Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit

  ‘I’m your mother,’ she said very quietly. ‘She was a carrying case.’

  ‘I wanted to see her.’

  ‘She’s gone and she’ll never come back.’ My mother turned away and locked herself in the kitchen. I couldn’t think and I couldn’t breathe so I started to run. I ran up the long stretchy street with the town at the bottom and the hill at the top. It was Easter time and the cross on the hill loomed big and black. ‘Why didn’t you tell me,’ I screamed at the painted wood, and I beat the wood with my hands until my hands dropped away by themselves. When I looked out over the town, nothing had changed. Tiny figures moved up and down and the mill chimneys puffed out their usual serene smoke signals. On Ellison’s Tenement they had started to run the fair. How could it be? I had rather gaze on a new ice age than these familiar things.

  When I finally went home that day, my mother was watching television. She never spoke of what had happened and neither did I.

  Knowing Melanie was a much happier thing, so why was I beginning to feel so uncomfortable? And why did I not always tell my mother where I stayed at night? It was usual for our church to spend time, days and nights, in each other’s homes. Until Elsie got sick I stayed with her a lot, and I think she knew where I was, on the nights I didn’t arrive. Melanie and I stayed there together sometimes, long sleepless nights till the light filled the window and Elsie fetched us coffee.

  ‘Whatever do you talk about?’ she scolded, as we yawned and fumbled our way through breakfast. ‘Still, I was the same.’

  Now that Elsie was in hospital we had to be more careful. She stayed at my house once, and my mother very carefully made up the camp bed in my room.

  ‘We don’t need it,’ I told her.

  ‘Yes you do,’ she told me.

  Early in the morning, about two a.m., when the World Service closed down, we heard her come slowly up the stairs to bed. I had learned to move quickly. She stood by my door for a few moments, then suddenly pushed it open. I could just see the braid at the bottom of her dressing gown. Nobody moved and then she was gone. She kept her light on all night. Soon afterwards I decided to tell her how I felt. I explained how much I wanted to be with Melanie, that I could talk to her, that I needed that kind of friend. And…. And…. But I never managed to talk about and…. My mother had been very quiet, nodding her head from time to time, so that I thought she understood some of it. When I finished I gave her a little kiss, which I think surprised her a bit; we never usually touched except in anger. ‘Go to bed now,’ she said, picking up her Bible.

  Since that time we had hardly spoken. She seemed caught up in something, and I had my own worries. Today, for the first time, she was her old self, busy, and obviously wanting company, if Mrs White was around. I wanted to know what had happened to cheer her up, so I set off down the hill again with our dog circling behind.

  ‘Hello,’ I shouted, wiping my feet on the mat. The house was quite still. She had been there recently because the coffee table in the parlour now had her Bible and Promise Box on it. She’d taken a promise out too. I looked at the rolled-up bit of paper. ‘The Lord is your strength and shield.’ Mrs White’s coat had gone, but she’d left her dishcloth on the chair. I took it into the kitchen. There was a note on the cupboard. ‘Gone to stay at Mrs White’s. Come to church in the morning.’

  Now my mother never stayed in other people’s houses except when she went to Wigan on her business. It suited me though; I could go and stay with Melanie. So I fed our dog, had a wash and set off. As usual, when I had no money for the bus, I walked the couple of miles through the cemetery and round the back of the power station.

  Melanie was doing the gardening.

  ‘What’s your mum planning tonight?’ I asked her.

  ‘She’s going to the club, then staying with Auntie Irene.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ I went on, pulling up a few weeds.

  She smiled at me with those lovely cat-grey eyes and tugged at her rubber gloves.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on for a hot water bottle.’

  We talked a lot that night about our plans. Melanie really did want to be a missionary, even though it was my destiny.

  ‘Why don’t you like the idea?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘I don’t like hot places, that’s all, I got sunstroke in Paignton last year.’

  We were quiet, and I traced the outline of her marvellous bones and the triangle of muscle in her stomach. What is it about intimacy that makes it so very disturbing?

  Over breakfast the next morning she told me she intended to go to university to read theology. I didn’t think it was a good thing on account of modern heresies. She thought she should understand how other people saw the world.

  ‘But you know they’re wrong,’ I insisted.

  ‘Yes, but it might be interesting, come on, we’ll be late for church. You’re not preaching are you?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I was supposed to, but they changed it.’

  We bustled through the kitchen and I stood on the stairs to kiss her.

  ‘I love you almost as much as I love the Lord,’ I laughed.

  She looked at me, and her eyes clouded for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  By the time we got to church, the first hymn was under way. My mother glared at me, and I tried to look sorry. We had slid in next to Miss Jewsbury who told me to keep calm.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I whispered.

  ‘Come and talk to me afterwards,’ she hissed, ‘but not till we’re out of sight.’

  I decided she had gone mad. The church was very full as usual, and every time I caught someone’s eye they smiled or nodded. It made me happy. There was nowhere I’d rather be. When the hymn was over I squeezed a bit closer to Melanie and tried to concentrate on the Lord. ‘Still,’ I thought, ‘Melanie is a gift from the Lord, and it would be ungrateful not to appreciate her.’ I was still deep in these contemplations when I realized that something disturbing was happening. The church had gone very quiet and the pastor was standing on his lower platform, with my mother next to him. She was weeping. I felt a searing pain against my knuckles; it was Melanie’s ring. Then Miss Jewsbury was urging me to my feet saying, ‘Keep calm, keep calm,’ and I walking out to the front with Melanie. I shot a glance at her. She was pale.

  ‘These children of God,’ began the pastor, ‘have fallen under Satan’s spell.’

  His hand was hot and heavy on my neck. Everyone in the congregation looked like a waxwork.

  ‘These children of God have fallen foul of their lusts.’

  ‘Just a minute … ,’ I began, but he took no notice.

  ‘These children are full of demons.’

  A cry of horror ran through the church.

  ‘I’m not,’ I shouted, ‘and neither is she.’

  ‘Listen to Satan’s voice,’ said the pastor to the church, pointing at me. ‘How are the best become the worst.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, desperate.

  ‘Do you deny you love this woman with a love reserved for man and wife?’

  ‘No, yes, I mean of course I love her.’

  ‘I will read you the words of St Paul,’ announced the pastor, and he did, and many more words besides about unnatural passions and the mark of the demon.

  ‘To the pure all things are pure,’ I yelled at him. ‘It’s you not us.’

  He turned to Melanie.

  ‘Do you promise to give up this sin and beg the Lord to forgive you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was trembling uncontrollably. I hardly heard what she said.

  ‘Then go into the vestry with Mrs White and the elders will come and pray for you. It’s not too late for those who truly repent.’

  He turned to me.

  ‘I love her.’

  ‘Then you do not love the Lord.’

  ‘Yes, I love both of them.’

  ‘You cannot.’

  ‘I do, I do, let me go.’ But he caught my arm and held me fast.


  ‘The church will not see you suffer, go home and wait for us to help you.’

  I ran out on to the street, wild with distress. Miss Jewsbury was waiting for me.

  ‘Come on,’ she said briskly, ‘let’s go and get some coffee and decide what you’re going to do.’ I went along with her, not thinking of anything but Melanie and her loveliness.

  When we reached Miss Jewsbury’s house, she banged the kettle on to the gas ring, and pushed me by the fire. My teeth were chattering and I couldn’t talk.

  ‘I’ve known you for years and you were always headstrong, why haven’t you been a bit more careful?’

  I just stared into the fire.

  ‘No one need ever have found out if you hadn’t tried to explain to that mother of yours.’

  ‘She’s all right,’ I murmured mechanically.

  ‘She’s mad,’ replied Miss Jewsbury very certainly.

  ‘I didn’t tell her everything.’

  ‘She’s a woman of the world, even though she’d never admit it to me. She knows about feelings, especially women’s feelings.’

  This wasn’t something I wanted to go into.

  ‘Who told you what was going on?’ I asked abruptly.

  ‘Elsie,’ she said.

  ‘Elsie?’ This was too much.

  ‘She tried to protect you, and when she got ill that last time, she told me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s my problem too.’

  At that moment I thought the demon would come and carry me off. I felt dizzy.

  What on earth was she talking about? Melanie and I were special.

  ‘Drink this.’ She gave me a glass. ‘It’s brandy.’

  ‘I think I’ll have to lie down,’ I said feebly.

  I don’t know how long I slept, the curtains were drawn, and my shoulders felt very heavy. At first I couldn’t remember why my head hurt, then as the panic in my stomach got clearer I started to go over the morning’s events.

  Miss Jewsbury came in.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Not much,’ I sighed.

  ‘Perhaps this will help.’ And she began to stroke my head and shoulders. I turned over so that she could reach my back. Her hand crept lower and lower. She bent over me; I could feel her breath on my neck. Quite suddenly I turned and kissed her. We made love and I hated it and hated it, but would not stop.

  It was morning when I crept home. I had a plan to go straight off to school hoping no one would notice. I expected my mother to be in bed. I was wrong. There was a strong smell of coffee and voices coming from the parlour. As I tiptoed past, I realized they were having a prayer meeting. I got my things ready and was all packed up to leave. On the way out they caught me.

  ‘Jeanette,’ cried one of the elders, dragging me into the parlour. ‘Our prayers have been answered.’

  ‘Where did you stay last night?’ asked my mother sulkily.

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘That Miss Jewsbury’s I’ll bet.’

  ‘Oh, she’s not holy,’ piped up Mrs White.

  ‘No,’ I told them all, ‘not there.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ urged the pastor. ‘She’s here now, and it’s not too late.’

  ‘I’ve got to go to school.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all,’ the pastor smiled. ‘Come and sit down.’

  My mother absently passed me a plate of biscuits. It was 8.30 a.m.

  It was 10 p.m. that same night before the elders went home. They had spent the day praying over me, laying hands on me, urging me to repent my sins before the Lord. ‘Renounce her, renounce her,’ the pastor kept saying, ‘it’s only the demon.’

  My mother made cups of tea and forgot to wash the dirty ones. The parlour was full of cups. Mrs White sat on one and cut herself, someone else spilt theirs, but they didn’t stop. I still couldn’t think, could only see Melanie’s face and Melanie’s body, and every so often the outline of Miss Jewsbury bending over me.

  At 10 p.m. the pastor heaved a great sigh and offered me one last chance.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘We’ll come back the day after tomorrow,’ he confided to my mother. ‘Meantime, don’t let her out of this room, and don’t feed her. She needs to lose her strength before it can be hers again.’

  My mother nodded, nodded, nodded and locked me in. She did give me a blanket, but she took away the light bulb. Over the thirty-six hours that followed, I thought about the demon and some other things besides.

  I knew that demons entered wherever there was a weak point. If I had a demon my weak point was Melanie, but she was beautiful and good and had loved me.

  Can love really belong to the demon?

  What sort of demon? The brown demon that rattles the ear? The red demon that dances the hornpipe? The watery demon that causes sickness? The orange demon that beguiles? Everyone has a demon like cats have fleas.

  ‘They’re looking in the wrong place,’ I thought. ‘If they want to get at my demon they’ll have to get at me.’

  I thought about William Blake.

  ‘If I let them take away my demons, I’ll have to give up what I’ve found.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said a voice at my elbow.

  Leaning on the coffee table was the orange demon.

  ‘I’ve gone mad,’ I thought.

  ‘That may well be so,’ agreed the demon evenly. ‘So make the most of it.’

  I flopped heavily against the settee. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to help you decide what you want.’ And the creature hopped up on to the mantelpiece and sat on Pastor Spratt’s brass crocodile.

  ‘Everyone has a demon as you so rightly observed,’ the thing began, ‘but not everyone knows this, and not everyone knows how to make use of it.’

  ‘Demons are evil, aren’t they?’ I asked, worried.

  ‘Not quite, they’re just different, and difficult. You know what auras are?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, the demon you get depends on the colour of your aura, yours is orange which is why you’ve got me. Your mother’s is brown, which is why she’s so odd, and Mrs White’s is hardly a demon at all. We’re here to keep you in one piece, if you ignore us, you’re quite likely to end up in two pieces, or lots of pieces, it’s all part of the paradox.’

  ‘But in the Bible you keep getting driven out.’

  ‘Don’t believe all you read.’

  I started to feel ill again, so I took off my socks and pushed my toes into my mouth for comfort. They tasted of digestive biscuits. After that I went to the window and burst a few of the geranium buds to hear the pop. When I sat down the demon was glowing very bright and polishing the crocodile with its handkerchief.

  ‘What sex are you?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter does it? After all that’s your problem.’

  ‘If I keep you, what will happen?’

  ‘You’ll have a difficult, different time.’

  ‘Is it worth it?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘Will I keep Melanie?’

  But the demon had vanished.

  When the pastor and the elders came back, I was calm, cheerful, and ready to accept.

  ‘I’ll repent,’ I said, as soon as they came in the parlour. The pastor seemed surprised.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure.’ I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible; besides, I hadn’t eaten for two days. All the elders knelt down to pray, and I knelt down beside them. One of them began to speak in tongues, and it was then I felt a prickle at the back of my neck.

  ‘Go away,’ I hissed. ‘They’ll see you.’ I opened an eye to check.

  ‘Not them,’ replied the demon, ‘they talk a lot but they don’t see nothing.’

  ‘I’m not getting rid of you, this is the best way I can think of.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine,’ trilled the demon, ‘I was just passing.’

  By this time all the
elders were singing What a Friend We Have in Jesus so I thought it wise to join in. It was all over very quickly really, and my mother had put a joint in the oven.

  ‘I hope you’ll testify on Sunday,’ said the pastor, hugging me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, squashed. ‘What will Melanie do?’

  ‘She’s gone away for a while,’ Mrs White put in. ‘To recover. You’ll see how much better she is in a few weeks.’

  ’Where’s she gone?’ I demanded.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ the pastor soothed. ‘She’ll be safe with the Lord.’

  As soon as they had all left I went straight round to Miss Jewsbury’s.

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  She opened the door wide. ‘I’ll tell you in a little while.’

  Melanie was staying with relatives in Halifax. I told my mother I had to spend the night in the church. She seemed to understand, and so I made Miss Jewsbury drive me the twenty-five miles across to where I needed to be.

  ‘You’ll pick up at at 7 a.m.?’

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  ‘You know I have to see her, make sure I’m safe.’

  As soon as it grew shadowy I rang the door bell.

  ‘Is Melanie here?’ I asked the woman. ‘I’m her friend from school.’

  ‘Yes, come in.’

  ‘No, I won’t thanks, I’ll just give her a message, if she’ll come out.’ Melanie came to the door. When she saw me she tried to shut it.

  ‘I’ve got to talk to you,’ I begged. ‘Go upstairs in about half an hour, I’ll go up now and wait for you.’ She nodded, and let me slip past. I heard her say goodbye very loudly and shut the door. No one seemed to think anything of it.

  It was a crisis and once again I fell asleep.

  In front of me was a great stone arena, crumbling in places, but still visibly round. At the far end, truckloads of men and women were being emptied out on to the grass; most were mutilated, all had numbers round their necks, and I heard a guard say, ‘This is your new address.’ The prisoners were very quiet and marched without resistance towards a massive stone turret. In the turret were little nooks with numbers that corresponded to the numbers around the prisoners’ necks. In the middle of the turret an iron stairway spiralled up and up; I started to climb, along with many others, but each time we passed one of the nooks, its inmate tried to push us off. I was the only person left when the stairway stopped in front of a glass door. The letters on the door spelt BOOKSHOP: OPEN. I went inside, there was a woman at the counter, a number of buyers and browsers, and a team of young women translating Beowulf.