75

 

 

            It was Anthony who opened the door to a strained looking Billy, five days after we had moved into the bed-sit.  He shuffled quickly in through the door, checking back over his shoulder as he did, his hands jammed so deep into his pockets that his shoulders appeared hunched right up to his ears.  Anthony looked him over with a quizzical frown. “Alright there Billy?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

            Billy shrunk past him.  “More like a monster,” he mumbled unhappily. 

            “You what?”

            Billy released a weary sigh, and looked at Michael and I, sprawled out lazily on the bed.  Anthony closed and locked the door, and turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest.  “I’ve got bad news,” Billy told us remorsefully.  I sat up then, my eyes narrowing and my mouth closing.  He was looking right at me, so I guessed it was my bad news.  Billy sighed again, and grimaced back at me.  “Howard attacked Jake.  Last night.  Beat him up.”

            There was an audible gasp from all of us.  Michael jerked up beside me, his mouth gaping at Billy. “You are fucking kidding me!” he cried.  I just stared.  Billy shook his head in misery.  To me, he appeared small and scared then, reduced to a childlike status, and I found myself wondering, what the hell Jake must look like.

            “After he finished work,” he told us.  “Out the back of the café.  Just crept up behind and attacked him.”

            I got up from the bed then, shaking my head and pressing my hands to each side of my face.  I was wearing my old Nirvana t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.  We had been enjoying a lazy morning, our favourite kind.  Crappy TV on low, music on loud, a bit of a smoke, and Anthony’s cooking.  Billy looked like he was about to say more, but wasn’t sure how to.  I nodded at him, and he blew his breath out unhappily.  “He told Jake to give you a message Danny.”  We all stared back at him in silence, our breath held, our hearts thumping.  Billy swallowed.  “He had a knife and he cut off a chunk of Jake’s hair and told him to give it to you, and to tell you that if you don’t go home, he’ll start cutting bits off all of us.”

            “Oh my god,” breathed Michael in horror, stumbling up from the bed. “Shittinghell!”

            I looked at Anthony and saw that he was still, and calm, his dark eyes intense and focused solely on Billy. “And then what happened Bill?” he asked him.  Billy took a deep breath before going on. 

            “Jake came to my house, and my mum opened the door to him, and he said who did it, and she called the police.”

            Anthony nodded, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

            “Yep.  They came and took a statement off him, and said they’d go and find Howard, and they asked if we knew where Danny was, and we said no.”  Billy took another breath, licked his lips and eyed us nervously.  “And Jake didn’t tell Howard either.  He didn’t tell him where you lot are. You think he’s been arrested by now Anthony?”

            “Who knows?” shrugged Anthony, pushing his hand back through his hair.  He looked at me then, wonderingly.  “Well mate, sounds like the prick has lost it big time.  I don’t know whether we should be pleased or scared, eh?”

            I found the edge of the bed and sat back down. “Is Jake okay Billy?”

            “He’s fine, yeah,” Billy nodded. “Just a bit shook up, you know.  He said to tell you sorry, by the way.”

            I frowned. “What the hell for?”

            Billy shrugged awkwardly. “Dunno, I guess for not sticking by you when things were tough, you know, when you were skipping school and high and stuff.  He thinks he was harsh on you.  He didn’t know, you know?” Billy scratched his head and stuck his hands back into his pockets.  “We didn’t know,” he said, sounding confused. “We had no idea.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” I told him softly.

            “Did we do the right thing?” he asked then, his tone slightly desperate as he looked back at Anthony for the reassurance he so often gave us.  “Telling the police and that?  My mum, she just took over!”

            “Serves him right,” was Anthony’s reply.

            “It’s fine,” I agreed. “Maybe they’ll catch up with him, hey?  God.  Poor Jake though.  Tell him I’m sorry, will you?”

            “Sorry?” Anthony looked at me sharply.  “What have you got to be sorry for, you twat?”

            “He’s after me,” I sighed. “I’m not gonna’ let him go through you guys to get to me.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “He won’t get us anyway!” Michael blurted out then, staring from me to Anthony, to Billy, his brow creased, and his eyes fearful.  “He’ll be arrested by now, won’t he?  He can’t just attack Jake in broad daylight like that and get away with it!  He can’t do anything to us, now that’s on record, he just can’t!  Isn’t that right Anthony?”

            Anthony nodded sombrely. “He’d be nuts if he did.  Danny?”  I looked up.  “What are you thinking?”

            I bit down on my lip and slid from the bed again.  I felt their eyes on me curiously as I found my jeans on the floor and pulled them on.  “I’m thinking about going back to work,” I said quietly. 

            Billy gasped.  “Are you insane?” he yelled at me.  “After what just happened to Jake?”

            I sat back down to pull on my socks.  “I’ve got no choice Bill.  The fat man won’t keep my job open forever, and I haven’t even thanked him for those tickets yet, for christs sake.  I’ve messed him about enough.  I need to be there.”

            Billy turned helplessly to Anthony.  “Are you gonna’ let him do this?”

            “What?” he shrugged in reply, a sparkle in his eyes and a grin on his face.  “He can’t spend the rest of his life in this room, can he Bill?  He’s got no choice.”

            “You going now?” asked Michael.  “I’ll come with you!” he started searching the floor for signs of his own clothes.  We hadn’t exactly shown ourselves to be house proud so far in our new surroundings.  The floor was so covered with discarded clothes and dirty dishes and cups, that the carpet was barely visible.  He set about tossing and kicking things aside until he found his black jeans, and started to yank them on.  “I’ll go with you to work, then I’ll go and see Jake.  Come back and meet you when you’re done, yeah?”  He looked at me hopefully, shaking his hair from his eyes. 

            “Cool,” I nodded.  Billy groaned loudly and raked both his hands violently back through his stiff auburn hair.

            “Oh for fucks sake,” he complained. “I’ll come too.  Jesus Christ.”

            As for Anthony, he made me smile.  He dropped down onto his sofa bed, crossed his legs at the ankles and picked up his little tin from the arm of the chair.  He was grinning like a fool, this long, lazy smile lighting up his eyes, as he pulled the lid from his tin and set about rolling himself a little smoke.  “Proud of you all,” he announced cheerily, as we began to troop solemnly from the room.  “Get on out there and take no shit!  Fight back!”

 

            The three of us emerged cautiously from the darkness of the hall downstairs, blinking and feeling the urge to rub at or shield our eyes from the bright August sunshine.  No one spoke, as we rounded the corner and waited at the bus stop together.  And we were silent when we boarded the bus, paid our fares and took our seats.  It was only a fifteen minute bus ride back into Redchurch, and I felt the tension building in me with every second that passed.  I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a criminal, returning to the scene of his crime.  I looked at my friends, at their sick and frightened expressions, and I felt another layer of guilt settle over the first one.  I gazed out of the window and thought, I owe it to them not to be scared anymore.  When we got the stop closest to The Record Shop, we got up and jumped off the bus.  The sunlight was dazzling in that area of town, bouncing and rebouncing from every available surface, shop front and car.  I closed my eyes briefly, breathed in and then faced them with a smile.  I owed it to them to stand up, and I was going to show them, we had no reason to hide.  “Could be an interesting day,” I joked, as they walked me towards the shop.

            Billy was fiddling anxiously with the leather bracelets around his wrist. “What’ll you do if the cops come here to see you?” he asked me and I shrugged.

            “I dunno.  I really don’t.  Hey, say hi to Jake for me, won’t you? Tell him I said sorry, won’t you, that he got caught up in all of this.”

            “Well maybe he’ll be more on your side from now on,” Michael muttered somewhat darkly, as his eyes flitted restlessly up and down the street.  He patted me on the shoulder and attempted a smile. “I’ll be back around three, yeah?  After I’ve seen Jake I’m gonna’ pop into work and see if they’ve got me some more shifts yet.  Some girl quit last week, so I should get offered some.”

            “No problem,” I nodded, and watched them go.  I had an awful feeling Billy was going to say something terrible and depressing like good luck, but he didn’t. If anything he looked too nervous to speak, and as white as a sheet.  I turned around and pushed gratefully into the shop.  I was met with a warmth and a smell that was instantly and indescribably comforting.  I could have bathed in it.  I wanted to breathe it in, and let it settle through me, and on me. The smell of old things, coated in dust, smeared in finger prints, and aged by love.  Radioheads Bones was playing and I paused to hear the lyrics; I don’t want to be crippled and cracked, shoulders, knees, wrist and back…crawling on all fours…when you’ve got to feel it in your bones… I inhaled it all and approached the counter, where Terry looked up at me from his stool, a brief and surprised smile filling his face. 

            “Oh look who it is!” he boomed.  “All better now I see?”

            “Was the funniest thing,” I grinned back at him, resting my arms wearily on the counter top.  “Couldn’t stop puking for days.  You wouldn’t have wanted to catch it Terry.”

            “Got a delivery at the back,” he told me, jerking his head in that direction.  “Some old bird just dropped it off in the alley.  Four bloody boxes of records.  I can’t go near ‘em mate.  Makes me sneeze.”

            “I’ll put the kettle on first shall I?” I laughed, and he looked pleased and handed me his empty mug.

            “Oh, just to warn you,” he said then, “you’ve had a pretty constant visitor these last few days.”

            I paused in the doorway and forced another smile.  “Let me guess.  Massive angry bloke?  Wanting to know where I am?”

            “That’s the one,” Terry nodded grimly and made a little grimace of disgust. “Bloody thick necked twat.  Been getting right on my wick, he has.  You know I like my peace and quiet in here.  He your step-dad is he?” He sort of winced as he asked the question, as if the very thought of it offended him.

            “Yeah.  That’s him.”

            Terry rolled his eyes, made a little grumbling noise in his throat and swivelled on his stool to face me properly. “Fucking beefed up, testosterone fuelled, monkey brained psychopath by the look of him.”

            I laughed out loud.  I wanted to hug him.  “Yes!  That’s him!  Brilliant Terry!”

            Terry grunted. “He the cunt that runs that club down the road now?”

            “Yep.  He owns it.  Doesn’t like music though.  Nothing.”

            Terry’s eyebrows shot up towards his receding hairline.  “Fuck me,” he snarled. “God I could really get to hate some people, couldn’t you?”

            “I’ve left home,” I told him then, lowering my voice slightly, but keeping the smile upon my lips to let him know that all was good.  “Just so you know.  Moved in with Mike and Anthony.  That’s what he’s pissed about.”

            “Well who could fucking blame you?” Terry roared at me, making me laugh again.  “I’ll call the bloody cops if he comes in here again, shouting the odds.”  He shook his head and clicked his tongue and looked back down at his copy of NME.

            “You do that Terry,” I told him.  “And hey?”  He looked back up, wonderingly.  I felt a little embarrassed then, but I stepped forward and held my hand out to him.  I didn’t know how else to thank him for the Oasis tickets.  I wanted to let him know how amazing and beautiful it was, how it meant the world to me, and made me smile from morning til night, just thinking about October.  He frowned and raised his lip up and took my hand in a confused manner.  “Thanks,” I said, and shook it before dropping it and stepping back again.  Terry looked completely baffled. “For the tickets,” I nodded. “Fucking amazing.  Best present ever.  Can’t even….” I shrugged and shook my head and sighed.  It was useless.  There were no words in the world to describe what those tickets meant to me.  “Just…thanks Terry.  I owe you.  I mean, you’ve been bloody brilliant.”

            Terry rolled his eyes, and waved his magazine at me irritably. “Oh that!  Jesus Christ I got them to shut you the hell up!  Forget about it.”

            “Amazing though Terry…I can’t even…”

            “Oh go and put the kettle on and stop embarrassing us both,” he sort of grinned at me then, and there was a pinkness creeping into his soft round cheeks.  “I did it for the shop, yeah?  Can’t have staff working for me if they’ve never even been to a live gig for fucks sake!  Can’t call yourself a music fan if you don’t go and see it live!  Go on now.  Tea.”

           

            It was coming up to one o’clock, and I had just brought out another round of tea and biscuits for me and Terry.  I had spent all morning sorting through the boxes the old lady had left for him in the alley.  I found a copy of Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, and Terry insisted I keep it. “Beautiful songs, bloody good singer,” was all he would tell me.  I put the tea and biscuits on the counter and turned to the record player.  Blonde On Blonde had just finished, so I took it off and slid it carefully back inside its sleeve. I flicked through the pile Terry had chosen.  He had a couple of Neil Young records in the pile, and Sandanista by The Clash.  I fancied something a bit livelier, so put that on while he was farting away in the toilet out the back.  I stuck my tongue out, urggh, he sounded like he was having a hard time in there, and I put the record on, closed the lid with care, and turned around, just in time to see a maniacal face pressed up against the shop window.  Howard.

            All at once, the rest of the shop just fell away from me and disappeared from view, even the music seemed to fade quickly away to nothing. There was just nothing, except me and his wild, leering face.  He seemed to materialise inside the shop without even opening the door or walking in.  He was just suddenly right there, filling the space as always, dominating the atmosphere and stealing all of the air.  An icy coldness flooded my veins.  “Well look who it is!” he declared in delight, the words rolling from his hanging tongue, dripping with glee, as he closed the space between us and slammed both his hands down upon the counter.  I jumped.  Moved back.  Felt the memory of fists against skin jarring through my body.  I watched his tongue flicking rapidly around the edges of his gaping mouth.  “The original whizz kid eh!  Finally crawled out from his hiding place! I ought to grab hold of you and drag you down the police station for what you did to Jack!”

            I forced myself to breathe.  It was like I had forgotten how to, but I opened my mouth, felt the air tickle the back of my throat and sucked it in, sending it swirling through to my lungs.  I ran my eyes over the monstrous man who stood before me, and then it occurred to me that I had never seen him appear so dishevelled before.  He was unshaven, and his hair and beard looked like they needed a trim.  His eyes were all wrong; like they had been forced open for too long, and now were too big and round and staring to close properly.  “And I’ll tell them what you sent him for, you sick motherfucker,” I said to him, speaking my words slowly and softly, and as I spoke, I remembered the fire of defiance that had lived in me such a long time ago, the constant urge to fight everyone, to rail against everything, to be heard.  I searched for it now.  I dug deep down inside of myself to bring it back to the surface, and I clung to it now as I stared into the eyes of a man who looked scarily close to the edge of reason.

            His top lip rose like a hungry dogs.  “Oh yeah?  You little fucker!”

            “Yeah,” I said. “I hear they’re looking for you anyway, after you attacked Jake for no reason!”

            His face loomed closer to mine, and I moved back instinctively. “Oh yeah?  Well smart arse I think you’ll find they’ve already spoken to me about that, and they were perfectly happy with my alibi!  I was with my bar manager Mark at that exact time, and he was only too happy to verify that for them!”

            “You mean you paid him, or threatened him to give you an alibi?”

            Howard snorted violently through his nose.  “Whatever.  I told the cops how your drug addled friends have always had it in for me.  They were very keen to know where you were, you know.  Maybe Jack’s made a complaint, eh? Could find yourself in all sorts of shit now.”

            I shook my head and bit down on the retorts that sprung to mind.  I didn’t want him here, infecting the air, wrecking my space and my peace.  I sighed, and I was tired of it all, of this never ending game of trading insults.  “Look I’m busy,” I told him. “Was there something you wanted?  A record you’re after?”  I heard Terry flushing the toilet out the back.

            “Don’t give me that you fucking little piss bag!” Howard spoke viciously, his nostrils flaring wide as spittle flew from his lips and sprayed the counter.  I watched the droplets land and spread on Terry’s magazine.  “You know why I’m here.  To take you home.  To give you another chance.”

            “I don’t think so,” I told him, looking him right in the eye.  I stared at him, I stared right into him and I willed him to see how much I meant it.  “Never gonna’ happen.”

            Just then Terry came shuffling around the corner, hoisting up his gut to buckle his belt under it.  His eyes clouded with rage when he spotted Howard in his shop, and he headed for his stool on his puny legs. “You again!” he bellowed instantly. “I thought I told you to sling your hook bully boy!  Go on!  Out you go!”

            Howard straightened up and stiffened, his hands falling away from the counter.  I regarded him curiously, and saw his face changing.  I saw fear there, I knew I did, fear, and panic and uncertainty. It fascinated me because I didn’t think I had ever seen him like that before.  It was the face of someone losing control, losing their grip.  “I hope you know the kind of scum you’ve got working for you,” he snarled at Terry.  Terry climbed onto his stool and waved an impatient hand at him.  Howard pointed at me. “This kid is a drug addict! He has a police record as long as my arm, did you know that?  You ought to check your till and your stock carefully fat man!”

            “Go on,” Terry repeated in absolute distain, waving a podgy hand as if swatting at a fly that was irritating him.  “I don’t want you in here causing trouble!  I’ll call the law!”

            “Oh really?” Howard fixed his manic stare back on me.  “Well then, little man, aren’t you the popular one these days eh?  Yeah.  Ooh everyone loves Danny so much!  Danny has so many people sticking up for him!  Don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so great when you’ve been nothing but a little fuck up from day one!”

            I just stared back at him, steady and unflinching.  I felt almost drowsy with the strength that was building up inside of me.  It made me want to smile, and laugh, and sit down and let it all through spin through my head.  Lee Howard, I thought, look at you, falling apart before my very eyes.  I didn’t have to say or do a thing.  Behind me Terry had picked up the phone and was dialling.  “Calling the cops!” he said to Howard. “Come in here, insulting my staff!”

            He was starting to retreat.  Backing slowly towards the door.  He had come for something and he was being forced to leave without it again.  He looked like he was panting slightly as he raised a finger again to point at me.  He nodded his head and reached out for the door behind him.  “This isn’t over,” he told me.  “I’ll be coming for you!  I’ll be coming for you you little cunt when you least fucking expect it!  You can count on that little man.  I’ll be coming for you.  You still got a lot of lessons to learn off me!”

            “Get out!” Terry yelled, and he went.  The door eased itself shut behind him.  I said nothing.  I closed my eyes and released a massive, shaky sigh of relief.  I could hear Terry muttering away indignantly beside me.  I opened my eyes and rubbed at my face and gave him a thankful, withering smile. 

74

 

 

            I spent the next few days moving house, and trying to control my ever spiralling rage and confusion.  In between barking orders and screaming at the removal men, I punched vicious messages into my mobile phone, and called Jack repeatedly.  There were no replies to either.  The flat was empty, and Jack gone.  I’d stalked around the empty barren flat like a madman, like someone possessed, my hands clawing at my head, my eyes bulging and refusing to believe what they saw.  It was the not knowing that was doing me in.  Danny and the Anderson boys had vanished into thin air.  That was one thing.  But Jack shooting through and refusing to answer my calls, was just about enough to send me over the edge.  My mind was playing tricks on me, convincing me of endless ridiculous scenarios.  I almost had myself believing that Danny and the other boys had killed Jack off, got rid of him somehow, and cleaned up the evidence.  I mean, why the hell wouldn’t the man answer his phone?  What was his problem?  What the hell had gone on and why wasn’t he talking? 

            I had become a very nervous man, and I did not like it, not one little bit.  Kay told me it was because of the stress.  Moving house is as stressful as death and divorce you know, she kept saying this stupid useless thing every time she saw me looking aggrieved, or angry.  I could only look back at her blankly, fold my fingers into a fist that had nowhere to go and wonder how close I was to punching her lights out. 

            I avoided her where I could.  I had to.  Such was my constant and burning desire to grab her by her skinny neck every time she opened her stupid mouth.  She was driving me insane with her endless inane chatter about colour schemes and furniture, seemingly determined to pick airy fairy girlish styles that made me want to throw up.  She wasn’t going to get her way over any of it, but she didn’t know that yet.  I’d see what she was really made of when it all kicked off.  I had already instructed the painters and decorators, and the colour schemes, had been picked weeks ago.  You’re a grown woman, I wanted to scream at her when she got excited about pictures in home improvement magazines, and you don’t even care where your own son is!  The only times I could bear to converse with her, was if the talk concerned his whereabouts.

            “Have you heard from him?” I’d ask her whenever I came home.  “Have you called John?  He could be there you know.”

            “He’s not there honey, he was the first person I called, remember?”

            “He’s probably lying, hiding him.”

            “Honey, why would he do that?  He knows how worried we are!”

            “I’m going round to those other boys houses again.  Speak to their parents this time.  Maybe they don’t even know we’re looking for him!  You know what those bloody kids are like.”

            She wouldn’t answer me half of the time.  She wasn’t making any effort to look for him herself.  Knowing this increased my paranoia daily.  Maybe she was in on it too.  Maybe she knew where he was.  It was becoming harder and harder to look at her face without slapping it really, really hard.  I lay awake at night, my fists clenched tightly at my sides, and I pictured her face whipping from side to side as I lashed at it.  I thought about how her eyes would look, like blue marbles rolling around inside her skull.  I thought about what she would say to me if I did it.  I imagined the look upon her face, the horror and the knowing clouding her eyes.  Stupid, stupid cow. 

 

            I showed my face in The Record Shop every day, hoping to catch him there unawares.  Surely he’d return there at some point?  The fat bastard behind the till regarded me with increasing frustration and disgust.  “Has he called you?  Has he given you notice?” I asked him every time. “His mother is going off her head you know!  If any of you are hiding him!”

            “Why would we need to hide him?” the fat man spat back at me churlishly from over the top of his magazine.  “What is your problem anyway?  Why the constant red face and anger?”

            “He’s missing,” I took deep breaths and stayed near the door.  I feared getting too close to that fat sack of shit, that rotten excuse for a man.  He had the kind of soggy flabby face that would have made a great noise slapping down onto the counter.  “We need to know where he is…If you have any idea, or if you hear from him at all…” I was trying to keep calm, trying my hardest to be reasonable with the man.  But he made a face  that told me exactly what he thought of my request.  He snorted.

            “I wouldn’t tell you!” he blurted out aggressively. “Because I get the funny feeling it’s you that boy is hiding from, now go on, get out of my bloody shop!”

            I had to leave.  I had to back slowly out before I found his face with my fists and reshaped it into a squashed and bloody pulp.  It was all so unfair, and so frustrating and I was becoming more and more convinced that they were all in on it.  All of them.  Kay, and John, and the fucking fat pig in the shop, and Lawler the shifty little scumbag, the fucking lot of them!  I longed to put the frighteners on all of them, but with Jack gone, I felt naked and exposed. 

            “I think you helped him leave,” I said to Kay when I returned home from the club one night, exhausted by the weight of it all on my shoulders alone.  She was sat out on the balcony with a glass of wine and a pile of home improvement magazine set out on the little bistro table I had let her order.  She was wearing a new silk gown, and her feet were bare.  She frowned at me, and decided to ignore me.  Instead she tried to show me a picture of the kind of bathroom she longed for.  “Too old fashioned,” I snapped, shoving it away from me. “Why do you want to make the house look like it belongs in the nineteen bloody thirties?  This is a modern house Kay!  For christs sake!  What’s wrong with modern things eh?  Nice things!” I turned away from her and gripped hold of the railings.  The security lights bathed the front lawn in a yellow glow which lit up the flower beds she had been digging around the edges.  Flower beds, for fucks sake. 

            “I didn’t help him leave,” she spoke in a small and tight voice from behind me. “Why on earth would you think that?  I had no idea Lee.  I thought he was okay…I thought he’d settled down, with Lucy, and everything.”

            “Well that was all an act wasn’t it?” I turned around and shouted at her. “And I bloody knew it was, and I bloody told you he was up to something, but you wouldn’t have it would you!”

            She stared back at me, a thick magazine held rigidly on her lap.  “You’re exhausted,” she told me stiffly.  “You need to go to bed.”

            “Don’t tell me what I need to do.”

            “Lee,” she breathed out slowly, her eyes fixing on the magazine, instead of on me.  She uncrossed her legs and sat forward on the chair.  “We have to accept what he wrote in that letter.  He doesn’t want to live with us.  He’ll be in contact when he’s ready.  We just have to wait for that, and then we will get some answers.”  She looked up at me, and her expression was cautious, her position frozen.  I had to get away from her.  I had to.  I couldn’t even open my mouth and give her what for.  I stalked past her, through the bedroom, down the stairs and out of the house. 

 

            Finally, on the fourth day, just as I was getting increasingly anxious about my own sanity, I punched in Jack’s number, and he answered.  “What do you want?” his washed out voice, asked me dully.  He sounded exactly as I had expected him to sound; as if he had been lost inside a bottle of Jack Daniels for the past few days.  I was gripping my phone so hard my knuckles began to ache.  I strode briskly out of the house, shoving my way through the French doors and stalking my way down the garden, away from listening ears.  The house was full of people all the fucking time.  Painters and decorators, and neighbours Kay seemed intent on impressing.  She was swishing around the house with this lost and pained look on her face, just because I wouldn’t allow her to paint our bedroom dusky fucking pink.

            “What do I want?” I hissed through my teeth as I stormed down the long green lawn, away from the house.  “What do I fucking want?  Why haven’t you been answering your phone?  I’ve been going out of my fucking mind these last few days!  Where the hell have you been?”

            “Been busy,” he replied, haughtily like a sulky child. “Had stuff to sort out.”

            “Yeah, you’ve been busy getting the fuck out of town!” I roared at him incredulously.  He sniffed in response. “Yeah I’ve been to the flat, you disgusting waste of space, what the hell is going on?”

            He sniffed again.  “You’ve seen the boy?”

            “No I haven’t seen the fucking boy!” I had to stop walking, I was so apoplectic with rage.  I was at the end of the garden, shielded by thick summer shrubs and a six foot wood panelled fence.  “Why do you think I’ve been going out of my fucking mind you stupid useless bastard?  What the hell went on?  You fucked up didn’t you?  Because he’s fucking vanished!  Gone!”

            “It’s your own fault,” his groggy, alcohol soaked voice informed me smugly. 

            “Just tell me what happened Jack, I am not dicking around here.” I looked at the fence, and remembered that another garden stretched down to meet it from the other side.  I lowered my tone and edged slowly away from it.  “Where are you anyway?”

            “Essex,” came the dull, uncaring reply.

            “Why? Why did you leave?”

            “It’s your fault, you know,” he told me yet again.  “You had to push things, didn’t you?  You couldn’t just let things lie.  You couldn’t be satisfied, could you?  You had to have complete control of everybody!”

            “You’re talking crap.”

            “It’s true Lee, and you know it, and you’ve always been the same. You’re just ten times worse now you’ve got money behind you.  You’ve turned into a monster.”

            I could feel the black rage, creeping up on me again, colouring my mind a vivid shade of fury, and threatening to overspill and consume me.  Heat was snaking around my neck, and the electricity was flying through me, setting me on fire.  “Just tell me what the fuck happened you useless shitting pervert!”

            Jack sighed heavily and dramatically on the other side of the phone.  He cleared his throat, gurgling on thick smokers phlegm and I closed my eyes and moved my ear from the phone in repulsion.  “You shouldn’t have done any of it,” he said.  “You shouldn’t have set me up in the flat like that, with boys coming over.  You knew exactly what you were doing.”

            “Why not?  You liked it, didn’t you?  Thought we were on the same page!”

            “Does the word torture mean anything to you Lee?  Does it?”  He sounded angrier now, I thought, and I almost wanted to laugh at him.  I was starting to wonder why I had ever called on him in the first place, why I ever thought I could rely on him.  He was weak.

            “What’s the matter with you Jack?” I questioned him brashly. “I thought you were hard!  Turns out you’re all soft and squishy like the rest of them.  You didn’t have to take me up on the offer you fat fuck.  You can say no, can’t you?”

            “It’s not easy to say no to someone who can destroy your whole life in a second Lee,” Jack replied hoarsely.  “It’s not easy to say no to someone when they hold all the strings.  When they dangle temptations in front of you like fucking smack!”

            “What are you whining on about man?”

            “You know what I’m on about Lee. I couldn’t say no to you, not when you know everything about me.  Not when you’ve always made it perfectly clear that you could, and would, destroy me in a heartbeat.”

            I was getting tired.  I shook my head and gritted my teeth. “Jack, I think you’re forgetting it’s always me who helps you out. It was me who sorted that little rat out for you back home wasn’t it eh?  You would have done time otherwise mate.  Time.”

            “Exactly what I’m saying Lee.  You know everything.”

            “Well if you don’t like it Jack, maybe you ought to do a better job of controlling yourself! Don’t try and blame me for your shitty little perversions.”

            “But you got me here Lee,” Jack replied, his voice a growl of indignation.  “You obviously have your own perversions, ever thought about that?”

            I rolled my eyes impatiently.  How I longed to have him right in front of me then.  How I longed to grab him by his grubby shirt collar and ram my mobile phone right into his eye socket.  “Just shut up whining,” I snapped.  “Just tell me what the hell happened when you went to the house.  That’s all I’m asking you.  Then you can go to your own sick hell for all I care!”

            “You’re the sick one,” he rasped at me spitefully.  “At least I try to control myself.  You!  You fucking love it don’t you eh?  You seek it out, and you always have done! Weaker people you can scare and control and hurt.  Like your own brother!”

            I laughed coldly. “Don’t mention that pointless sack of piss to me,” I told him.  “Just tell me what the fuck happened.  Just tell me how badly you fucked up the job I gave you.”

            “He stabbed me alright!” Jack barked suddenly down the phone. “The little shit stabbed me with his fucking knife, which, by the way, you neglected to tell me he had!  I did what you said.  I went round there pissed up and hard as a fucking rock, and the little shit knew everything about me Lee, he knew about what happened in Essex, somehow he knew, and that’s why they stopped coming to the flat! Then he stabbed me, right in my fucking foot!  You happy now!  Are you?”

            I laughed.  Oh, how I laughed.  I laughed until my belly ached and my eyes watered, and the whole time, I could hear him roaring his anger down the phone at me, and I could see him in my mind, fat and grey and washed up and nursing a mammoth hangover as well as a mammoth hard on.  “Your foot?” I managed to utter in response.  “Your fucking foot? How the hell did that happen?  You were drunk Jack.  Drunk and weak and pathetic.  I bet you tried romancing him, eh?  Was that it?  Did you ask him out on a fucking date?”  I creased up again, my hands on my knees and the phone jammed between my neck and my shoulder. 

            “He said you’ve got the same coming to you,” he muttered at me. “If you don’t leave him alone.  So there you go.  Now you fucking know.”

            “You think he’d try that on me?  Oh you are funny Jack.  You really are.  Did he say where he was going?  Did you get any clues?”

            “Course he didn’t bloody tell me where he was going! You know, if you’ve got any sense you’ll forget about it Lee.  It’s over.  He’s gone. Why don’t you forget about it and leave him alone eh?  Everyone will be better off if you do.”

            I chuckled and straightened up. “Don’t think so Jack.”

            “What’s the point?  What’s the point in it now eh?”

            “Point is Jack,” I replied, standing completely still while a righteous picture formed neatly in my mind.  “I didn’t give him permission to fucking go.” I removed the phone from my ear and hung up on him. 

            For a few still and calm moments, I just stood there, in the middle of my lush green lawn, and my tongue flicked back and forth across my lower lip.  Then I got myself moving, shoving the phone into my back pocket and swinging my arms as I marched past the house.  I saw Kay frowning at the French doors. “Got to go to work baby!” I called out to her, waving one hand.  “Problems!”

            She nodded back unsurely and pulled the doors shut.  I walked around to the front of the house, down the drive, and turned left towards the Chapmans house.  Of course, Kay had already spoken to them a couple of times about Danny’s whereabouts, but asking again wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?  It was three doors down.  I could already see Mr Chapmans modest navy blue Renault parked neatly on their drive.  I felt a welcome calm take hold of me, now that I didn’t have to worry about Jack anymore, and I approached their door brashly, lifted the heavy knocker and let it drop again.  I stepped back, jamming my hands into my jeans pockets and when the bespectacled Mr Chapman opened the door to me, I cocked my head in a friendly, chirpy manner and offered him my most sociable smile.  Instantly, a worried line appeared on the mans’ forehead, and his eyes flicked left and right behind the lenses of his glasses, as if looking out for someone or something. 

            “I’m sorry to bother you Mr Chapman,” I told him amiably. “I was wondering if I could have a quick word?” I could see his expression was troubled and nervous.

            He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

            I took my hands from my pockets, planted one on my hip and the other on his door frame as I leant into it.  “Look,” I said, “I don’t know how much your daughter has told you, but it’s been four whole days now since we saw Danny, and we still have no idea where he is, or who he’s with, which as you can imagine is very worrying for us.”

            “What do the police say?”

            I rolled my eyes. “Oh you know what they’re like, Mr Chapman, they’re sympathetic but they haven’t got the time or the resources to go round chasing teenage runaways.  They’ve said all they can do is keep checking in with his friends to see if any of them have heard from him. I mean, Lucy, she must have heard from Danny, mustn’t she?”

            “Listen to me Mr Howard,” Mr Chapman spoke very softly, but firmly, and as he spoke he pulled his front door close behind him, as if shielding his home from me.  He peered at me over the rims of his glasses and his eyes were like steel.  “Look, I’m afraid I know all about you, my daughter has filled me in on every distressing detail, and all I can say to you sir, is even if I did know where Danny is, I would not be passing that information on to you. From what my daughter tells me, the boy ran away from you, for his own safety, and I think it’s probably best if it stays that way.” He nodded very curtly, indicating that the conversation was over, and he stepped back, preparing to close the door.  My lip curled back in anger.  I tossed my head and glared at him.

            “Kids?” I spat. “Delinquent kids?  And you believe them over me?  That’s intelligent!”

            “I believe my own daughter, Mr Howard.”

            “You’re mistaken,” I said, jabbing a finger at him. “About everything.  And that’s a dangerous mistake to make Mr Chapman, because that boy who your precious daughter is so fond of, is a drug addict who stabbed a good friend of mine in the foot the other day because he refused to give him money to buy more drugs!  Is that the kind of boy you want your daughter hanging around with, is it?” I shook my head in dismay at his blank face.  “Well it’s up to you I suppose, she’s your child. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” I turned on my heel and marched away from him, back towards my own house, and the car.  I could feel the desperation spreading through me, jerking through my muscles, the urge for violence, tightening me up, taking me over like a disease. I got into the car, turned on the engine and screeched off down the road.

 

            I drove into town, and parked in a space along the high street. I sat there for five minutes, with the radio on low, just telling myself to calm down, to think clearly, to be clever and careful.  I will find that little son-of-a-bitch, I said to myself, just nodding and breathing, as I tried to loosen my fingers on the steering wheel.  I will find him, I nodded, I will, but I have to be patient, that’s all, patient.  I pulled my hands away from the steering wheel.  They ached, and were greased with sweat.  I shook them out, and rested my head back for a moment, forcing myself to breathe in and out slowly, and purposefully.  That little shit would destroy me if I let him.  He would destroy everything I had worked so hard for.  People wouldn’t want to come in the club anymore if the word got out about Jack and his past indiscretions.  The police would start sniffing around.  They would have no choice.  It would all be over.  Ruined.  I tried to stay calm, but the pent up anger swirled like a tornado inside my gut and my chest.  It wanted to come out.  It was battering me from the inside.  My head felt thick and heavy with it, and my eyes hurt.  Mr Chapman had not helped me.  Stuck up, condescending prick.  I looked to the right then, a movement outside the café catching my eye.

            A young woman with a bright red dress on, was bumping her baby’s pushchair down the step, and waving goodbye to some people still inside.  I narrowed my eyes and watched, and drummed my fingers against the wheel.  Two figures came towards the door.  One was another young girl, blonde haired and fiddling with something inside her oversized handbag.  She was chatting and laughing to the young man who came out with her, and then he waved her off, and stooped down to pick up the sign from the pavement.  It was Danny’s friend.  The tall thin one with the floppy hair.

            I lit a cigarette and turned the engine back on.  The tall kid carried the sign back into the café and closed the door behind him.  One of the café lights went out, and the shutters started to come down.  I signalled and pulled out of the parking space.  I drove slowly away and turned down the next road to the right.  I parked up again, got out, and sauntered casually down the long and narrow alley that ran behind the row of shops.  I leant against the wall there and smoked my cigarette down to the butt.  I looked up when there was a noise from the back of the café.  The back door was shoved open with a metallic groan, and the tall kid stepped out, shook back his floppy long hair, and walked off in the opposite direction.  I had a huge smile on my face, watching him go.  The thought of a little dose of genuine fear was enough to send tingles down my spine.  I scratched my balls, flicked my cigarette butt away and moved after him.

            I stalked him down the alley.  I felt like a big cat hunting its prey.  There was nothing like it.  I watched his thin legs, moving stick like within loose blue jeans.  I watched the way his spiky elbows jutted out as he marched along.  I watched him shaking and tossing back his hair and thought why the fuck don’t you just get it cut you miserable girls blouse?  When I was ready, I scrunched my boots into the gravel, and the kid whirled around suddenly in surprise.  I moved fast then.  I was on him in seconds, snatching up the front of his t-shirt and ramming him back into the nearest wall, enjoying the satisfying sound of his bony spine cracking against the concrete. 

            The boy doubled up, winded and wordless. His face hung down low so I brought my knee up to say hello to it.  With a loud grunt of pain, and a spray of blood, the tall kid fell forward into the dirt, and I towered above his crumpled body, smiling grimly.  “Tell me where Danny is,” I said to the boy, as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and coughed up blood and dirt.  I glanced quickly up and down the alley to ensure we were still alone, and then I squatted down next to him.  I took his hair and wrenched his head back so that we could see each other properly.  I greeted his terrified face with a sunny smile. “Tell me where he is.”

            The boy coughed up another spray of gravel and gore, and shook his head in my grip.  “Don’t know, don’t know! I really don’t!”

            I cocked my head to one side and clicked my tongue at him. “I don’t believe you prick.”

            He shook his head again, straining against my hold. “I don’t!  I really don’t!  I have no idea, I swear I don’t!  We’re not friends!  Haven’t been for ages!”

            “Not sure I believe you,” I mused, rising to my feet and dragging him up with me. I used my body to back him up against the wall.  I looked him up and down with a sneer.  He was bigger than Danny, but he was still no match for me.  He was a skinny, wiry, floppy haired little cunt.  I took my old Swiss army knife out from the front pocket of my jeans and showed it to him.  His eyes grew even bigger and rounder.  I laughed, and then whipped the knife upwards, using it to hack at a handful of his stupid long hair.  Then I presented a handful of mousy brown fluff to his terrified face.  I pressed my face into his. “Give this to him when you see him,” I said. “Tell him it’s just the start.  Tell him if he doesn’t come back home right now, I’m going to hunt down all of his friends, including that pretty little girlfriend of his, and I’m going to cut bits off of all of them, okay?” I stuffed the knife back into my jeans, pressed the hair into his hand and let him go.  “You tell him that when you see him okay?  Tell him it’s not over until I say it is.”  He nodded at me silently, dumbly, his face a mess, his eyes watering.  I felt much better.  I felt refreshed and new again.  I left him where he was and headed back down to where I had parked the car. 

73

 

            On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I awoke to the smell of bacon frying, and to the sound of someone vomiting noisily in the bed-sit below ours.  Anthony had pinned old sheets and blankets to the large sash windows, but the morning sun burst through them with ease.  I was so confused for a moment.  I could hear Oasis playing, but I had no idea where it was coming from, and for a while I really had no idea where I was or what was going on.  Hey you! Wearing the crown! Making no sound…I heard you feel down? Well that’s too bad, welcome to my world!  I was on the left side of the pull down bed, the side closest to the kitchen.  I was face down, and because the springs were knackered it felt like I had been lying on rubble all night, and I moaned and groaned as I rolled slowly over to my side.  I could feel Michael, sprawled out beside me, flat on his back with his arms and legs stuck out to the sides.  I felt reality juddering to life within me.  It was like my heart didn’t want to get going, to be honest.  I kind of felt the urge to punch myself in the chest, just to give it a kick up the arse.  I didn’t want to move, but I made myself.  I peeled myself slowly away from the thin and sagging mattress, and swung my legs out of the bed.  I lowered my feet dubiously down to the thin threadbare carpet, and immediately pulled them back up again. It felt sticky to the touch, so I got my feet back on the bed and wrapped my arms around my legs.

            Michael snored on behind me, and Anthony whistled softly to the music in the kitchen, scraping and shoving bacon around in the pan.  I yawned, scratched at my neck and tried to work out exactly why I felt so crap, so weighed down.  I found myself wondering if I could still remember Jaime Lawler’s number by heart.  I thought back to the stresses of yesterday.  It was all a bit of a blur.  Like a dream.  We had arrived at the bed-sit in a flurry of adrenalin and fear.  Terror was buried under the surface of excitement.  We were bordering on the hysterical the whole time.  Collapsing in fits of tear streaming laughter when Michael pulled open a drawer in the kitchen and the knob came off in his hand.  Anthony falling over backwards onto his arse when we carried up the TV he had liberated from his mothers lounge.  I’d laughed, and felt myself growing weaker with every step.  I couldn’t concentrate on anything, I was lost inside a shadow, and when we finally fell down in front of the TV with cans of beer and cold toast, it was drink and drugs my mind felt drawn to.  I watched Michael, trying to cover up his own fear, licking his lips and jumping at every single tiny little noise.  Anthony was just Anthony.  I didn’t know how he did it, but I admired him all the more.  He remained calm and composed, offering us lazy, confident grins around the cigarette that dangled permanently from the side of his mouth.  “I’ll go shopping tomorrow,” he told our silent, sombre faces.  “Get some proper food in.”  He had then spent a good half hour trying to tune the telly in, cursing and making us smile faintly in a stupor behind him.  After that, we sat and watched the TV in silence, only able to guess at eachothers thoughts. 

            I had no idea what time I had finally fell into an uneasy form of sleep, but I did know that it was hours after Michael and Anthony had both began to snore, and another few hours after the guy downstairs had turned his awful techno music off.  With the music off, the guys dog had started to complain.  Just a mournful yip, yip, yip to begin with, which soon built up into a genuine howl of protest.  At some point I heard the man swearing loudly, and stomping across his floor to the door, presumably to take the dog out for a piss.  After that, silence.  I lay on my back beside Michael with my arms folded behind my head, not even remotely sleepy.  All I could think about was the knife in my hands, my fingers curled tightly around the handle, and the strange bounce of leather versus steel, as the blade pierced right through the top of his shoe…I closed my eyes to wish it away, but it wouldn’t go.  The blood filled my mind.  It pooled and swam and ran like a ruby river, gushing behind my eyelids.  My hands began to shake as they relived the fleshy wrench of the knife as it ripped back out of the foot.  My feet jerked and twitched at the end of the bed, as I fought the urge to release the nervous energy inside of me.  My teeth found my lower lip and gnawed at it savagely.  I shook my head back and forth, and rubbed at my eyes, but I was unable to rid of my mind of Jack’s face, saggy and flabby as it stretched the folds of skin into an almighty scream.  I felt like punching my eyes in.  They would not close.  They would not rest.  I felt this sad, sick twisting inside of me and wondered if it would be gone by the morning, if any of it would truly ever go away.

            Despite the tantalising smell of frying bacon, and the relative safety of the fourth floor bed-sit and double locked door, I had realised miserably upon waking that it had not.  If anything, the feeling had intensified, and as I sat shivering on the edge of the bed, all I could think about was my mother back at home, reading my note and wondering where I was.  I can’t explain the pain inside of me right then.  I felt angry with myself for it.  I should have been happy.  Things were going to be so cool.  We’d made it; we were out, we were safe and the good times could flow….but the fears and the sadness were ballooning helplessly inside of me.  I felt panic close to the surface.  What would she do with the note when she found it? Would she show Howard?  How soon would he be after us? What if we’d been seen getting into the taxi?  What if his people, whoever they were, had seen us in Belfield Park?  I gulped.  My throat was dry and I had to open my mouth to breathe.  I couldn’t stop staring at the closed door.  What if he was out there now?  Lurking in the shadows, under the stairs or in the hallway?  I hugged myself tighter.  What if he was waiting out there somewhere, just waiting for the chance to get me alone?  Oh my fucking god, I thought then, as the goosebumps marched out across my skin, he would be insane with anger by now, he would kill me.  I’d defied him in the worst way possible.  I’d connived and planned behind his back.  I started chewing at my nails desperately.  What if he had Jack with him, hunting me down?  Jack and his bloody foot? They would want to kill me, I knew it.  They would be dying to get their hands on me and make me pay.  I rocked myself back and forth.  I was close to tears.  Close to outright panic.  Close to shut down, or something. 

            Anthony swished brashly through the beaded curtain, carrying a large plate of bacon and toast.  He paused and frowned when he saw me rocking on the bed. He held the plate hesitantly out towards me. “Morning mate, you alright? You don’t look like you slept well.”  I shook my head at the plate, so he withdrew it and crouched down in front of me.  “Come on, you sure?  You must be hungry.  You’ve got to eat.  Got to get some meat back on them bones, yeah? What’s the matter eh?”

            “Feel sick,” I managed to tell him through my chattering teeth. “Sorry.”

            “Well okay, maybe later then yeah?” He placed the food on the floor and examined me quizzically.  “You’re shaking like a leaf mate, are you cold?” I shrugged.  I wasn’t cold, not in the slightest.  I was just shaking like a fucking wreck. “I went out like a light,” he said, then, grinning at me. “Must have been the stress of it all!  I was whacked.  You didn’t sleep well then?”

            I shook my head.  “Not much.”

            “Should’ve rolled you a spliff,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I bought a tiny bit of grass off Jaime.  You want a smoke now?  Might help you chill out a bit.”  He didn’t wait for my reply.  I didn’t really care either way.  He stood up and picked his ruck sack up from the floor, beside the rickety sofa-bed he had slept on last night.  He perched on the edge of the sofa and opened his little tin.  He rolled the joint in silence, but every now and again I felt his eyes upon me.  “You’re freaking me out, I have to say it,” he sighed eventually.  “What’s with the rocking?  Hey, happy fucking birthday by the way!”

            I tried to smile, but it didn’t work. “I thought I’d feel better…”

            “But you don’t?”

            I shook my head. “They’re gonna’ come after me Anthony.”

            “They’d have to get through me first,” he reminded me sharply.  He finished the joint, lit it up, dragged on it twice and then got up and came and sat next to me on the bed.  He passed it to me and I took it between my trembling fingers.  “There you are mate, have a bit of that and chill out.  They’re not gonna’ come after you.  They don’t know where you are, and why would they bother?”

            I inhaled and passed the smoke back to him. “You don’t know them like I do,” I said to him.  I was thinking about that night in the caravan, when Howard had followed me there after I’d tried to run away.  Great black waves of fear shook through me as I recalled his words, and his gleaming, vindictive eyes.  I’d done it again.  I’d broken the rules.  Took the piss out of him.  Stepped out of line.  He wouldn’t just let it go, I knew it.  “We won’t be that hard to find,” I murmured. “He’ll track us down.  Easily.”

            “They might just leave you the fuck alone,” Anthony shrugged, his tone hopeful and bright.  I knew it was what he and Michael were counting on.  It being over.  Us, escaped and free with the nightmare behind us, and only good times ahead.  He was clinging onto it and I didn’t blame him for one second.  “Have you thought of that?  It might just be over.”

            “It’s not over,” I said, shaking my head firmly. “I can feel it Anthony, that’s why I couldn’t get to sleep.  My body wouldn’t let me.  That’s why I just woke up in this stupid state. It’s ‘cause my body’s telling me not to relax, it’s telling me!”

            Anthony laughed rather nervously, as Michael started to stir and turn in the bed behind us.  “Don’t talk shit Danny, you’re gonna’ scare yourself like that.”

            “It’s true Anthony.  I can feel it.”

            “Well then we’ll call the police,” said Anthony.  “If they do a single thing, if either of them bother you even once, we’ll call the police.  Fuck it, we’ll tell them everything. You’re not alone now, you know.  You have to remember that.  You’ve got me and Mike here now.”

            Michael yawned as he struggled up into a sitting position.  “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” Anthony told him. “Just Danny freaking out a bit.  It’s no wonder really.”

            “You can’t be with me twenty-four seven,” I pointed out. “And we’ve all got jobs we need to go to.”

            “Hey can I have some of that?” asked Michael, nodding at the joint we were passing back and forth.  Anthony held it out to him, and then scooped the plate of bacon and toast up from the floor. He placed it on the bed between us and helped himself to half a slice of slightly burnt toast. 

            “Just relax mate,” he said to me again.  “Just have a smoke, have a drink, do whatever you need to do. It’s all bound to be a head fuck for you today.  It would’ve been alright probably if that perverted shitbag hadn’t tried it on with you yesterday. Christ, if I ever got my hands on that filthy, disgusting old fuck…”

            “Yeah, it’s not like you stab someone in the foot every day, is it?” Michael piped up sleepily, helping himself to a slice of toast with bacon.  Anthony rolled his eyes at him and shook his head at me.  Michael shrugged. “Well it’s not, is it?  I didn’t sleep so well myself actually.  Had really weird dreams.”

            Anthony patted my shoulder reassuringly. “It’s all gonna’ take some getting used to, that’s all.  Give it time.  You’ve been through more shit than most people deal with in a lifetime, and as I have to remind you again, it’s your sixteenth fucking  birthday!” He grinned at me and got to his feet, clapping his hands together as he did. “Right, you two finish that off. I’m gonna’ try the shower out, and then go and get us some decent food.”

            “You’re going out?” I questioned, staring up at him.  He sighed very gently.

            “Yep. Too right I am.  In fact, we all are later.  We’ll have a walk down to the beach or something, yeah? Just to show you, that nothing is gonna’ fucking happen!” He gave us a flash of his brilliant, confident smile and walked around the bed and into the tiny bathroom.  I stayed on the bed, pulling the sleeping bag back over me, and shivering still. 

            Michael was munching on bacon in between drags on the spliff. “You have to believe him, you know,” he said to me. “He won’t let anything happen to us.”

            “He might not be able to do anything about it,” I told him unhappily. 

            “You need to call Lucy mate.  Get her over here.  You can’t be all down and depressed on your bloody birthday!”

            I nodded at him.  I didn’t for one moment believe that she could make me feel any safer, after what I had done, but I liked the thought of curling up with her and blocking the rest of the world right out.  I could kiss her neck and play with her hair, and show her the mix tape I was working on for her.  Maybe if I felt relaxed enough by then, I could just fall asleep beside her, I thought.  That would be alright. 

            Anthony endured a very brief shower.  We sat on the bed giggling behind our hands, every time he screeched out that it was too fucking cold, and then it was too fucking hot.  It was pretty funny to listen to.  When he came out, he threw on some fresh clothes and made a very brash and cocky show of getting ready to leave our little hole.  Michael got up when he had gone and double locked the door behind him.  I watched him traipse over to the windows and press his forehead gently against the glass.  The monotonous techno music had begun thumping again downstairs.  Michael sighed, came away from the window and joined me back in the bed.  We watched TV for a while, and then he made us both a cup of tea, and we sat in the bed drinking it.  He tried to say helpful and encouraging things to me, suggesting we have some kind of house party at some point, or got out later to celebrate my birthday.  I didn’t say much.  I just sat and smoked a chain of cigarettes until Anthony returned.

            When he got back, he banged on the door and shouted at us to let him in.  I watched from the bed as Michael unlocked the door, and his brother bustled back inside, lugging four bulging plastic bags with him.  He promptly dropped one and two tins of beans rolled out across the floor.  Michael pounced on the food, snatching up a selection pack of crisps and a packet of cheap ham.  “Get out of it!” Anthony yelled at him, trying to haul it all into the tiny kitchen. “It’s got to last!”

            “You sound like mum,” Michael smirked after him, picking up the beans and passing them to him through the beaded curtain.  Anthony laughed out loud and started opening and closing the cupboard doors with exuberant bangs.  Then he appeared in the doorway, shoving the curtain to one side and lighting a cigarette.

            “Guess I’m mum and dad now!” he joked, winking at me.  “Fancy that eh?  My age with two bloody kids!” he laughed and nodded at me questioningly. “What about it then Danny-boy?  What’s the plan? You’re sixteen mate!”

            I smiled.  I wanted to snap out of it, I wanted to please them and be brave for them, and I wanted to stop craving the things I knew I shouldn’t touch again. “Think I’m gonna’ call Lucy,” I told him, and he grinned back at me wildly.  “Get her over.”

            “And Billy and Jake,” said Michael. “Party time!”

            “That’s more like it,” agreed Anthony, “now you’re talking. Let’s get them all round and give that guy downstairs something to complain about! We’re free boys! Let’s fucking enjoy this!”

 

            Later that day, Jake and Billy and Lucy arrived together.  They had caught the bus over, and from the looks on their faces, I imagined they had been checking over their shoulders the entire time.  Billy strode into the bed-sit, wide-eyed and impressed and carrying a bag full of tapes he wanted us to listen to, and Jake swung a heavy bag onto the side in the kitchen and plucked two nice looking bottles of wine from it.  “No one asks me for I.D anymore,” he shrugged in response to our astonished expressions.  I watched them all from the safety of the bed I had barely moved from all day.  I sat there and wondered dully if the house party included me telling them I had stabbed a man yesterday.  I listened dutifully while Billy dissected The Stone Roses Second Coming album, as it played in the background.  I nodded in all the right places, but my tongue was this useless lump of meat inside my mouth, and my mind, a tangled, bewildered mush.  I saw Jake eyeing me warily from across the room, his eyes narrowed and uncertain.  I knew what he was thinking.  He was thinking I was fucked up on drugs again, and that’s why he was keeping his distance from me.  Well I wished I fucking was.  I would have done anything right then to escape it all.

            But then Lucy accepted a glass of wine and dropped down onto the bed beside me, and there was no awkwardness, no hesitation between us, and I found myself reaching out for her instantly, as I felt the horror coming to life again inside of me, threatening to tear me right apart.  I needed something to hold onto, and I held onto her.  I wrapped my arms tightly around her neck and buried my face into her neck.  The rest of them became nothing more than a background noise to me then, as I clung to her, and she waited patiently, stroking back my hair, her body loose and sinking into mine.  “Something bad happened yesterday,” I told her when the others had started shouting at each other over the music.  She curled her legs up with mine, and it was like there was this physical barrier between us and them. I could hear the talking and the laughing, and the music, but it all sounded far away from us. Her face was just millimetres from my own.

            “What is it?” she asked me. I leant forward and pressed my lips onto hers suddenly, before pulling back and dropping my head down onto the pillow. 

            “Don’t hate me.”

            “Why would I hate you? I could never hate you, silly.  Tell me what happened.”

            “I stabbed Jack in the foot,” I whispered it to her, holding her face down next to mine, our hair covering us, shielding us from the outside world.  She tightened her arms around my shoulders.

            “Oh my god.  Why did you?”

            “He attacked me. Howard sent him. I had to do it.” I closed my eyes then.  I thought, you know Jesus Christ, I just can’t stand this, I just can’t do this.  I don’t know how to put one foot in front of the other anymore.  I don’t think I will ever have the will or the energy or the courage to leave this bed.  I think I will just fade away here.  Images of pumping blood and red footprints and his screaming face had filled my head again, invading my sanity.  “He walked out okay….Mike and Anthony cleaned up…we came here.”

            Lucy shushed me.  She used her hand to smooth my hair back over my forehead and she kissed my nose.  “Shh,” she said. “It’s okay then.  It’s over.  You had to do it.  You got away.  I’m proud of you.”  I opened my eyes.

            “How can you be?”

            “Because you’re still here.”

            I couldn’t speak then.  I closed my eyes because they were overrunning with tears.  She curled up with me.  We felt like one.  “Everything is gonna’ be okay,” she told me.  She kept telling me it.  “Go to sleep.  You’re exhausted.  I’ll look after you.  I’ll love you forever, do you know that?  Danny…you’re my Danny-boy…do you know that?”  Our bodies were tightly entwined and in that moment, somehow I was able to believe her.  I let her stroke my hair and she spoke to me softly the whole time, and I guess at some point, it worked, and I fell asleep.

            When I woke up, the lights were on, and it was dark outside.  The bed-sit smelled of pot and spilled beer.  Jake was lying on the floor laughing so hard with his hands clutching painfully at his belly.  Anthony was cutting up pizza in a massive box on the carpet.  Lucy held onto me, and we sat up together, blinking.  I didn’t know what to say, or do, so I just watched them all.  I watched them laughing and singing and shouting and I loved them.  My soul trembled and swayed with it all.  I wanted things to be good.  Just then, Anthony saw I was awake and leapt up to his feet, shoving the knife at Michael to cut the pizza. “Birthday boy, birthday boy,” he sung in a drunken voice as he turned off the light and shoved through the curtain into the kitchen.  There was a strange, hysterical silence.  He came back through, carrying a small chocolate cake just covered in candles.  I smiled, and I laughed.  Lucy squeezed my hand.  It was brilliant.  Happy birthday to you, they sang it at the top of their lungs.  They danced and clapped, and everyone was happy, everything was okay.  Billy came to the bed when I had blown out the candles.  He was drunk and stoned and smiling like a lunatic. He leaned towards me and he pressed a white envelope into my hands. 

            “Happy fucking birthday from the happy fucking fat man!” he garbled at me, before stepping backwards, tripping on someone’s discarded shoe and falling onto his arse.  They all roared with laughter and Michael jumped on top of him, ruffling his thick red hair.  I looked at Lucy and she was smiling this serene and beautiful smile for me.

            “Been looking forward to this,” she said, her arm through mine.  They were all staring at me again.  “Open it!” she urged, giggling.  “Come on!”

            “It’s from Terry?” I asked, ripping it open.

            “Yep,” said Lucy.

            “Fucking fat man!” Billy bellowed at me from the floor.

            I opened the envelope and pulled out two tickets.  Tickets.  My mouth fell open.  My breath froze in my throat.  My heart stopped.  Oasis.  October.  Live.  Bournemouth.  I blinked again and again and again, my mouth hanging open, my hands holding the tickets and just shaking, shaking like crazy.  They all started laughing at me.  “His face!” Billy screeched, rolling around under Michael. “Oh his face!”

            “Danny!” Michael was yelling at me, his dark eyes intense with excitement. “We’re all fucking going!”

Anthony put the cake on the bed and shoved a glass of wine into my other hand. “Cheers mate!” he yelled over the music.  “Happy birthday!”

            I couldn’t speak, or anything.  All I could do was stare at the tickets in my hand.  The room became a dark and spinning tunnel of lights and colours and noises around my head.  I felt like I was standing on top of the world and it was spinning recklessly and violently beneath my feet, and I was looking up, I was looking upwards, my eyes on the sky, my head in the stars.  If you could take moments like that and capture them completely, into some perfect essence that you could bring out again and again, whenever you needed to, whenever you needed help, whenever you needed a lift, or some hope, some light, then do you know what?  I think we would all live forever. 

72

 

            I was lost.  I was drowning.  Stranded within a deep, and immobilising trance.  All I could do was stare at the deep red puddle that was slowly spreading across the kitchen floor.  I stared at it, and my eyes filled with water, and all I could think was how could that much blood come from one foot?  The puddle seemed to be growing and growing before my very eyes.  Jack had walked out of there, grunting and groaning, leaving half of his blood behind.  Maybe later I would find him collapsed on the driveway, having bled to death.  It seemed impossibly red, and bright, and impossible that Jack had just shuffled on out, leaving that much gore behind. 

            The phone rang suddenly in the hallway, cutting me from the silence and yanking me from my trance.  I backed slowly out of the kitchen, still clutching the wet knife between both my hands, keeping my eyes on the blood, until I stumbled back into the front door, and reached out blindly for the phone.  I fumbled for it, knocked it from the cradle, reached down to the floor and made a desperate panicky grab for it.  “Hello?” I did not recognise my own voice.  It sounded  so small and tight, and seemed to come from another place entirely.

            “Danny!  It’s Mike. We just took another load over to the bed-sit.  Christ, we’re spending a fortune on bloody taxis, you doing okay?”

            “Mike?”  I sank back against the door in sheer relief.  I closed my eyes tightly and pressed the heel of my other hand into them, swathing myself in a brief and comforting darkness.  The knife was still clutched between my fingers.  “Shit Mike, oh shit, shit!”

            “What?” Michael sounded immediately alarmed. “What is it?”

            I swallowed and tried to find the words, but my throat felt tight and raw. “Shit Mike,” I said again, and gave up. 

            “Shit, what is it?” he cried. “What’s wrong?”

            “Can you come over here quick?”

            “We’re there, hang on,” he slammed down the phone and I was alone again.  My hand started to shake.  It shook so bad that the receiver fell through my fingers and thumped down to the floor.  I kept thinking, any minute my mum or Howard is going to come through that back door and see that blood…any minute, any minute, any minute.  I stayed where I was, with my back pressed into the door.  My knees felt weak, like they might buckle at any moment.  I told myself to move, I told myself it was urgent, I had to move, had to get out of there, but it was like my body had gone into shock or something.  It was useless.  Nothing more than jelly and sagging bones.  I was drained and empty.  There was too much in my head.  Too much fear, too much everything.  I needed help, so I remained where I was, kept my eyes closed and took deep slow breaths. 

            Less than two or three minutes passed before I heard their footsteps running urgently up the driveway.  Then they banged their way through the back door and just stopped.  “Danny?” I heard Michael’s voice call out.  It sounded high and frightened.  “Danny!”

            “Here,” I called out weakly, suddenly feeling horribly sick as Michael stepped cautiously into the hallway followed by Anthony. 

            “Shittinghell are you okay?”

            “Whose fucking blood is that?” Anthony rushed to my side.  He took my arm gently and pulled me away from the door, as if checking for wounds.  I gulped air and shook my head.  I felt faint and weak and my head was swimming and murky.  My eyes felt huge and staring, and I was trembling all over. 

            “Jacks,” I whispered to them.  They looked at each other in wonder, and then their eyes tracked slowly down to the knife in my hands. 

            “Shit,” said Anthony.  “Where is he?”

            “He left.  Walked out.”

            Michaels dark eyes remained fixed on the knife.  “Did you stab him?  With that?”

            I nodded.  “In the foot.  I stabbed his foot.”

            Anthony pulled his shoulders back, and faced me squarely with his hands on his hips and nodded.  “Cool.  I’m guessing he did something to deserve it?”

            I nodded.  I thought I was going to cry then.  I was trying like hell not to think about any of it, why Jack had rolled up like that drunk and angry, what he had wanted.  I felt overwhelmed with a horrible swamping kind of sadness.  That’s the only way I can describe it.  I wanted to get out of there and never come back.  I wanted to make it all go away.  “He was drunk,” I managed to tell Anthony, as the tears started to roll.  “I think Howard sent him.  He tried to get me.”

            Anthony’s face twitched.  He was swallowing rapidly and just nodding his head constantly, and his hand reached out for me and then stopped and returned to his hip. “Right,” he said.  Michael tugged at his arm.

            “Are we gonna’ clean that all up?” he asked in a small voice.  “Before someone comes?”

            “Yeah, I’ll do it.” Anthony gave his brother a push towards the stairs. “Get up there and get Danny’s stuff for him, we’re going.  I’ll clean up the kitchen and then we’re out of here, okay Danny?  We’re gone.” I felt confused.  Dazed, and out of it.  He placed a hand softly on my shoulder. “To the bed-sit right?  In a minute.”

            I managed a nod, and Michael shot up the stairs without a single word.  Anthony turned and hurried back into the kitchen.  I stayed against the door, numb and growing number.  I could hear Anthony opening and closing doors.  Water running into the sink.  A bottle being sprayed.  Michael came hurrying red-faced back down the stairs, clutching my ruck sack in one hand, and a bunch of stuffed full carrier bags in the other.  He dumped it all at my feet and dashed back up for more.  I continued to hold the knife so tightly it made my fingers throb.  I could hear Anthony spraying and mopping in the kitchen.  My feet were glued to the floor, my muscles all locked and refusing to move. 

            Michael ran back down the stairs and dumped another load of bags.  He held out a bundle of hastily rolled up posters. “Got these down for you,” he said gently. “We can decorate the bed-sit yeah? And all the tapes on your bed, and that, I put them in the ruck sack okay?  That’s everything. You okay to get going?” he touched my arm briefly. “I don’t like the thought of hanging around here much longer.” I nodded at him and Anthony came back into the hall, a bulging carrier bag in one hand.  He held it slightly behind his legs as if the contents were unsafe.

            “Done,” he said grimly.  “You wouldn’t know anything had happened.” He looked at me for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Did the bastard do anything Danny?  Are you okay?”

            “I’m okay.”

            “Good.  Why don’t you let me have that for a bit?” His eyes were on the knife.  I eyed it suspiciously, frowning, not really understanding anything anymore.  Anthony stepped closer and prised it carefully from my frozen fingers, and slid it into the back pocket of his tracksuit trousers.  He stooped down and grabbed some of the bags Michael had packed.  Michael followed suit, holding my stereo under one arm for me.  “Let’s go boys.”

            I moved from the door.  I had just remembered the note in my pocket.  It seemed somehow the only clear and obvious thing inside my head.  I had to leave it for my mum.  I told them to hold on, and walked shakily back into the kitchen. “What you doing?” Michael called after me in thinly veiled exasperation.  The kitchen floor was sparkling clean, and the room reeked of lemons.  I saw her coffee mug on the draining board, upside down.  I picked it up, slid the note inside and put the mug back in the cupboard. 

            “Danny?” Anthony was calling from the hallway. “What are you doing mate?  Come on, we need to call a taxi quick.”

            “Coming.”

            I traipsed back down the hall.  Antony opened the front door and held it open while we scurried out under his arm, all instinctively scanning the street for trouble.  Anthony nodded to the corner of the road, and we headed there briskly, heads low, eyes moving everywhere.  We got to their house and Anthony unlocked the door, told us to stay put and disappeared inside.  Michael and I waited in silent shaking shock on the doorstep.  The day was muggy.  Everything seemed still, and waiting.  I could hear a TV chattering in the lounge next door.  Small children squealed from a far off back garden.  I looked up at the sky and it was solid blue, and cloudless.  Sweat pooled under my arms and across my forehead and I wondered if I had ever felt so utterly wretched, so immensely exhausted and weak before.  I didn’t think my legs could hold me up much longer.  Michael just stared around constantly, jittery and chewing at his thumb nail.  Anthony reappeared and we looked to him instantly for reassurance and instruction. “Taxi in ten minutes,” he told us. Michael grimaced and spat out a chunk of nail.

            “What if the cops come?” he asked.

            “They won’t come,” Anthony told him. 

            “But how do you know?”

            “Mike, that fat slug is not gonna’ call the police, don’t worry about it. The only person we need to worry about is Howard, and getting out of here without anyone seeing where we’re going.”

            “He’s at the club,” I spoke up, finding my voice again.  “He called mum and told her to go and get the keys to the new house.”

            Anthony leant in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.  “What then Freeman just shows up at yours uninvited?”

            “Yeah,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I heard a noise in the kitchen and went down.  There he was.”

            “Howard sent him then,” Anthony said darkly, spitting suddenly out onto the parched front lawn.  “Sick fucking bastard…one last attempt to get control, eh?  What a fucking…” he just shook his head then, as his words dried up.  I knew what he meant anyway.  There weren’t any words to describe what it was, what Howard was, what any of it was.  Anthony sighed then. “That’s what bullies live off, you see,” he told me.  “Fear and control.  He thinks he’s losing it so he sends his little sidekick over to help him out again…fuckinghell mate, I am so glad I gave you that knife.”

            “Why’d you stab his foot?” Michael asked me then, still chewing relentlessly at his nail, as his eyes shot anxiously up and down the street. 

            “I was on the floor,” I remembered.  I felt the intense urge to just lie down then.  I just wanted to find the ground and sink into it.  “His foot was just there.  I got my knife out.”  I shook the images from my head, as the gruesome scene replayed itself over again.  The drops of saliva as they flew from his rubbery lips when he threw back his head and howled.  Anthony touched my arm, bringing me back.

            “You did the right thing, you had no fucking choice mate. He’s lucky you didn’t stab him somewhere worse! Fucking dirty cunt deserved it.  Oh hey, look boys.”  He nodded and we followed his gaze, and there it was at last, a big shiny black taxi cab pulling slowly into the close.  Anthony slapped our backs and leant past us to grab the bags.  “Here we go then boys,” he said as cheerily as he could manage. “Say goodbye to your shitty little lives!”

            It took less than ten minutes to load up the waiting taxi with what we had salvaged from our old lives.  I took a window seat, my skin clammy and hot as I pressed my face up against it and watched the houses getting smaller and smaller.  We sped away from it all, and I wanted to feel better about it.  I wanted to feel the weight lifting from me.  I wanted to feel the wind in my hair, and hope in my heart.  I longed for a rush of pure relief.  Instead I felt cold, and numb and totally removed from everything, as the enormity of it all began to hit me.  There was no hope, no relief, no sense of freedom.  Just cold, hard fear.