Being Emily Read online

  If I was gonnae dae it this was the best time, afore everyone came back for the start of term. The windae of the shop was plastered with ads, some neatly word-processed, some barely-literate scrawls. I scanned through them, made a list of possibles and put the paper in my pocket. I’d call them after I finished work.

  CLYTEMNESTRA IS EATING only yellow foods this month: egg yolks, sweetcorn, yellow peppers, lemons, grapefruit, butter and saffron rice.

  I’m balancing my chakras, she says, pulling her messages fae a Somerfield bag. My therapist thinks my aura is lacking in yellow. She took a Polaroid snap fae her backpack and haunded it to me. Her sat staring at the camera with all these swirly patterns round her, as if a wean had scrawled on it wi felties.

  Look, she says, pointing. Too much blue here.

  Clytemnestra isnae her real name. She used tae be Caroline; that’s the name on the official mail that drops on the doormat made of ecologically sound something or another that sheds jaggy hairs all over the place. She’s a lumpy lassie wi bad skin and stringy hair, and it’s her flat, well her parents bought it for her when she came tae uni. They live in Kent and she was supposed tae be gaun tae Edinburgh but ended up in Glasgow.

  There’s five of us; Eric and Sanj are engineers and Nicole is a music student at the RSAMD. I managed tae pass the interview with Clytemnestra even though I’m no a vegetarian. She even made me a cup of nettle tea.

  There’s something about your presence, Fi. It’s like, the flat is a canvas, an abstract painting, an apparently random pattern of colours and shapes. But if you take the blue and make it green, it just doesn’t work. Or if the shade of orange doesn’t balance the purple – well, you’ll understand, being an artist.

  I hadnae a scooby what she was on about but she seemed harmless and, anyway, she was gonnae be my landlady, so I had to be polite.

  Are you an artist too? Did you no say you were studying Languages?

  She chucked the teabag in the orange bin. Society is too caught up with putting us in little boxes – you go to Art School so you’re an artist, Nicole goes to the RSAMD so she is a musician. It’s just not a holistic way of life.

  Uhhuh.

  I follow the Artist’s Way. Have you read it?

  No.

  You should, Fi. I’m sure you’d find it illuminating. It’s about nurturing your inner artist.

  Right.

  Even though Clytemnestra sounded as if she was talking pish maisty the time, what she said about the folk in the flat made sense when I got tae know them a bit. There was certainly a balance of energies between us. Eric’s a wee guy with cropped dark hair who works out till his muscles are like gnarled old tree trunks, Sanj is smiley and laid back and Nicole is tall and elegant looking, dead intense about her music and deadly quiet about everything else. Where I fitted in I’d nae idea but Clytemnestra obviously seen me as the missing link.

  My room was the smallest but even so it was about four times as big as the box I’d been sleeping in at my da’s. Tenements feel bigger; the high ceilings and tall windaes make space and light, especially since we’re on the top flair wi a view across hauf the city. The living room was massive and the kitchen big enough for us to eat in. The only downer was that the ‘ideal location’ in the advert turned out to be just round the corner fae where our auld house was. So, even though it took longer, I always went the other way, unable tae face passing it.

  It was weird sharing a flat with strangers but we rubbed along fine, barring the odd argument about using up all the hot water or whose turn it was tae buy milk. I guess all flatmates have these ridiculous conversations:

  Eric: (accusingly) Why is the cheese on the bottom shelf in the fridge?

  Me: Does it matter?

  Eric: I think it’s better if we have some organisation here. Cheese on the top shelf, other stuff in the middle, vegetables in the bottom, milk and juice in the door.

  Me: Oh, cool.

  Eric was positively militaristic about the kitchen and got really pissed about food being out of place in the fridge. He bought a large bottle of anti-bacterial cleaner and placed it accusingly in the middle of the kitchen table.

  I was laid back about replacing the spices in alphabetical order, but couldnae bear the bathroom being dirty. I couldnae understaund how someone who checked the fridge thermometer every day seemed unable to turn round after he’d used the toilet and realise it needed cleaned and that the green stuff in the bottle shaped like a duck was for that purpose. Or that it wasnae very nice to have tae clean someone else’s hair out the plughole. The twins were dead messy too, but somehow it was different when it was your ain family.

  I moaned about it to Janice one day. After letting me rant for a while about Eric, she said, What about the others?

  Nicole’s all right. Clytemnestra’s idea of cleaning is burning joss sticks. And I don’t think Sanj would notice if you redecorated the entire flat while he was in it.

  Why don’t you all sit down and talk about it? You could be responsible for cleaning the bathroom and Eric the kitchen. And the others could do something else. It’s best if everybody knows where they stand, otherwise you can end up with a lot of resentment.

  She was right, of course. I’d already started to seethe with hatred towards Eric every time I seen his razor on the side of the bath, nasty wee hairs stuck tae it like beasties, and I’m sure he felt the same way about me when I placed Paprika on the shelf after Turmeric. So we had a big, clear-the-air session one night, decided who done what, then went out to the pub.

  Next morning I found Sanj sitting at the table with a big sheet of paper and a packet of felt-tipped pens. He looked up at me and smiled,

  Hi. What colour d’you want to be?

  Sorry?

  What colour? For the list.

  List?

  Of chores. I’m gonnae write out who does what and stick it on the wall and I thought I’d do it in different colours. Pick a colour. He waved the felties at me. Any one except lilac. It’s no working.

  I looked at the pack. It was one of they cheapies you get in Bargain Books, in a clear plastic pack, colours spread out in the order of the spectrum, with grey, brown and black at one end.

  Or red. I thought Eric should be red.

  How?

  Well he’s kind of red, isn’t he? Direct, go for it, active.

  I’d never thought of Sanj paying any attention tae what people were like, let alone what colour they corresponded to. I was intrigued.

  So what colour d’you think I should be?

  I think, essentially, you’re a green person.

  I laughed. You sound like Clytemnestra. What is an essentially green person?

  He took the green feltie out of the pack and started to shade the corner of the paper with it, giving it his full attention.

  Green’s like nature. Trees and leaves and all that.

  I had a funny feeling, slightly shivery inside, close to tears. The only bit of nature I felt like these days was jaggy nettles. Then I noticed something.

  Sanj! Where d’you get that paper?

  He kept on colouring in the corner.

  Out of that big folder thing you left in the hall.

  That’s the best cartridge paper I can afford – could you no of used a bit of scrap?

  He looked genuinely surprised. Sorry. I’ll buy you another bit if you like.

  You couldnae stay angry with him.

  It’s cool. Want a coffee?

  I filled the kettle at the sink. I’d put three pots of geraniums in the recessed windae sill – red, pink and white. Maisty their petals were still curled up, like rolls of tissue paper. I pulled off a few dead heids and rubbed my thumb across a leaf, fuzzy like peach-skin. The scent filled my nose, making it tickle.

  I turned round. Sanj had finished shading the corner in green and was drawing red wiggly lines round the side of the page.

  What colour are you, Sanj?

  Lilac. That’s why the lilac pen is done.

  So you cann
ae be lilac.

  I can still be lilac, but the marks I write won’t show up on the page. So …

  So …

  I won’t have to do any chores.

  I threw the teatowel at him.

  MONA WAS DUE in a couple of weeks and, as the time grew closer, the baby dreams returned. There were recurring ones of a baby wrapped in a shroud-like cloth and once I dreamed about the white coffin, floating away doon a river. Sometimes the dream was of the face of Janice or Mammy, a face filled with joy then crumpling tae grief in slow motion. I’d wake, sweating, rubbing my eyes to try to escape the image. But this morning, waking with a start, the face was still there, a real face, and a haund shaking me awake.

  C’mon lazylumps.

  Rona, what you daeing here?

  Your flatmate let me in, wan wi the funny name.

  Clytemnestra.

  Whatever.

  Suddenly the cloudy dream-fear shrank and sharpened to a real fear and I clutched Rona’s airm. Is Mona OK?

  Course she is, she’s doonstairs – you don’t think she’s gonnae climb three flights unless she has to, dae you? Ah’ve been trying tae phone you but you never replied. We’re gaun intae toon so we thought we’d drop in.

  My phone’s charging. What time is it anyway?

  Ten.

  You’re awful early for a social call.

  Mona cannae sleep too well the noo. Anyway, no everyone keeps student hours.

  Rona sat on the bed. We just wanted tae let you know about the baby shower.

  Baby shower? Mona’s been refusing tae buy anything for the baby cause she said it was bad luck.

  Well, I guess she’s changed her mind then. Janice offered tae have it at her house. The morra night. You comin?

  Course I am, but it doesnae gie me much time tae get her a pressie.

  Rona turned on her way out the door. Well, you could always finish aff wanny they baby hats you knitted for thon mad thing you done at the Art School show.

  The baby shower was a strictly all-female affair so Mona arranged for Declan tae keep my da company. As soon as he arrived Da led him intae the kitchen where the Scrabble board was set out.

  I cannae play Scrabble, Mr O’Connell.

  I’ll teach you, son. You’ll love it.

  Rona had roped me intae decorating Janice’s living room. You’re the wan at Art School – at least you could dae somethin useful with it for a change.

  She haunded me a couple of bags filled with pink and blue streamers and balloons with cutesy teddy designs on them.

  And nae funny stuff – don’t want tae come back tae a room fulla broken Barbies.

  I pinned the streamers round the walls, tied bunches of balloons in the corners and covered Janice’s long coffee table with a white plastic tablecover. It looked a bit bare so I placed some of Evie’s teddies on it. One of them was a white bear with a black bowtie, who had a melancholy wee face – no the kind of teddy you’d gie a wean. I looked at him and he looked back, and all the fear and panic I’d been trying tae keep locked inside me, surfaced.

  Janice came in fae the kitchen where she and Rona were preparing food.

  That’s nice, Fiona. We’ll need more seats in here but we can get some from the kitchen when they arrive. And there’s big cushions and a beanbag in Evie’s room.

  Janice, I said. Can I ask you something?

  What?

  Did you have a baby shower?

  No my scene, really.

  I don’t mind Mammy having one either.

  It’s usually just the first baby. I think she had one for Patrick.

  Do you no think it’s a bit …

  What?

  I dunno, too much like a celebration, when you don’t …

  I didnae want tae say the words, felt as if even saying them out loud would be a horrible curse on Mona.

  Janice put her airm round me. I know, I know. Sometimes I get scared too. But we have to assume it’ll be all right, it’ll be wonderful. And I think that’s what Mona’s daeing.

  The doorbell rang. Can you get that, Fiona?

  Mrs Kaur stood on the doorstep, a couple of huge bags in her haunds. I hope your auntie won’t mind but I thought she might like some food.

  Thanks very much. Come on in.

  She started tae put plastic containers on the kitchen table.

  That’s wonderful, Mrs Kaur, really kind of you, said Janice.

  Rona opened one of the boxes. Samosas – yes!

  There are a few more things in the car.

  She wasnae kidding. It took us two mair trips and the boxes were piled up all round the kitchen. Between Mrs Kaur’s food and the stuff Janice had got, it looked as if we had far too much, but when the guests arrived, it was just as well because there were far mair of them than any of us had expected.

  I never realised Mona and Rona had asked so many of their pals, said Janice, while we were in the kitchen pouring drinks. I hope this Cava doesnae run out.

  I’ll nip out for more, said Angie.

  We were all squashed intae the living room – on seats, on cushions, on each other – when we raised wur glasses and Janice said a toast tae Mona and the new baby. Declan’s ma and auntie, Mrs Flanagan, Mrs Jackson, Jean and Betty were there, with what looked like hauf Mona’s class at school, as well as Mrs Kaur and a few of Janice’s friends. Evie had been allowed tae stay up late and given the job of helping Mona to unwrap each present. Angie refilled glasses as the parcels were opened, each one passed round, greeted appropriately.

  Aw, would you look at that? Isn’t that gorgeous? A babygrow, a pack of muslin cloths, a cup and bowl wi Peter Rabbit on it, a tiny silver bangle.

  Mines was the last to be opened. I’d shoved it to the bottom of the pile when I was decorating the room. When she pulled it out the wrapping, Mona squealed. Oh my God, Fiona – did you make this yoursel?

  A white shawl, crocheted in an elaborate pattern.

  It was Rona gied me the idea. After that crack about the hats I thought of making something really nice, really traditional for the baby. I’d nae idea if Mona would like it – she’d probably think it was dead auld-fashioned – but I knew we’d had a christening shawl my granny made so I’d rushed out tae get the wool and spent the whole of yesterday and hauf the night on it, crocheting away till my haunds ached.

  Mona fingered the shawl, placed it against her cheek.

  It’s dead soft.

  Special wool, meant for newborns.

  She put her airms round me. Thanks, sis. It’s cool.

  A week later Mona went intae labour at four o’clock and the baby arrived at six. Nae drugs apart fae gas and air. Mona’d had her heart set on an epidural but the midwife said the baby was coming so fast there wasnae time.

  See this is what nature intends, dear. A young healthy body like yours, all that dancing you were telling me about, and it just pops out.

  And there she was. Eight pound two ounces with dark matted hair and eyes like the ocean. Skin so soft I was feart tae touch her, my haund felt that rough against her cheek. Grace. She couldnae have had any other name.

  In the hospital, in her wee white sleepsuit, in the plastic box they called a cot, she looked like an alien, dropped fae some distant star ontae our planet. A miracle. She seemed tae have nothing to dae wi Mona or Declan or any of us, was part of some vast plan of the universe we couldnae understaund. But once she was hame and the weeks passed, an even bigger miracle started to happen. We all changed.

  First it was Mona. I’d never admitted it tae anyone else, and only hauf to mysel, in my meanest moments, but I’d assumed Mona would be a fairly crap mother. In fact I’d sometimes imagined me taking over the motherly role, looking after the baby when Mona got sick of it, like the kitten the twins had begged for years ago that got run over when they let it out on the road.

  But fae the first day they came hame, the white shawl wrapped round the pair of them, Mona just knew how to be with this wee person. She held and changed and rocked her with such c
onfidence, talked baby-talk tae her wi nae embarrassment. She even breastfed, apparently without any of the hassles I’d read about in the baby magazines.

  Miss Starkey was well impressed. A natural mother, she said, putting away her clipboard to dangle the baby awkwardly.

  Every baby should have a team of adults to look after them. With Rona and Declan always there and Declan’s folks and the rest of us often around, Grace never lacked attention.

  Then there was my da. The baby seemed to have wrought a magic transformation on him. He watched her insteidy Countdown, danced her up and doon, his muckle haunds haudin her secure. Patric flew up fae London to join in the adoration. He had tae go back the next day and seemed distracted, though happy.

  Sorry we won’t have time to go out for a drink, Fiona – I’ve got loads to talk to you about. Next time.

  ART SCHOOL STARTED back in October. I’d kept on a few shifts at the supermarket every week to make sure I could afford the flat, but that left me plenty time tae get back to my work.

  It was hard but. For a whole summer I’d done nothing, never even thought about what I’d dae. The ‘Oh Yes You Are … ’ exhibit hadnae been sold by the gallery (hidden away in the back room it would of been a miracle if anyone had seen it) and at the end of the month I got a call from Bored Girl whose name I discovered was Jessamine.

  Will you be popping in over the next few weeks?

  Don’t think so.

  Don’t you come up to town much then?

  ‘Town’ presumably did not mean Sauchiehall Street or the Buchanan Galleries.

  No. It’s four hundred miles away.

  Oh, right. Well d’you want us to parcel it up and send it to … Glasgow?

  The way she said it made it sound as if Glasgow was on the moon and she was unsure if Parcelforce delivered there. In the end Patric agreed tae look after the box, which was a relief as I’d nae idea where I’d keep it. I didnae want tae start cluttering up my room at Clytemnestra’s when I’d only just moved in.

  The room was a blank canvas. No that I work on canvas, but still. Painted white, even the floorboards, with only a bed, an auld wardrobe and chest of drawers, which had been painted white too. Nae curtains, but the flat had the original wooden shutters. Janice bought me a fluffy bedspread in mossy green which was the only colour in the room. Peaceful. I put my stuff away, had nothing out on the surfaces, hoped the emptiness would gie me inspiration. But it didnae. My mind was empty too.