1
Even the railings are a game, swinging to and fro, pushing away, pulling back, a separate sound for each repetition, a riff rising and falling, his own song singing out. The rhythm is taking him over, his shoulders swaying and bobbing, his head thrown back, lost in the dance.
Reggie is named for his grandfather or his grandfather’s grandfather, a name that has travelled down the years, gifted on. Reggie Wood, ten years old, waiting for his Nan.
Reggie closes his eyes, his music and dance needing concentration. ‘Where’s the man who done it, done it, done it,’ not loud as he searches for the words to fit the rhythm. Or is it the other way round? ‘Where’s the knife that done it, done it, find that knife, find that man to find my dad,’ his eyes shooting open in recognition of where those two lines are leading. He’ll have to start again.
The face stares at him like she always does. Nan says it’s only a doll but he isn’t convinced. He glares back.
The doll looks out contemplating the day, the traffic of people passing below. A face dominating a window, hair bobbed and curled, a soft auburn when the sun casts a brief glance across that side of the building. The blue eyes, round and wide set, the cheeks dimpled and blushed, with brows raised in surprise or disdain, are as real as any human face, a showstopper. The giveaway, which fools the few who cast an eye upwards to view the second floor of the block of flats, is its static pose.
Nan lives on the other side of the precinct, her living room window the doll’s counterpart in the opposite apartments owned by a Housing Association. Neither are beautiful buildings but fulfilling a need for social housing and, despite their age, some fifty years or more, they are a home. Shirley Wood, is an assured tenant of six months standing. ‘As secure as I’ve ever been,’ she confesses to her daughter. A one bedroom flat where she kips on the sofa when Reggie comes for a sleepover if his mum wants a night out.
Sonia, one of the commuters coming from or going to the station, notices this solo performance in their midst, smiles at the boy. She can’t catch the words or make out a tune but his attitude sparks her attention, carefree, his face turned up to something above him as if a young Romeo pleading with or praising someone in the upper floors of one of the blocks of flats. She looks up at the discoloured pebble dash, the flat uniformity of windows to see what attracts him and there is the face staring out. Startlingly pretty at first glance, the head of the person appearing above the windowsill. Sonia can’t resist saying, ‘Is that your girlfriend?’
Reggie doesn’t hear what she said, only sees that she’s stopped and is standing in front of him. She wears a mask, pink satin with roses on which is odd as no one, well nearly no one, wears them any more, the lockdown over. It’s a nuisance being interrupted but he doesn’t know if she is telling him off. ‘Sorry, what you say?’ and he climbs off the railings, though he can’t see that’s wrong, the bottom bar being only a few inches up from the paving and made of solid iron.
Her eyes are twinkly though and Reggie can see that she’s happy as if wanting to join in his song. Except that isn’t happy, it’s serious rap. ’Up there,’ she’s pointing, ‘I was thinking you were serenading someone you love.’ She gives a little laugh to cover what she knows was a peculiar thing to say to a young boy. ‘Sorry, you don’t need to stop. What’s the song?’
Is she making fun of him? That’s what grown ups do, make fun or tell you off, except for his teacher, Miss Tier, and Mum most of the time, and Nan some of the time. ‘It’s a rap about a killing,’ he says looking at her straight. Always better to tell the truth.
‘Oh! I thought it was a love song,’ and again that little laugh. ‘How silly!’
He shrugs, ‘How were you to know. I’ve only just started.’
‘I see,’ and she takes off her mask to smile at him properly. ‘I saw you looking up at that window, the person looking out.’ And she indicates up to where the doll appears as if a real person. ‘Is that someone you know?’
‘Nah!’ And it’s he who giggles, ‘it’s a doll! A doll’s head!’ It feels cool telling her that but he doesn’t want to seem like a know-all. ‘It’s weird, isn’t it? I used to think it was somebody but my Nan says it can’t be ‘cos it never moves.’
She comes closer to stand beside him. ‘You’d never know from a first glance.’
It’s just the two of them in the precinct. Two small figures, heads focused two storeys up.
‘Well, that is quite spooky. Are you sure,?’ Sonia looks back at the boy who doesn’t seem spooked at all.
‘Yeah, but I’m used to it.’ And he climbs back onto the railings.
The railings surround a patch of earth that once protected a tree, a sapling which could never have survived the lack of attention from the council, nor the random attention of the lads on a Saturday night spree climbing onto the protective barrier to swing off the branches, tearing them from its fragile trunk. The challenge of railings is obviously irresistible to vandals, as well as a place for a boy to stand and sing while waiting for his Nan to come back from work.
Nan does shift work at the big store down the mall that sells everything from a pack of screws, any size, to cosmetics, babies’ nappies and everything in between. ‘You’ve got to keep your wits about you, know where they’ve shifted stuff,’ she boasts to her friends at the Knit and Natter or in this case her daughter. ‘One minute it’s cleaning products by the back tills, then overnight a load of bird food. I mean …’ but her audience has heard it too many times to bother listening. Reggie looks at his mum who’s forefinger is intent on flashing through the latest Facebook offerings, the red enamel nail tapping on the screen like some exotic bird’s beak. Her mouth purses so that her lips disappear which means she’s gone somewhere else, lost to him and Nan. He doesn’t mind ‘cos she usually comes back to him with a, ‘What did you say, sweetheart?’ her eyes looking straight at him, golden brown like the pale ale Nan used to drink, Nan, who doesn’t seem to expect anyone to listen to her.
This is my latest piece of work. I’d be interested to know what people think of this chapter. Leave me a comment below as to whether you want to read more. And whether I should I publish as an eBook.