Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Whitehall Mantikoffice’s nickname for its staff? The Enemies. Which could indicate, demonstrably, theywere the enemies of designated adversaries, or of increepers and traitors, buttoo of each other, friendly enemies in thatscenario – but all en garde, one against another. Ready at any time to duel, tostitch up, to outwit and condemn. To punish.

Carverwent upstairs. It was late. Despite Donna’s absence he would not sleep in themain bedroom. From the spare room he could, at an angle, glimpse the faint blue-greensheen reflecting on the birch trees. The leaves were falling, thinner, routedby the wind, which now had sunk. The window-glass felt cold to the touch,despite the radiator below.

Wasthat the cab-car cruising back outside? Probably.

Hewent to bed in the dark, and dropped down into the fog of sleep, seeing, as hedid so, where a dead woman lay on a grey bare slab, but he only floated pasther, a swimmer deep in the lagoon, to the thick soft mud of unconsciousnessbelow.

Andy walked outof Woolworths with the packet of toffees he had bought, the striped sort hismother liked, and a tube of five coloured pencils in one of his jacket pockets.In the other pocket was a small assortment of Woolworths delicacies, a rubber,two biros – one blue and one red – a tiny gold action figure in a plasticpouch, and a lipstick in a shade he believed was called Firebrand. This last wasalso for his mother, and also bought.

Itwas her birthday on Tuesday. He had no idea if she would like the lipstick, butshe always effusively said how lovely and thoughtful it was of him to save upfor a present for her from what she called his ‘dole’ – the money, mostly incoins, she gave him when she could.

Andyknew his mother, whose name was Sara, was not much interested in him. She had lost interest whenshe and he got away from her boyfriend, his father, and the bullying and physicalviolence ended. Not having to protect Andy anymore, however ineffectually,seemed to turn off all maternal connection for Sara. But he had never beenclose to her, or so it seemed to him, or would have done had he properlyconsidered it. He had never been close to anyone, except in the physicalproximity way – hugged and smothered, or thumped about, or – now – thumping inturn, as Andy had been doing not long before, with Iain Cox. Cox was one of theschool bullies. One or two years older than Andy, thickset and thin-eyed, heliked to take the piss, and/or take away your possessions. So Andy had used acouple of techniques he had learned from watching his father with one of hisown weaker male cronies. Grabbing and twisting Cox’s balls, Andy had broughthim down, then knelt on his curled-over body, pummelling his thick-thin faceuntil Cox was whimpering. Andy, by now, did not often attend school. Cox hadbeen unlucky, and definitely wrong in his choice of victim.

Andyturned up the long house–lined road that led away from the shops, and towardsthe station. You could get to London in just over half an hour from there. Andyhad done it. But he would not be doing it today. He wanted to go home and watchthe TV horror film he had got from Video Rodeo at the weekend. He might alsoplay with the golden action figure. He was not sure he was not already too oldfor such a toy. At just on eleven it was difficult to judge sometimes. Not thatAndy would have put it in that way.

Startingup the station road, Andy realised, belatedly, somebody was on his tail.

Cox?It seemed very unlikely. Without needing hospitalisation, Cox had still beenin a mess.

Andyset his mind, his ears, his other senses, to suss out who it was that wasmoving along, about two garden-wall lengths behind him.

Notthe Law, he was pretty certain of that. The Law would anyway have got hold of himbefore this. “Thieving, eh? Think you made it? You didn’t. Right, we need tohave a word.”

Andyshoved the improvised dialogue out of his brain. He had no real idea what a copwould say, because Andy had never been apprehended by one, let alone a storeguard, or any of the shop cameras. His improv came from some old film he had seen,probably, a feature long out of modern date. No, this follower was of anothersort– Abruptly the latening sun cast down a shadow on the nearest stretch ofwall. It looked most like a huge humanesque toad. That was simple then. It wasHeavy.

Heavy,about Andy’s own age, had arrived at the school when Andy was already oftengoing missing, and Andy had not seen much of him. But he knew the gist ofHeavy, including why he had been allotted the name. Heavy was ungainly and fat.But some current policy had, it seemed, said no one must be called fat now. They were heavy. So, the fatkid of about eleven years of age got that nickname. Which he seemed not tomind, barely to notice as mockery and insult.  Whatever his given name was,which Andy did not know, perhaps Heavy preferred Heavy to it.

Andyturnedsuddenly. He planted himself and glared straight into Heavy’s bulbous eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Oh,just,” said Heavy, and smiled. He was like the specialised Idiot you sometimes sawin old films too, Charlie Laughton swinging on a bell, or someone.

“Fuckoff,” said Andy.

Heavydid not grimace or grin. Did not cringe or brace himself. Did nothing let alonego.

“Youare a fucking cretin,” said Andy.

Atthat moment a big ginger cat leapt up on the wall, and Heavy immediatelytransferred all his attention to it.

Andyshould have taken the opportunity to move on, but something odd arrested him.It was Heavy’s look, his way ofreaching out and touching the cat – abruptly and weirdly graceful, lavish, fullof – of intelligent concentration and a type of – what? What was it? Kindness..?

Andystared, knowing he should go at once.

Butwhen Heavy moved back round again, smiling and still half watching the cat, asif it were the most fascinating sight for miles, Andy did not go. And whenthe cat began to wash itself, Andy remarked, “See, even the cat can’t fuckingstick you. It