Stomach Growling
She wanted to meet in that grubby little cafe, the one where your arms stick to the plastic table cloths. I didn’t believe she actually liked it but she had insisted. Perhaps she was making a point or something. I was the first one there, so I went in and sat down, reading through the menu, calculating calories as I went. There was only one other customer, an impossible-to-age man in the corner, who was eating the cooked breakfast in an automatic, bored way. I ordered some sort of salad in the end.
Holly came in ten minutes late, not even noticing, not even mentioning it, a heavy holdall to her side. To my surprise, she actually looked reasonably smart which made us both a bit out of place in that cafe.
I hadn’t seen her since Dad’s funeral. We’d flown over without Mum although I couldn’t tell whether Mum had wanted to go or not. She’d kept going on about how difficult it would be, either flying or on the ferry, though it was possible. It would have just meant being escorted in her wheelchair and priority boarding. I was annoyed with her for bothering to make those excuses. It’s fine not to go to your ex-husband’s funeral when he abandoned you.
It was pretty grim anyway. I know funerals should be but this one also had an extra layer of pretence. We had to pretend he wasn’t a complete git even though he had left us, had rarely seen us since, having married again and got a shiny new family where he could put right all his previous mistakes.
‘It’s like I’m finally getting the hang of being someone’s dad,’ he’d told me over the phone not long after his twin sons, my half-brothers, were born. He sounded like he was punching the air.
Hoo-bloody-ray.
Me and Holly had been to the service, did an hour at the wake, though I was the only one bothering with small talk, as she stood brooding in the corner, pouting almost. We barely spoke on the flight back. We’d probably have argued.
In the cafe, when Holly came over to the table, I got up to, I don’t exactly know what. To hug her, air kiss, flutter next to each other briefly. We still hadn’t quite nailed what physical contact was appropriate when we were mildly simmering with resentment.
‘Where have you been?’ I said, nodding at her formal outfit, almost accusing her of something.
‘I had an appointment at the job centre,’ she said with a subtle roll of the eyes.
‘You’re looking for a new job? I thought the show with George was going well.’
It was big news. But she didn’t reply. I didn’t get a chance to ask her what was in the holdall either. She just went to the counter and ordered herself some chips and a coke. A full fat coke, the sort fearless people drink who don’t worry about their weight or periodontitis. Never weigh themselves, never floss. When she brought the chips back to the table, the smell of slightly fresher grease wafted to my nostrils and I might have actually sighed. She didn’t notice, covering the whole lot in salt and vinegar and tomato sauce. She picked up a chip with her fingers, guiding it towards her mouth with all the grace it didn’t deserve, but left it hanging there in the air so she could speak first. She always did this. Carried on conversations from when she had been out of the room and come back in, expecting me to switch back on and know exactly what she was talking about.
‘I think so. It just seems I’ve hit a bit of a rut and I don’t think he helps with that.’
I carefully arranged a forkful of greenery and put it in my mouth. Squeezed it between my teeth and felt a slight grittiness. I supposed it hadn’t been washed too thoroughly. I swallowed.
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find something again soon. I always thought that you and George...’ I stopped for a moment. ‘Well, I thought it was a bit weird, if I’m honest.’
‘The kids like him,’ she said.
She added more sauce to her plate, whacking the glass bottle, to get the dregs at the bottom. She should have just got another bottle from one of the other tables, but instead she persisted, frowning at the inability of the sauce to come out.
‘You could retrain,’ I offered.
‘Retrain as what?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. What did the job centre say? Something useful maybe. A nurse?’
The man at one of the other tables coughed loudly, bringing up a wad of phlegm and spitting it into the cup in front of him before carrying on with the fried eggs and beans in front of him.
‘Mum would be more than happy to let you move back in,’ I said. ‘You’d get out of that house share. It would be a win-win.’
‘I don’t want to. I’d feel like I was going backwards.’
‘It wouldn’t be like that at all. It would just mean I wouldn’t have to stay over so many nights there. And we might see more of each other. You could help with the plans for the wedding.’
She was trying not to, but even so, there was a ghost of a smirk across her face. I was determined not to be embarrassed. It wasn’t like I had ever used the phrase ‘the most important day of my life’. I wouldn’t dare. Not with Mum and Dad ending the way it did. But did we have to pretend that none of us can be happy ever again in a long-term relationship?
‘How is Craig?’ she asked, the intonation slightly off so it was like she was emphasising ‘is’ as if Craig wasn’t involved in the planning but should be.
‘He’s okay. Bit concerned about the deposit on the flat. I think he feels a bit funny because we can’t split it equally between us. I’ve told him it’s okay but...’ I shrugged and attempted more salad.
‘He’s nice, Craig,’ she said. She was saying it not in the way you would about someone you’d fancy or contemplate spending the rest of your life with. Just nice in the sense that custard is nice. A thick duvet. When it stops raining just in time for you leaving the house.
‘I could ask at work, you know. See if anyone has something they need help with.’
‘What?’
‘Some paperwork or something you could help with. Usual adminny type stuff. It would probably be temporary though.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice cracking. She took a sip of coke and raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘It might be nice if I can carry on performing. Maybe not so much with George. A new direction.’
‘You could try.’ I looked at the tired remains of the salad. ‘I’m getting a cappuccino,’ I announced and went to the counter. I noticed she was watching me from the table. The other customer seemed to be watching too. After I ordered, the owner opened the sachet, eyeballing me with uncertainty. The cup handed to me contained something a dirty beige colour and I had to pretend I was pleased.
I took it back to the table. ‘I shouldn’t really be drinking this. What with having to get into my wedding dress and everything.’
‘It’s not for six months.’
I looked away. Despite the chips and coke, she was still tiny. Willowy was the word our mum used, imbued it with some sort of significance. Willowy, like a tree, womanhood encapsulated by long limbs and delicate joints. Not like me. Not fat exactly but definitely on the chunky side next to my sister. Looking at myself naked put me in mind of a plucked chicken, ready to roast. Nothing willowy. Running to fat. I never really knew what that meant. All I ever saw was people running away from fat, as if it followed like some great boulder rolling behind them.
‘Mum’s been worse recently,’ I said.
She looked across, a small speck of tomato sauce at the corner of her mouth. ‘Oh yeah,’ she said.
‘You haven’t been round much. Well, you haven’t been round at all. I haven’t seen you since the funeral.’
She put more chips in her mouth. Filling it up.
‘She’s still got the high blood pressure despite the tablets. She carries on like it’s the least of her problems. It’s hard not to disagree with her. There’s some new medication they’re trying her on.’
‘Is it helping?’ she asked, her mouth still sounding cluttered.
‘She doesn’t know. It’s hard to get the dosage right. Sometimes it just lays her out so she can’t manage to do anything but sleep.’ I took a sip of cappuccino. ‘She keeps asking when you’re going to come round.’
‘Soon.’
I thought of the way Mum’s face had looked that morning when I told her I was seeing Holly. That expectation. That hope.
‘You always say soon,’ I said to Holly. I took another sip. ‘Anyway, I asked. I’ll tell her you’re busy. I’m sorry you’ve come to the end of the line with George.’
She shrugged.
I remember when she first brought him round to show us. His dark blue eyes glinting, even though there was barely any light in the room. His lips bizarrely red, like blood, and his hair, flicked up by the static, no doubt having been sat by the radiator for too long. But the way she had looked at him and handled him. Tenderly, like he was her baby or something. Running her fingers over his face, so small flakes of the old paintwork fluttered down onto the floor.
‘She’s excited about the wedding anyway,’ I said and then immediately regretted it as it gave Holly another chance to smirk.
‘I’ll try and come over and see Mum soon,’ she said again.
‘When I move into the flat with Craig, I’m not going to be able to see her as often. Particularly if we have a baby.’
‘Wow!’ she said, her eyes lighting up. ‘You’ve never mentioned a baby before.’
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘It’s not a huge surprise, is it? It’s just something we’ve been talking about, that’s all.’ Or something I’ve half mentioned and Craig has half acknowledged. ‘So, actually, it might be a good thing if you move back in with Mum.’
She didn’t say anything. Just finished the last of her chips.
‘So,’ I said. ‘Have you decided what you’re doing with the money from Dad yet? I assume the others got more but I was amazed we got anything.’
At the mention of the money, the first genuine smile came on her face and she nodded quickly like a little girl offered sweets.
‘Oh really? I thought you might be saving it for a rainy day.’
She shook her head and disappeared under the table to the large holdall. Suddenly she reappeared, a strange, slightly battered effigy next to her. Again, the too bright lips, the strange sparkling eyes, but this one had eyelashes like a daddy-long-legs and the suspicion of a papier-mâché cleavage under a worn red dress.
I sighed. ‘I should have known when I saw the bag.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ she said. ‘It was a good price for a professional dummy. And it’s an investment, isn’t it? With Gloria here, I should be able to expand a bit. Perform to adults a bit more. George was fine for kids, but you need something a bit more–’
‘I thought when you said you were winding down the show with George–’
‘So I can diversify a bit.’
‘By getting another puppet?’
‘You didn’t think I was ending it altogether, did you?’
‘Don’t tell me you took that to the job centre?’
She paused slightly. ‘No, I picked it up afterwards.’
I looked around, wondering what kind of response the sudden appearance of the puppet would have generated in the cafe but strangely enough, neither the other customer nor the cafe owner seemed to have reacted. It was as if that sort of thing happened all the time round there. And yet the looks I’d got for ordering a cappuccino.
‘Right, okay,’ I said. ‘So that business with finding a job and everything, that wasn’t true, was it?’
She and the puppet looked at each other and rolled their eyes simultaneously. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I am serious about that. It’s just buying Gloria has given me an idea. Maybe I need to get a proper act together with lots of different dummies.’
‘Okay,’ I said. I felt like an idiot. ‘You could move in with Mum while you save up.’ Gloria fixed me with a stare and shook her head. ‘You only want ‘ol-ly to move back in so you don’t ave to do as mooch for your mam-aah.’
‘Stop it. You know it pisses me off when you talk to me through those stupid things.’
‘I soop-pose you’re spending your father’s money on some roob-bish for your wed-ding-a?’ Gloria said.
‘What accent is that?’ I asked. ‘Is she supposed to be Italian? That’s brave. You’ll get accused of xenophobia with an accent like that. You’ll make her sound like something from a Dolmio advert if you’re not careful.’
‘Nonsense,’ Gloria said, suddenly adopting a posh English accent. ‘It’s all a question of context.’
‘I refuse to speak to you with the puppet,’ I said. I looked around wondering if the puppet’s talking was eliciting more interest. Nothing.
‘She refuses to speak to me, Holly,’ Gloria said.
Holly shrugged. ‘She always refused to speak to George too. She thinks dummies are creepy.’
‘How could I be creepy?’ Gloria said and then, through Holly’s handiwork, managed to open her mouth full, so it was obvious the teeth were longer than usual and slightly grey. Her eyes rolled back into the sockets and left mostly white.
‘Definitely not for children,’ I said. Though I could see Gloria being easier to warm to than George.
Then Holly started to laugh, amused by the contorted face of the puppet.
‘Funny you got George not long after Dad remarried, when Mum started getting much worse,’ I said.
Holly stopped laughing. ‘So?’
‘It’s just, we all have ways of coping with things, don’t we? When things get complicated.’
She held Gloria still, whose face had returned to normal.
‘And it makes sense that with the money he left, you’d get another one.’
‘I think you may be implying something,’ Gloria said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t. Not really. But I wish...’
Gloria was raising her eyebrows.
‘How do you do that?’ I asked.
Holly nodded. ‘She’s good, isn’t she? She did cost a bit and I appreciate she might need a bit of TLC to get her ready for a performance, but I still think it’s a good investment.’
‘If you’re planning a show, let me know. I’ll put up flyers at work.’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘Can I bring Mum?’
Her eyes sort of flickered slightly. ‘Of course.’
‘Obviously, if it’s wheelchair friendly. Some of those places are all lip service and it’s a nightmare to get in and out, despite the regulatory ramp.’
‘I know,’ she said, slightly apologetically.
‘I’ll pay the bill,’ I said, pointing at our plates.
‘I have enough to pay my share,’ she said, putting Gloria back in the holdall by her feet.
‘Well, it’s better if we just pay for it all in one go. It really isn’t a big deal. You haven’t had much.’
I paid with my card, though it was refused initially till I put the pin in again and so the whole process was drawn out. We got our stuff together and left the cafe, both of us hovering beside my car parked outside.
‘Great, well, see you soon,’ she said and quickly pushed her tiny frame against me in a clumsy embrace before turning to go.
‘I meant what I said about the flyers,’ I said. ‘Honestly, just let me know.’
She nodded quickly and went off, lugging Gloria by her side.
I got in the car. I noticed a missed call from Craig but I couldn’t be bothered to answer it just yet. And a text from Mum. I didn’t open it to read beyond the first sentence which started How was Holly? Did she say– But she hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t promised anything. Hadn’t helped. All I could feel was a sinking, a heaviness like a trainee astronaut in one of those spinning machines when the blood rushes down through your body into your feet. I took a deep breath before starting the engine and pulling out into the traffic.
❦ ❦ ❦
Me and Craig sat on the sofa that evening, waiting for the takeaway to arrive. We were watching a tedious drama about a police detective who seemed to never sleep, never eat, never go to the toilet, but spent their whole time looking for a killer they were mildly obsessed with, despite their problematic personal life. Craig ate from a large packet of smoky bacon crisps, picking at the bits caught in his teeth with the index finger of one hand while he tapped away at his phone with the other. I wished it had gone better with Holly. I wished we could have just one chat when everything else didn’t get in the way. When we could be honest. Before I knew it, the credits rolled.
‘I need the loo,’ Craig said, putting his phone down. ‘They reckon the food should be here in a minute.’
He walked out and I sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The Artex cracked, and yellowed in places from the tobacco smoke of previous tenants. Would she really go round and see Mum? The doorbell suddenly rang and I jumped. Craig shouted from the toilet that he was still on the toilet. I went to accept the delivery.
I took the food through to the kitchen, the bright white light of the kitchen harsh. I opened the bags and took out the food containers, mostly his, which seemed to just keep coming, making me feel like a magician pulling handkerchiefs from a sleeve. A feast, a celebration of carbohydrates and saturated fats, glistening. My pizza in a slightly bashed box at the bottom of one of the bags. The menu had promised that it was under 700 calories, its halo of rocket curling in the middle, a great chunk of sustenance removed to make way for my need to be good.
There was the glisten to the sauce on the crispy shredded beef that was like lipstick, too red, an urgency to it, dangerous. The siren call of monosodium glutamate. The image of Gloria’s lips flooded my mind and I smiled at the thought of my sister sat there with her puppet in the cafe.
I felt a slight tug in my stomach. Mum had always been the same shape as me, Holly took after Dad. When we’d sat down to tea in the evenings, the three of us because Dad was working, Mum hadn’t eaten the same as us, subsisting off a diet of Cup-a-soup and Ready Brek. I’d wondered why she’d needed so many fillings with how little she used her teeth. But Holly just ate when she was hungry, as if it was all that simple.
How could the conversation have gone better?
You will go round and see Mum, won’t you?
Of course. It’s just hard, isn’t it? She was never normal, never a hundred percent, and this illness...
I know. But you managed before. We both managed. We will again.
When Dad had left, the day after he had gone, the house seemed different. As if released from a spell. I woke up smelling bacon, but it wasn’t Mum cooking it for Dad, but Holly cooking it for Mum, even though she needed a chair to comfortably reach the hob and see what she was doing. And then we crammed ourselves with food till we felt sick. Holly called it the ‘all-the-sweeties-in-the-world’ day. It had felt like the rain pouring after a drought.
In the bright fluorescent light, I opened the other containers: yellow chop suey with teal flecks, prawn crackers as big as a fist, mildly anaemic dumplings, overcooked and slippery like a baby fresh from the womb. I picked up one strand of shredded beef, lukewarm, and put it in my mouth. I chewed slowly, the slime from its luminescent coating collecting in my molars. It didn’t taste great but there was something in my stomach, an urgency suddenly, a calling.
I paused only a second before taking more, and more, before starting to devour all the food in front of me. No cutlery, just my bare hands, scooping it up from the foil containers and pushing it into my mouth, cramming the food in till it was full. Barely chewing, the food swallowed and claimed as quickly as possible, my stomach demanding the food, angry almost at the delay. I had no control.
I heard the toilet flush, and he came in and looked at me as I licked sauce off my fingers.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, his eyes wide at the mess I’d created.
‘I was hungrier than I thought,’ I said before getting up and going up to bed.
I lay there feeling full, bloated but smiling in the darkness, excited. Before bed, I had texted Holly. Just starting a conversation. My phone buzzed at midnight with her reply.
Joanna Garbutt is an author of fiction and non-fiction. Her novel-in-progress was longlisted in the 2022 Bridport Peggy Chapman-Andrews First Novel Award and an extract published in the anthology. Other recent publications include short stories broadcast on BBC Radio Cambridgeshire and published in Literary Mama, Porridge and Find Me Here (The Anansi Archive Anthology). She has been longlisted in Globe Soup's 7 Day Writing Challenge and the Fiction Factory Short Story Competition.
She completed an MA in Creative Writing and also has a PhD in Applied Linguistics where her area of research concerns the language used during police interviews with suspects. She has published book chapters and journal articles based on her research studies.