Heaven In A Rage Ch. 01

Sally Mason's day could have been going better. First, she broke her bedside lamp when reaching to turn off her alarm. Next, she sat on and bent her glasses. Then, she discovered her mum had kidnapped her little sister again and her step-dad was covering for her.

"Well, where is she?" demanded Sally, her plucked brow so furrowed that it burned. "No way she went with mum willingly."

"She likes your mum," Ian replied blandly, buttoning up his work jacket. "She could teach you something." He pushed past her into the hall, swinging the front door open -- it nearly clipped Daisy, who didn't notice but mewled at the sight of Sally.

"Don't give me that shit," she growled. He ignored her, marching into the front garden -- tufts of grass ambitiously pushed around the rusting car he'd always meant to put the wheels back on. Sally, watched by a magpie atop a telegraph pole, stubbornly followed into the cool Spring morning -- saluting the corvid when she knew Ian couldn't see.

"Don't be chasing me," Ian sighed, voice nearly drowned out by a brown UPS van trundling by. "You'll do your foot in."

"It's fine," she snapped. That was true -- it was her ankle, not her foot, which stung at each step. "Where'd mum go? Tell me. I'll wake up the whole street, I don't care." Still he ignored her, turning onto Collymore Road -- they passed yet more brown brick houses separated by knee-high walls. There was a skip in the neighbour's garden, an old bicycle poking out like a half-buried body, scaffolding climbing all over the houses. Across the street a black Labrador barked at them from an upstairs window. Two little girls, Lilly's age, awkwardly roller-skated in the middle of the road. One wore a sparkly pink helmet. They watched, startled, as Sally and Ian passed.

"You two should be in school!" Ian called in as friendly a voice as he could manage. It was mostly just creepy.

"Suddenly he cares!" shouted Sally. An older couple, weighed down by huge blue rucksacks, passed in the opposite direction -- the husband held all four trekking poles under his arm. "Ian, for fuck's sake!"

"Language." Given he was in cargo shorts, held up by his waterproof tool belt, Sally could see the tattoo on the back of his leg -- a crusader on horseback, clad in chainmail and wielding sharpened pike and shield emblazoned with the red and white of St George's Cross, charging right at her. As he walked its helmeted head disappeared into and reappeared from the crease at the back of his knee. With a running start she kicked it as hard as she could. Part of her hoped to smear it somehow, as if it were just a fresh painting on his calf, but no such luck. Instead, Ian just yelped and staggered forward. He turned fast, fist clumsily swinging like a drunk man -- Sally jumped backwards but he would have hit nothing but air and midges even if she hadn't.

The two stood still for a moment, eyes locked, Ian perhaps weighing up whether to try again. Instead he bent his leg up so he might rub at the throbbing pain.

"She's not your daughter," he growled, hobbling to stay on one foot until he steadied himself against the grey metal of a streetlight. A laminated planning permission notice had been taped to it. "She's your mum's, so-"

"And yours!" shouted Sally, disbelief mixing and reacting rapidly with disbelief and outrage. "Or did you forfeit that when you started being this weak little cuck?!"

"I'm not having you talk to me like that," he warned, taking a menacing step closed before his eyes darted to the windows either side of the street. A Sky TV van passed and Marge Simpson beamed at them. "You like living under our roof? You can start being grateful or you can start pissing off."

"I just wanna get Lilly to school," Sally pleaded. "Stop being a dick and just let me do that."

"Your mum's sorting that."

"How?!" shouted Sally.

"Stop the noise. It's too early."

"No, go on, how? When's mum sorted anything, ever?" she spat. Above, the contrail of an airliner made an incision across the sky. "You don't believe the words coming out your own mouth."

"I've gotta go to work," said Ian, turning away and walking back down the street. He was limping now. A seagull on a nearby chimney, fat and white, needlessly screeched into the air.

"I will literally follow you for the rest of my life if I have to," said Sally, giving chase and grabbing his arm to pull him back round. "Where the fuck is Lilly?"

"She took her to Martin's," said Ian reluctantly, shaking her hand from his arm. He looked like he wanted to vomit.

"Jesus." Sally turned on her heels and was going to start running but she turned back at the last second. "She told you not to tell me, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"Well, congrats on making progress." Ignoring her ankle, she sprinted back home.

By the time Sally had pulled her Fiesta up Martin's drive -- mostly filled by an old caravan against which his wide-eyed, big-eared, flat-topped nephew smoked something -- she was seeing kids in their rust-coloured uniforms and getting nervous. It wasn't just nerves about getting Lilly into school on time -- her confidence tended to drain once she was dealing with these people. Sally stepped out onto the overgrown drive, gingerly trying not to make eye contact until she absolutely had to with the nephew whose name she didn't know. He was staring at her.

"Is my mum here?" she asked, looking at him. She absolutely had to.

"Which one's that?" he asked back, eyes bulging unnaturally.

"Forget it," she sighed, making for the door and kicking aside a deflated orange football. This front garden, all unkempt yellowing grass and weeds and a big white sack of unused powdery concrete, was claustrophobically hemmed in by tall hedges. All the curtains in the windows of the pebbledash house were drawn but still Sally could hear loud music within. She bashed her fist several times against the door, which rattled unhealthily. She heard a knocker on the other side bat the door in response, which made her wonder if it had somehow been installed the wrong way round.

What could her mother find to say this time, she wondered? That she should straighten her hair, perhaps? If it were straight she'd want it curled. She didn't like her blonde but if her hair were some other colour she'd say she ought not to be. It'd probably be the Guns N' Roses shirt she'd slept in and now stood in -- Sally had barely had time to throw on jeans before chasing Ian from the house.

More banging on the door yielded no results.

"I'll text 'em," came a murmur. Sally looked back at the nephew -- he wore an indigo Olympic rowing vest over his skinny frame, 'Team GB' on his breast. "Martin, I mean."

"Cheers," said Sally, surprised to be grateful towards him. "Beats knocking the door down." He fumbled with his phone and, eyes narrowed and concentrating, began texting painfully slowly as he swayed like the mast of a ship in rough waters. Much as she wanted to, Sally saw little would be gained by rushing him.

"So how's it going?" she asked blandly. A pair of cyclists in full Lycra getup flashed past the end of the driveway.

"I got a disciplinary warning at work," he mumbled, eyes still fixed on the phone.

"Really?" asked Sally, feigning surprise. Even from here, he reeked of skunk.

"Hugged my girlfriend, didn't I? They said it's unprofessional."

"Bastards," said Sally, instinctively reminding herself -- again -- not to make assumptions about people.

"Sorry 'bout your boyfriend, by the way."

"Huh?"

"Your fella. Debra said 'bout it." Sally sniffed.

"Did she? You texted Martin yet?" At that the door swung open and Sally span round to see Mum. Or, rather, who she had assumed would be Mum. Instead it was Martin -- bald-headed from alopecia, big lips upon which sat an unpleasant purple sore, black donkey jacket over a green-white striped football shirt. A wave of carcinogenic smoke hit Sally as the door opened -- enough to make her wince.

"There's a surprise," drawled Martin in his Westcountry way. "Surprised you found the time to come see us with how busy you are."

"I just want to pick up Lilly," said Sally, sweat irritating the back of her neck. "She's got school."

"She don't need school," said Martin, putting an unlit cigarette to his lips and keeping it there. "Just filling her head with muck."

"I could always call the police," suggested Sally, shrugging. "I know the number and everything. Learned it at school." Martin rolled his bloodshot eyes -- Sally heard someone in the other room in the throes of a coughing fit. It was a deep male voice so not Mum or, more importantly, Lilly.

"You can take it up with your mother," Martin said, stepping out of view. "Waste of my time." Sally thought about following but didn't dare -- she'd never get its smell out of her clothes.

"Debra!" she heard Martin roar, and Sally closed her eyes to shut out the anger. What a failure she was, letting Lilly end up here. A repulsive failure.

Finally, Mum appeared in the doorway. A short woman, her face was blotchy and her dress -- a Christmas gift from Dad, white and covered in bright blue seahorses -- was stained grey in places by cigarette ash. She was jittery and at once Sally knew her to be on speed again.

"Sally!" she cried. "My Sally! Here to join the party!"

"Where's Lilly?"

"We had some Chinese tourists in the garden earlier! Taking pictures."

"Mum." Her gaze, woozy and drifting, focused on Sally. "Where's Lilly? Please?"

"I like it when you call me that," she said, grinning. "The petal's around here somewhere." She looked over her shoulder as if Lilly might be hanging from the wall.

"Go get her," Sally demanded, feeling shame that she was too afraid to step in and do it herself. She pushed her round glasses back up her nose with a finger. "Do it. She's got school. I'll get the police involved, I don't give a shit."

"Ah, but you won't, love, you won't," her mum teased, leering at her. "You know why? You love me." It took a substantial amount of effort not to smack her, and Sally's focus was only broken when Martin's nephew pushed timidly past to get back inside.

"Sorry, sorry," he said hurriedly as he vanished. Mum watched him for a moment, shaking fingers playing with each other, before turning back to Sally with eyes as wide as his.

"What you want again?" Sally smacked her. It was a poor job, being half-hearted and loaded with regret, but her nails skimmed her mother's face and that was enough to make her howl in pained surprise and clutch her cheek.

"You little bitch!" she shouted, incensed, and moved to grab Sally by the collar. Sally stood, ready to accept it, but her mum stopped at the last second and stared over Sally's shoulder. Sally looked round to see a young postman in red shorts and red cap gripping a cardboard Amazon package and stood beside her Fiesta.

"I'll just leave this here," he said quickly, popping it on the roof and backing out of sight with hands raised. Sally, tips of her fingers throbbing from the slap, looked back at her mum.

"Lilly. Now." Mum copied he postman, raising her hands and backing away.

"All you had to do was ask, love."

Finally, finally, finally, Lilly was in the doorway. Still in her flowery pyjamas she clutched a stuffed unicorn and stared at Sally with adoring green eyes. At the first sight of her, relief washed over Sally.

"There we are," said Mum proudly. "My second-dumbest daughter here at last." Sally ignored her and knelt in front of Lilly.

"Are you okay?" she signed urgently. Lilly handed her the unicorn so she could reply.

"It's stinky in there," she signed back. Sally smiled and looked up at Mum.

"Has she eaten?"

"Gave her some Coco Pops. Am I a great Mum or what?" she snickered.

"I've never been so fucking ashamed in my life," Sally replied coldly. She held her smile to her face for Lilly's benefit.

"Well," said Mum, moving to close the door, "now you know how I felt when you dropped outta Oxford." She slammed the door -- Sally jumped and Lilly did not.