It was Boxing Day. Most of the snow had gone. I left David’s just after breakfast to post a late Christmas card to my sister, when I bumped into Nadina.
She was standing on her own near the post office, in a mini skirt and high heels. No one was really about. She walked back with me as I was still a bit shaky on my feet. Mainly from the miscarriage but everything that had happened had mad-wobbled me for sure. We went and sat in Argyle Square, it didn’t feel right to bring her into David’s flat, he was still sheltering me, so I didn’t want to take the piss. It was a clear, chilly, wintry day as we sat on the park bench, surrounded by the huge trees, puffing our fags. I realised we were becoming kind of friends. And seeing as mine were thin on the ground, I appreciated it. I was telling her about everything as she didn’t know anything.
She didn’t know she and her pimp had been blamed for breaking in to my flat.
Or that Mike was dead. From a heroin overdose.
Or Kieran, my violent ex, was in hospital from being lunged at by a broken bottle.
She blinked in surprise. I joked that I was the BBC Newsflash.
Kings Cross was a village, a sick village, but a village none the less. There was a genuine community as well as genuine mayhem. Some of the kids were out playing football and some winos on another bench. One of the older winos started slowly filtering through the rubbish bin. It was tough to watch. A young girl emerged out of the bushes, and was given cash from a guy, presumably payment. I was shocked but hid it. She started walking towards us. I vaguely recognised as one of the prostitutes from the post office. She was young, sixteen, maybe seventeen max.
Nadina waved at her. She waved back.
“Where you goin’, Abbie?”
She stopped. It was strange being so close to this kind of conversation
“I have a meeting. We’re gonna do the occupation,” Abbie said.
“What? You mean my idea?” Nadina was laughing.
“What occupation?” I asked.
“We’re bein’ harassed by the police, it’s getting out of control,” replied Nadina. “We’re going to occupy the church.”
“The Church? Around the corner?”
Nadina nodded. “Hookers in the house.”
“Hookers in the house,” I said picking up the rhythm.
“Hookers in the house of –” She looked to me to finish our spontaneous rap.
“Lords!” I said. She clicked her fingers, smiling in delight.
“Could be of the Lord,” she mused.
“Nads, have you 50p or any spare fags?” asked Abbie.
Nadina took out her ten deck and gave her two.
“I’m going round to the women’s centre to talk with Susan.”
Nadina nodded. “She knows what I think.”
“What’s the women’s centre?” I asked, gripped by all this.
“ECP: English Collective of Prostitutes,” she replied.
Nadina told Abbie that she would catch her later. Abbie left.
Nadina then suggested we go skating to the outside ice rink on The Strand.
“What? No way. I can’t skate! I’m supposed to be resting.”
“You can rest on your feet. Come on. I love skating.”
“What are you goin’ to skate in?”
“My knickers. They give you skates there.”
I laughed at her f**k-it, devil-may-care attitude. I kind of got caught up with it and went along with it. A police car crawled alongside us on the way and gave Nadina gip. One of them called her a dirty P**i. But she mostly ignored it, until they got bored and drove away.
When we got there, the sun was out. All the old buildings looked majestic. I remember noticing again the beautiful light blue of the winter sky. It soothed my eyes. So did the pure white of the ice rink. It was huge. I watched Nadina skating, from behind the barrier. She was with all the other people, gliding up and then past me, waving and smiling at me with that look of glee in her eyes. It was nice to watch. And hilarious when she was playing at slipping on the ice and then really did fall on her ass.
I didn’t have her bravery. I wasn’t ready to immerse myself in anything yet.
A bit of my brain passed out the night of Kieran’s attack, I was still coming round. Still trying to process what happened. What do you call that? Was that rape? I thought that was something that happened walking home late at night, not from your sort of boyfriend while you lie asleep in bed. I shut my eyes and tried to transport myself to a holiday, lying on a soft sandy beach under a blazing hot sun. I felt a shake. It was Nadina at the other side of the barrier.
“Wake up, Blannie, you dreamin’?”
“Yes. Of a continental holiday.”
“Ah yeah, I’d like that, in Greece. With a little donkey,” Nadina said.
“A little donkey?”
“Yeah. I’ll to learn to ride it on the beach.”
This made me laugh.
“Why a little donkey and not a sleek big chic horse?”
“Cos I’d like a little donkey,” she said with utter certainty and an impish glee.
“It’s my continental holiday!”
She laughed and skated off again, she looked so free and happy. She then got out and came and joined me with others watching from the side of the rink.
“I know nothing about you,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled, but with an intense look in her direct, deep stare, which still gave nothing away.
“What do you want to know? How I got on the game?”
I didn’t say anything, because of course I did. But I felt ashamed at my curiosity.
“I’m from Brixton, both my parents Indian. My father was at me from when I was about four. My mum didn’t ‘see’ it. When I was a bit older, I told a teacher at school. My dad was arrested. He pleaded guilty, went to prison. Justice. But then in prison he killed himself. I had a nervous breakdown. All my mates legged it. Like yours.”
“No, they haven’t. It’s Christmas,” I protested. Nadina gave me a look.
“I was shoved into a mental hospital, diagnosed with manic depression. My family and I dumped each other. Towards the end in the mental hospital, I took myself off lithium, without them knowing. I didn’t want to be a lobotomised dribbling cabbage anymore. Know what I mean?”
I tried to not show on my face how shocking this all was to hear. I nodded. The side of the skating rink felt a strange place to tell me all this, but she was like that. Didn’t hold back.
“I’d crashed. I was gonna go to art school actually. I can hardly believe that now you know, with a wham bam nervous breakdown. Just one of those things you know. I suppose having it off with your dad, crude I know, does your nut in. Especially then when he goes and kills himself. The catch about telling people is that, on the one hand it’s like the truth you know? But then on the other hand, it like puts you in victim mode, well in freak mode actually, ’cause let’s face it, it is a pretty weird thing. I mean it’s not normal. I can understand why people turn round and look at me appalled. I would too if it wasn’t me. If I were to meet me and by chance be told it, I think I’d probably want to totally avoid me. Know what I mean?”
I laughed. The way she said it had ended up being funny.
“Am I looking suitably appalled?”
She laughed, relieved. She visibly relaxed.
“People can outlive their own tragedy you know, Blan. We both have splinters in our souls which we’re extracting. To the normal people we’re losers, but we’re both dealing with the undealable in some way, and coming out of it enlightened.”
She had been talking non-stop without a break. Like it was pouring out of her. Like she needed to say it. This thing about becoming enlightened was so important to her. Made it all worthwhile. I liked that. It made it all more than a fall down from the bad man.
She was a romantic at heart. I guess so was I.
Christmas at the Cross is published by Bridge House Publishing and available here.
Christmas at the Cross: part 1
Christmas at the Cross: part 2
