that it’s actually more like Oh Em Dee Oh Gee.
‘Cos the dog’s just like Tao.
When I say that, I only mean looks-wise. He’s dark, and he streaks down the length of the silvery park, with a ball in his mouth. The man spins. The dog barks.
The ball sails
Through the air ...
... like escaping from sharks ...
But the dog clamps its jaws down and runs and pumps; runs and pumps, back to its owner
I decide to go through the park, to watch the dog more. He’s stocky like Tao, with the same nose and paws but I only mean looks-wise; he’s
not
Tao, of course. ‘Cos my dog was nearly the size of a horse
Alicia reckoned.
He freaked her out badly that night in the woods. She was smoking, alone, god knows why. It makes some sense I s’pose, now I know she finds boys hard. Practising smoking, she was, to impress them and I’d taken Tao out ‘cos Mum was driving me mad.
I watch the dog run crazy round fit man: he’s whipped up into a frenzy, which is what Tao did when he wanted to play just with me.
I’d come home from school and he’d bring me a towel, which meant, ‘play with me now or I’ll definitely howl the place down.’ Mum would be knackered from work so we’d go out with Josh or just us two.
Alicia was petrified. She said, “is that a horse?”
I’m serious. And she told me and I laughed. Well, you would, I bet. And Josh laughed too and she said he was a fag and then chucked hers away and put down her bag and then picked up a stick, which was a mistake, ‘cos the thing that Tao really liked most was the lake. The one in the woods behind school’s black with slime and it’s full of old bikes. It’s been there since time ever started.
So, Alicia’s stick starts to shake as she sees Tao charge, so she aims at the lake and it smacks down, much harder than I thought it would. And Josh and I know what comes next.
And it’s good. Tao plunges in violently. Swimming’s his thing and he reaches the stick and avoids the shopping cart that sticks out like some mangled body; all stuck in the dead reeds and rubbish; the grainy, wet muck.
He heaves out. He’s so pleased with himself I crease up, ‘cos the look on his face is just like he’s a puppy again. But guess what? Alicia isn’t amused and her plasticky smile lets me see she’s confused and freaked out. Too late: Tao’s on the run still. And sadly for Alicia, she’s standing downhill from the water that’s stagnant and smelly and vile. Next thing, Tao’s landed on top of the pile
That is Alicia.
She got up and untangled herself from my wonderful, beautiful dog, who tried to lick this person he thought was so fun. But Alicia made a noise like a broken dishwasher and stumbled away, leaving Josh and me still in fits. Weird that now I think Alicia might be ok.
But Tao’s still gone and I miss him.
And Oh Em Gee, that dog is fit.
* * *
We meet at the fountain. Miss Mint’s got, like, six reasons to apologise but she doesn’t, she just says, “bit late,” and winks and chews her thumb.
And I say, “don’t do that. You’ve got such nice nails.”
And she says, “you haven’t.”
I’m trying to work out how cross I am at her for:
Oh, and basically messing my life up. The main thing is lying. I don’t know how she can’t see what she’s doing is bad. We’ve only got six days left. What if she’s already ruined it?
“I like him,” she shrugs, “and if I’m you and you like him too, what’s the prob?”
“
’Prob?
I think you can do better than that,” and I remind her she has a degree and a PGCE and something called a TLR ‘cos I had a meeting about it on Friday and I actually think I might go for another. I tell her.
“I don’t want to,” she says, looking stunned.
“I do.”
“But it’s loads more responsibility.”
“A lot more,” I correct. “Not loads. And it’s also more money,” and she strops and doesn’t reply.
We head to
La Verite
, a posh French place just opened and which no Fairmere year kids would ever set foot in. Miss Mint’s paying, which means really I am.
“How’s money?” she asks, when she’s ordered a coffee and water and absolutely
nothing else.
And it’s fine, ‘cos she gave me her card and her PIN and I’ve not used it much. Just taxis and food. And the dentist.
“Oh yeah, how did that go?” she asks, looking shifty. And I need to do this filling in carefully.
When I’ve told her, she hides in the coffee cup.
“I don’t do that now.”
And I fall off my chair ‘cos my shoulder’s been gored. More great pain, Mr Morlis. I shout, “don’t you lie, it’s not fair!”
There’s clatter and bangs as Miss Mint and four waiters all rush to my side, waving napkins. I’m ok, but shit, did that hurt. And I’m furious. So mad I start speaking in French. And I yell,
“
vous êtes
fou
. Vous ne se soucient pas de la santé ou votre vie. Taff vous aime, mais vous ne devriez pas devenir sa femme, si vous ne pouvez même pas être honnête avec lui au sujet de la nourriture. Et nous ne serons jamais de swap en arriè,,,,re si vous ne pouvez pas dire la vérité.”
Just to piss her off, to be honest.
And she looks at me blankly, as white as the cloth that she’s using to dab at the hot coffee froth that she’s spilled on her jeans. And then all of the heat rushes out of me and as I get to my feet I say, “sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just that I can’t handle you and the lying. It’s really frustrating.”
She whispers, “yeah, I’m sorry too.” And gets off her knees. And we both sit back down. She breathes in, then, “please can you say that again, in English this time?” And she smiles and I do it (and yes, it does rhyme).
“You’re
crazy
; you don't care ‘bout health or your life. Taff loves you, but you shouldn't become his wife if you can't even be honest with him ‘bout food. And we'll never swap back if you can't tell the truth.”
We unpick the menu together. I tell her I know she counts calories from the bit of paper in her bag, noting the times of the day and the things she can eat and the numbers they hold, like, religiously.
I’m pleased when she tells me she hides food; about the chocolate in her desk drawer at school; the skipped meals; about the cakes festering under
Posy
.
“Does Taff know?”
She shrugs. “He just thinks I don’t eat much. I control it round him.” I think back to the bath and him being so pleased that I wanted to eat.
“Why’s it so hard?”
“It just is,” she crumbles sugar on her lap. “I can’t help it.”
And I say, “Rach was the same. But she’s getting a bit better ‘cos dancing’s her thing now.”
And Miss Mint smiles and I think if she can’t help it, maybe Rach can.
* * *
We stay and get jelly, which doesn’t offend Miss Mint’s constitution. And now: my best friend.
Josh’s been round to Miss Mint’s. He came round in the morning, before she went to meet Kai to do shopping; before she left Kai to see me. And I think, there might be something in this getting up early.
“He wanted to talk about Felix. And the letter.”
I go cold. But turns out he’s happy. Which is the main thing. Apparently, he sat at the kitchen table at breakfast, all spruced up in tailored shorts, ready to talk, but Mum was getting ready for work and Miss Mint wasn’t eating but stressing ‘bout what to wear so he’d had breakfast well early at his but he made all these crepes in Mum’s kitchen, with blueberry compote, whatever that is, sprinkling icing sugar over like snow, and Miss Mint and Mum watched him make four and put tiny
Stars from a jar
Leftover from Christmas last year
On the top.
And just before Mum left she said,
“Josh, that’s lovely; really and truly. I love jam and craps.” And she’d tried to get Miss Mint to eat them, but that obviously wasn’t happening, so she’d promised to have them when she got in, but looked a bit worried they’d keep and he’d said,
“My boyfriend Felix will have them.”
Miss Mint goes, “it was awesome. Your mum’s jaw was hanging.”
And I think, Mum’s cool; she knows Josh’s gay, but yes. Yes. I can imagine. (I also think, we need to do something about your vocabulary, my girl).