Demo (12 page)

I don't know how long I've been sittin there, when Mr Abensur comes in. He doesny see me at first. He goes straight to the coffee machine, takes the cloth off it and folds it. He's singin a wee tune to hissel. Then he switches it on. You can hear a faint hum. He goes out again and comes back carryin a tray of brioches and croissants. He's away to put it on the table beside the machine when he sees me.

Buon giorno, signorina,
he says, like he's surprised. He sets down the tray and comes across to me.

I think, oh no, I'll no be able to understand him. I'll no know what to say.

But he goes, You bed OK? You sleep OK?

Yes, yes, I says,
sì, signore, grazie.
And he smiles at me.

Bene, bene. Molto bene.

I keep my hair kinda over my face.

Tuo fratello?
You brother?

He's no up yet. Still in bed.

He looks at me kinda serious for a minute. Then he says,
Cappuccino e brioches.
Like it's the answer tay the questions he canny ask me. Like it's just what the doctor ordered. I can feel mysel nearly greetin again.

Grazie, signore,
I says. Thank you.

He goes across to the machine, clatters some cups, presses some buttons and it starts hissin and steamin. The smell of the coffee wafts over. I like the noise it makes. And the smell. He comes back wae a cup and saucer.

Un cappucho,
he says. I've no heard it called that afore. The cup's full to the brim wae foam and there's chocolate sprinkled on the top.

Brioches coming. I heat first. He gies me a big smile.

Grazie, signore.
I try and smile back but my mouth feels twisted. Like that guy Dougie's. Mr Abensur doesny seem to notice. He doesny crack a light anyhow. He just goes away and comes back a couple a minutes later wae a basket full a brioches. Does he think I'll eat all this? My coffee's still sittin there; I've no started it yet. I take a spoon a the chocolatey foam. The sun's moved further down the buildins now, but this side a the street's still dark. I don't know if I'll be able to drink much of the coffee; they make it dead strong here in Florence. Bitter.

Buon giorno, signora, signore,
Mr Abensur's sayin. I look over at the door. There's an older couple I've no saw afore comin in. The woman's got her handbag wae her and a fawn cardigan over her shoulders. The man pulls out her chair for her. Then he sits opposite. They don't say a word to one another. Just sit waitin.

I take one of the brioches out the basket and put it on my plate. It feels warm. I'm no really in the mood for it but I eat
it anyway. The jam gets all over my fingers. I'm wipin it off wae the napkin when I hear Laetitia's voice.

Hi, she says, dead bright. Mind if we join you?

My head goes hot and I'm feart to look up. I can see Julian's legs out the corner a my eye. Beside Laetitia's.

Clare? she says.

When I do look up, I just stare. At first I think it canny be him. His eyes look dead big and his face is even whiter than usual.

How… why…? I says. What happened?

Behold the penitent, Laetitia says. I know. It's a little extreme. A little OTT. She's smilin at him. His head's no completely shaved, but near enough.

Julian has something to say to you, Clare. Is it alright if we sit down? She's got on the red jersey again and her black hair swings forward all glossy.

I don't say nothin. I can't take my eyes off Julian. They sit down. He's no even looked at me yet. His head's covered wae a pale velvety fuzz and his scalp's showin through. In a couple a bits you can see wee marks. Wee red scratches. Like he's cut hissel shavin. His beard's no there either. He's shaved that off too. He leans forward wae his elbows on the table. He still canny look me in the eye. At the back a his neck there's some longer wispy bits of hair. Curly and soft. Like a baby's.

He looks at me then. Say something, Clare.

I liked your dreads, I says.

I'm sorry, he says.

What for?

Everything. Clare, I wanted to say —

Jesus Christ!

I've no noticed Danny comin in. He's standin beside the table wae his mouth hangin open.

Fucksake, man! What's wae the Henrik Larsson? He starts to laugh. Fuck me…

He doesny know. Danny doesny know.

Jesus, Jules… He shakes his head and laughs again. Did you know he was gonny dae this, Laetitia?

Excuse me, I says. I stand up so quick, my chair falls over. I've got tay go. I set the chair up and head for the door.

Go where? Danny shouts after me. You've no finished your breakfast.

I'm no hungry, I says.

Clare…

Mr Abensur gies me another smile when I pass him at the coffee machine.

Ciao,
I says.
Grazie.
Thank you for everything. And I hurry out intay the lobby.

I start to go up the stair. It's got the same red carpet that's on Julian's corridor. I'm gonny go right up tay my room, but I change my mind. Instead I go through the door on the first floor and along the corridor to Julian's room. One of the other doors is open and there's a pile a sheets and towels outside. I tiptoe past. I can see Mrs Abensur makin the bed. I try Julian's door, but it's locked. I stand lookin at it for a minute. Then I decide. I chap the door where Mrs Abensur's workin. She straightens up fae the bed and looks at me. Her face is red and shiny.

Please, I says, could you open this door for me? I point towards Julian's room and mime turnin a key.

She says somethin fast in Italian I canny make out at all.

I left somethin in there, I says. My friend's downstairs havin his breakfast. He says I can go in and get it.

She must understand more English than she speaks, cause she says somethin else in Italian, but she comes out the room, lifts up a key fae a chain round her waist and opens Julian's door.

Grazie, signora,
I says.
Eàmolto gentile.
I remember that's what Julian says to Mr Abensur yesterday at breakfast. She gies me a smile, so it must be the right thing. She lets the big jangly keyring drop back on the chain and watches me goin in the room. I smile at her again and close the door.

God! The bed's a pure mess; the covers are in a big jumble, fallin off, and the towel I put on top a the sheet is on the floor. At least there's no much blood on it. I look for the wastepaper bin; it's half under the covers. There's nothin in it except a few roll-up dowts and a couple of tissues.

They must a done it in the bathroom, I think. Then I notice the chair. The gold wicker chair is beside the table at the window and the bin fae the bathroom's sittin next to it. It's no right closed. I go over and open it; my face flashes at me, scrunched up, in the bashed metal lid. I was right. They're there. Julian's dreads stuffed in the bin. On top of one a the hand towels wae smears a blood on it. No mine this time. Fae the cuts on Julian's head probably.

I pick up one a the dreads. They must be all tangled thegether but, cause the whole lot comes out. And the towel. That's when I notice something else in the bin. A dooby. A used one. I drop the towel and the hair back in, untangle one dreadlock and stuff it in the pocket of my jeans. I need to get out.

When I open the door, Mrs Abensur is just liftin up the pile a sheets and towels. I squeeze past her.

Grazie, signora,
I says. And I gie her a big smile, like I'm meant to be there. Would you lock my friend's door again, please?

She gies me a look, but she bundles the dirty washin under one arm and goes over and locks the door.

Grazie,
I say again. And I get out fast. I wouldny like to be there when she sees the state a that room.

*

My room feels dead calm efter Julian's. I smoothe up my bed even though it'll be stripped for washing in a couple a hours. I take the dreadlock out my pocket and sit down. It's no as fair as his hair looked on his head. Maybe it's one fae underneath. Your hair's usually darker underneath. It feels funny now. More sorta stiff. More dead. Like a bit of frayed rope. I can see where it's been hacked through near his head. I wonder if it was scissors they used or a razor. Or a knife. It canny a been very sharp anyhow, whatever it was, cause the hair's all different lengths at this end. It's the only bit that's like real hair. When I look at it close I can see a few of the hairs have been pulled out by the roots; there's a bit of white skin and then the root wae a wee black oily glob out the – what d'ye call it – follicle. I peel one off wae my nails and rub the oil between my fingers. I do that wae all of them. Then I notice the bits of thread tied round at different points. Julian telt me about them when he showed me how to make dreads.

First you twist a wee bunch a hair thegether; then you backcomb it right up to the roots. And you keep twistin and backcombin and twistin till it stays matted. But that's no the finish of it. It starts to unravel, so you tie wee invisible threads round it. And then you have to rub beeswax on it to keep it all thegether. That's the kinda sweet smell I always get – got – off Julian's hair. I hold the dread under my nose. Smoke. It still smells smoky fae the fire last night. Beeswax. I can feel it too, a wee bit greasy. Julian says my hair's too clean to get the dreads started right. Too shiny and slippy. You dae have to be a bit clatty, like I says. I feel the back a my head. It's took me half an hour this morning to brush out the bit he started for me. Even without the beeswax. Cause my hair's curly, Julian says, it should make it easier. You don't wash it wae shampoo. If they get a bit smoky, you just have a bath wae patchouli oil. That's the other sweet smell I get, but faint. Contrary to
popular belief, Julian says, dreadlocks are high maintenance. I hold the stiff, matted bit of the dread and touch my cheek with the cut ends. Soft. Like a makeup brush. Like normal hair. How come he uses a condom wae her and no wae me…?

I wonder what Mrs Abensur'll do wae the rest a Julian's dreads. She'll likely just put them out wae the rubbish. I wish I'd taen more. Maybe she'll stick them in the washin machine. Alang wae the towels. But how would you get the beeswax out? Maybe you could do what my ma does wae candlewax. Iron it wae brown paper on top, so the wax melts intay the paper. It's a good job I've got my period the now, or I might've got pregnant. Funny how I didny even think. My ma would a killed me. The times she's telt me, Use a condom. Never mind the Pope; if it comes to it, use a condom. And I'm like, I know that, Ma. You don't need to tell me. I know. But I never. In the end, I never. I wish I'd have took one more of the dreads. Just one. Then I could keep this one the way it is. And I could undo the other one. I would like to see what his hair's like if you combed out the dread. What it's really like underneath. I think it would be fair and soft and a bit wavy.

Clare.

The door opens and Danny comes in. I stick the dread under my red T-shirt on the bed.

Oh, you're there, he says. He knows now. You can see it in his face. He's got his dark look again. I wonder how they telt him.

Aye, I was just gonny pack, I says. How you doin?

He looks at me then. Like he's never saw me before. His brows are knitted and his green eyes are the colour of his combat jacket.

Aye, alright, he says. How about you?

Alright.

Aye, pair of fucking upper-class wankers, when it comes down to it. He says it low, but he sounds dead angry.

What've they says to you?

Never you mind. Just remember, don't let the bastards grind you down.

No.

C'mon. Better get our skates on. Bus leaves at eleven.

Do you love her? Laetitia?

He gies me a look. But he says nothin.

I roll up my T-shirt wae the dreadlock inside it and push it to the bottom of my rucksack.

It makes no difference, anyhow, he says. She's gettin off in London.

Wae Julian?

No, he says and he looks at me kinda sharp. He's comin back to Glasgow. Forget it but, Clare. Birds of a feather, know what I'm sayin?

Aye, right.

I stuff my book and my CD player and the rest a my clothes in my rucksack.

The train station's hoachin. We have to go through it to get to where our bus is leavin from. There's folk fae the demo all over, waitin for trains. It looks like some a them's slept here. There's a group sittin on the ground. One guy's in a long coat wae a red and yellow scarf, even though it's warm the day. He's rollin a joint right out in the open, like he doesny gie a fuck. Another guy's playin a guitar and a lassie's hittin a wee drum thing and singin. I wish I was goin on the train. I wish Farkhanda was here and we were goin on the train thegether.

The two buses fae Glasgow are parked near the station. I don't see any sign of Julian and Laetitia. Danny slings his
rucksack on the pavement. He's lookin around too, but tryin no to look as if he is. I feel sorry for him. I put my rucksack down next to his and stand beside him. I wonder what bus they'll go on.

Folk are startin to gather. I recognize Bernadette and her pal standin smokin. She gies me a wave and I wave back. I know more a the faces now, fae the restaurant. I see the guy who started the fire speakin to a few a his pals and laughin. One a them's the guy wae the Spartacus T-shirt. He's still wearin it the day. It must be boggin.

I feel Danny goin tense beside me. Then he starts talkin in a loud voice.

Aye, so just leave your bags here and the driver'll stow them in the side a the bus.

I look round and Julian and Laetitia are walkin towards the buses. It's funny, even though he's cut off his dreads, I still see him wae them. Before I see him, if you know what I mean. I still get a shock at how he looks now.

Hi, guys, Laetitia says, dead cheery.

Danny makes a point a no lookin at her. He bends down and unbuckles his rucksack, pushes his hand down the sides as if he's lost something, then buckles it again and stands up facin the other way.