Anywhere's Better Than Here Read online

  Zöe Venditozzi was born in 1975 and grew up in a small village in North East Fife. After graduating with an honours degree in English from the University of Glasgow, Zöe worked in a variety of jobs including selling answerphones, nannying and editing the letters page on The People’s Friend. When Zöe and her husband moved to New Zealand she decided to train as a teacher and dreamed of becoming a writer. However, it was only when she returned to Scotland and started having children that Zöe started to write seriously. Zöe gained her Mlitt in Creative Writing from the University of Dundee.

  ANYWHERE’S BETTER THAN HERE

  Zöe Venditozzi

  First published in Great Britain by

  Sandstone Press Ltd

  PO Box 5725

  One High Street

  Dingwall

  Ross-shire

  IV15 9WJ

  Scotland.

  www.sandstonepress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored or transmitted in any form without the express

  written permission of the publisher.

  © Zöe Venditozzi 2012

  Editor: Moira Forsyth

  The moral right of Zöe Venditozzi to be recognised as the

  author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the

  Copyright, Design and Patent Act, 1988.

  The publisher acknowledges subsidy from

  Creative Scotland towards publication of this volume.

  ISBN: 978-1-908737-06-9

  ISBN e: 978-1-908737-07-6

  Cover design by Mark Blackadder, Edinburgh.

  Ebook by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore.

  For my late father, David Johnston.

  Everywhere and inaudible.

  Acknowledgments and thanks

  First of all, thanks to Dominic for the constant support and to Luca Tavita, Lola-Ray and Rocco for their distraction techniques. Thanks also to my mum for paying for most of my MLitt which gave me the confidence to call myself a proper writer.

  I am also grateful to Professor Kirsty Gunn who was and is an amazing mentor and friend. Anna Day, Eddie Small and Emily Dewhurst kept me going when I was thinking of giving up and Jane Fulton, Jill Skulina and Rachel Waites who read drafts at different stages and made me feel like I was writing something worth reading. Thanks also to Bob McDevitt, agent extraordinaire, and to Moira Forsyth at Sandstone who edited the book into shape.

  Thursday the 16th of December

  Just Before Tea Time

  Dark and Damp

  Laurie scanned and rescanned the endless rows of soup. This task was clearly beyond her. Each can she picked up was heavier than the last and she had difficulty finding its station on the shelf. The dietary information was baffling; she kept losing her place in the column that showed the calories or saturated fat content or whatever it was she was supposed to give a shit about. She eventually tossed some low-fat, low-salt vegetable stuff into the basket, shrugging the handle further up her arm.

  She made her way towards Toiletries veering around an infuriated toddler. There was a temporary stall set up at the end of the aisle. A small woman with a big orangey mouth smeared a yellow substance on what appeared to be tiny squares of lino. She was talking at everyone passing about how great the stuff was. Laurie moved closer and joined the growing crowd of people keen to see this new food stuff. It was some sort of spray-on cheese.

  She knew that Ed would love this faux-food. Anything processed was ingenious to him; the more nutritionally deficient the better. She smiled at Orange Mouth and picked up a jar. Easy Cheese – No Cutting Required. She could picture Ed’s delight at this new-fangled snack food. She imagined spreading it on Mother’s Pride and handing it over to him with a fanfare. The jar clunked against the counter as she dropped it back in place.

  The shop was filling up. She uncovered her watch. 5.18.

  She turned in to Toiletries. Again the array was bewildering. She grabbed an apple shampoo and a coconut conditioner. Despite how shit she was feeling, she wasn’t above smelling sweet.

  There was something else she needed but nothing in her memory made itself known. Moving along the crisp and biscuit sections, she willed herself to think of the something else. She mentally walked around her tiny kitchen, peering in cupboards seeing if anything came to her. Nothing – the trick didn’t work and she knew that as soon as she put her key in the front door that the mystery item would resurface. She ran through her constant shopping list: milk, bread, toilet paper, cereal, butter …

  She had wandered into a corral of pensioners. They bumped their trolleys against the edges of shelves. They didn’t appear to know each other but were all dressed similarly in pale biscuit-like colours. Did you reach a certain age and then felt the need to dress in comfort food colours? They milled around her, clogging up the aisle, getting in the way of everything. She felt like manhandling them out of her way. As she stood, hemmed in by their chat and indecision, she felt the last drop of patience drip out. Tutting loudly, she put her basket in the nearest dawdler’s trolley and headed for the door.

  The arcade that led to the bus stops was suffocated by Christmas decorations. They were intricate and fierce, the colours mashing together behind the plate glass. Laurie kept catching sight of the patterns blinking out of the corner of her eye. She’d turn her head towards the movement, convinced someone was motioning towards her. She really ought to get on with decorating the Christmas tree. It was only, what, nine days until the big day? But what was the point? Why bother getting lots of sparkly pointless tat and finding places to put it all? Ed wouldn’t notice the tree anyway. He took these things for granted more and more. And there was certainly no excitement in her for the event these days. It was all just a hassle really.

  A group of boys was clumped around one of the shelters. She had to pass through their cigarette smoke to see the timetable. Her wrist goose-pimpled when she pulled back her sleeve. 5.27 Almost time for Neighbours. At least the TV would drown out the noise of Ed’s computer game.

  The journey was slow. The bus negotiated the route to Queen Street in a stop-start, sick-making fashion. When she arrived home she stood outside the block and looked up at the flat. She could see Ed through the lace curtain his mother had insisted on giving them. Laurie could only imagine this was a last-ditch attempt at respectability. They may be living in sin but at least the view of them at it was obscured.

  ‘‘Chance would be a fine thing,’’ she muttered, reaching into her hand bag for her key. She raked around through all the bus tickets, sweet wrappers and scraps of paper. Her bag was looking more and more like a bin. It was then, of course, she realised.

  ‘‘Fucking bin bags! Fuck! Fucking fuck!’’

  She kicked the door closed behind her. Inevitably, it caught on the invisible rise in the concrete floor, requiring her to turn back and push it home. She felt like smashing the glass out. Why did nothing ever work properly around here?

  She could hear the shooting before she reached the top landing. As bloody usual, there was a pile of mail by the front door. Not even on the table, just toed out of the way. She moved towards the green glow.

  ‘‘Hello.’’ She tried to sound cheery.

  ‘‘Check this. You can actually see his brains splatter.’’ Ed kept his eyes trained on his opposing number’s death. ‘‘Did you get anything for tea?’’

  ‘‘No, the shop was closed. Power cut.’’

  Her so-called boyfriend accepted this without even turning his head. His hand reached out for the phone and he dialled without looking.

  ‘‘Yeah. Curry meal for two. Chicken Korma and Passanda. Peshwari naan. MacDonald. Yeah, that’s the on
e. Cool.’’ He hung up.

  ‘‘You know, Ed, It might be nice to be asked occasionally what I might like.’’

  He finally turned round to her.

  ‘‘Did you want something else?’’

  ‘‘No. But it might have been nice for you to ask.’’

  A look of confusion passed briefly across his face. Then he swivelled back to the screen.

  Laurie walked out of the room and went into the bathroom. She sat down on the toilet and tried to cry. Nothing happened. She stood up and looked into the mirror and gave herself a severe look. Something had to be done. Whatever looks she had were sure to go soon. She was pale and grimy looking. She probably needed to get her hair cut and try some new make up. But what for? Things were definitely going tits up here. There was only so long she could put up with take-aways and being ignored. When she was younger she’d envisioned a different relationship. Even when imagining an unhappy relationship, she’d pictured a Bastard. A thumper or a philanderer. Not this boring nothingness. She’d almost put up with a bit of domestic abuse just to relieve the monotony.

  The door bell rang. Laurie dragged herself up and answered the door.

  ‘‘Awright. Delivery for ya.’’ The guy was about seventeen. He had the ubiquitous fauxhawk and an eyebrow piercing. He wasn’t her usual type, but he was good looking. He raised his eyebrows at her. She realised she’d been staring.

  ‘‘How much?’’

  ‘‘Twelve fifty.’’

  She ducked in for her purse. Twelve fifty, plus tip, of course. It wasn’t enough that she’d already be paying the best part of two quid for delivery, she also had to pay the delivery guy. For what? Driving a mile and climbing a flight of stairs.

  ‘‘Here.’’ She handed over the money, almost everything she had in there. It was mostly pound coins – the least she could do was weigh him down a bit.

  ‘‘Listen, can I get a lift off you?’’

  ‘‘Yeah, whatever.’’ He shrugged and turned to go back down the stairs. ‘‘I’ve got to go back to the shop anyways.’’

  She put the bag with the curry round the corner into the hall. Ed still hadn’t shifted. He’d stay there all night without even looking her way, shovelling his curry in, then some sweets and several cups of tea.

  She reached into the bag, took the naan and followed the delivery guy down the tenement stairs.

  The delivery car was a dressed up black and yellow Punto. There were lights under the wheel arches and a good deal of chrome. She climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the racing seat belt around herself.

  ‘‘Where you goin’?’’ the driver’s accent was that strange Pakistani-Scottish hybrid. He was acting less confident now, unsure how to behave in this unfamiliar situation.

  Laurie looked out of the window.

  ‘‘I don’t know, Vicky Park? Do you mind if I …’’ She waved the naan at him.

  ‘‘Please yourself. Roll the window down though. I don’t want my car stinkin’’’

  ‘‘Don’t you like peshwari?’’

  ‘‘Not all Asians like curry y’know.’’

  ‘‘Oh sorry, I didn’t mean anything.’’ She felt wrong-footed. Had she been racist? She didn’t really know any Asians. There was a Nigerian guy in her office, but that was the extent of her multi-cultural interaction. Had she implied something?

  ‘‘Nah, I’m only messin’. It just interferes with ma aftershave. Y’know?’’ He smiled at her.

  Still, she didn’t unwrap the naan and her stomach was starting to hurt with hunger pangs. The warmth was seeping out through the tin foil and she could smell the almonds.

  ‘‘Seriously, go ahead.’’ He flicked his head at her. ‘‘Go on.’’ He grinned again. She peeled away the foil, careful not to spill the sugary powder. She peeled off a corner and took a bite.

  ‘‘Here we are.’’ The car pulled up at the wrought iron gates. Now they’d arrived, Laurie didn’t want to get out into the cold. Still, she couldn’t hang about with the delivery driver all night. She didn’t even know his name. He looked at her. She started to wonder why he was being nice to her.

  ‘‘Well, I suppose I’d better get going.’’ She half-wished he’d ask her to stay but he just kept looking at her expectantly. She opened the door.

  ‘‘So have you got more deliveries to do?’’

  ‘‘Uh, yeah. It’s tea time.’’

  ‘‘Yeah I suppose it is.’’ She smiled and waved her naan at him. ‘‘Suppose I’d better eat mine!’’

  She swung her legs out of the car.

  ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘S’alright.’’

  She still didn’t move.

  ‘‘Are you okay Missus?’’

  God, Missus? Was she a Missus now? Fuck.

  She nodded and climbed out.

  ‘‘See you around!’’ He grinned, turned the music up and sped off.

  Laurie watched the car disappear down the street, then turned to the park and having no other plan, went through the gates. What now? She supposed she’d have to go home after the naan. She had nowhere else to go. She didn’t know anyone in town anymore and she could hardly pop into her dad’s unannounced. She made her way up the hill to a bench which was tucked into a little cave of trees. She unwrapped the naan again, realising she’d eaten nothing since breakfast. It often happened like that. She’d just forget to get anything at lunch time because she was staring out of the window of the office. Today she’d stayed in her seat at the call centre when the rest of her team had gone for lunch. She couldn’t be bothered to pretend she cared about what she was wearing to the Christmas party. The Christmas party that she had no intention of going to. They rest of them wouldn’t understand. To them it was the social event of the year.

  The naan was still quite warm and she tore into it. Ordinarily, she would have been nervous sitting on her own in the dark like this. Every man would look familiar from Crimewatch. She’d be trying to look nonchalant but would be completely tense and on guard. But tonight she felt as if she was invisible. The rain picked up speed and she could hear it glancing off the leaves of the trees above and around her. The noise was soothing, serving to highlight her chosen solitude. She leaned back into the bench with her eyes shut and tried to clear her mind but became aware of what sounded like murmurs and rustles.

  She sat up sharply and held her breath.

  A man emerged from the bushes to her left and hurried down the hill towards the gates. No sooner had he reached the gate than another man appeared over the brow of the hill, from the opposite direction, hung about for a bit near the bench then ducked into the bushes the first man had come out of. The noise started again. Laurie recognised the rhythm and let out a silent breath.

  Moans and zipping noises seemed to be issuing from all the bushes surrounding the bench. She stood up, crumpled the naan wrapper up and jammed it into her coat pocket. She headed back down the hill towards the high street. She wasn’t a prude; she was all for same sex marriage; but to be so near to all that outdoor activity … Didn’t they have flats? It wasn’t like it was illegal anymore. Perhaps the men had partners. Partners who didn’t have any suspicions, wives and girlfriends who were just going about their business. Maybe bringing up children, washing their clothes.

  Well at least Ed wasn’t like that.

  He hardly ever left the house.

  The rain had slowed now and become a static moistness. She felt like she was walking through the sheerest of cobwebs. If she didn’t think of something soon she’d have to go home and face Ed. Would he be phoning around desperately trying to find her?

  Unlikely.

  She walked down towards town, looking into every shop window to pass the time. As she walked down the High Street she became aware of a knot of young guys approaching her. They took up the pavement entirely, bulging out onto the road. They were shouting and waving beer bottles around. She ducked into a pub on her left. The Weaver’s Arms. She’d passed the place by for all the years
she’d lived here but had never been inside. Well, tonight was the night it seemed. It would do her good to try something new, have a little adventure.

  There were three others in the bar. Two old guys sitting six feet apart against the back wall under a big uncovered strip light and a torn faced barmaid behind the counter, rag in hand. She was so heavily tanned that she looked like one of those bog people that archaeologists seemed to dig up from time to time. Laurie moved over towards a table and realised that she’d need to approach the bar to get a drink. She turned again and walked over to the woman.

  ‘‘Can I have a pint of lager please?’’ The woman looked at her again, moved silently to the taps, poured a pint, placed it in front of Laurie and gave her a long look.

  ‘‘Two pound,’’ the voice was flat, Northern. She held out her hand. Laurie stared at it for a moment, taking in the array of gold rings. Were these remains from the mediaeval times? She could picture the hand, be-ringed and filthy reaching out from the ground to a group of eager young archaeologists. The woman jabbed her hand at Laurie.

  ‘‘Two pound.’’

  ‘‘Okay. I just have to …’’ Laurie had to search her pockets and make up the money in stray change. By the time she looked up again with the money the woman had turned her back and started to rearrange the crisps. Laurie put the two pounds on the counter and made her way back to the booth through the mismatched chairs and tables.

  She sat down and took off her coat whilst glancing around. What kind of place was this? It was bereft of any Christmas decorations. The walls were a patchy white and the plaster was crumbling in patches. The floor had two different types of lino that overlapped in some places, causing swells and dips. The barmaid had turned and was now staring at a spot above and to the left of Laurie’s head.