Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes)

He alone knows what happened to me that night in that hotel room.

Four

SNOW

He gets out of bed and, standing over me, regards my naked, trembling body. What he is thinking I don’t know, but with a sigh he walks away after a while, and comes back with a cream blanket. He covers me with it and, moving to the other side of the bed, props himself up on three pillows and lights a cigarette.

We don’t talk while he smokes.

Under the blanket my body gradually warms. I start to feel safe and peaceful again. We have a strange relationship, Lenny and I. But then again I don’t know what normal is. My parents had a strange love–hate relationship too. My father loved my mother and she despised him. I don’t despise Lenny. I … am grateful to him. I don’t think of the future. Lenny is forty-two. When he found me I was nineteen. I am now twenty.

He kills the cigarette and turns to me. ‘You all right?’

‘Yeah,’ I say softly.

‘Want me to stay the night?’

‘No,’ I mumble.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow, OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Do you need any money?’

‘No.’

He reaches for his pants and takes a wad of notes out and puts it on the bedside cabinet. ‘Here. Go buy yourself something nice to wear tomorrow.’

I don’t say anything, not even thank you.

He vaults out of the bed, gets dressed quickly, then comes over to my curled body. He kisses my hair. ‘I’ll see myself out. Goodnight, Snow.’

‘Goodnight, Lenny,’ I whisper.

After the door closes behind him I stay still a few minutes longer. My limbs feel heavy and lethargic, but I know from experience that sleep will never come while I have that dirty, sticky feeling between my legs. I force myself to my feet and into the bathroom. I run the shower and stand under the warm cascade.

Water is good. Water cleans.

I shampoo my hair even though I washed it earlier in the evening, and soap every inch of my body. I realize that I am sadder tonight than usual. Is it the loss of Saumur? Or is it the loss of Shane? I let the water wash away the sadness bleeding out. I only have to do what has proven to work for a year now. Just hold on for tonight. It is always better in the morning light. I have come so far.

I can be like the reindeer moss. Its patience is legendary. Its survival skills are second to none. You can keep it in the dark, freeze it, dry it to a crisp, but it won’t give up and die. It simply lies dormant waiting for better conditions. That day will come when conditions will improve for me. Until then I will wait patiently.

By the time I switch off the shower and get out, my fingers are so wrinkled they are like little prunes. I dry myself quickly and, wrapping another towel around my head, I dress in striped pink and yellow cotton pajamas.

I hook up the hair dryer and direct it at my hair before I pad barefoot through my darkened living room. I see my purse lying exactly where I left it. I open it and take out the phone Lenny gave me. It is exactly the same as the one I handed over to him, but when I switch it on it has only one number keyed into it. His.

I feel that strange sense of hopelessness and anxiety try to seep into my body again. But before the feeling can swamp me I put on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and return to my bedroom. I find, screw back the cap of the lubricant and put it away. Using a tissue I pick up the used condom and flush it down the toilet.

Then I go back into the bedroom and sweep the wad of money into the drawer. I shut it with a click, straighten and look around the spotless room. I can still smell the stench of our coupling and Lenny’s cigarette. After cleaning out the ashtrays and returning them to their proper places I open some windows.

Cool night air blows in as I stand at the window and look out at the night scene below. A foraging fox trots along the wall that separates my building from the next. It is carrying something in its mouth, probably from the rubbish bins. The woman living in the ground floor flat is always complaining about foxes getting into her bins and the foul smell of the excrement they leave behind.

As if it has felt my gaze, it suddenly turns and looks at me. Its eyes are shining brightly, and I am suddenly struck by its wild beauty. It lives and dies in dirt, but it is full of intelligence and the joy of its own creation. It doesn’t compare its existence with other creatures, bemoan its foxiness, or try to be like another. It is simply content to be a fox. It is free.

That is more than I am.

I watch it until it disappears then I turn away and look at my alarm clock. It is nearly four in the morning. I should really get some sleep.