Other People Read Free Page B

myself, providing they're all nice boys of course, and it's just for fun.' She lifted an erect forefinger. 'I won't be peed on though. I just won't stand for it,' she added with considerable hauteur. 'I will not be peed on!' She brushed dirt from Mary's shoulder. 'Mm, they could have put you somewhere after though, couldn't they? I mean, a couple of quid for a nice little hotel or something. But you know what men are like? It's silly that we love them so much, isn't it really?'
    Mary was ready to agree. Sharon was flouncing on, however, and she followed. Mary was getting worse at walking all the time. She attributed this fact to the knot of mighty pain that had wedged itself somewhere in the plinth of her back. What a pain, what a grabby pain. It hurt her, too, because of its wayward naturalness, its suspended familiarity; it was a simple and unworrying pain, she felt. But it hurt. That was the trouble with pain; it wouldn't really bother you much if it weren't so painful sometimes.
    'This is where I stay when I'm down this way,' said Sharon, leading her past a series of metal traps, behind one or two of which she could see old cars sleeping. 'Not that I'm down here too often, mind you.'
    They moved past the flat walls of an empty cave. There was a brackish smell of wetness and age, and a richer smell that was man-made and attacked the juices of the jaw. Someone smothered in clothes looked up sheepishly from the ground. Near him a toppled bottle creaked gently on its axis.
    'Don't mind him,' said Sharon briskly. 'That's Impy. His name's Tom really, but I call him Impy because he's ... important—impotent. Aren't you, Impy, you little wreck!' She turned to Mary and said conciliatingly, 'You know, I think it's always better to laugh about these things, out in the open, you know. Otherwise he's bound to get a complex about it or something. Eh, Impy? How are you this morning then?'
    'I'm cold,' said Tom.
    'Well you go out and get some then. Don't look at me. Now this is Mary and you keep your bloody hands off her. What's the matter with you, girl? You look like you're giving birth ... Does, does it hurt?'
    Mary nodded in apology.
    'Where? Where does it?'
    Mary stroked her sides gently.
    'Did they do your back in too? What sort of pain?'
    'Just a simple pain.'
    That frown again, and that little click of time as it showed on her face. 'Whew! You are simple, aren't you.' She reached for Mary's waist with hands that were less harsh than Mary feared. 'Here,' she said. Mary felt pressure lifting from her middle. 'Everybody's something. That's one thing I've learnt from life. Everybody's something. Don't mind him—you've seen it all before, Impy, haven't you?' Gracefully holding Mary's hand aloft, Sharon helped her step out of the skirt. They both looked down and saw a complicated network of bands and clips. 'You aren't half a mess, my girl. Were you in somewhere? Well take down your knicks! You must have been in somewhere. Over here. Come on then!... Gawd, you're helpless, girl. Take some looking after.' Sharon slipped her fingers into the central band. It started to come away quite easily. 'You're pretty though. I always wanted to be dark. It lasts longer. Talks nicely too, doesn't she Imp? That's it, now crouch down. Go on, silly. You ... just let it ... That's it. Ah, don't—no need to cry now. Silly girlie. Everybody does it. Everybody's something. You know what my granny used to say to me? "Everybody's queer dear, except you and me dear, and even you dear look a bit queer dear." We're going to take you away from here, yes we are. We're going to get you fixed up.'

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Inside Out

    Mary, of course, had no very clear notion of what being 'fixed up' by Sharon might entail. Fixed, fixed up. But she thought it sounded quite a good idea, and she didn't have a better one.
    They headed off together towards the distant, stirring streets. The grass was kind to Mary's feet; Sharon hovered hugely in the corner of her eye.