The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

The bedroom was huge now the wardrobe was gone. She looked forward to seeing him again. She would ask him to bring some of his paintings.

She was curious to know whether they were any good or not.

15

Poppy was sprawled on Brianne’s bed, applying black mascara to her stubby lashes. Brianne was sitting at her desk, trying to complete an essay before the 2 p.m. deadline. It was 1.47 p.m.

Poppy dropped the mascara brush and it rolled across her white T-shirt. She growled, ‘Fucking fuckety fuck! Why don’t you buy a decent fucking mascara?’ She gave a little laugh – she knew she couldn’t go too far. She had very few friends left on her corridor. There had been incidents concerning the theft of food and cigarettes.

Brianne was staring out of the window, trying to find the final paragraph and equations to complete an essay her lecturers had entitled ‘Infinity: An Endless Conversation?’ Her view from the window was of identical accommodation blocks, young trees and rain clouds the colour of gunmetal. She had been there for two weeks, and she still missed her mother. She didn’t know how to make herself comfortable without all the small things Eva had done for her for as long as she could remember.

Brianne said, ‘My mother bought me these cosmetics, but I’ve never used them.’

‘You should,’ said Poppy. ‘You’re a proper minger. It must piss you off big time that your brother is actually beautiful. How cruel is that? Did nobody ever mention plastic surgery?’

Brianne’s hands froze on the keys of her laptop. She knew she wasn’t pretty, but she hadn’t thought that she was an actual minger.

‘No,’ she said, ‘nobody has ever mentioned that I need plastic surgery.’ Her eyes welled with tears.

‘Don’t go all emo on me. I believe in being cruel to be kind.’ Poppy laid an arm across Brianne’s shoulders. ‘I’ll tell you what you need.’

The essay deadline came and went while Poppy listed the defects that were going to ruin Brianne’s future, unless she ‘went under the knife’.

Poppy said, ‘No man gives a toss how clever a woman is. Well, no man worth having. All they care about is what we look like. How many guys have I slept with since the first day of uni?’

‘Loads,’ said Brianne. ‘Too many.’

‘Don’t be so fucking judgemental!’ shouted Poppy. ‘You know I can’t sleep on my own – not since my body was violated by that monster.’

Brianne was not curious about the ‘monster’. She knew he didn’t exist.

Poppy flung herself down on the bed and began to wail like a Middle Eastern grandmother at a freshly dug grave.

Brianne had thought that she was only mildly fond of her mother, but she desperately wanted to speak to her now. She went outside into the corridor and phoned Eva’s mobile, but all she got was the dead tone. She let herself into Brian Junior’s room.

He was sitting at his desk with his hands over his ears and his eyes closed.

She said, ‘Mum’s phone is dead! I need to speak to her about Poppy.’

Brian Junior opened his eyes and said, ‘I need Mum, Bri. Poppy is pregnant, and she says I’m the father.’

The twins looked at each other, then leaned forward and embraced.

They tried the house phone. It rang and rang and rang and rang.

Brianne said, ‘Mum always answers the phone! We’ll have to phone Dad, at work. Anyway, she can’t know if she’s pregnant, you only met her a fortnight ago.’

‘I don’t think I impregnated her, either,’ said Brian Junior. ‘She got into my bed. She was upset about something.’

They were both aware of the hysterical crying coming from Brianne’s room. Concerned voices could be heard in the corridor.

Their father’s mobile rang eight times before the voicemail message clicked on: ‘Dr Beaver is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep. Alternatively, email me on doctorbrian dot beaver at leic dot ac dot uk. If I think that your communication is sufficiently important, I will be in touch.’

When Brianne went back to her own room, she found a small crowd of students. He was sitting on the bed, cradling Poppy in his arms.

Ho said, ‘Brianne, I think you are not a good person! You are saying to Poppy she is slut and whore! And this day her mother and father crash their small plane and are taken to intensive care?’

The little crowd exclaimed sympathetically, then looked disapprovingly at Brianne.

Brianne said, ‘She hasn’t got parents. She’s an orphan.’ Poppy sobbed louder. ‘How can you say that? They’ve been better to me than any birth parents could ever have been. They chose me.’

Ho said, ‘Please go from this room, now!’ Brianne said weakly, ‘This is my room, and she’s wearing my bracelet and my mascara.’

A Korean student with a severe fringe and an American accent rounded on Brianne, saying, ‘Poppy has had so much tragedy in her life, and her adoptive parents are fighting for their lives and you insult her…’

Poppy struggled to be free of Ho’s arms and said, in a little girl’s voice, ‘I forgive you, Brianne. I know you lack emotional intelligence. I can help you with that, if you’ll let me.

16

Brian was angrily showing a group of disabled children around the Space Centre. He was sure that some of them were deliberately crashing their wheelchairs into the back of his legs. Each child had a teacher with them. Before the tour, he had addressed the children and their helpers.

‘I am Dr Brian Beaver and I work here as an astronomer and mathematician. I compile all the statistics to do with space, such as the distance of one star from another, and I protect you against fiery death from the impact of Near-Earth Objects. Now, I’m not going to patronise you. I expect there are several of you who are quite intelligent and are able to process information. The others who can’t will just have to try and keep up as best you can. It would be a great help to me if you could desist from waving your arms about. And please try to keep your heads still. And those issuing the strange noises, could you please stop – it’s extremely distracting.’

The teachers looked from one to the other. Should they say something to this man, who seemed not to understand that a new vocabulary was in use today?

Ms Payne, a teacher whose outfit included the grey version of the ubiquitous Ugg boots and a Palestinian scarf, could not remain silent. She said, ‘The children’s movements and noises are involuntary. Most of them have cerebral palsy. I’m afraid that your language is completely unacceptable!’

Brian said, defensively, ‘At the beginning, I said I wouldn’t patronise these unfortunate children, and I won’t. But it does them no good, madam, if you swaddle them with acceptable words. Now, shall we get on? I have extremely important work to do after you’ve gone. ‘Ms Payne said, ‘You should rewrite the brochure, Dr Beaver. It says school parties are welcome.’

One of the lifts was out of order. It took over half an hour before everybody was on the next floor.

When Brian came home from work, he found two black children – a boy and a girl – wearing primary school uniform, sitting at the kitchen table eating toast and doing homework.

Brian’s first instinct was to turn round and run to the front door – he was obviously in the wrong house. Then he saw his country-walk coat and one of Eva’s jackets hanging on the coat hooks in the hall. But who were these children? Was the boy a burglar and the girl his accomplice?

Then he saw Alexander coming down the stairs. ‘Thomas, Venus, say hello.’

The children turned round and said in unison, ‘Hello.’ Brian thundered upstairs and into Eva’s bedroom. It