TALISMAN. By Hayley Jenkins

Transcription

1 TALISMAN By Hayley Jenkins

2 Talisman By Haley Jenkins He taps me on the shoulder. I flinch, refusing to look at his face as I take off my headphones to listen. I want you to have a spare key It is the tell-tale sign of a heart cracking, splintering like a snapped tree: it never comes away smooth and clean, it lies crippled, doubled-over for a few days. All that bark-armour and lighter wood-flesh all mixed together so it was impossible to make sense of anything. But I liked stories with sad endings, which is why I never ask how they begin. Too much history spoils things. Please, I want you to have a key. I ve no family he says again. He s new, I ve never really seen him before. He s on the spectrum, just like all of us here at the half-way house. He s leaning on a walking frame decorated with Christmas faerie lights and mini-dreamcatchers. I decide to call him Fairy. I can never remember people s real names, I have to make up object-associated ones or I ll just stare blankly at them or go mute. My Mum said I can t be trusted to look after things I said. She doesn t sound like a nice Mum he says. I nod. She doesn t understand. Well, I trust you. He holds out the key to me again. He s smiling, but I don t do that. I don t trust myself to smile properly. I take the key. Better me than some of the Collectors. Some of us don t steal, not like really steal, we just like to collect. It s how we love. It s how we show need. The landlady here works with special cases, she allows care managers into the kitchen. If they don t show up when they are supposed to the most common scenario in our industry - she will curse them in Polish, Italian and French. Skurwiel. Coglione. Enfoiré. Keyworkers are better, so they get to have Victoria Sponge. I nod and put the key in my pocket. We re on the doorstep of our house. I don t do things in the way most people do. They ll look at the big picture and then focus down to a face, I ll see

3 a face like it s the centre, then zoom slowly, slowly out to notice whether I m about to walk into a busy A-road or fall into a river. Both have happened. Fairy clambers up the disabled ramp, his legs moving awkwardly with him. I count two heartbeats and look back towards my list. You can only stare for two heartbeats, that s the maximum amount of time for you to take someone in, but the minimum before they get nervous. My Night List tells me I need to go buy milk, sugar, BBQ crisps and brie. I ll only buy four items every day. This isn t a quirk but a mission. Four items means I can get out of the flat, I won t feel the pressure of a major shop and the bag won t be too heavy to carry back. I add a footnote: Protect Fairy s Key. I carry on down the road, slightly anxious that I m running two minutes late. My watch says 4.32pm. I want to scratch the back of my hand, but I know I shouldn t, so I grab onto Fairy s key instead. I pull it out once I m across the pedestrian lights and the smell of garlic bread leaks out of the local Italian restaurant. The food looks good, but there is way too much noise for me to handle. Once Fairy saw me standing there, I was using their WiFi and enjoying the diluted sounds and smells. He went straight in without saying anything and came back out with a doggy-bag of garlic bread. He knew I liked it because I d burnt it at home fifteen days ago and the smell had hung around his flat long afterwards. I d taken the bag and couldn t look at his face. I still don t know what he looks like, but I like his frame and now I ve given him a name. It s the first steps. The key is small and silver, it has grooves and textures I like. There is a hole in the middle. Running my fingers over it, I wonder what it s like on the other side of the door, what kind of carpet Fairy has or whether he inherited Sandal s desk. My last neighbour on the ground floor was a wheelchair-user I called Sandal, he had cerebral palsy and loved raspberry ginger beer. I went in the flat just once when I heard him yelling, slinging his arms around as he watched a football match with two boys either side. One was his best friend, the other his boyfriend. I m still holding onto the key when I enter the newsagents. There are two boys by the desk and they are yelling at the staff behind the counter. I quickly find what I want and stand in the queue. I can t move because I need to pay, but I want to leave because of the noise. Their shouting me feel there is a balloon being pushed underwater inside my head.

4 I hear words I hate and cover my ears. You must be retarded, mate, so retarded. I don t have to give you no bloody ID, I m 22! The boy closest to me yells. I flinch at the R word. No one knows how it hurts save the people it was meant for originally. The boys are jittery and I grip hold of Fairy s key. One of them flicks a penknife open and starts waving it, like he s conducting, like the beers and cigarettes will start fizzing and smoking to his tune. I back away into the newspaper stand and knock the shelf, they all fall over. I can t stand to touch newspapers, they feel dirty and rough. The boys look at me, I don t have to look at them to know. You want something? The boy with the knife says. I want to pay please I mumbled. He did ask. Then do it he replied. They shimmed back a little, but not enough. I waited, but they didn t move. Squeezing in between them and the counter, I handed my basket to the poor Indian man behind the counter. I wondered if he would call the police. I shuddered at the idea of sirens. Getting something nice? The boy breathed into my ear. I felt him getting closer to me and suddenly the hamster that so often lived in my chest started jumping around. It hurt when it did that. Please don t get closer, I need space I muttered. The key was biting into my skin, but it felt better than letting the hamster dance. What s the matter with you? The boy didn t listen and pressed his hips against my bum. He shouldn t have done that. It s a reaction, a protest, it s something I can t stop. I swing at him, key in hand, and it scratches him right by the eye. He yelps and topples over, banging his head on the ice-cream freezer. His friend drags him out of the shop. I stand there staring at the key, checking that I haven t damaged it. Well done! Take it as my gratitude the staff man said, pushing my bag towards me. I put the exact money on the counter anyway, nodded and walked out. He called back but I kept walking. I didn t want to explain the hamster.

5 I get back home and put the food in the fridge. Then sit on the sofa and watch the News. I ll watch it until the end, even the Sports part that makes me feel a little dizzy. I keep the key in my left hand. I clench and unclench my hand so I can see the impressions it makes. Half-way through the headlines I get up, which I don t normally do. In my bedroom cupboard I find the string and loop it through the key, then tie it around my neck. I hold it to my lips and kiss it, then wash my mouth out as I don t want germs. I turn the television off and walk across the hall to his front door, knocking on it in a rat-a-tattat rhythm that makes me feel warm. It s open, come in he calls from the other side. Entering his flat, I see he s also got the news on. There is an open box of pizza on his knees. Next to the sofa, the fairy lights on his frame have been put on twinkle mode. Taking care of my key then? I take a gulp of air and slowly look up at him. He s got messy brown hair and his eyes look black in the TV s glow. He s thinner than me and long-limbed. His T-shirt says Breathe. It took care of me. Care for some pizza? Tell me about it? He holds the pizza box at me. I take a slice, just like I took the key. I give him a smile. **********