Electricity

Ray Robinson

• Publisher: Black Cat
• Year: 2007
• Print ISBN: 9780802170354
• eBook ISBN: 9780802199126
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

This novel of a thirty-year-old epileptic woman and her estranged family is "mesmerizing... and unexpectedly tender" (Jim Crace, author of Harvest ). Lily O'Connor lives with epilepsy, uncontrollable surges of electricity that leave her in a constant state of edginess. Prickly and practical, she's learned to make do, to make the most of things, to look after—and out for—herself. Then her mother—whom Lily has not seen for years—dies, and Lily is drawn back into a world she thought she'd long since left behind. Reunited with her brother, a charismatic poker player, Lily pursues her own high-stakes gamble, leaving for London to track down her other, missing brother Mikey. In the pandemonium of the city, Lily's seizures only intensify. As her journey takes her from her comfort zone, it leads her into the question of what her life is meant to be. "A wry, ingenuous, hugely compassionate heroine." — The Guardian "A gritty tour of both London and the wrecked neurological pathways of epileptic Lily O'Connor. With equal parts hip misanthropy and sweet, clean-hearted sentiment, Ray Robinson convincingly channels the voice of a woman at war with the material world, for whom language itself arrives as a jarring shock to the brain." —Jonathan Raymond, author of The Half-Life

1

Mel sat down at the kitchen table and sighed and rubbed her face.

I went over to the side and lifted the kettle off its stand. I sloshed the little bit of water around in the bottom and thought: that’s just how I feel, like there’s nothing left inside me, just this little slosh in my guts and the rest of me is empty.

But that wasn’t so true. My breasts ached – they still do. They feel enormous and I’ve got a cramp in my gut and I need to piss all the frigging time, and at four o’clock every day, I puke. They said it was completely normal. To be expected. The skin around my nipples is going so dark, purple almost, and there are these flecks of blood that keep appearing in my knickers. The baby burrowing itself into me.

Don’t worry, they said. Your body’s changing.

I went over to the sink and took the lid off the kettle. I ran water inside and I was talking over the sound it made. For some reason, I’m telling Mel about wishing I had photos of her, of me as a bairn. I carried the heavy kettle back over to the side and clunked it down on its stand.

— Photos of me crawling, having my nappy changed, first tooth, missing teeth, on the beach in summer, you know. Me and Mikey. My big brother looking after me, looking out for me.

I closed my eyes and imagined the photos in my hand, me looking at them, and I’m wondering would I know her, that girl?

I flicked the switch and turned to look at Mel.

— I wanted him to look at me. To love me and not her. Love just me.

She closed her eyes.

— We were in love and Mam knew it. She’s lying on the settee and she’s pretending not to hear. Watching the telly, pretending to be asleep. He’s touching me and I’m laughing. He’s touching me and I love it.

Mel said fuck under her breath. Her hair curtained her face.

— And I’ve always wondered, what I’d’ve been like if I wasn’t her kid. If she’d wanted me. If she hadn’t thrown me down the stairs and I never had my fits. If fucking if.

— You were abused, Lil. By both of them.

She got up and went into the corridor. I heard the toilet door go and I saw a quick flash of Dave, cowered and handcuffed in the back of the police van. I shouted in my head: MAKE HIM INVISIBLE.

I leaned back against the side and my hand went to my stomach, fingers stroking. It felt tight. I wasn’t imagining it. Sometimes it burns inside and the burn is so heavy it’s like hot metal. Dave’s gone and I’m on my own again. But of course rubbing myself like that, I knew I wasn’t.

He was still inside me. He’s still inside.

The kettle hissed to the boil, rattling and popping on its stand. She came back in and gave me the smallest of smiles. She looked at my hand on my stomach and I pulled it away. The kettle clicked and steamed. I wanted to put my hand on it, to feel the scald, to feel something that isn’t this fucking numbness inside. I asked her to get the laptop running

and here’s the breath

here’s the breeze

here’s the shimmer

I grabbed onto the side, fingernails scratch-scratching the wood.

— Sorry?

She looked at me and we smiled and the bolt, it snapped my hand away like fire and the planet tilted, burnt wind blowing around inside me, skin suck-sucking the dust in and her face was a blank, trying to see what made my hand just do that, leaning over. I turned around, reached into the cupboard and pulled two cups out. I clanked them on the side heavy-as and she goes,

— You mean?

The crackles, the coughing, saying they’re here again. Shadows moving all around me, breathing static breath, smell them in the buzzing as they sliiiiiide their long fingers in, tickling the switch and the colours, the sweet colours are here, wrapping their arms around me like they love me.

The steam puffed and curled under the units. She was quiet behind me.

— I want to book a flight.

I turned and saw her mouth curl to one side. Thoughts dropping like Tetris blocks in her head, and it was coming on strong now, such strong motion.

The room cracked and shattered, the colours wrapping their arms around me but I couldn’t hold them back, it was like rain running down windows, the air melting in front of me, colours like feelings inside, suffocating but nice

like storm clouds up there

like bullies, black lightning off and on in their fat bellies and I need to pull at everything, need to touch and tug and twist and poke and push because it was all slipping away from me

and I knew

— Mel?

I knew she was there in the room, but I couldn’t let go of the chair, my fingers crack-cracking the corners and I

can’t catch my

can’t catch my

— Mel?

— I’m here, I’m here.

— Help me.

I climbed down onto the floor. Reaching down, the wood cold on my palms and knees. Onto my side and over, flat onto my back. I could breathe again. I could breeeeeeeeee

— Mel?

Shush-shushing me, stroking my hair, her face above me, the bright light up there on the ceiling like a

— You’re an angel.

like a halo above her head, and I could hear me, smacking my lips like mwa mwa, pulling my face, my fingers dancing on my cheeks, noise revving up out of me like a banshee and the shadows – I won’t let them knock me off my feet any more, I WON’T.

— Mel, hold me.

The burnt wind blowing around inside, it crackled and coughed and

— Mel.

I thought it was the baby coughing and I couldn’t look Mel in the eye because her face was dripping down, purple and reds and yellows and my hands, my hands clasped over my stomach to protect to protect it inside

— HOLD MEEEEEEEEEE

because this is me falling through life, and I have to learn how to fall now, learn all over again to protect, to protect it inside

we’re turning electric

zap-zapping it in its juices, Mel’s arms closing around me and the lushness, the weakness, clouds ripping open my eyes, white smoke blowing, turn off my eyes, fading dim, yes turning

and it looks like

and smells like

and feels like

not the squealing the aaaaaaaaaa slow soft aaaaaaaaaa feel the sag, yes the dip, the lull, the nodges of my scars turning soft, glowing with light, the smoke clearing, eyes fading, hands clasping, holding it inside because I’ll zap them both, fill them with my light yes fill them with my

the shadows flick-flicking my switch with their long crackling fingers

and I feel the twitch inside of me

a flutter

a spark

and it’s so beautiful, it’s so

But it doesn’t come. I stare up into Mel’s face and everything snaps back into place. Hard edges. Light and dark, solid. They said it might happen, during the pregnancy, the seizures might stop. A possibility. Likelihood. A chance. I can’t believe it: I didn’t go into the black.

Mel helps me get to my feet. I walk over to the kitchen table.

— Are you all right?

— I can’t believe it.

I’m laughing. I was going full tilt and then I felt this thing inside me and I knew: it was the baby, zapping me right back.

I hold out my arms and we hug and I hear myself say it into Mel’s hair,

— I need to find my family.

0

So here I am. Today’s the day, and though I’m not saying it out loud, I’m saying it in my head: Dad. But it just doesn’t sound right. As much as I want it to, it doesn’t and I’m trying to get used to it, the word in my head. Dad. I sat in bed last night whispering it to myself. Such a tiny little word but it’s impossible how big it is. My dad. Father. Dad.

It just feels so totally weird.

It’s the fear that’s been holding me back. Fear that he’s just like her, like mother. Why he’s never tried to find me. A man that loved her, had me and Mikey with her, that must’ve loved her at some point. And the thought that he might be like her, and the whole disappointment thing will start all over again. It’ll be hard not asking it, not getting angry.

Why did you leave us with that bitch?

What if Mam was right? What if he is a useless Irish cunt? There’s something that’s not real about it. I can’t imagine it, seeing him for the first time. I really can’t. I try to picture what he looks like and I see our Mikey, but Mikey’s still a young lad in my head. Then I see a big man with huge sideboards and long black hair, and I want to see if his eyes are like a summer’s sky, but I can’t and I don’t know why. — What if he doesn’t like me?

— He’ll love you, Lil. Who wouldn’t?

— What if I don’t like him?

We’re watching the huge planes making their way across the motorways of tarmac. They seem too big. I watch them take off and they’re going too slow. Huge chunks of metal nosing up there, up and away like something in a slow dream, like trying to run but you can’t.

I stroke my belly, picturing it inside, bubbling, fizzing away, and I remember it zapping me and how powerful it felt. And I wonder if Mikey has any kids, whether he’s married. I wonder if my dad’s got someone? I might have this huge family in Ireland that I know nothing about.

I keep thinking about the past year, about the police coming to the Golden Nugget and then meeting Barry and then coming down to London, looking, searching. I stroke my stomach and look at Mel and think: it wasn’t all pointless.

And I keep thinking about yesterday – my day of thank yous. Al phoned saying that some bruiser had been round to the shop with an envelope. I said how big is the envelope and he said like there’s nothing in it. A cheque. Al said the bruiser told him that if he lost it, his life wouldn’t be worth living. So Barry had done it – coughed up Mikey’s share. I told Al not to fret and gave him my account number and told him to pay it into the bank.

And then I told him about Ireland. He was quiet on the other end of the phone. I told him that whatever happens, he’s the nearest thing I’ve ever had to a dad, and that I’ll always think of him that way. Always. I tried really hard not to cry.

After I picked up my passport, and me and Mel had pissed ourselves at my photo – startled rabbit in car headlights – I rang the Helpline to thank them for being so brilliant. I told them they could shut the case.

Then I put a card in the post to Sylvia.

And now I’m bricking it. A lot of people seem to be moving about. I check my handbag again, make sure I’ve got all my pills, though I haven’t had a fit in two weeks now and I’m so excited I want to run in circles screaming.

— You know, Lil, I really …

— Oh shush.

— And I just …

My elbow in her ribs and we’re laughing.

— I’ll be there for you, whatever, you know.

There’s that fizz between us again and I don’t know why, but I’m embarrassed. I want to tell her that I love her. Really love her.

She stretches her arms and yawns, looks at her watch, and my guts are turning and squirming like worms again.

I take the bits of paper out of my handbag and read them for the umpteenth time, looking for god knows. We’d Googled pubs called O’Connor’s in Dublin, but it kept coming up with nonsense. There seemed to be a pub called O’Connor’s in a place called Doolin, but that was on the other side of the country. Mel said there’s a good chance the pub isn’t on a website. But we’ll find it. I know we will. And I’ll tell Mikey about th...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• 26
• 25
• 24
• 23
• 22
• 21
• 20
• 19
• 18
• 17
• 16
• 15
• 14
• 13
• 12
• 11
• 10
• 9
• 8
• 7
• 6
• 5
• 4
• 3
• 2
• 1
• 0
• Debt of thanks