Golden Gloom - POOR - Part Ten

21 

Barbara

“This is bent as fuck,” said Charles. “It’s retarded is what it is.”

“Just give me a second to think,” I said.

We were outside our hotel now. Except it wasn’t our hotel. Not no more. Charles was pacing back and forth, swerving a little he was so pissed. I was pissed too, head-spinning drunk like I’d rarely ever been; never in my life as Barbara.

“We need a phone,” I said. “Over there.”

There was a payphone on the street thirty yards or so up. I hurried to it with Charles in tow. He’d stopped drinking from the whisky bottle. We both had. What we’d heard in the hotel had knocked us right off the track we were on. I had enough local currency for a long distance call but only just. It wasn’t going to last long.

“What you doing?” said Charles.

“Just wait a minute.” I slotted in the cash, emptying my purse, which left me dry. I dialled our home number, having to think hard to piece together the whole string of digits. I sucked the end of my finger, looking at Charles worriedly. Then someone picked up and my gut quivered. Stomach bile rose into the base of my throat.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

I instantly recognised the man’s voice. How could I not? I couldn’t speak.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

I made a little sound in my mouth, cleared my throat then said. “Who’s there?”

“Who am I speaking to?” The voice was identical, those firm measured confident tones that made me feel both comforted, intimidated and frightened to death.

“My name’s... My name’s Lorraine. Parker.” I wanted to say Barbara. I so wanted to say that with all my soul. “Is that... Charles... Hawthorne?”

Next to me, Tommy’s eyes gaped wide.

“Yes. This is he,” said the man. “May I ask what this is about? It’s rather late.”

I slammed down the phone. I was shaking.

“What did he say?” said Tommy. “What the hell did he say?”

I retched. I retched again more violently. Then I tipped forward off the path, hurling the contents of my stomach onto the dirt and dried plants at the side of the pavement. I retched again and more came out. Then again. This time only a dribble of acidic-tasting saliva slithered from the side of my lips. I covered my mouth with my hand and then puked again, right through my fingers.

“Lorraine.” Tommy was holding me at the base of my back. “Lorraine. What did he say?”

I got upright, staggered one step left then looked at him, my eyes moist. “He said he was Charles Hawthorne,” I replied. “He said he was you.”

Tommy glared at me, his brows knit. “Well... That ain’t... What did he say? Exactly?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. I asked him if he was you. He said yes. He sounded exactly like you. Like Charles.”

“So someone else is... Some fucker is living in our house right now?”

I shrugged.

“And what about you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t think to fucking ask?”

“No! I’m sorry!” I was starting to cry. “What are we gonna do? We’ve got nowhere to go!”

“This is whacked.”

“We don’t have any money! We’re nineteen years old! I don’t want to live in fucking Barton for the rest of my life! I don’t want to be this slag! I want to be me!”

“Shut up!” cried Tommy.

“You shut up! It’s your fault we’re like this! It’s your fault this happened!” I yelled.

“My fault?” snapped Tommy. “My fucking fault?” He jabbed me hard in my chest with two pointed fingers. “I was fast asleep, minding my own fucking business! You fucking did this to me!”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“I went to bed and you did this when I was unconscious – when I couldn’t protect myself! You fucking betrayed me!” He jabbed me even harder, forcing me back against the phone booth.

“Agh! Tommy!”

“Don’t Tommy me you stupid tramp! That ain’t my fucking name – or it wasn’t until you did what you did! You’ve frikkin ruined everything! Do you get that? You’ve ruined our fucking lives!”

He bashed me hard in the shoulder and I span, losing my balance and fell down hard in the bushes.

I curled over onto my side, wincing from the pain, tears flowing freely now and hacking sobs coming out of my mouth. “I’m sorry Tommy. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t think it would happen like this. I tried to get you to change back.”

“Ah shut up you stupid fucking bitch. You stupid pea-brained whore.”

He turned his back on me, stewing, while I sobbed on the ground.

I had to turn us back, somehow. I had to do something, make us how we used to be, but I was too loaded; too groggy and I hurt all over. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I whimpered.

“Fuck you,” said Tommy. “Gimme the hotel key.”

“What?” I blinked at him. “They wouldn’t let us in.”

“The other key,” he barked, snatching my little handbag off my shoulder, wrenching my arm painfully.

“Ow! What are you doin?”

He pulled out the Brits Abroad hotel key and tossed the bag back on the floor beside me. “Get up,” he snapped. “We’re going.”

“Going where?”

He brandished the key fob. “To this fucking place! Where do you think? We ain’t got nowhere else to go no more!”