Authors: Clare Allan
Poppy Shakespeare (13 page)
'You know how long he's been waiting?' said Fat Florence. And just in case there was anyone left who didn't, she told us again.
And all the time she was telling us, Paolo's chin sunk further into his chest, then further still so his forehead was like
in his lap and further till he looked like a curled-up woodlouse. She said how he'd come in at eighteen years old with the
whole of his life before him, how he'd waited ten years on the seventh floor till a place come up on the sixth, and another
ten years on the sixth for a place on the fifth and all the time taking his meds and being good and doing like the doctors
told him. After fifteen years on the fifth, he moved down to the fourth and then to the third and finally to the second -
which if you added up Fat Florence's maths ought to of made him a hundred easy when even with all the meds he was on, anyone
could see he weren't twenty-five. And all those years and years on the wards, when all his schoolfriends was out getting jobs
and marrying and having kids, Paolo laid on his plastic mattress and stared at the ceiling and dreamed of the Dorothy Fish.
'He sacrificed everything,' said Florence.'Everything he had, he give up, and this is how they repay him.'
She had a look round to see how her speech gone down, but no one weren't listening. A fight broken out over one of the papers
Clifton picked up off the floor. It weren't nothing much, just a small torn-off scrap with handwriting on like a bit of an
old school report, but Third-Floor Lemar said it was proof and it come from
his
pile not Clifton's. And Clifton the Poet said bollocks, been his all along. In the end Elijah had to decide and he torn it
in two and give one half to each. And Lemar's half looked bigger but Clifton's got more words on.
Appointments got seen first and emergencies after, but it seemed like everyone had an appointment aside of Fat Florence and
us. Lemar gone in and then Fifth-Floor Elijah, who'd stuffed his bag with so many papers the handles give way and he had to
carry it hugged to his chest like a baby The reason we didn't have an appointment was it taken six months to get one and,
though I seen no need for the hurry myself, I knew without asking, Poppy weren't willing to wait. Fact sat there in that waiting
room as one by one the appointments gone in, I could feel how impatient Poppy was without even looking at her. I could feel
her stood against the wall, willing each minute on to the next, could feel every time she looked down at her watch, could
almost hear her say to herself, 'That
can't
of been less than a minute!' Even my toes felt it all by their selves and clenched up tight in my Nikes. 'It won't be long
now,' I said to Poppy. 'Another three more then it's us. . .' And I kept on saying it just to make her feel better.
Only thing was though, the way the flops was, they never give a thought for no one else. The way they seen it, they'd waited
six months and they wanted to get their money's worth. They knew they'd be waiting six months at least till they landed another
appointment and the length of time some of them dragged it out, seemed like they was doing their best to make the one appointment
last till the next one. They gone on so long and so thoughtless and selfish, I begun to feel almost embarrassed and I found
myself making excuses and that like for kids who don't know no better.
'It's those MAD money appeals,' I said. 'They take for fucking ever.' And two seconds later: 'You seen the forms?' I shown
her. 'They're like three foot thick!' 'That was quick!' I said, as Elijah come out - he'd been in so long he looked all out
of date and he talked like an old-fashioned film. 'See Poppy,' I said. 'We'll be through in no time!'
Poppy give me a smile. 'It's alright,' she said. 'It's not like we're missing much is it!'
I laughed out loud. 'Too right,' I said. 'We ain't missing much!' and I laughed some more. 'We ain't missing much!'I said.
'So what is this MAD money?' Poppy said. 'It's some sort of benefit, right?'
I looked at her. 'It is and it isn't,' I said.
'I mean it
is,
'
I said, 'but it's more than that.'
'How do you mean?' she said.
So then I explained her all about MAD money. Well not
all
about it, obviously, 'cause if I'd done that, we'd still be there now, but I told her the twenty-seven rates, from High High
High to Low Low Low and I told her how the madder you was, the higher the rate they give you.
'So how do they decide?' she said.
'Oh!' I said. 'They
know,'
I said. 'They got this special company, MAD Assessments it's called, specially for working it out.' And I told her how they
given you points according to everything wrong with you, then they added them up and that's how they worked out your rate.
'So let me get this right,' said Poppy. 'The madder you are, the more money you get?'
I nodded. 'Sort of,' I said. 'It ain't about the money, though.' And I tried to explain her what I meant but it weren't an
easy thing to find the words for. I tried to explain how the money was only a part of it. 'The money ain't the
thing,'
I said, 'it's just like one way of seeing it. Same as a flower ain't nature,' I said. 'It's a
part
of nature, do you know what I'm saying, but it ain't actually nature itself . . . Or like Slasher Sue when they cut off her
leg, her leg was hers but she weren't her leg; she was still Slasher Sue when it gone . . . Except for the fact that she weren't,'
I said, 'cause I seen the hole before I'd finished the sentence. 'I mean she
was
but she
weren't;
she become Sue the Sticks. Maybe that ain't such a good example,' I said.
All the time I'd been talking to Poppy I could feel Fat Florence like a pig at the trough straining to get her snout in. And
the moment I lifted my head for a sec, like just to take a breath, in come Florence, crashing in, how they didn't get
no
money on the wards, 'cause only day patients got money, and this weren't fair and that weren't fair and the other weren't
fair neither, and none of it what Poppy wanted to know, but just an excuse for a harp which was Florence all over, and Poppy
was leant against the wall, listening out of being polite and practically bored braindead.
'So why's everyone appealing?' she said, 'if you don't get any money?'
And Fat Florence taken the hump at that, thought Poppy was trying to make out they was thick and there weren't no point appealing
your rate if you didn't get paid anyway.'Why are they appealing!' she said. 'I'll tell you why they're appealing! Ain't
their
fault is it if they don't get paid. Might as well just write them off; they's only flops at the end of the day. Don't
deserve
no fucking respect!'
'It ain't about the money,' I said to Poppy as Florence gone on. 'It's more about what rate you get . . .'
'Why bother appealing! Fucking nerve . . .'
'But I thought they didn't
get
a rate,' said Poppy.
'She'll be wanting the shirt off our backs next, Paolo . . .'
'Yeah, they
do,'
I said. 'They get a
rate;
they just don't get
paid
for it.'
'Leave us with nothing! Take the lot . . .'
'Sounds complicated,' said Poppy.
But I hadn't told her the half of it, not the millionth part of it even. MAD money was like religion 'cept bigger. MAD money
was every religion all added together and timesed by itself and bigger than that as well. Sniffs gone to college to study
MAD money and come home knowing less than they did when they gone. People spent their whole lives studying just one single
rate. I knew all about it 'cause years before, when I was still on the wards, this student come round doing research for a
thesis he was writing on Middle High Middle. And not even
all
of Middle High Middle, he was focusing just on the second 'Middle' he said, 'for reasons of space'. Course nobody wanted to
talk to him, being as they reckoned he must be a spy sent from MAD to lower their rates, but I was bored out my fucking mind
and willing to take a chance on it, and besides I'd noticed a carton of Marlboro sticking out of his backpack.
'Guess what rate Astrid's on!' I said.
'Don't know,' said Poppy. 'I'm not sure I've quite got the system.'
'Middle Low Middle,' I said, and I laughed.
'Guess Verna the Vomit! Guess Candid Headphones!'
And that's how I got through the rest of the morning, doing my best to keep Poppy entertained. Fat Florence fallen asleep
in the end, snoring away like a pot-bellied pig, with her chins piled up on her chest like a stack of pillows. And as she
rolled forwards, Paolo uncurled, and he kept glancing sideways at Poppy and me, like wishing how he could join in.
Abaddon Patients' Rights been a toilet before it got converted and even as a toilet your knees must of rammed the door. It weren't big enough for a dog to of laid down proper, or maybe a Yorkie, but I've never been into them yap dogs anyway. There was a table, no longer than Banker Bill's and half as wide on account it been sawed down the middle. They'd had to saw it to fit in the chairs - two orange chairs like the ones outside and the half they'd sawed off been turned upside down and fixed to the wall for a shelf. If you's wondering how the table stood up with only two legs to hold it, there weren't nothing scientific about it, just so many papers rammed underneath the two legs it did have was six inches clear of the floor. On the wall behind where you sat was a notice-board, least that's what I reckon — you couldn't see 'cause of all the stuff pinned on top of it. There was notices pinned on notices pinned on notices pinned on notices; notices pinned up so thick they looked like an Argos duvet. The top layer had signs about MAD money rates and sections and who to complain to, though the names and addresses and stuff never been filled in. There was a sign for the project my bed come from, and another one 'bout training for work, half-covered by a sign for the Darkwoods drop-in. Like I say, underneath there was lots more signs, 'cept nobody couldn't read them; you just seen at the sides 'cause the papers bunched up so thick.
On the end wall Roberta had hung her bag from this pipe stuck out where the cistern used to be and it swung side to side like the pendulum of a clock and it kept it up all the time they was talking, and there's me stood by the notice-board and I got to keep dodging my head to the side case it give me a clout would of knocked me out for a fortnight.
It weren't so much that Roberta was slow, 'cause that's just the way she was. And it weren't her fault her scarves kept trailing down on the pad as she wrote, and she'd have to keep stopping to drape them back round and Poppy sat there revving away like a car in a Sniff Street gridlock. It weren't her fault she needed all Poppy's details, or she had to get her to spell out each word, repeating it back to make sure she'd got all the letters. But Poppy, I might of known her two days but long enough, do you know what I'm saying, 'Saffra,' she goes.
'Could you spell that for me?'
'S-A-double F-R-A,' she goes.
' S . . . A . . . F . . . F . . . R . . . A . . . That's two Fs, is it?' said Roberta. 'Not one?'
'Two Fs,' says Poppy.
'Two Fs,' said Roberta. 'Pretty name. I've never heard it before. And what's Saffra's date of birth?'
'6.12.98,' goes Poppy. 'Do you
need
all this?'
'6.12.98,' said Roberta, draping a scarf back round. 'Let's just get everything down, then we know where we are.'
Roberta was one of them dribblers I told you about, fucked up her annual assessment. The best she could do was a voluntary job down Abaddon Patients' Rights, which though it weren't the same thing at all, at least it give her a foot in the door and she got to see the doctors sometimes coming in in the morning.
When she'd finished getting all of her details and checked them through and checked them through and checked them through, Roberta turned to Poppy. 'So you've just arrived at the Dorothy Fish,' she said, and she sighed like if only. 'Well first things first, let's find you a form,' and she bent right forward in her chair so her scarves trailed down to the floor, and started yanking out papers from under the table. 'That's Housing Benefit,' she said. 'That's a travel pass form . . .That's Social Fund. . . This looks more like it. . .Ah, but it's half-filled in.' Each time she rejected one she chucked it over her shoulder and they opened out and flapped round the room like birds. 'Now this
is
one,' said Roberta at last. 'Yes, just hold on! Can you lift up that corner there?' But Poppy's just sat there staring ahead like she's give up all hope of anything ever so it's me steps forward and lifts up the table and Roberta tugging with all her might. 'We're almost there . . .if I could just get a grip . . .' till finally it come away and she crashed back into her chair with the form. 'I always say there
is
method in the madness.'
The table now slanted like forty degrees, she'd pulled out that much from under it and as she spoke you seen her mug, two pens and ajar full of paper clips start edging their way to the front. 'Now,' said Roberta. 'MAD money. Have you applied before?'
'I'm not applying for MAD money,' said Poppy - quite arsey as well, least that's how it come over.
Well that thrown Roberta totally and it taken her half an hour at least to get a hold of the fact how Poppy didn't want to apply and it weren't that she was scared of applying or worried what rate she'd end up with, she just didn't want to and that was that. 'Well it's not for
me
to try and persuade you,' Roberta said. 'Far from it. But you are in a highly advantageous position being at the Dorothy Fish. Just think of all the people out there who haven't a hope . . . I'm not saying you
should . . .
But think about it won't you at least . . .' Smash! gone the mug, splashed my Nikes with coffee. 'The fact that you're here
proves
you're mentally ill. There are people who would give their right arm; there are people who
have
. . .' and she started to cry at the thought of the one-armed dribblers I s'pose which I've met one or two but you know what I'm saying ain't common. 'I'm sorry,' she said, and she blown her nose and all through Poppy never said nothing, just stared straight ahead like a coma.
'So how can I help?' Roberta said and still Poppy sat there staring ahead like come in planet Poppy, but then very slowly she started to talk like finding her way through a room in the dark, and then as her eyes begun to adjust the words started coming quicker and quicker till soon they was tumbling out so fast you couldn't hardly keep up with the story.
'Two weeks ago,' she said, 'I lost my job. Two weeks ago tomorrow, it was. Where are we? Wednesday. Yeah two weeks tomorrow. I can hardly believe it,' she said and she frowned; I'm like uh-oh she's off again. 'Two weeks ago tomorrow it was. I wasn't all that bothered, to be perfectly honest; I'd only been with them four or five months and I thought I'd just ring up MediaSavvy and get myself something else. They've got me loads of work in the past; it was them who got me Sniffsucker Sansome in fact and HKH where I met Saffra's dad, or maybe that was. . .'
'HKH?' Roberta said. You could see she was panicking, all of these names and her supposed to know everything; it cracked me up a bit.
'HKH?' said Poppy, frowning. 'Oh, sorry, HKH,' she said. 'Yes Harbinger Krapwort Harbinger. The ad agency!' she said. 'You know! They're huge! They do loads of stuff. You know that one for Femikalm, the one where the devil turns into an angel and starts playing the harp? Dud worked on that. And Shhhocolate! and Smugglers Nappies . . .' And she started listing all of these ads and all how Dud had worked on them and HKH this and HKH that and perked herself up no end she did, first time she'd smiled all morning.
'I've heard of them,' Roberta said, like bollocks you have, but it brought Poppy back like instant.
'So,' she said. 'I was going to try MediaSavvy, but I went for a drink with some of the girls and one of them's going travelling and one's off to college and I thought, I don't know, I suppose I just thought why not try something else? I mean I'm thirty-four now, Saffra's in school, do I want to spend the rest of my life sat out on reception? I'd been reading this thing in
Marie Claire,
this woman who'd been for life-coaching, and the life coach had asked her what she wanted and she suddenly realised she'd never
thought
about it before. So I started to ask myself what
I
wanted. I mean I know what I
want,
like a good life for Saffra, nice holidays, but beyond that. And I thought I could maybe try journalism, I've always fancied journalism, and half the stuff you read, to be perfectly honest, you can't believe someone's getting paid to write it!
'Anyway, I rang round all these helplines to try and find out about courses and stuff and funding too, 'cause I'm twelve grand in debt on my credit cards with a loan as well, I mean let's not even go there.
'So, in the end I got through to this helpline; I can't remember what it was called, just some sort of government training thing and they told me about this "initiative" that's what they kept on calling it - and they said it was aimed at people like me who were looking at a change in career. "New Directions", that's what it was called. Have you heard of it?'
Roberta nodded. Like bollocks you have, I'm thinking.
'Well I went to this information day at the Kensington Holiday Inn. At least that's what they billed it as but it wasn't. I thought you'd just go round, pick up some leaflets, have a quick chat, maybe ask a few questions, but it wasn't like that at all. From the moment you walked in through the door, it was like you were being assessed. I mean, even the woman who gave me my ticket, I could see she was looking me up and down and ticking these boxes next to my name; I'm like what's that about, but anyway in I go. It was a really smart conference meeting room, all logos and banners saying
"NEW DIRECTIONS: investing in a
NEW BRITAIN!"
There were maybe twenty little booths and a whole load of people sat waiting. I got chatting a bit to this girl next to me. She'd brought all these copies of her CV along, with all her qualifications and stuff and she's really focused and nervous about it, like all she's ever wanted is to get on New Directions - and there's
me
with my 2.5 GCSEs, and this bloke with huge ears next to her, kept eavesdropping, really smug.
'When your number got called you went up to a booth and sat down at a computer and you had to answer all these questions, like the usual sort of stuff it started with, like name, age, gender, education. I could see old Big Ears two seats down typing in his fifty-five degrees in astrophysics, but by this point I'm like what the hell. Then when you'd put all your details in, it asked you to wait while it processed them and I don't know how long it took, seemed like forever. Big Ears is drumming his desk like "Come on!" I couldn't see the girl, maybe she was behind, but suddenly it's "Congratulations! You are through to Level Two!"
'I didn't notice at first 'cause we were all sort of staggered, with everyone starting at different times but after a bit I realised the person sitting next to me had changed twice while I was sat there. Then Big Ears got up and tripped over his chair, and I
know
he sat down after me and I started to think, "Hang on, maybe I'm doing something
right!
So I carried on working through level two. It was just more questions but slightly different. I mean, some of it was about interests and stuff and even what kind of music you're into, but then they had those complete the sequence, you know, with letters and numbers, and I've always been hopeless at stuff like that, and then situations and what would you do and all of these shapes, just like random shapes and you had to say what they all were. I was just putting anything down to be honest, you had to put something or it came up as "Error", but I didn't have a clue. I was feeling in my bag for my travel pass when the screen started flashing, "Congratulations! You are through to Level Three!" '
To be honest Poppy gone on a bit. I'm not being funny but you know what I'm saying, like all of the levels and how well she done and how surprised she was and shit, bit Verna the Vomit to tell you the truth; I'm like yeah and the point of the story? There was seven levels, that was the gist, and Poppy got through all of them and that's really all needed saying. And it weren't till she got to the end of the seventh, she had a look round and the room was practically empty.
'I hadn't noticed everyone going, I must have been really into it, the fact that I kept on getting through; I suppose it was kind of addictive. And the other thing I hadn't noticed or not at the time I mean, not until later, was how weird it was what they were asking. Just the questions I mean, they keep coming back, and I'm thinking I must of imagined it, but I'm certain I didn't, I'm
certain
I didn't. I mean they had a question on
masturbation,
like if I did and how often and stuff, I mean, I don't have a
problem
but do you know what I'm saying, what's
that
got to do with a course in Media Studies?'
Roberta nodded but she gone so red I practically pissed myself, I did, and forgot to dodge out the way of her bag so it clouted the side of my head.
'I wish I could remember them all,' said Poppy, ' 'cause it must be that; that's what I'm thinking. It must be one of the answers I gave, I mean, one of the ones I guessed at or something, or maybe I read the question wrong. I mean, if it had been a
person,
you know, but it was all just a,b,c or d, and none of them fitted. Jesus, it was a nightmare!'
'So what happened next?' said Roberta.
'Well by this point there were only five of us left. Me, that girl I'd met earlier, another girl a bit younger than us who wanted to be a beauty technician and these two blokes, just sort of normal blokes, one of them wanted to go to college, do IT I think, I'm not sure. So everyone finished and we all sort of sat there, staring at each other. Then Jess, the girl I'd met earlier, she went and asked them what was going on but they just said to wait, we'd get called. I suppose we just sat and chatted a bit. Everyone said they'd found it hard and how relieved they were to get through. It was kind of like
Pop Idol,
you know the auditions? I was half-expecting Ant and Dec to sneak in through the doors and ask how we were getting on. The only thing I kept thinking was, "Why
us?"
I mean, there wasn't any reason why
not
us, it's just I couldn't see why we stood out. I mean, I'm not being false modest, but
five
of us left out of maybe two hundred to start with? I even wondered if it was the other way round, and they'd kept us there because we
hadn't
got through, but that didn't make sense either.