‘Underground is where the lizard people live.’
Angel shooed a sandhopper away from the flames and we heard the pop of a dozen more.
‘The Lizard King shoots poison from his eyes. There was one time, in human form, that he cried, and his skin peeled away as if burned by acid.’
I dragged my fingers down my face.
‘When it healed, he had silver scars from his eyes to the corners of his mouth, to his chin. Half of his lower lip was burned away.’
‘What made the Lizard King cry?’
‘The Lizard Queen, she’d become trapped in human form and she couldn’t descend to the lizard realm. When people saw her they thought her eyes and skin were made of jewels and they turned mad with greed. They wanted to possess her, and they did. They ripped her to pieces and they each took a part of her body to keep for themselves. The next morning they awoke, as if from a spell, and they remembered their frenzy. That was the one time the Lizard King cried. He hunted down every person responsible for the Lizard Queen’s death and he tore them apart the way they’d torn her apart. From each person he kept a token, just as they had, and he strung the body parts in his palace and lived the rest of his days in mourning.’
I told her the story of Queen Isabella, of Scholler, and Amelia. She told me stories of Cornwall, ghost stories her pretend parents had read to her.
‘Did you hear about Scotland?’ I said, poking at our beach fire with a stick.
Angel didn’t answer.
‘Well, I heard from old Bob who heard from Elspeth who heard on the wireless that Germans have landed. Parachutes were found. Then dead bodies were found in villages and towns nearby, all charred to a crisp. The Germans have landed,’ I said, pausing for dramatic effect, ‘and they have electro-magnetic death rays.’
I stopped and looked over at Angel. There was no response. She just sat hunched over, staring at her hands.
‘My mum was bombed,’ Angel said. ‘She’s dead.’
The excitement leaked out of me. I felt sick.
‘I’m staying here now. Ann and Bill said they’d keep me.’
‘That’s good,’ I said.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘I like Ann and Bill.’
We stared at the flames.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘Tell me the story about the man who was eaten,’ she said. ‘The one where he turns into a dog. Tell me that one again.’
I glanced over at her. Tears glinted on her face, streaking through the dirt of the day. She didn’t make a sound, just quietly cried. I couldn’t look at her, I couldn’t do anything, so I told her the story.
The government were asking for donations to build a Spitfire and I so badly wanted to own a piece of a plane. I didn’t have any money but when I found sixpence in the street I sent it straight to the fund, buying myself a rivet. I wasn’t sure he would appreciate it, what with being a conchie, but I wrote to David: ‘I own a piece of Spitfire. I prayed to the lizards down below and kissed that sixpence. I know my bit of Spitfire is going to help win the war.’
A rivet wasn’t enough. I wanted more, so I decided to raise the money. There were regular fundraisers in the town hall for the war effort; concerts, cabaret nights, plays. So Angel and I, we did a play with Corporal Pig and the chickens. We worked for weeks to get it right and John was jealous. He’d hang around as we rehearsed and I knew he wanted to join in but I didn’t want him ruining our fun and Angel hated him so much she didn’t even let on he was there. He tried to disrupt our rehearsals by scaring the chickens or messing up his chores so that Tom would make me help out, but we managed to get it done despite him and his jealousy.
On the night, I was dressed as a girl; hair made out of straw and grass, a daisy crown threaded through it, and berry juice smeared across my lips as lipstick. Everyone laughed when they saw me because they thought I was a boy being a girl, but me and Angel, we knew I was a girl being a boy being a girl. I made my voice high and people laughed some more. We acted out the story of a girl and her pig and the three evil chickens who came and stole her away. The chickens they came out a-clucking right on cue and they were terrifying. They whisked me away to the Dark Kingdom of the sun-eating kraken and Corporal Pig had to find his way to rescue me and off he went trotting through the forest of the audience, waddling between the seats, chewing on skirts and trousers and snuffling at shoes. There were yelps and heys and oi kid this ain’t funny I’m no forest I’m a person and everyone laughed and yelled at him to shut up because they wanted to know what happened next. Corporal Pig came trotting back to the stage and sat slumped, his head down, and people shouted, ‘Aaaw, c’mon, Corporal Pig! C’mon, you lazy bugger, there’s a maiden in distress!’ Then there was quiet as Angel came in dressed like a knight and she nudged CP on his behind and up he stood and off they went to the castle of the evil chickens. The ending was a bit of a mess as CP snapped at the chickens and they snapped back and there was a flurry of snorting and clucking and feathers here and there, but I was rescued and we kissed and I said to the audience, ‘And they lived happily ever after.’
We were the belles of the ball, we were pink with happiness having raised enough to pay for a bomb and a whole bunch of rivets, but John hated us being belles of the ball and not long after, that’s when the trouble started.
Edinburgh, 1 August 2011
Mahler thunders through from the hall, chasing a ball. He skitters, trying to stop, but bashes into my leg before bouncing off and running after it. He lunges on it, clasps it in his jaws and looks up at Ben as he walks in the room.
‘Well done, boy,’ he says, holding his hand out. Mahler drops it and Ben throws the ball down the hall, Mahler chasing after it.
‘He’s a bit hyper, should probably take him out for a walk. Still writing, old lady?’
I nod and say, ‘About Cornwall.’
‘What about it?’
‘I was evacuated from London. I stayed in Cornwall for a bit with pretend parents and a pretend brother.’
‘The ones with the circus?’
‘No, the circus came later.’
‘Hang on… Three lots of parents?’
‘That’s right.’
Ben takes the ball from an impatient Mahler. He throws it down the hall again and says, ‘That’s just greed.’
I laugh.
‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
‘And now ye have us,’ he says, watching Mahler run back up the hallway.
‘I do.’
I look down at what I’m writing and say, ‘Ben, you ever shot someone?’
‘Yer kidding? I’ve never even seen a gun nevermind shot someone. Why would ye even ask that?’
‘I shot someone.’
‘Jesus. Yer batshit, old lady.’
‘I was ten, living in Cornwall. He sure as hell deserved it.’
‘Is that why the Detective keeps calling?’ Ben says.
‘No, he wants me for something else.’
‘Jesus, ye killed someone else too?’