Anywhere's Better Than Here

260 Pages·2014·0.84 MB·English

by  Venditozzi Zoe

Zöe Venditozzi was born in 1975 and grew up in a small village in North East
Fife. After graduating with an honours degree in English from the University of
Glasgow, Zöe worked in a variety of jobs including selling answerphones,
nannying and editing the letters page on The People’s Friend. When Zöe and her
husband moved to New Zealand she decided to train as a teacher and dreamed of
becoming a writer. However, it was only when she returned to Scotland and
started having children that Zöe started to write seriously. Zöe gained her Mlitt
in Creative Writing from the University of Dundee.
ANYWHERE’S BETTER THAN
HERE

Zöe Venditozzi
First published in Great Britain by
Sandstone Press Ltd
PO Box 5725
One High Street
Dingwall
Ross-shire
IV15 9WJ
Scotland.
www.sandstonepress.com All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored or transmitted in any form without the express
written permission of the publisher.
© Zöe Venditozzi 2012
Editor: Moira Forsyth
The moral right of Zöe Venditozzi to be recognised as the
author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the
Copyright, Design and Patent Act, 1988.
The publisher acknowledges subsidy from
Creative Scotland towards publication of this volume.
ISBN: 978-1-908737-06-9
ISBN e: 978-1-908737-07-6
Cover design by Mark Blackadder, Edinburgh.
Ebook by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore.
For my late father, David Johnston.
Everywhere and inaudible.
Acknowledgments and thanks

First of all, thanks to Dominic for the constant support and to Luca Tavita, Lola-
Ray and Rocco for their distraction techniques. Thanks also to my mum for
paying for most of my MLitt which gave me the confidence to call myself a
proper writer.
I am also grateful to Professor Kirsty Gunn who was and is an amazing mentor
and friend. Anna Day, Eddie Small and Emily Dewhurst kept me going when I
was thinking of giving up and Jane Fulton, Jill Skulina and Rachel Waites who
read drafts at different stages and made me feel like I was writing something
worth reading. Thanks also to Bob McDevitt, agent extraordinaire, and to Moira
Forsyth at Sandstone who edited the book into shape.
Thursday the 16th of December
Just Before Tea Time
Dark and Damp
Laurie scanned and rescanned the endless rows of soup. This task was clearly
beyond her. Each can she picked up was heavier than the last and she had
difficulty finding its station on the shelf. The dietary information was baffling;
she kept losing her place in the column that showed the calories or saturated fat
content or whatever it was she was supposed to give a shit about. She eventually
tossed some low-fat, low-salt vegetable stuff into the basket, shrugging the
handle further up her arm.
She made her way towards Toiletries veering around an infuriated toddler. There
was a temporary stall set up at the end of the aisle. A small woman with a big
orangey mouth smeared a yellow substance on what appeared to be tiny squares
of lino. She was talking at everyone passing about how great the stuff was.
Laurie moved closer and joined the growing crowd of people keen to see this
new food stuff. It was some sort of spray-on cheese.
She knew that Ed would love this faux-food. Anything processed was ingenious
to him; the more nutritionally deficient the better. She smiled at Orange Mouth
and picked up a jar. Easy Cheese – No Cutting Required. She could picture Ed’s
delight at this new-fangled snack food. She imagined spreading it on Mother’s
Pride and handing it over to him with a fanfare. The jar clunked against the
counter as she dropped it back in place.
The shop was filling up. She uncovered her watch. 5.18.
She turned in to Toiletries. Again the array was bewildering. She grabbed an
apple shampoo and a coconut conditioner. Despite how shit she was feeling, she
wasn’t above smelling sweet.
There was something else she needed but nothing in her memory made itself
known. Moving along the crisp and biscuit sections, she willed herself to think
of the something else. She mentally walked around her tiny kitchen, peering in
cupboards seeing if anything came to her. Nothing – the trick didn’t work and
she knew that as soon as she put her key in the front door that the mystery item
would resurface. She ran through her constant shopping list: milk, bread, toilet
paper, cereal, butter …
She had wandered into a corral of pensioners. They bumped their trolleys against
the edges of shelves. They didn’t appear to know each other but were all dressed
similarly in pale biscuit-like colours. Did you reach a certain age and then felt
the need to dress in comfort food colours? They milled around her, clogging up
the aisle, getting in the way of everything. She felt like manhandling them out of
her way. As she stood, hemmed in by their chat and indecision, she felt the last
drop of patience drip out. Tutting loudly, she put her basket in the nearest
dawdler’s trolley and headed for the door.
The arcade that led to the bus stops was suffocated by Christmas decorations.
They were intricate and fierce, the colours mashing together behind the plate
glass. Laurie kept catching sight of the patterns blinking out of the corner of her
eye. She’d turn her head towards the movement, convinced someone was
motioning towards her. She really ought to get on with decorating the Christmas
tree. It was only, what, nine days until the big day? But what was the point?
Why bother getting lots of sparkly pointless tat and finding places to put it all?
Ed wouldn’t notice the tree anyway. He took these things for granted more and
more. And there was certainly no excitement in her for the event these days. It
was all just a hassle really.
A group of boys was clumped around one of the shelters. She had to pass
through their cigarette smoke to see the timetable. Her wrist goose-pimpled
when she pulled back her sleeve. 5.27 Almost time for Neighbours. At least the
TV would drown out the noise of Ed’s computer game.
The journey was slow. The bus negotiated the route to Queen Street in a stop-
start, sick-making fashion. When she arrived home she stood outside the block
and looked up at the flat. She could see Ed through the lace curtain his mother
had insisted on giving them. Laurie could only imagine this was a last-ditch
attempt at respectability. They may be living in sin but at least the view of them
at it was obscured.
‘‘Chance would be a fine thing,’’ she muttered, reaching into her hand bag for
her key. She raked around through all the bus tickets, sweet wrappers and scraps
of paper. Her bag was looking more and more like a bin. It was then, of course,
of paper. Her bag was looking more and more like a bin. It was then, of course,
she realised.
‘‘Fucking bin bags! Fuck! Fucking fuck!’’
She kicked the door closed behind her. Inevitably, it caught on the invisible rise
in the concrete floor, requiring her to turn back and push it home. She felt like
smashing the glass out. Why did nothing ever work properly around here?
She could hear the shooting before she reached the top landing. As bloody usual,
there was a pile of mail by the front door. Not even on the table, just toed out of
the way. She moved towards the green glow.
‘‘Hello.’’ She tried to sound cheery.
‘‘Check this. You can actually see his brains splatter.’’ Ed kept his eyes trained
on his opposing number’s death. ‘‘Did you get anything for tea?’’
‘‘No, the shop was closed. Power cut.’’
Her so-called boyfriend accepted this without even turning his head. His hand
reached out for the phone and he dialled without looking.
‘‘Yeah. Curry meal for two. Chicken Korma and Passanda. Peshwari naan.
MacDonald. Yeah, that’s the one. Cool.’’ He hung up.
‘‘You know, Ed, It might be nice to be asked occasionally what I might like.’’
He finally turned round to her.
‘‘Did you want something else?’’
‘‘No. But it might have been nice for you to ask.’’
A look of confusion passed briefly across his face. Then he swivelled back to the
screen.
Laurie walked out of the room and went into the bathroom. She sat down on the
toilet and tried to cry. Nothing happened. She stood up and looked into the
mirror and gave herself a severe look. Something had to be done. Whatever
looks she had were sure to go soon. She was pale and grimy looking. She
probably needed to get her hair cut and try some new make up. But what for?
probably needed to get her hair cut and try some new make up. But what for?
Things were definitely going tits up here. There was only so long she could put
up with take-aways and being ignored. When she was younger she’d envisioned
a different relationship. Even when imagining an unhappy relationship, she’d
pictured a Bastard. A thumper or a philanderer. Not this boring nothingness.
She’d almost put up with a bit of domestic abuse just to relieve the monotony.
The door bell rang. Laurie dragged herself up and answered the door.
‘‘Awright. Delivery for ya.’’ The guy was about seventeen. He had the
ubiquitous fauxhawk and an eyebrow piercing. He wasn’t her usual type, but he
was good looking. He raised his eyebrows at her. She realised she’d been
staring.
‘‘How much?’’
‘‘Twelve fifty.’’
She ducked in for her purse. Twelve fifty, plus tip, of course. It wasn’t enough
that she’d already be paying the best part of two quid for delivery, she also had
to pay the delivery guy. For what? Driving a mile and climbing a flight of stairs.
‘‘Here.’’ She handed over the money, almost everything she had in there. It was
mostly pound coins – the least she could do was weigh him down a bit.
‘‘Listen, can I get a lift off you?’’
‘‘Yeah, whatever.’’ He shrugged and turned to go back down the stairs. ‘‘I’ve
got to go back to the shop anyways.’’
She put the bag with the curry round the corner into the hall. Ed still hadn’t
shifted. He’d stay there all night without even looking her way, shovelling his
curry in, then some sweets and several cups of tea.
She reached into the bag, took the naan and followed the delivery guy down the
tenement stairs.
The delivery car was a dressed up black and yellow Punto. There were lights
under the wheel arches and a good deal of chrome. She climbed into the
passenger seat and pulled the racing seat belt around herself.
‘‘Where you goin’?’’ the driver’s accent was that strange Pakistani-Scottish