In the Flesh Read Free

beneath them.

     

      'Sweets to the sweet' it read. She was familiar with the quote, but not with its source. Was it a profession of love? If so, it was an odd location for such an avowal. Despite the mattress in the corner, and the relative privacy of this room, she could not imagine the intended reader of such words ever stepping in here to receive her bouquet. No adolescent lovers, however heated, would lie down here to play at mothers and fathers; not under the gaze of the terror on the wall. She crossed to examine the writing. The paint looked to be the same shade of pink as had been used to colour the gums of the screaming man; perhaps the same hand?

     

     

    Behind her, a noise. She turned so quickly she almost tripped over the blanket-strewn mattress.

     

     

    'Who - ?'

     

     

      At the other end of the gullet, in the living-room, was a scab-kneed boy of six or seven. He stared at

    Helen, eyes glittering in the half-light, as if waiting for a cue.

     

     

      'Yes?' she said.

     

     

      'Anne-Marie says do you want a cup of tea?' he declared without pause or intonation.

     

      Her conversation with the woman seemed hours past. She was grateful for the invitation however. The damp in the maisonette had chilled her.

     

     

      'Yes...' she said to the boy. 'Yes please.'

     

     

      The child didn't move, but simply stared on at her.

     

     

      'Are you going to lead the way?' she asked him.

     

     

      'If you want,' he replied, unable to raise a trace of enthusiasm.

     

     

      'I'd like that.'

     

      'You taking photographs?' he asked.

     

     

      'Yes. Yes, I am. But not in here.' 'Why not?'

     

     

      'It's too dark,' she told him.

     

     

      'Don't it work in the dark?' he wanted to know.

     

     

      'No.'

     

      The boy nodded at this, as if the information somehow fitted well into his scheme of things, and about turned without another word, clearly expecting Helen to follow.

     

      If she had been taciturn in the street, Anne-Marie was anything but in the privacy of her own kitchen. Gone was the guarded curiosity, to be replaced by a stream of lively chatter and a constant scurrying between half a dozen minor domestic tasks, like a juggler keeping several plates spinning simultaneously. Helen watched this balancing act with some admiration; her own domestic skills were negligible. At last, the meandering conversation turned back to the subject that had brought Helen here.

     

     

      'Them photographs,' Anne-Marie said, 'why'd you want to take them?'

     

     

      'I'm writing about graffiti. The photos will illustrate my thesis.'

     

     

      'It's not very pretty.'

     

     

      'No, you're right, it isn't. But I find it interesting.'

     

      Anne-Marie shook her head. 'I hate the whole estate,' she said. 'It's not safe here. People getting robbed on their own doorsteps. Kids setting fire to the rubbish day in, day out. Last summer we had the fire brigade here two, three times a day, 'til they sealed them chutes off. Now people just dump the bags in the passageways, and that attracts rats.'

     

     

      'Do you live here alone?'

     

     

      'Yes,' she said, 'since Davey walked out.'

     

     

      'That your husband?'

     

      'He was Kerry's father, but we weren't never married. We lived together two years, you know. We had some good times. Then he just upped and went off one day when I was at me Main's with Kerry.' She peered into her tea-cup. 'I'm better off without him,' she said. 'But you get scared sometimes. Want some more tea?'

     

     

      'I don't think I've got time.'

     

      'Just a cup,' Anne-Marie said, already up and unplugging the electric kettle to take it across for a re-fill. As she was about to turn on the tap she saw something on the draining board, and drove her thumb down, grinding it out. 'Got you, you bugger,' she said, then turned to Helen: 'We got these bloody