Taking refuge in the loo

TAKING REFUGE IN THE LOO

There is no other word for Alice except dark. Alice is dark, her hair is wild and her eyes are wild, and here in the pub toilets in her black coat against the bright white fittings she looks darker than ever. Moments ago Alice fled from a conversation with Spectacula, or rather a harangue, Spectacula is a bullying, generalising extrovert all specs, shallow and mistaken smartness and red lipstick. As Cathy, drink in hand, comes in and closes the door behind her to shut herself in with Alice, Alice begs frantically:

Alice: “Keep her away from me – don't let Spectacula near me!”

Cathy: “It's okay, she isn't coming in here, she's got to good an audience out there and she's enjoying talking shop with Bill. Hey, come on, what's she said now?”

Alice accepts a cigarette as she marshals her thoughts:

Alice: “Her and those death ray specs of hers! Spectacula knows I'm ill and she asked how I was and I told her, dark. But she didn't listen to what I said, she'd already caught a name from another conversation, all her attention had swerved to that instead. Whoever this person under discussion was, Spectacula simply had to interrupt and declare loudly that the only way you could account for his behaviour was that he was heading for a nervous breakdown! And she laughed as if it was hilariously funny to joke about mental illness and insult people that way, she rolled her sip of drink expressively behind that scarlet wrinkly lipstick and pulled a ga-ga face! Madness is hilarious, it is other, it is driven beyond the firelight and the protective fence, judged as nothing and annihilated in the outer darkness! And saying things like that drives me into the outer darkness, how else am I supposed to take it? I think Spectacula senses weakness in me and that's why she does it!”

Cathy: “Spectacula does it to everyone – not just you – she's shallow-smart and a terrible bully, she has the same effect on me when she asks after my Raku sculpture then doesn't listen to my reply. I just think, sod you then!”

Alice: “She doesn't listen to you either? She annihilates you as well as me, with one flash of her death ray specs?”

There's a manic gleam as well as a sparkle of humour in Alice's eyes, suddenly she's seeing herself and Cathy as allies, Cathy grins in response:

Cathy: “Hey, did Bill tell you about the student she was counselling before she retired? Apparently Bill was in the college office when he heard pounding feet in the corridor outside, this girl burst in and implored Bill to hide her and not to tell Spectacula where she was. He nodded at the desk and she crouched down into the gap for your legs and feet, he moved his chair with his coat hanging on it to hide her, and then Spectacula charges through the door looking fierce, and, somewhat out of breath, demands, have you see so and so? One minute I'm counselling her, the next she's run away! I can't find her anywhere!

Alice giggles involuntarily, she catches Cathy's eye and that makes her worse, both roar with laughter:

Alice: “Oh God! I know just how that student felt! And here am I just as scared she'll burst in here!”

Cathy: “Don't make me laugh it hurts my chest! Death ray specs! No, I mean I can see we're both almost paranoid but the effect sums up Spectacula very well! At least we can see the funny side, and have a laugh! Like when I was little, I believed there were wolves under the bed, seriously, my Dad had to check every night when he tucked me in. It's just as human to say death ray specs, oh God and one night my Dad was out at a meeting and I wet the bed rather than leave it for my potty and get eaten by wolves! I believed it, I was terrified with no-one to reassure me by talking me out of my terror. It's amazing how kids think, how adults think, that student was eighteen and an adult! Say something to stop me laughing, it's just so terribly silly we're actually hiding in here!”

Alice: “Do you still get scared of things and get in muddles?”

Cathy: “Oh God yes! I was blackberrying in the autumn on my own, and I managed to convince myself there was a rapist out there, someone prowling up behind me thinking Aha! A Cathy all by herself she's easy prey! It was really stupid but you know how we think, especially if you can't have a chat and laugh yourself out of it. Of course, that was when Martha was standing me up every time we were supposed to meet so I already felt got at, my fears out in the open were a natural corollary.”

Cathy takes off her specs to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. Alice's distress and flight into the toilets with Cathy has turned Spectacula's vulgar and hurtful, bullying abuse into an excuse for an impromptu party. But Cathy can see it is through words that Alice is wounded, it was Spectacula's quick glib remarks that did the damage. Moreover, another thing strikes her, Alice seems to use words like dark in a special way, Cathy is reminded of a small child with a new word, using it at every opportunity with delighted power. Alice accepts another cigarette, Cathy wields her lighter, pushed her specs back on and decides to investigate further. Both are relaxed, and surprisingly on the same wavelength, which doesn't happen often with Alice and other people.

Cathy: “Tell me about dark, what you mean when you say dark, you used the word replying to Spectacula?”

Alice turns her eyes on Cathy in wonder, draws on her cigarette and explains as best she can:

Alice: “Dark is a beautiful word, it says what it is in itself, magically, if you like. To me dark is a feminine word, it means wounded, it means a blackness needing comfort, needing the attention of a steady light.”

Cathy: “Ah, you associate dark with your own sense of injury and need of help?”

Alice looks wary as Cathy pounces on her explanation and sees it only in personal terms, that wasn't what Alice meant, she meant the figurative music of the word dark. Cathy spots this withdrawal instantly, Alice is still very vulnerable.

Cathy: “It's okay – it's okay, you put yourself on the line when you say dark? You open yourself to the pain of being misunderstood?”

Alice stares wildy at the row of doors, the basins and bright chrome taps, the machines on the wall for chocolate flavoured condoms and sanitary towels. She is in pain because she is being misunderstood, and she hates glib personal explanations for everything, but she isn't strong enough or forceful enough to stand up to Cathy and explain what she means. Cathy touches her hand in sudden sympathy:

Cathy: “I still don't get you, what you mean by dark and you've no self confidence so you expect the worst, and that puts you at a permanent disadvantage?”

This probing is horribly painful, the sense of her explanation having been inadequate tortures Alice and still Cathy watches her expectantly. Alice tries a different tack:

Alice: “If I'm misjudged, and my explanations ignored or taken personally, I'm not there any more. I don't exist full stop, reality belongs to other people never to me. It's not a personal thing, all words have music, colour and texture, that's a me thing not an ill thing!”

Cathy is still puzzled, she tries again:

Cathy: “You don't like being in the spotlight? What do you mean by words having music and colour?”

Alice is hating this but owes it to Cathy to make another effort:

Alice: “Words like excitement, or abacus, have so many vowels like jewels, some words have startling warmth and solidity, some are spiky or prickly, and leave your skin driven full of splinters and dark with blood. Sylvia Plath uses words like that, like “A flying hedgehog, all prickles” in her bee poem, she feels words and, well, sometimes I think I can feel words too, but not because I'm ill, there's more to me than schizophrenia, I think and feel as well.”

Cathy: “Plath's a favourite of Spectacula's, did you know?”

Alice: “No, no! That woman's like Dracula, even her name's spelt similarly and she sucks the blood of goodness out of everything and spoils it for others!”

Alice is distressed, Cathy thinks rapidly and a happy idea occurs to her:

Cathy: “Hey, just think, if Sylvia Plath was alive today she'd probably feel just as we do about Spectacula, she'd loathe her!”

Alice: “You reckon?”

Cathy: “Of course! If Plath was alive tonight, she'd be drinking with us in the toilets!”

Cathy grins at the thought, lifts her glass in a silent toast, drains it and sets it neatly on the ledge beneath the big mirror. Time is being rung beyond the toilet door, Cathy decides she'll slip out and fetch her coat then dodge Alice behind the pillar between Spectacula's table and the door to the Ladies. Cathy outlines her plan, Alice agrees and they carry it out, sneaking back into the darkened pub like sisters or conspirators.