White Goods Read Free Page B

white tiles all over. You turned the dial on
the wall and the water came out. It was very hot, but I withstood
the heat. I wanted to feel it. I liked the feel. Didn’t like it
cold; that made me squeal. But standing under the heat, seeing how
much I could take, that was like a game I played with myself. Like
a test, like setting my own Guinness World Record.
    ‘ You finished squirt?’ Ian
asked after a long time, knocking on the door.
    ‘ Yes,’ I said, putting my
clothes back on, my pants pasted to my still-wet bum, getting
caught up when I pulled up my cords. When my coat was on again, I
slid back the lock and Ian laughed.
    ‘ If you were gonna put that
filthy thing back on, you might as well have stayed dirty,’ he
said, mocking me. ‘Right, let’s get back,’ he added, pushing me
towards the exit.
    The cold air hit me as I got outside
and I almost cried out with joy. I loved that feeling. The slap of
cold after the sting of heat. I wanted to tell Ian, but I kept it
to myself. He thought I was weird enough as it was.
     
    That night, we were all going down to the night club that
was on the campsite. Right in the centre of the grounds, there was
this grand old building. It looked like an old castle from the
outside and inside the rooms were tall and majestic; big old
fashioned doors, flag stones on the floor and bits of antique
furniture scattered about. But it was modern, too. There was a
reception area as you walked in and a dramatic staircase, which
curled around the wall, taking up half the room. It had a thick,
red carpet that led you up to rooms and sweets ,
according to Dad. This didn’t entirely make sense, because he kept
saying that we’d have to save up if we wanted to stay in one of
them.
    ‘ How big is this sweet, then?’ I asked, quizzing the
apparent expense.
    ‘ Big enough,’ was the
reply, ‘got a separate loo and bathroom, according to the
details.’
    ‘ A sweet? ’ I asked
again, just to check.
    ‘ Yes!’ he replied, in a tone that meant what’s-this-twenty-questions-or-something ? He usually said that when I’d asked just one or
two.
    I stopped asking.
    From the reception area, you could go
off in different directions.
    Off to the right was a restaurant; we
never went there. (‘Bit lardy-dah,’ was Dad’s excuse; ‘Tight
bugger,’ was Mum’s retort.) Also on the right was a hallway that
led to the games rooms. First of all you came to a few rows of slot
machines, in a bit of a corridor; then beyond this was a slightly
bigger room, with a pool table, a snooker table, and a darts
board.
    Off to the left was our destination
that evening – the bar. Two large, modern glass doors separated the
bar from reception. The bar itself curved round to the right and
this arc led you into the dance hall.
    The seating
in the dance hall was split into two levels: there were circular
tables and chairs set around the dance floor itself, plus a raised
area off to the right, where there were more tables and benches
with high, padded backs. The dance floor itself was parquet
flooring, and right in the centre, hanging down from the ceiling,
was a huge glitterball, shining little mirrors of light all around.
For most of the night, you had to listen to the resident band, but
sometimes you got 30 minutes of disco when the musicians took a
break. The rest of the time was broken up with silly dances,
knobbly knee and talent competitions. I’d entered the fancy dress a
few years ago – as a girl selling flowers. Ian and Della would
never let me forget it; Mum and Dad didn’t want to talk about it.
This year I wasn’t entering anything, though. But our clan was
still being represented. By Ian.
    ‘ What’s he gonna do up
there?’ I asked Della. She laughed and was about to say something
rude, but Dad threw her a stern look and she stopped.
    ‘ He’s going to sing,’ said
Mum all proud. She had built up to it all day. Her moment of true
joy.
    You could tell that Dad wasn’t over
keen - much as