The Other Ida (23 page)

She felt someone stir and then draw closer to her, a heavy leg trapping both of hers, the prod of a hard-on against her arse. She concentrated on her breath – in, out, in, out – as she began to remember who she was in bed with and why she felt like someone was dead.

It was Ray next to her, she remembered that now, and he began to kiss her. She didn't look at him although she knew what she would see if she did. He probably hadn't even opened his eyes and his kisses were dry on her neck, an attempt at politeness before he'd begin to undo her jeans. She gulped again, loudly and spontaneously, a high-pitched intake of breath. The kisses stopped.

“You got hiccups?” Ray asked sleepily, squeezing her hip.

Ida said nothing but lay still. The light on her face was warm. She wished he'd fuck off and leave her there alone. She knew she could stay still, lie there forever like someone from Pompeii. She cleared her throat.

“Haven't you got work?” she asked, her voice thin.

“Shit, fuck, Jeff's going to blow his top.” He clambered over her roughly, his full weight on her calves as he hopped off the bed. As he scanned the room, picking things up and replacing them, he muttered to himself about his skins, patting his trousers to check for his keys. He kissed her on the forehead, his musty dreadlocks swinging and hitting her face as he turned.

“See you later, you're in later right? Okay, bye.”

Ida heard him run down the stairs. She would make herself sleep, she knew she could do it – you just had to keep breathing so slowly you could fool someone you'd died. She let each muscle relax in turn and noticed everything she could feel – the mattress on her arm, the sun on her eyelids, the uncomfortable place where the fly of her jeans dug into her stomach – and prayed to Our Lady to be able to stay like that forever.

At some point she found herself shivering in the darkness, her jeans wet and tight against her skin. She didn't remember needing the loo and was pleased that her body had done as she'd told it – stayed asleep for as long as possible, whatever nature threw at it. But the cold was a problem. She undid her flies and threw her knickers and jeans onto the floor, drying her legs with the duvet, turning it over and pulling it round her. No one could make her leave the bed and there was comfort in that. Each small thing was a comfort and she appreciated every bit of her room. She lay under her damp duvet, breathing slowly for what seemed like hours, the stillness broken by the occasional ring of the phone downstairs, or a noisy sports car outside, until she again managed to fall asleep.

At first she thought an alarm had gone off in a nearby house and was tempted to ignore it and stay asleep. It was only when it came again, loud, desperate and very near, that she knew it was someone screaming. Without quite knowing why she hit herself on the head. There was the sound of someone walking down the stairs, then a car door slamming and more footsteps – two sets of footsteps – coming back up. She hit herself again as hard as she could. She wished she had a hat pin that she could use to pierce her skull – the way she had once seen Bridie kill a pink and cheeping baby bird that had fallen out of its nest.

There were loud noises from her mother's room, shouting, and the sound of her being dragged and lifted perhaps, maybe onto the bed. Ida sat up. She was suddenly desperate to barricade herself in the room and she jumped off the bed. With a sweep of her arm she cleared the top of her chest of drawers and somehow hauled it over tapes and clothes towards the door. With a final push she managed to angle it under the door handle, the best attempt she could make at shutting herself in. She heard sirens in the distance and then her father's voice near her door. “Ida, Ida?”

“She must be at work, Bryan,” Terri said calmly.

Ida could imagine her stepmother's manicured hand on her father's arm, reassuring and sensible as he panicked about his beloved ex-wife.

The door handle turned as he tried get inside.

Ida stepped back onto a cassette case, which broke with a crack.

“I can hear someone's in there,” he said to Terri, rattling the handle. “Love, are you in there? Are you okay? Your mother's been taken ill. Alice found her when she came home.”

“I'll go back in with Bridie,” Terri said.

The sirens grew louder. Ida heard muttering and breaths through the door, as though her father's head was resting against it. “Darling, sweetheart... whatever's happened, whatever you've done, it will be okay,” Bryan whispered. Ida was amazed that he knew that she had wanted this and she had let it happen.

She heard the ambulance pull into the drive and the doors slam. Her father tapped the door as if reassuring it, and she heard him walk downstairs.

Before they left, Terri got the ambulance men to try Ida's room again, concerned that she may have died or be dying, either of grief or booze. Ida knew they'd have tools to get in if they wanted to so she put on a pair of joggers, pulled away the chest of drawers and opened the door to face them.

“Okay, I'm here. I've been asleep,” she said in a flat voice, aware that she was convincing nobody. Her father's relieved face peered round a paramedic's yellow jacket.

“Thank God.” Bryan reached out to touch her but she didn't touch him back. “Darling, your mother's ill.”

“Is she dead?” Ida asked matter-of-factly. She had no idea why she was behaving so oddly, her voice hard and strong like a bad actress playing a bully in
Grange Hill
.

“No, she's not well though,” the paramedic said. He turned to her father. “Mr Irons, we need to leave.”

Bryan stepped forwards to hug her.

“We won't be long. It will all be okay. Look after your sister? She's downstairs watching children's programmes.”

Ida began to pack her things in the green leather PE bag she hadn't used for years. She looked for knickers under dirty plates and managed to find three pairs. She had no idea how long they'd be. If her mother died, and she was pretty sure she would soon, then she supposed there wouldn't be much reason for them to stay at the hospital.

They'd be able to tell Ida had left her there, they could tell stuff like that on
Columbo
, and the pub would be sure to say she hadn't been in. That was a mistake right there, staying away from work. She should have gone in, blushing about the night before. Not only had she done herself out of an alibi she'd probably got the sack, properly this time. She'd need to find another job.

Of course she could not have spotted her mother, it would be difficult to prove that she had, but the fact of the matter was she was meant to be watching Bridie, keeping a close eye on her, and she evidently hadn't been. She couldn't face the questions, and anyway she'd had it, she'd bloody had it. She wanted to be left in peace to lie in bed, any bed would do.

She gave up looking for clothes and picked up her fags instead. She lit one and looked out of the window at the white sky. Nothing mattered, she realised that now. And no one could touch her. This was a new type of magic, invincible magic, every part of her felt powerful and alive. She wondered what she would do and where she would go. From her bottom drawer she got her post office savings book, Annie's address from a letter and a bottle of whisky and threw them in the bag.

Fuck everything, all her posters and t-shirts – she didn't need anything. She could hear noise from the sitting room as she walked downstairs and saw her sister in front of the television, her hand outstretched, touching the screen like a much younger child. As she turned Ida saw her face was blotchy from crying and her top lip was shiny with snot. Her hair, always messy, was static round her head.

“Is she going to be okay?” Alice asked quietly.

“I don't know. I'm sorry that you found her. I bet she looked gross. You should know, I think you should know, that I left her there on purpose.”

Alice began to cry again almost silently. She sat on her hands. Behind her Morph turned into a ball and then back into himself again.

“It's like ill animals, you know, like Ma always taught us. She wanted to die. I thought she should die. She's going to anyway sooner or later. Anyway. I'm sorry I suppose, I am. You should pray for me.” She turned away and then back again. “You know, I'd take you with me, I honestly think I would, but I know they'd never let me keep you. I think you're a bit of a nerd but I know I could sort you out. It'll be okay now, you'll be able to live with Dad or whatever. Look I have to go.” She blew a kiss and waved. “Bye. Chin up. Hope you'll be okay. You will be. We're magic, you know that? Right.”

Ida walked towards the front door, opened it and stepped outside. She was freezing in just a t-shirt but she felt kind of amazing and she didn't look back as she jogged down the steps and away from the house.

Chapter twenty-four

~ 1999 ~

Ida could feel the shape of her sister, her hip bones and tiny breasts, while her thin arm was draped over Ida's middle, resting on her rounded stomach. It felt good to be like this, soft and safe – she hadn't been in bed with someone in a non-sexual way for a very long time indeed. Although her bunk beds were long gone it was nice to be back in her old room, it did still feel like her room even if it looked nothing like it.

Alice was breathing heavily, her nose blocked up from crying, but Ida realised there was another noise in the room, another set of breaths. She opened her eyes and in front of the window, sitting on the chair by the desk, was a tall, grey-haired man holding two bunches of yellow freesias and smiling. His eyes were so kind and so unbelievably sad.

Ida gasped with joy, held out her hand and Peter clutched it.

“Princess of Bournemouth. I had to spend some time looking at you both, to get acclimatized. And sorry if you're fond of them but the men downstairs were being bloody boring. What the hell happened to your lovely hair?”

“Hacked it off. You know I'm still a nut.”

“Bah! You love the drama like your ma. And look at Alice. Still looks like something from a Disney cartoon.”

“Still behaves like it too,” Ida said, sitting up.

Alice stirred next to her and opened her eyes. “What time is it?” she asked in a panicky voice, still more asleep than awake.

“Ten thirty, sweetheart,” Peter said, standing up and leaning down to kiss them both.

“Uncle Peter,” Alice said. “I'm so sorry, I meant to wake up in time, I knew you were coming.”

“Stop it! Don't get your knickers in a twist.” He sat back down on the chair. “You poor, funny girls. I'm here to look after you now, don't you worry about a thing. I told them to make you both coffee but neither of your men seem to have a clue how to work the machine. I'm sure they'll get there in the end. Now, tell me everything – especially the horrible bits. Then we can move on to all the nice stuff. Well, there might not be much nice stuff at the moment, but we can always make it up. And I've got lots to tell you. It'll be like intensive rehab. People pay a fortune for this type of thing.”

Peter took the coffee when Tom eventually brought it up on a tray but wouldn't let the men in, or the women get out of bed.

Alice told them how she'd met Tom – they both went to the same gym – and about her flat in West Dulwich, her cat – Daisy – and her job in the bank. She worked in personnel and it took her half an hour to explain to Ida what that actually meant. In Ida's world people in banks sat behind glass in Barclays in Westbourne. The rest of it – ‘the system' – was as strange and mysterious as angels or the Internet.

Ida spoke about her life in London, the hundreds of places she'd lived, the times she'd hitched round Europe. She tried to make it all sound as good as she could, but there was no fooling Peter.

“Have you been in hospital again? I heard you had been.”

“Not really.” Ida bit her nails.

“She has, you have. You had that hospital band on when you first arrived,” said Alice.

“My tonsils,” said Ida, trying to make a joke.

“Bloody hell, darling, we're all friends here. You think we're going to be shocked. What was it? Madness? Abortion? Suicide attempt?”

“All three.” Ida laughed but Alice sighed. “Well I've been in a few times. There's been madness – well, depression – and drinking too much. And I was there for a stomach ulcer before I came down here.”

“Ow,” said Peter.

“Yes. It hurt. Nothing major though.”

“You shouldn't be drinking then, should you? Anything at all,” Alice said.

“No you shouldn't you naughty girl,” said Peter. “That man downstairs, the blonde smart-arsed one, was he around for all this? Is he looking after you?”

“He's got his own problems.”

“I bet he has,” said Peter. “It seems like there's lots of work to be done here.”

“Can't you move in?” asked Alice.

“Too late for that I'm afraid, you two are grown-ups now. But I'll help you as best I can. And you know what? I prayed to St Sharon of Cucumber Sandwiches, and she told me that you're both going be absolutely fine. And St Sharon is known for her accuracy as well as her delicious lunches – ”

“There's something else we should talk to you about,” Ida said seriously, cutting him off. She reached down to the pocket of her trousers, pulled out the certificate of baptism and handed it to him.

He unfolded it and turned towards the window.

“You didn't know?” asked Alice.

He paused. “Not exactly.”

He had never been a particularly good actor and, from the expression on his face, Ida was pretty sure he'd at least known some of it.

He saw her looking and seemed to realise he couldn't pull off a total lie.

“I mean there were lots of things that didn't quite add up,” he said. “When we met in rep she didn't know things, how to behave. She'd kill me for saying it. We went to Lyons once for tea and she asked for a slice of the chocolate gateaux – but pronounced it gatoocks.”