62

 

 

            Michael and I slept through Billy and Jake awaking to hangovers that sent them scuttling home the next day.  We slept right through the morning, wrapped tight in delicious dreams.  The music rang on inside my head.  I slept with a smile upon my face.  Anthony tried all morning to coax us from our slumbers, but we were too far gone, too deep down, not coming back for anyone.  He just had to wait.

When I started to wake up properly, I remembered that my body was battered and that pain was a constant companion.  I pushed this knowledge aside however.  I listened to the music inside my head, and my feet danced at the ends of my legs.  I was not in a hurry to move, or speak, or live.  I just wanted to stay there, wrapped in blankets on the floor of the darkened lounge, while Sunday morning life kicked into action outside the window.  Anthony stomped in and out, waving a wooden spoon about and talking about breakfast, and then lunch.  Eventually he sat down and turned the TV on, keeping a watchful eye on us as we stirred slowly and reluctantly into life.  The more we stirred, the more he sighed and clicked his tongue.  After a while, he picked up a cushion and threw it at us.  We laughed under our blankets, but this was not the effect he wanted.  He got up, stood next to us and poked at Michael with his shoe.  “Wakey wakey,” he was saying to us gruffly.  I opened my eyes and saw his grim expression bearing down on us.  He started poking at my shoulder with his shoe.  I had the sudden and undeniable urge to punch his foot away. My smile faded.  He looked pissed off and about to explode.  “Rise and shine,” he said. “You fucking little bastards.”

Michael merely giggled, not understanding the look upon his brothers face.  I understood it, and it made me feel wary.  I sat up slowly, my muscles screaming into my life, as I rubbed with both hands at my sleepy face.  I tested my lip with my tongue.  It felt crusty and swollen.  Anthony had not finished with us.  He squatted down, his eyebrows raised, his face expectant and waiting.  I offered him a pointless shrug. “Was a good night,” Michael was murmuring beside me.  “Was an amazing, fucking night.”

I wanted to agree with him, and drag back the memories and the good feeling I had woken up with, but I was caught in the glare of Anthony’s dark eyes, and I felt the accusation lying behind them.  “I ought to kick both your arses,” he told us then, his eyes flicking angrily between us.  Michael sat up, frowned and yawned.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot,” he snapped, shaking his head. “I know what the fuck you two did.  I saw your eyes when you got in.  I sat and listened to you babbling away for hours, not making any sense.”  He nodded when Michael’s cheeks burnt red, and then his eyes turned on me. “And as for you sunshine, aren’t you supposed to be meeting someone down the beach? I have been trying to wake you up all morning, so don’t blame me if she’s pissed off home by now.”

I stared back at him blankly.  It took a few minutes for the information and the reality to sink in, and as I stared Anthony stared back, his mouth a tight straight line, his dark eyes full of disappointment and anger.  When the realisation hit me fully, it sent me lunging up from the floor, slapping a hand against my own cheek as I mumbled; “oh fuckinghell Lucy.”

There was nothing for it.  I was bone tired and heavy headed, but I had to go.  I pulled on my jacket and stumbled out of the front door, straight into the dazzling cruelty of the afternoon sun.  I couldn’t run.  My body was like wet lead and I ached all over.  I felt like I’d gone twenty rounds in a boxing ring.  I felt like elephants had trampled over my body during my sleep.  I felt a rising rage and disgust within me.  I loped and trotted and plodded mechanically towards the beach, and every now and again I would pass a wall and feel the urge to drag the back of my hand along it.  Don’t ask me why.  I wanted to be in bed, and that was pissing me off, but I had to find her, I had to explain.

Down on the beach, the sun was warmer on the top of my head, but the wind was fiercer, and I had to brace myself against the sprays of water and sand that whipped across the beach to batter me.  She was not there.  I trudged along the beach front to check the shop and the café, but they were deserted.  She had gone.  I lowered my shoulders in recognition of defeat, in surrender to misery, turned around and started to trudge slowly back the way I had came.  The music was still pumping through my brain in a strange and distorted way.  Jumbled up lyrics and melodies that tried to out run each other.  I clung to it though.  I played the night back over in my head, and it was either remember that, or remember the foot to my face and the blood spray, and the things that were to come.

I walked slowly and clumsily towards her house.  I staggered along the road she lived on, recalling with bitter memory how Michael and I had gone up there to cut people’s lawns.  How naïve we had been, I thought then, as I slipped past like a ghost.  Thinking we could impress these kinds of people, with their huge houses, and their gardens the size of football pitches.  I planted one foot in front of the other, slowly and deliberately.  People like that, I was thinking, people like that act like they want to help you and like you, but in truth, they don’t want you anywhere fucking near them.  Under the pretence of niceness, they were always searching for the cracks.  The proof they needed to know they were right to distrust you in the first place.  I knew it was going to be like that when I knocked upon the Chapman’s front door.

Her house had an unobstructed view of the sea and an epic, sweeping drive.  I felt small and rat like as I slunk along it, towards her front door.  The door was heavy and thick, and would have looked at home on a castle, or on a country manor.  I lifted the brass knocker with pathetically weak hands, and let it fall again.  I had to lean with one arm against the wall, my legs giving up the effort, my body feeling fluid like the sea I could hear washing in and out behind me.  As I waited for a response, I glanced around.  I looked at the crawling creeping flowers and plants that grew up the sides of the house and around the windows.  There were window planters and borders, and shrubs, and millions of things I didn’t know the names of.  I gazed around at the lawn, and at the gardener who stood watching me from the other end, gloves on, cap low, and eye blinking in the sunshine.  I sighed and sensed inevitability and failure all around me, all inside me.  I gave myself up to it.

Her father answered the door, dressed in casual weekend trousers and a polite short sleeved shirt.  He wore these soft white shoes upon his feet, and I imagined that he had a game of golf planned for later in the day, or something.  I opened my mouth and asked for Lucy, and I watched his forehead crease and crinkle into about a million little lines of despair and worry.  His lips twitched and his body visibly stiffened.  “I really need to see her,” I added, not even convincing myself.  His mouth tightened, and he straightened his back and shoulders and looked as if he were trying to distinguish a way to speak the truth politely.

“Well she’s very upset Daniel,” he said, with this little shake of his head, when probably what he felt like doing was giving my dishevelled body a good shake.

“I was supposed to meet her,” I tried to explain sorrowfully. “I was late, because I slept in, because I was feeling ill…but that’s why, I mean, can I explain that to her please?”

He looked me up and down very quickly, and I knew what he was thinking and seeing behind his neat little spectacles.  “I’ll tell her you’re here,” he said, his face nothing less than a blustering, awkward and angry mess.

I nodded and smiled and waited patiently, eyeing up the roses, as they were the only plant I knew the name of.  When she came to the door, moments later, she stepped neatly outside and pulled it shut behind her.  I could see right away that she had been crying, as the rims of her eyes were all red.  I felt like shit because of it, but I could also see that she was angry, and I realised I had never seen her angry before.  She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.  She looked a bit like she had made an effort, I thought then, for some reason.  She was wearing a dress, for one thing.  And make-up.  I wanted to groan, which would have been cruel, but I wanted to tell her that she should know I didn’t give a shit about those stupid things.  She didn’t have to bother, I wanted to explain.  “I waited for you,” she said then, her voice wavering slightly on the last word, letting her down a little.  She took a breath and glanced away to compose herself before going on.  “I waited for three hours on that beach for you.  Where were you?”

“At Mike’s,” I told her, hoping the desperate look in my blue eyes would do the trick.  “I was just asleep!  Didn’t mean to sleep that long, but we all went out to this crazy, amazing club last night Lucy! I just slept in, and as soon as I woke up, I ran down to the beach, and then came straight here Luce.”

“It’s gone one o’clock,” she told me icily.  I nodded.

“Yep, I know.  Well, I know now.  We had a really late night.”  I offered an apologetic smile and a slight shrug of the shoulders but she was having none of it.  She was silent as she ran her brown eyes up and down my shabby appearance, just as her father had done.

“You look awful,” she said to me.

“Thanks.”

“What happened to your face?”

I smiled slightly.  She was pissing me off, to be honest.  Being all like her stuck up dad, looking me up and down like I was a piece of dog shit on the precious green lawn.  I touched a finger to my cut lip and rolled my eyes. I felt like whipping up my t-shirt and flashing her a glimpse of my black bruises, laughing in her screwed up little face and asking if she had a better reason than that to be pissed off?  “Nothing,” I told her. “I fell over.”

“Where did you go?”

“This club called Chaos,” I said, starting to get a little bit excited again.  “This amazing place in Belfield Park!  Plays all the music we like!  None of this mainstream pop shit, just decent, proper music!  You have to come next time Luce, I’m serious. They didn’t play one bad song, not one.”

She was just frowning and not caring. “How did you get in? You’re not old enough.”

“Fake I.D’s,” I said. “But we didn’t even need them in the end.  It was brilliant Lucy, we had the best time ever, just the most amazing night ever!”

She regarded me with still, cool eyes. “Yeah, you look like you did.  Did you take that stuff again?”

The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, and had no idea whether to lie about it or tell the truth.  I wondered why she cared, I wondered what business it was of hers?  My hesitation and flustering was enough of an answer for her though.  She nodded once, answering her own question and I just smiled a helpless smile.  “I just wanted to have fun,” I said defensively. “Just wanted to have a really, really good night.  I needed to.”

“So you can’t have fun without it?  You can’t have a good time without taking that stuff?  Even though it made you really ill last time?  Have you completely forgotten about that Danny?”

“Course not,” I shrugged. “Listen, Lucy I just needed a good time, I’m serious, you have no idea how crap things have been lately.”

“And did you?”

“What?”

“Did you enjoy your night at this club, on speed, or whatever else it was this time!” She was getting angrier by the second and I sighed, dropped my shoulders and glanced over my shoulders in a bored kind of way.  I felt like backing off and leaving her to her little tantrum.  Her arms tightened over her chest and her lower lip shook at me. “And how was the morning after this time?” she went on. “I’m assuming it wasn’t as terrible as last time, seeing as how you can walk by yourself and you’re not crying all over me!”

My mouth fell open in surprise and hurt.  I was genuinely shocked she had hit me with that.  My weak smile evaporated to nothing. “That’s not fair,” I said rigidly. “You have no idea the crap I’ve had to deal with lately, you have no fucking idea! Alright for you isn’t it? Up here with your perfect house and your perfect family! It’s not like that for everyone you know! You have no idea!”  I was getting angry with her now, and it was an ugly thing.  Jealously and resentment directed at the last person who deserved it.  Her expression was indignant, and I felt small, and judged.

“No!” she shouted right back at me.  “Because you never tell me! You don’t tell me anything at all Danny, you keep it all to yourself, whatever it is, you just want me there for company or whatever! You just expect me to there to comfort you, without ever telling me why you need it!”

I took a deep breath and looked away from her. I could see the gardener out of the corner of my eye.  He had his gloved hands resting on the end of his rake.  A curtain twitched in one of the front rooms.  I didn’t need this shit.  I was going to have worse shit than this to deal with pretty soon, and I wanted to get some sleep somewhere first.  I was close to telling her to piss off, close to telling her a lot of things, but I tried to calm down, I tried to gain control of things before they spiralled out of control. “Look, I am sorry I was late, but I did go, I was just late Lucy, and I’m here now!  Ran all the way I did.”

“Late,” she snapped. “Because you were too busy coming down, or whatever the hell you call it.  I don’t even want to know. I think it’s pathetic if you want the truth.  I think you look a total mess, and you’re screwing up your life, and it’s not worth it, not for one night of fun! And because taking it is so important to you, you missed our date.”

“Date?” I asked, not understanding.  I saw the instant flash of hostility in her eyes, the anger which slipped quickly into hurt, and I took a reproachful step towards her, reaching out for her arm.  She pulled away from me. Tears had sprung into her eyes.

“Well I thought it was a date,” she said, and her whole face seemed to tremble with the effort it was taking her not to cry. “But obviously I was wrong, obviously I was wrong about a lot of things, and obviously I’ve been wasting my time and making a complete idiot of myself, and you would much rather be getting off your head and lying in bed all day than being with me so….”  She left the statement hanging in the air and gazed down at her shoeless feet, her teeth raking back over her quivering bottom lip.

“I wouldn’t rather do that,” I told her, sinking my hands into my pockets.  “You’re not being very fair Luce. It’s only happened once…”

“Yeah, and it will happen again,” she declared with a sudden and definitive toss of her head, as she spun around and pushed open the door. “Until you sort yourself out.”

I stepped forward desperately. “I can’t do that without you!”

“Danny, I’m not going to be your counsellor or something,” she said this softly, now safely returned to the warmth of the hallway.  “I just wanted to be your girlfriend, that’s all.  But I don’t think that’s what you want right now.” She sniffed up her tears and closed the door on me.  I found myself facing the wood again.  I let out a growl and kicked it, again and again, with a rush of anger that shook through me without warning.

“Lucy!  Come back and talk to me!  Lucy!”

The door reopened and Mr Chapman stared down at me unhappily.  His face was even more concerned and twitchy now, and I felt his middle-aged eyes running up and down me again, making me want to snarl and lash out like a cornered dog.  “I just wanna’ talk to her!”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” he explained this calmly and firmly. “Now, I don’t know yet exactly what you’ve done to upset her so much, but I strongly suggest you go away now, and don’t come back.” He gave me a long, warning stare, and then closed the door again.  I felt the rage boil over again, and kicked and punched at the door in my face.

“Well fuck you!” I heard my voice screeching back at him.  “Fuck you mate!  Think you’re better than me!  Fuck you you fucking stuck up bastard!” I would have gone on longer, kicking and shouting at the door, but the gardener was already on his way over, marching in olive green wellingtons across the lawn, with his rake still in one hand.  I gave him the finger and stormed away.

I walked back to the estate in a whirlwind of fury and self-pity.  My mind was a muddle of guilt, rage and self-loathing, and my feet wanted to kick something, my hands wanted to punch something, and if someone had stepped into my way I probably would have knocked them out.  I’m turning into him now, I thought in growing amazement and horror as I walked on, he’s infected me with it, and that’s what will happen, that’s what I will become.  A monster.  It was almost like I could feel it happening inside of me, like my soul was curling and peeling away from me, blackened and rotting, revealing something primitive and ugly beneath.

I was storming blindly past Michael’s front door, when it flung open suddenly, and Anthony appeared before me, practically jumping right into my path.  He stopped me with a finger held in the air, and a dark look in his eyes.  “A word,” he said, and so I stopped and stared right back at him, waiting and dreading and hating.

“What?”

Anthony breathed noisily down through his nose, and as he kept the finger pointed at my face, one of his eyebrows rose on its own. “You ever give my brother that nasty dangerous shit again, and I’ll kick your fucking arse, right?”

I recoiled from him in miserable anger and shock.  I swung my body around his, but paused long enough to snarl up into his face; “Oh yeah? Like to see you fucking try!  You’re just like everyone else!”  I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets and rushed away from him.

I couldn’t bear it.  I didn’t think I could bear it, not ever.  I walked in a circle, not thinking, just breathing too fast, feeling like I was about to explode one way or the other.  I didn’t know what to do or where to go.  I couldn’t go home.  I couldn’t go anywhere.  Pity overloaded me then.  Grief, and guilt and regret, it wrenched itself through me, dragging me down, crushing me slowly.  I’ll just go home and find Howard, I thought then. Let him kill me.  Let him do it.  They’d all be happy then, wouldn’t they?  Instead, I ended up at the park, sat on a bench, and shivering in my Nirvana t-shirt.  I swung my feet back and forth, scuffing the soles of my boot against the tarmac.  The swings shifted restlessly just in front of me.  I watched a massive seagull land on the top of the slide, where he sat for ages, just laughing at me.  I stared at the ground, and watched the rubbish roll by, and I felt nothing less than wretched and pathetic and hated by everyone.  I wanted a drink.  I wanted a hundred drinks.  I wanted a smoke.  I wanted to smoke until my eyes bled and my vision failed.  I wanted a pill to put me out of my misery.  I wanted to learn how not to give a shit about anything, how not to care, and I wondered if it would ever become possible.

I could feel a lump in my back pocket and wondered what it was.  I searched there, and pulled it out, and it was my knife, and I didn’t even remember putting it there, but it made me smile just for a second.  Hello, I wanted to say to it.  Hello knife.  I passed it from one hand to the other as the wind lifted my hair, sending it flying back over my forehead.  Then I laid the blade down onto one palm, and I felt my body begin to loosen, and relax.  I took deep breaths, staring at the knife, before running one curious finger down the sharp edge of the blade.  I held it by the handle and started to try to carve my name into the bench.  I had carved Dan in jagged, spidery letters when I stopped suddenly, and gave in to a crazy impulse, slashing the blade across my own arm instead.  I took a sharp intake of breath and heard the knife clatter to the ground.  I held my wrist up to my face and stared in morbid curiosity at the cut I had made.  Thick dark blood welled to life along the slash, and so I pressed a finger into it, and watched the blood dripping faster, trailing a ruby zig-zag down towards my elbow.  I stared at the mess of it all in complete detached wonder and felt a strange and numb calm wash over me.

A short while later I picked up the knife, slipped it back into my pocket and walked away from the bench, and the park.  The cut was stinging, but the blood had stopped.  As I walked I focused my mind on the stinging, and I felt satisfied by it.  Don’t ask me why.  How can you explain these things?  I suppose, if I look back now, I was trying to take some control, by inflicting the pain on myself instead of waiting for someone else to do it.  I don’t know. Who knows?  Who cares?  It was him or me.  I knew that all along.  I knew that from the beginning. It was always going to come down to that.

Half an hour later I was letting myself into Jack’s flat.  He grunted from his favourite sofa, where he was sprawled out, in a white vest and loose grey trousers.  The smell of stale sweat and cold curry permeated my nostrils.  The flat was warm though.  The TV was on.  He made me a whiskey and coke without saying a word and passed it to me when I sat down.  My body lolled into the sofa, too heavy and broken to ever move again.  I stared at the TV screen. “Don’t tell him I’m here,” I said after a while.  Jack lit his cigar and laughed.

“You on the run?”

“Just don’t tell him,” I repeated. “He’s evil you know.  He’s going to kill me one of these days.  One of these days, he’s going to kill me.”

“Well I don’t expect to see his lordship tonight,” Jack told me with a sigh.  “So you can stop getting your knickers in a twist. Oh that reminds me though.  Someone else is looking for you.”

I looked at him sharply.  “Who?”

“Jaime Lawler,” he replied, eyes firmly on me. “Came round earlier. Says you owe him money.”

“Oh yeah.  I do.”

“Howard says you’re not working at the club anymore?  That right?”

I nodded at him. “I’m never stepping foot in that place again in my life. Not with that evil bastard.”

Jack smoked his cigar and drummed the podgy fingers of one hand against the armrest of the sofa.  “Well then, seems to me you better start thinking of other ways to earn money kiddo.  Or you’re gonna’ be finding yourself in all kinds of trouble.”

61

 

 

            The night that followed at Chaos, was everything I had so desperately dreamed and hoped it would be.  We jumped off the bus in Belfield Park and hurried down to the part of the high street that had been pedestrianized, taking the second left as Jaime had instructed me to do.  There was a kebab place on the corner, and when I saw this I whooped loudly and declared we were close.  We followed the road down to its dead end, and then took a right which led down a narrow lane, already bustling and crowded with people.  At the end of the lane stood a tall, three-storey, grubbily white washed Victorian building.  It loomed up out of the darkness before us, almost church like in its height and grace and mystery.  Break On Through by The Doors was pumping out onto the street.  People pushed and milled and lunged to get through the doors.  I turned to my friends and jumped up and down on the pavement.  “This is it!” I declared excitedly, emotionally, gripping a wide-eyed Billy by the lapels of his shirt and spinning him around in a circle. “This is the place!”

We followed the crowd, we merged into the flock, we grinned and slapped hands and hugged each other, and we didn’t even need the fake I.D’s.  We shoved our money into the hands on the doors that reached for it, and there was no real queue, just a disorderly crowd of revellers who surged towards the opening.  We found ourselves swept up in among them, piling down some stairs to the lower floor, where there was no natural light, and the walls were painted a dark and disturbing yellow.  We paused at the bottom of the stairs, while people flowed past us on either sides.  The bar curved around to the left, the floors wooden and scarred, battered red and black sofas stuffed into the corners. Mismatched tables and chairs, and stools, were arranged around the edge of a large dance floor, complete with stage at one end. The floor was already full.  I grinned.  I wanted to run onto it and jump up and down and throw my hair about.  The crowd looked young and wild and hungry.  “Everyone looks like us!” Billy said beside me, his hand curling around my arm.  I looked into his face and beamed.

“I know,” I said, looking at each of them in turn, at their flushed cheeks and their stretched and amazed smiles of recognition. “I told you didn’t I?” Just then the music changed and I immediately started leaping about, wrapping my arms around Billy’s neck and taking him with me. “Up In The Sky!! Hey you!  Up in the sky!  Learning to fly!” We bounced around like that, all four of us, until we were on the dance floor, going mental.

“Tell me how high do you think you’ll go?” Billy was bellowing into my ear. “Before you start faaaaaaaaling!”

“Our music!” I was screaming back at him. “They play our music!”

Jake went to get the drinks in.  I had given him the money earlier.  He was the tallest by far, and looked older than he was.  We bounced around until the song ended and then flung ourselves at the nearest table when Jake came back with the drinks. He placed four whiskey and cokes on the table and we hovered around the edges, as there were no spare chairs.  Sonic Youth’s Sugar Cane had just come on.  I picked up my drink and had a hard time getting it down me, my grin was so huge.  Billy came to my side.  His eyes were big and solemn, and he touched my arm and looked like he was in shock. “Danny,” he said. “This is the best fucking place in the Universe. I never want to go home ever. But we have to drink up quick and dance and do it all quick, ‘cause they’ll take it away from us when they realize we’re underage! I swear to god they will!” He looked desperately panicked at the very thought.  I laughed at him, nodding along to the music.

“Don’t be stupid Bill, they can’t kick us out now we’re in and we’ve paid. Look around mate, does it look like anyone gives a shit? Relax!”

We drank the whiskeys, so Jake went back and got bottles of beer next. “That’s it,” he said, handing me the change. “Out of money.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I shrugged. “Who needs booze when the music is this good?”

With the drink stoking my belly and the music setting my brain on fire, a short while later I nudged Michael and told him to come to the toilets with me.  He nodded without question and followed me across the dance floor, both of us gaping in wonder at the rock chicks and indie girls who swayed as we passed them, pint glasses in hand. Michael punched me in the back as we pushed into the mens toilets.  They were painted black, and the strip light on the ceiling flickered ominously as we walked in. They were crowded too; I had never seen so many interesting hairstyles and tattoos on display in one place. “Amazing,” he kept saying to me, over and over. “Amazing Danny, so amazing, best place ever!”

I was laughing helplessly as I shoved Michael into a cubicle and piled in after him.  I had a quick piss, throwing my head back and hooting when Blur’s For Tomorrow started to play.  I moved back so Michael could take his turn, and while he was at it, I took out the wrap of speed Jaime had given me.  I had cigarette papers in my other pockets and made us both a speed bomb.  I held one out to Michael when he had done up his flies and turned around. “You want to?”

He stared at it, his mouth falling open in surprise and then closing again slowly.  He made a sort of awkward face and shrugged his shoulders at me.  I was about to withdraw my hand and leave him out of it after all, when he suddenly snorted laughter through his nose and snatched it from my hand. “Oh why the fuck not? You fucking crazy bastard!”

We didn’t need any more drinks after that.  We bounced back out onto the dance floor, and when Supersonic kicked off, we dragged Jake and Billy out with us, and that was it.  “I need to be myself!” We sang at the top of our lungs, slinging our arms around each other, roaring out the words. “I can’t be no one else!” And all that followed after that was endless dancing and the worship of the music we loved.  The music jumped from one genre to the next, playing Nirvana’s Come As You Are, behind Suedes Animal Nitrate, and followed by The Clash, Should I Stay Or Should I Go? Of course I thought I was going to die with happiness when they played I Am The Resurrection.  As soon as that long drum intro started, I just stood still, my eyes bulging from my face, my face and hair slick with sweat, and then they all grabbed me and threw me about, knowing how much I loved it, how much it meant to me, and fuck, did I scream out those lyrics!  I thought the music couldn’t get any better, but I was wrong again and again and when Smells Like Teen Spirit started, we were like a bomb had gone off inside of us!  It wasn’t just us either.  It was the whole place!  The dance floor was like this unified thing, an animal, twisting, leaping, shoving, moving, and the floor was being pounded, and the vibrations shook up and down my body.

After that Billy and Jake seemed to be fading fast.  They scraped enough money off the floor to buy themselves a coke to share and slunk back to the table with it.  Michael and I continued to go off like rockets.  We thought of Anthony when Primal Scream’s Movin’ On Up started, and Michael bellowed into my ear that he would drag him along next time.  I soon worked out that although the DJ had been well and truly in control at the beginning of the night, he was now operating a request system.  I watched the line of people winding slowly up the black spiral staircase to reach him.  I dragged Michael with me, gripping the thrumming hand rail with sweat slicked hands, damp hair in my eyes, and my blood hurtling through my veins at breakneck speed.  The DJ was a tall guy in his late twenties with long black hair and he grinned and nodded when I reeled off my list of requests.  By the time we had descended the stairs again, Panic by The Smiths was already playing, and I started laughing, and just couldn’t stop.  I knew I was as high as a kite, as happy as it was possible to get, as full of life and love as I would probably ever be.  I felt on top of the world, bigger and stronger than ever, in control and I didn’t want it to ever end.  That was the only bad thing, the only thing that caused my mood and spirit to flag; the thought of it all coming to an end.  “Burn down the disco!” I grabbed Michael and sang into his shining face.  “Hang the blessed DJ! Because the music that they constantly play, it says nothing to me about my life!”

Song after song, after song.  “Not one bad one!  Not one shitty song!  Not one single one!” I repeated it like a broken record all the way home.  I couldn’t keep still on the bus, I wanted to be dancing and jumping, with the music vibrating all over me.  I wanted my head to be permanently full of it. I didn’t want it to ever be turned down, or turned off.  “Not one bad song,” I said it again and again. “Not even one!”

Back at Michael’s, we entertained a skeptical looking Anthony with our run down of the most amazing night we had ever experienced, while Billy and Jake sunk onto either end of the sofa, asleep before their heads hit the cushions.  I could remember every single song that had been played, a fact which astonished and mesmerized Michael.  I babbled on for a few more hours, talking so fast that Anthony had to keep holding his hand up and telling me to slow down, to calm down.  He listened, but regarded me with a sombre and suspicious eye.  Eventually he declared he was off to bed, and dropped a load of blankets on top of where we lay on the lounge floor.  When he was gone I took out the pills from Jaime and passed one under the blankets to Michael. “What’s this?” he whispered, his face pale and clammy, his pupils like specks of dust in his massive brown eyes.

“It’s so you don’t feel crappy tomorrow,” I told him, still smiling endlessly with the warm and fuzzy feeling that had captured me.  “So Anthony won’t notice anything.”  He looked impressed and took the pill.  We lay on our bellies beside each other, kicking our legs up and down under the blankets.

“Fucking good night,” Michael said softly, turning his face to the side to grin at me.  “The best ever.”

I smiled back, this huge dopey smile, and I felt like the love and the light and all of everything that was pure and good, was alive and living inside my brain, shining out at him from behind my eyes.  I was sure of it.  I believed in it totally and utterly.  “You deserve it,” he told me then.  “You deserve a good time.”

“There’s a lot of joy…in a lot of things, isn’t there?” I said to him, before the pills took hold. I think it was the last thing I said to him, but I’m not sure.  In my dreams I carried on talking all night long.  Listing the songs, clinging on to the feeling.

60

 

 

            I walked slowly home.  I didn’t know where else to go.  I let myself in the back and crept silently up the stairs. As I crossed the landing, I could hear my mother snoring deeply in her room.  I paused outside my own room; breathing fast, my brain pounding in my skull, my jaw tight, not allowing me to speak even if I had wanted to.  I gave up anyway; I gave up before I even let myself entertain the thought of waking her.  I went into my room and closed the door behind me.  I stood where I was, peeled off my wet, sick splashed t-shirt and threw it to the floor.  I kicked off my boots, removed the drugs from my back pocket and threw them on the bed. I pulled off my jeans and kicked them away.  I climbed under my duvet in just my boxers, dragging out my little tin from under the mattress as I did.  I knocked my notebook out, and watched as it thumped down to the floor, revealing the biro still tucked inside the last page I had written on.  I snarled impatiently, reached down and punched it right under the bed.  There was no point in any of that now, I realized angrily. All I needed now was sleep, and to get that I would need a little helping hand.

I rolled myself a little joint, and sat with my back to the wall, and my arm slung loosely around my middle.  I sat and smoked, and replayed what had just happened in my head.  It made me sick.  Nothing was ever going to be good enough for that man.  I gritted my teeth against the bad taste in my mouth.  Go to school, I thought, go to school and be a good boy, then get your head shoved under water anyway.  Being good and toeing the line would get me nowhere, because Howard would still give me a good kicking any time he felt like it.  Why hadn’t I realized that before?  Why had I been such a fucking idiot for so long?  Scuttling around, living under his thumb and his rules, avoiding my friends just to avoid a beating.  There were no rules, because the guy was insane, and insanity does not follow rules.  Howard didn’t follow rules, did he?  No, he fucking didn’t.  He didn’t keep to his word, did he? No.  He just enjoyed violence. That was it. That was what it came down to.  All his talk about keeping me on the right path, that was bullshit, all of it was. When I thought back over what had happened in the kitchen at the club, it became obvious to me, and I didn’t know why I had not grasped it before.  He liked violence. He got off on it.  It was like me and the music.  Music calmed me down, made me feel better, lifted me up and chilled me out.  I trembled on the outside, and on the inside there was a roar of rage thudding to get out.  The man was a total fucking lunatic and nothing was going to change that, nothing.

I sat there and smoked, thinking up ways to kill him.  I felt detached from reality and the rules it expected us to follow. Thou shalt not kill.  Well how about if someone is doing their best to kill you?  Would it alright then?  Would the law let me off?  If they knew what he was like, what he was capable of?  I thought about poisoning him.  There had to be way.  Maybe I would ask Anthony what he thought.  We could come up with a plan, couldn’t we?  Then I started to think about waiting until he had fallen asleep. Creeping into their room with a massive fuck off knife in my hands.  Pulling back the covers and plunging it, right into his chest, right into his twisted black heart.  I closed my eyes and then opened them again. The pot was loosening my limbs, and sending them to sleep, one by one.  Drowsiness was creeping in, and my head wanted to loll forward, and my eyes wanted to shut down.  I felt it all gradually growing numb within me, and didn’t feel anything anymore, not fear, or anger, or anything.

I stubbed it out, pumped the vanilla scented air freshener around the room and snuggled down under my duvet to sleep.  I was just floating into oblivion when I heard him come in downstairs.  He was still worked up by the sound of it.  Slamming doors.  Crashing into things.  I closed my eyes, yanked the duvet up over my head and held my breath in the darkness.  Would he come for me? Knowing mum was out cold, would he want to start again?  Had he got what he wanted in that kitchen, or was his desire yet to be quenched?  It seemed I was not on his agenda however, as he stormed right past my door and into his own room.  I let my breath back out, slow and ragged, thinking thank fuck, thank fuck he didn’t come for more.  I briefly considered sneaking downstairs and fetching a knife to keep under my pillow, just in case.

I could hear him talking then.  He threw something against the wall, maybe his shoes, or something that was in his way.  I heard my mum murmuring back in a thick, sleepy voice.  I curled into a ball, encased in darkness.  He was still talking, and she was talking back, protesting, her voice sounding high and thin, as the bed springs began to creak over the top of it.  Howard started swearing at her.  He sounded angry.  I pressed my hands to my ears and tried to locate the entrance to sleep I had been so close to before he came home.  It was then that the noises begun, and there was nothing I could do to block it out, nothing I could do to stop them entering my ears and my mind.  She was moaning, he was groaning, and the thump of the headboard, the screams of the bed springs told their own story.  It didn’t sound like anything nice, or fun.  It sounded like an animal, taking what it needed to survive.  I threw back my cover, reached out blindly for my Walkman, not knowing exactly where it was, but finding it instantly with my fingers on the desk.  I yanked it into bed with me, pulled on the headphones and pressed play.  I pulled the duvet back over my head, closed my eyes and tried to push it out.  I concentrated on the music.  It was the very song that had got me into trouble earlier. Down, down you bring me down, I hear you knocking at my door and I can’t sleep at night….I nodded along with it, squeezing my eyes shut, pushing out everything else, what was happening next door, what had happened earlier, all of it.  It was just The Roses, just Ian Browns voice inside my head, and a magnificent spiralling wall of guitars and drums that went on forever, as long as I kept on rewinding it back to the start…Your face, it has no place, no room for you inside my house, I need to be alone…Don’t waste your words I don’t need anything from you, I don’t care where you’ve been or what you plan to doooooo…

 

The next morning I woke up with one thing, and one thing only on my mind.  It was the most important thing.  It propelled me from my bed and sent me scrabbling around the room for clothes to throw on.  It was the most vital thing in the world.  It had slammed me in the head the second my eyes had opened.  The club they had told me about. The club that played the good music.  We had to go.  We all had to go.  I knew it.  I knew it would be alright, because everything is always alright when you have good music! Everything else, soapy water and pint glasses and drugs in alley ways and mothers crying, all of that would fade away, I knew it would, it would cease to exist in a place like that. It would cease to matter. If only for a while.  We were going to find that club, the one that played the good music, and we were all going to go and get off our heads, and have the best night of our lives ever. We were going to remember it forever.  I dressed and flew out of the house while my mother and Howard still lay snoring.

I rushed around to Mike’s and pounded on his door.  He answered it, yawning widely and tugging his tatty dressing gown around himself.  I flew inside, and he stopped yawning then, and his expression became tense and sober, and his nostrils worked, and his lips clamped shut and he shook his head at me as he closed the door. “You’ve got to be joking,” I heard him say.  I had no idea what he meant.  I didn’t care.  I jumped up and down like a kid in a sweet shop.

“Hi Mike!  Morning Mike!  Listen to this, I’ve got the best night ever planned! You’re gonna’ love it!”

He stared at me as if I were crazy. “You know your head is cut right? What the hell’s happened?”

I had totally forgotten. I shrugged at him, and lifted my hand, raising my fingers and running them gently along the length of the cut.  It was about an inch long, and thick with crusty clotted blood.  I grimaced at the red smear on my fingers and shrugged at him. “I forgot about that. I’m not working at the club anymore Mike. That’s what that is.”

“So you’re not gonna’ try and tell me you fell off your bike then?” he crossed his arms and sighed at me.  I smiled a little.

“No mate. It seems me going to school all week to please my mother got Howard a little wound up.” I turned and headed into the kitchen.  Michael followed, shaking his head angrily, grabbing the kettle from the side and shoving it under the tap to refill it.

“Fucking bastard,” he growled. I sat down at the table.  I felt okay.  I felt good.  It was partly being back in his house, like the old days, relaxing with the knowledge that there were no parents about to show up and look over your shoulder. And it was partly thinking about tonight, thinking about the club and good, happy times.

“Forget about it,” I told him. “Have you got any passport sized photos? We might need some.”

“What for?”

“Fake I.D’s,” I replied with a grin.  Michael got two mugs down from the cupboard and sloshed milk into each one. “I’ve got some photos somewhere, we just need to get some done for you, then this friend of mine can sort them out for us.”

“Why’d we need them?”

“To go to a club!” I cried, the excitement flooding me again, making me feel giddy with it, making it impossible to sit still. I gripped the edge of the table with my hands and grinned like a lunatic at Michael.  He stared back at me with wary eyes.

“What club?  Are you okay mate?  Really?”

“Yes! Definitely okay!  I’m just really excited!  There’s this club you see, over in Belfield Park, and it plays the music we like Michael!  It plays good music!” I bit my lip and stared at him, still fidgeting and squirming while he took the information in.  “It’s called Chaos,” I burst out, when he refused to join in.  “Ever heard of it?  We can go tonight Mike, if we get these I.D’s sorted! How cool right?  A place for us?  A place that plays our kind of music!”

Michael nodded in interest and then turned his back to make the teas. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.  We can do that.” He placed the mugs on the table and sat down opposite me.  “Sounds cool.  Billy and Jake too?”

“Yes!” I cried, clapping my hands together.  “Call them!  Can I borrow the phone while I’m here?  I’ll call this guy to sort out the I.D’s.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“Oh, that Lawler bloke. He’s okay.” I picked up my tea and blew across the surface of it.  I wanted to laugh out loud.  I wanted to jump up and down again.  I didn’t want to think about anything bad ever again, just fun, just good times, and good friends, and good music.  That was how it should be, I reasoned, that was how it should always be! “So excited,” I told him. “I can’t wait to see what they play. I am never going back to K’s again in my life. It’s diabolical the shit they play there, and what’s even more depressing are the fucked up sheep who try to dance to it!  They haven’t got a clue!”

Michael nodded in vague agreement with me. “So tell me what happened with Howard,” he said. I made a noise that let him know it was a subject I did not want to be dragged back into. I glanced down the hallway, wondering where Anthony was.

“The usual, I told you. But I’m not going back there, not ever. That’s it. I can just stay out of his way now.”

“But you go to school all week and he still lays into you?” Michael shook his head in disgust and rubbed a hand against his face. “Danny, please, let’s just tell the police.  Or a teacher.  Someone. I’m begging you mate.”

“Can’t,” I shook my head and sipped my tea. His fist thumped onto the table top.

“Why not?  Why the fuck not Danny?  You’re just gonna’ keep letting him get away with it?  He won’t stop, no matter what you think.  And do you know what I’m really scared about?” I met his eyes and shook my head slowly. “That he’ll go too far and fucking kill you one day…you only have to look at the size of him, the size of you…That’s what scares me mate.  Do you think I want to go to your fucking funeral knowing I could have done something to stop it?” He was looking at me in this terribly pained way that was almost more than I could stand.  I wanted to tell him again about the music.  I wanted to start a list of songs I was hoping to hear there. I was already wondering if their D.J took requests.

“Mike,” I put my tea down and sighed at him.  “It’s not that simple and you know it.  So please. Don’t go on.”

Michael shook his head at me, and leaned across the table. He looked pale, I thought then, like he hadn’t been sleeping well recently. “Tell your mum then,” he pleaded. “I’ll come with you. We’ll wait until he goes out, and we’ll go and tell her together.  Tell her everything.”  I scratched my head and tried to think of a way to explain to him what my mother had been like lately.

“She’s not herself,” I told him slowly. “Something is wrong with her. And Mike, I did tell her once, I told her what he’d done and she didn’t believe me then. I don’t see why she would believe me now, all this time later.”

“The police,” Michael said again, pleadingly now.  I sighed in frustration.

“Mike, we can’t trust them. Look what happened to Anthony, and we still don’t know exactly who was involved in that.  You have no idea what he’s capable of…I mean…” I trailed off for a moment, my mind momentarily dragging me back to the sink full of murky glasses and bubbles, the rush of water up my nostrils.  “If anything else happens to you or Anthony, I would never forgive myself Michael.  And I’d end up in care or something, because my mum’s in no fit state to take care of us both.  Worse things happen there Mike.  They really do.”

Michaels lips trembled slightly as he pressed them together.  “Stay with us,” he said. I felt a little annoyed with him, as the last of my excitement plummeted to the floor.

“Not safe,” I told him adamantly. “And if he goes to prison, I’d be dead anyway. He’s got people everywhere, he said.  They’d get me, or he would when he got out. No.  I’ve got a better plan.”  Michael’s eyes widened and he waited for me to explain.  I licked my lips and considered telling him the thoughts that had consumed me last night.  Thoughts of poison, and knives, and blows to the back of the head.  “Wait ‘til I’m sixteen and just move out.  They won’t stop me, and if they do I’ll just run away.” I grinned at him then, hoping to raise his spirits. “Me and you could get like a bed-sit together or something!  And jobs.”

To my relief Michael grinned back at me, and his shoulder relaxed slightly. “That would be so cool.”

“Course it would.” I slurped down the rest of my tea and got up from the table. “Come on, we need to sort out these I.D’s and talk to Billy and Jake. Tonight is going to be the best fucking night ever Michael. I am telling you.”

By the afternoon, the plan was in action and they were all on board, and as excited as I was.  We would all do the usual; tell our parents we were sleeping at Billy’s and Billy would tell his he was staying at Michael’s.  We would sleep at Michael’s afterwards, in order to dissect what I hoped would be the best night of our lives so far.  I got ready up in my room, taking painstaking care over my choice of clothes.  I desperately wanted to wear one of my Nirvana t-shirts, but I also wanted to wear the Oasis one I had bought recently, and then there was my Clash one, my Jim Morrison one.  I wanted to look like me, like I hadn’t tried too hard, but I also wanted to make a statement about who I was, and what I lived for.  In the end I went for Nirvana, tipping Kurt a wink as I pulled it down over my head.  I had this fluttering restless sensation in my gut, which I supposed was excitement, although it was hard to tell when it was accompanied with the usual knot of dread I carried around with me.  I dragged out my tin and plucked out the wrap of speed I had got from Jaime.  I stared at it for a while, trying to decide whether to take some now or later.  Offer some to Michael again, or keep it to myself?  Unable to make my mind up, I stuffed it into my back pocket along with the pills I planned on taking towards the end of the night.

I left my room and crept lightly down the stairs.  I was in the hallway, tying up my boot laces when I heard the creak of the leather sofa, and the grunt that was unmistakably Howards.  “Oi, where d’you think you’re going?” his voice called out. I glanced nervously up the stairs.  I knew mum was in bed yet again with another migraine.  Why the fuck wasn’t he at the club? That knot of fear was coming to life again, clenching and unclenching painfully inside my stomach and I knew why.  “Hey!” his voice boomed out, making me jump. “I’m talking to you!”

I had my laces tied, I reached out for the door handle, but he was already behind me, his shadow darkening the door, his bulk filling the space behind me, and as I fumbled with the catch and opened the door a crack, his hand shot out, slamming it shut again.  His large, sneering face loomed over my shoulder, his mouth rasping whiskey breath into my ear.  I kept my eyes on the door, and my hand on the catch.  “Don’t you fucking try and walk out when I’m talking to you.”

“I’m going to Billy’s,” I said stiffly. “Mum knows. She said I could.” I attempted to open the door again, but he kept his hand there, holding it shut.

“I don’t think so.  I think you can stay here and keep me company. You’ve given me a bad headache you know. I’ve taken the night off work because of you.  I’ve had to pay the bar staff extra to collect the glasses. You’ve dumped me right in it!”

I blinked and shook my head, incredulous at the audacity of the man. “What do you expect? I’m not working for you after what you did last night! I don’t wanna’ be anywhere near you.”

“You’re staying in,” he replied, his hot breath coating my cheek.  “You’ll do as I tell you.”

“No.” I shook my head, my eyes still fixed on the door. “You got no right. You can’t stop me.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and plunged a fist into my side.  I doubled up instantly, choking on the pain.  It was sickening, rocketing throughout my body from the point of impact.  I shook my head, desperately. Please don’t, I thought, please don’t try and stop me going there.  I needed to go there, I had  to go there, because what else was there?  What else?

“Stop it,” I tried to tell him, forcing the words up with a cough. He grabbed my arm, turned me around and held me back against the door.  “What have I ever done to you?” I looked into his eyes and asked him.  I tried to see, I tried to find the answer there, I tried to search his eyes for pity, or remorse, for anything remotely human, but all I could see was the burning glint in his eyes.  And I could feel it pulsing from him again, the waves of violent intent, the urge he was compelled to satisfy.

“You exist for one thing,” he informed me. “And you’re getting out of line again.  This is my house, and my rules, and if I say you’re not going out, then you’re not fucking going out!”

I stared back at him, breathless with pain, tight-lipped with anger.  I could feel it stirring again within me, the blood pumping faster and harder through my veins, and I liked it and I wanted it.  I wanted to kick him in the balls again, and then stamp on them for good measure.  I wanted to be able to do something to him that would make him stop, and pause, next time he wanted to take a shot at me.  Something that would rein him in, make him think twice.  There was no way he was stopping me going out.  No fucking way.  If we had to fight to the death in the hallway, then so be it.  “You are pure fucking evil,” I told him then, my mouth moving upwards into a parody of a smile.  “You know that?  Evil.  I don’t know how you even sleep at night.  I hate you more than you will ever know, and if I ever get the chance, I would fucking kill you in a second!”

He rocked back in his heels, his small eyes just gleaming slits in his vast and leering face.  He moved them slowly up and down my sagging body, and then he struck again, his fist shooting into the pit of my belly.  I crumpled in half, gasping and grunting.  He laughed, and I went down, onto my knees, my stomach exploding inside of me.  “You won’t ever get the chance you little shit stain, it’ll be killing you and don’t you ever forget it!” My head was hanging down, my hair all over my face, my body crippled with the blows, when his foot lashed out, catching me in the face and sending me back into the door with a dull thud.

“Mum!” I screamed out then, somehow finding the energy within me to bellow it out.  I glanced through my hair, saw the sudden panic in his eyes, and opened my mouth again.  “Mum! Mum, help, help!” I had bought myself time, so I turned to the door, clawing at it and clinging to it.  There was the unmistakable sound of the bedsprings creaking in their room.  Howard looked uncertain, licking his lips rapidly and staring from me, up to the landing, and back to me.  His nostrils were twitching, his big chest jerking up and down as his breath whooshed in and out of them.  I hung onto the door handle and used it to pull myself back up.  My back now turned to him, I didn’t waste any more time, I didn’t look back at him, I just scrambled desperately with the catch, got it open, made a gap big enough for me to squeeze through, and I was out. The cold night air slapped my face, taking my breath from me once again.  I opened my mouth, sucked it in and stumbled forward.

Sharp spikes of pain made me wince and cry out, but I was laughing as I ran, as I forced my feet to move, one after the other.  I ran to Michael’s house and hammered on it like a madman.  I looked over my shoulder just once then, half expecting to see Howard’s raging face behind mine, but he was not there.  He had not followed.  Anthony wrenched the door open in a panic and I nearly fell in over the doorstep.  I bundled myself in and he closed the door and examined me in shock. “Danny?  What the hell?”

Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding an open can of lager and frowning in surprise and concern.  “Oh my god!” he cried, when he saw me.  I could feel the wetness on my top lip, so I pressed a hand to it, and stared blankly at the blood on my fingers. “What now?  For fucks sake!”

I couldn’t speak for a moment.  My gut was twisted and writhing in pain, so I leaned against the closed door and just breathed and grinned at them.  Pain was okay, I kept telling myself, it’s just data, it’s just information being sent to your brain, it won’t kill me.  “I’m okay,” I told them when I had the breath to.

“You’re not fucking okay!” Anthony exploded, stepping towards me and lifting up my chin. “Did that fucker just do this?  Mike get some tissues or something!  Did that bastard do this, Danny?  Jesus Christ!”

I moved my face from his hand. “He tried to stop me coming out,” I explained. “But it’s okay, I made it look!  We can go!” They looked at each other darkly.  Michael came up the hall, ducked into the downstairs toilet and came back out with a clutch of toilet paper in his hand.  He passed it to me and I held it to my nose and lip.

“Last night as well,” Michael said then, his dark eyes moving from me to Anthony. “He laid into him at the club, cut his head.”  Anthony’s face was creased in concern. He reached out and pushed my hair to one side, wincing when he saw the size of the cut to my forehead.

“Well that’s fucking it!” he cried then, turning around and kicking the nearest thing to him, which happened to be the door I was leaning against.  He ploughed his hands back through his short dark hair. “Fucking bastard!  Fuck!”

I laughed a little.  I don’t know why.  I just felt like it.  I rubbed the tissues into my nose until the blood was all mopped up. “He’s off on one,” I remarked. “Dunno why.  He’s been drinking too.  Maybe things are going tits up for him, I dunno.”  Anthony shook his head at me, his eyes wide and black with anger.

“I’m going over there,” he said flatly. “I’m going over there to teach him a lesson. See if he’d like to pick a fight with me!”

I put my hand to his chest. “No.  Don’t. Not now.  Not tonight.”

“This can’t go on Danny,” he told me seriously. “We have to do something mate.  I’m serious.”

“Just not tonight,” I begged him, looking to Michael for help. “Please not tonight. We’re going out remember?  To the club that plays the good music?”

“You can still go,” Anthony replied. “I’ll rip his head off while you’re gone.”

“Not tonight,” I said again, firmer this time.  I nodded at Michael and put my hand over the door knob.  “We’ve got to go Mike yeah?  Meet the others?  It’s important, right?”

Michael came to the door and pushed his unfinished lager into Anthony’s hands. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said to him, anxiously. “Promise me you won’t go over there, while we’re gone? Promise me. I don’t want you back in jail again.”

I watched Anthony’s shoulders falling slowly in defeat.  He sighed and rolled his eyes and shook his head all at once, as we pulled open to the door to leave.  “Alright,” he agreed, but then he put his hand out and caught my shoulder. “But we talk about this seriously in the morning, agreed? We can’t let this go on any longer, alright?”

“Alright,” I grinned and told him.  “See you later, okay?” We slipped out of the door and escaped into the night.  Into our night.  We ran, side by side, and we did not look back.  We ran to where we would meet Billy and Jake out on Somerley road, to where we would hop onto the next bus that would take us into Belfield Park.  I screwed up the bloodied tissue I still held in my hand and hurled it into the nearest bush, while examining my friends with wide-eyed anticipation. “This is gonna’ be the best night ever!” I promised their doubtful, shadowy faces.

59

 

            To everyone’s surprise, not least of all my own, I made it to the end of that week without missing a single day of school.  It was hard, but made easier by the force of Michael and Lucy, propelling me forward.  By Friday though, my will was rapidly fading.  The daily walk to and fro to school made me think about hamsters, running on the wheels in their cage.  They think they’re going to get somewhere, they think they are going to get out, but they’re not, and they don’t realize they are trapped forever.  Treadmill, I would think, as I wandered the corridors of school, treadmill.  So I went through the motions like the rest of them did, and I wondered if any of them knew that all they were really doing was toeing the line, obeying the rules.  I considered the future they said lay ahead of us with a cold kind of detachment, viewing the day that school became employment, as just the jump from one treadmill to the next.  They all thought they would be free, but they wouldn’t be.  I found myself staring around at people, wherever I saw them.  Were they happy, I wondered?  I watched the schoolchildren dutifully following the rules that would lead them into a decent adult life, and I watched the adults that passed us by, driving off to work in their small cars with their suits on.  Were they happy about it?  Or were they just being good?  That was what they were doing, I thought when I watched them; they were being good, staying in line, doing everything the way they were meant to.

It made me question whether Howard was actually doing me a warped kind of favour, by encouraging me to stick to the rules and be a good boy.  It would serve me well in later life, I reasoned, as I trudged back and forth to school that week, with my head hanging low and my eyes burning into the ground. I would know what to do when the time came.  I started thinking about the people who didn’t toe the line, the people who skirted around the edges of it all, ducking and diving, running and hiding.  People like Jaime Lawler with his shifty eyes the colour of the sea on a grey and dismal day.  He scurried around town with his cap pulled low, friends with everyone, yet trusted by no one.  “See you Friday mate,” he said to me one day, as we passed him on the street on the way to school. I felt the weight of Michael’s stare on my back then.  Jaime Lawler was the scourge of the town, I realized, a hunched up figure selling his wares in back alleys and teenage bedrooms.

Friday night loomed its head; something I both feared and desired.  Michael did not want me to go back to the club.  “Sneak around to us,” he kept pleading. “We’ll stay in and let Anthony cook for us, he’s really good!” I tried to explain to him that Howard expected me at the club, that it was part of the chores he expected me to do, and I couldn’t just not go, not without a massive amount of fuss.

“I can’t piss him off,” I said, seeing the regret and the disappointment in Mike’s eyes and hating myself for it.  “I better not rock the boat.”  I didn’t tell him the real truth though; that as much as I trembled at the thought of going back to the club with Howard, I was excited by it as well.  Maybe it had something to do with the mind-numbing and soul destroying week I had just endured at school.  The thought of another week like that made me shudder. The pointing and the whispering, and the giggles that followed me wherever I walked.  The wary look in the teachers’ eyes.  The strange and uncomfortable feeling of a pen between my fingers.

So I went.  I ran down the stairs when he yelled for me.  I caught a glimpse of my mother asleep on the sofa. “Is she alright?” I asked him as he steered me through the front door and out into the night. “She’s always asleep.”

“Migraines,” he grunted in reply. “Doctor gave her some stronger stuff for them.”

We drove to the club in total silence.  I sensed a dark atmosphere that made my skin crawl with goosebumps.  He stared down the road with hooded eyes and rigid shoulders.  There had been arguments on and off in the week.  I knew some of it was work related, because I had heard him shouting down the phone at people.  But some of it was between my mother and him.  Slamming doors, and my mother in tears, and my name, floating about between them.

Inside the club, I moved quickly away from him and approached the DJ as he was setting up, with a few suggestions for later in the night.  “Just try it,” I told him. “Try I Am The Resurrection later in the night and they’ll go mental for it, I promise you.”

The young man offered me a familiar roll of the eyes. “You should get a job collecting glasses at Chaos, in Belfield Park,” he told me.

“What’s that?”

“Kind of club that plays the music you like,” he said wearily.

I retreated to my duties as the club began to fill up.  The words rolled around and around inside my head, making me smile and nod.  Kind of club plays the music I like. Oh my god.  I had never even entertained the idea that such places existed! I slipped quickly and easily back into the routine of the club.  The horrors of last weekend seemed a long way away from me then.  I moved around the club, collecting glasses, enjoying the way I felt just a little bit older, just a little bit taller than I had done all week at school.  Here, no one knew me, so no one was pointing or whispering.  Here, I was just a kid who had a cool job collecting glasses in a nightclub.

Towards the end of the night, I was perched up on a stool at the bar, stack of pint glasses resting on it behind me, and my feet swinging just inches away from the floor. I was taking a short break, watching the crowd of drunken people as they swayed and weaved on the dance floor, and I was in a world of my own until I heard the DJ make an announcement on his mike. “This is for the annoying kid who collects your glasses,” he said dryly. “He reckons you’ll all love it.”  I sat up straight, filled with a sudden awe and excitement as he started playing The Stone Roses song I had requested.  I thought, they’ve never played the Roses here before!  This is an education for some of these people! The crowd were drunk enough to react wildly to anything, and they seized the opportunity to jump and push, spilling drinks and banging heads.  I was just smiling from ear to ear.  I knew all of the words and sang along.  People looked my way and whooped and hooted and held up their drinks to me.  It was amazing.  I felt amazing.  And it was a fucking good song.  I was singing along, drumming my heels against the bar, and tapping my hands against my knees when I felt the shadow fall over me.

Howard bumped against me and stayed there, arms crossed rigidly over his puffed out chest, his expression full of scorn. “Look at them going mental,” he sneered, his top lip curling up. “Did you pick this then?”

I nodded. “Been asking him for ages.”

“This is not a fucking rock club you know,” he said, his voice growing tight with the anger I could see filling up his face.  “I’ll have a bloody riot on my hands in a minute!”

“They like it,” I tried pointing out, with a weak shrug. “The Stone Roses are still really popular.”

“Only to people like you.”

“They seem to like it too,” I said, and nodded back at the crowd.

Howard was  silent then.  I felt myself getting trapped in it, as it drew out, longer and longer, dripping with promises.  I looked away from him, and could still feel his eyes burning into me, just staring and staring and staring, saying nothing and yet telling me everything.  I fidgeted nervously on the stool, and then finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I slipped down from it, picked up the glasses and slunk off to the kitchen with them.

It was a bad move.  He followed me. “Don’t you just walk off when I’m talking to you,” his indignant voice warned me from behind. “You should know better than that.” I was in the kitchen, and my stomach dropped and my hands began to tremble when he joined me there, slamming the door behind him.  Fuck, I thought.  It was the only word that filled my head.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!  I tried to remain calm as the blind panic swamped me.  I put the plug in and turned on the taps, and squirted washing up liquid into the sink.

“I thought you’d finished,” I said.

“Like fuck.”

“Sorry then.”

“You’re not sorry.  I think you need reminding whose club this is, smart arse little prick thinking you can tell my DJ what to play!” He stepped closer to me at the sink, crossing his arms again.  My nostrils twitched as the air grew thicker around me.  I could smell both whiskey and rage spilling from his pores. “I think you need reminding who the boss is.”

I swirled a limp hand in the water to froth up the bubbles. “No I don’t.”  Steam rose up in front of my face.  My stomach was on fire with the pain of fear.  I was aware of every single hardening muscle in my body as he stepped closer again and placed his hands down onto his hips.

“You know you really piss me off,” he said in a low, soft, snarl.  “All week you’ve been doing my fucking head in.” I kept quiet, waiting for him to tell me why exactly. “Got your mother in my ear, prattling on about how wonderful you are, just for going to fucking school like you’re meant to!  She thinks the sun shines out your bloody arse for it!  Fucking Saint Danny is it now eh?  Mister goody two shoes eh?  Now I’ve got to watch you try to take over my club! Getting the DJ to play shit to aggravate the punters!” He was winding himself up, I could feel it.  I licked my lips slowly.  I wanted to believe there was a way out of this, but I could feel it coming from him, pulsing like a heartbeat; the desire for violence.

“Okay,” I said. “I won’t do it again then.  I won’t ask for any songs. You didn’t mind before, that’s all.”

“I mind now.”

“Okay then.” I shrugged a little and braved a look at the ghastly face that was leering closer and closer to mine, and I could see the rage making his small eyes bulbous in their sockets, and the ropey veins bulging in his neck. “Maybe I better stop coming,” I said then. “If I get on your nerves so much.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, and my throat was like sandpaper. “I mean, I could get a job somewhere else, couldn’t I?”

“Right little smart arse tonight aren’t you eh?” he said then, and I saw that I could never win.  That whatever I said, or didn’t say, would be taken as defiance when he was in this kind of mood.  “Got a lot to say for yourself eh?  That right? When I thought I told you not to speak unless I asked you to.”  I didn’t answer him.  I stared back at the water and waited. “Right little mummy’s boy you been all week,” he drawled on. “Know exactly what you’re doing, you know?”

“What?”

“Being all sweetness and light, mummy’s little golden boy, when we all know what a crock of shit that is! She doesn’t know the half of it eh? She doesn’t even know what a fuck up her precious son is, does she?”

I kept my eyes on the water.  I could feel something rising within my chest, something I had not felt for a long, long time.  “I’m confused,” I shrugged at him. “I thought you wanted me to go to school, to get the truants people off her back. Thought that’s what you wanted. I did what you said, remember? I didn’t tell them about your drug dealing friend and I went to school all week.” I flicked my glance up to meet his again, and I could almost see the blood pooling in anger behind his eyes, but the thing in my chest, I knew what it was now, and I knew that I had every fucking right to feel it, anger and pure cold hate.  “I thought that’s what you wanted me to do,” I said again, staring at him.

“I don’t give a shit what you do!” he retorted, spit spraying from his lips.

“Well you obviously do!” I cried back at him. I immediately bit my lip and bit it hard. I stared into his bloodshot eyes.  I shook my head at him and resisted the urge to smile in bitter amusement.  “I can’t win. You were angry with me for skipping school and getting mum in a mess, now you’re angry at me for going to school, because she’s pleased with me? So I can’t ever win can I?” I tore my eyes from his and looked back into the sink. It was full to the brim, so I turned off the taps and began to lower the glasses into the water. I pressed my teeth down upon my lower lip. I’d said too much, and I knew it.  Howard was frighteningly silent beside me, and I could hear his angry breath wheezing in and out between his teeth as he stared at me.

I froze when the hand fell onto my neck.  There was the automatic urge to shake it off, to recoil away from something which stained and possessed me. But my body reacted by turning to stone, my hands frozen claws beneath the water, my feet planted to the sticky floor tiles.  The hand rested on my neck like a dead thing.  And then when it moved, it moved sluggishly, exploring my muscles as they trembled, intensifying the pressure slowly.  The thumb dug into the front of my throat, nestling in viciously beneath my adams apple, like a worm trying to burrow into a hole, while the thick fingers crept around to the back, making their mark, constricting the air flow. My eyes watered and my vision blurred on the rims of the pint glasses as they bobbed in the water.  “That hurts,” I whispered and to this Howard chuckled very gently.

“Good. Anything to shut you up.”

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” I winced under the pressure.

“Because I don’t want to. Because you piss me off.  You get on my nerves.  You make me angry.”

“How the fuck do you think I feel about you?”

His grip tightened like a bracelet of cold steel. I felt the air flow stop, and my hands flew out from the water, gripping and grasping at the vice that held me.  The pain was immense, shooting agony through my nerves. I tried to whip from side to side, I tried to duck down, pull away, anything to escape as he crushed down on my windpipe.  The grip relaxed as suddenly as it had tightened, and he was shaking with uncontrollable laughter next to me.  My eyes ran with water, and the hand remained on my neck, holding me in place.  This time the hand moved against my hot skin, pressing into it, his fingers pushing up my neck and underneath my hair, before sliding back down again, spreading out across my shoulder blades. I couldn’t take it.  I couldn’t live with it, I wanted to die, and I wanted to kill him, and I never wanted to breathe the same air as him again, so I made a sound of pure disgust and tried to pull away from him. The hand gripped my hair again, closed like a claw around my entire skull, and then suddenly the basin of water was flying up towards my face.

As I went down into the water, I felt the glasses trying to make room for me, rolling and bumping against each other, and my forehead cracked straight into one, and another smashed into my nose and cheek.  Hot water flooded my nostrils, as I struggled wildly, my hands scraping and tearing at the hand that kept me there.  He held me under the water long enough for me to start to think he was serious, for me to start to fear this was it, this was how he did it, this was how he finished me off. Not by beating me, not by cutting me up, but by drowning me in a sink full of pint glasses.  Pure and utter terror filled my brain and my soul and every fibre of my physical body, and then he yanked me backwards by my hair, and hurled me away, down onto the kitchen floor.

My back hit the wall, and I threw up violently between my legs, coughing and gasping for air, my belly heaving and tossing up soapy water.  I was amazed and horrified, and yet again reminded of how small and helpless I always was, and how there was never any way out.  He stood over me, his legs spread and his eyes dancing with laughter. I pushed back my soaked hair and glared up at him.  “You’re fucking insane!” I told him.

“Hey, maybe,” he replied with a shrug.  He appeared calmer already, his stance relaxed, his smile smug.  The red had seeped away from his face.  “You just remember to keep a polite tongue in your head, you just remember who the boss is around here.  Or every now and then I will have to remind you.”

“Just you remember to look over your shoulder!” I hissed back at him, wiping my face with my hands. Howard raised his eyebrows at me and squatted down.

“Oh yeah?  What is that supposed to mean little man?”

“One day,” I panted, as hatred hurtled through me, cold and sharp. “One day I’ll be big enough. That’s all you sick son-of-a-bitch…one day I’ll surprise you with a fucking knife in the eye, how would you like that?”  I stared into his eyes, and I meant it, I meant every word.  I even looked around the kitchen for a knife.  I wanted one and I wanted one badly.

His face remained calm, and mildly amused.  He clicked his tongue and shook his head at me sadly.  “I do sometimes wonder, what exactly it will take to get that smart tongue out your head?  And that fucking arrogant look off your face?  Eh?   I do wonder that sometimes, you know.  When I think I’ve finally got you all in line, and you’re being a good boy like you’re supposed to be, you go and show me that look in your eye again!  Like right now!  Makes me want to stamp on your face.”

“Go on then,” I challenged him, refusing to flinch.  “Do it!  Do whatever you like to me.  Then maybe I’ll go straight to the police and tell them who did it!”

Howard simply laughed at me. He dropped his head back a little way, closed his eyes briefly and let steady laughter roll from him.  Then his eyes snapped open and were back on mine, and he lashed out, striking me across the face and knocking me back into the wall.  I didn’t even try to get away.   I just covered my head with my arms as he continued to land blows on me, one after the another, thump, thump, thump slowly and methodically.  “Drive you mental yet?” he asked me in a weary tone.  “Just tell me when it’s driving you mental.”

“Fuck you!” I screamed back at him, kicking out with my foot and grazing his knee.  He laughed again and stood up suddenly.  I was shaking with rage. I felt like a volcano starting to tremble awake.  Howard cracked his knuckles and shook out his arms. “I’ll tell mum,” I said then, pushing my way up from the wall.  He grinned. “I will. That’s it. I’m gonna’ tell her everything, tonight. I won’t leave her alone until she believes me.”

He yawned at me. “You’ll have a good job waking her up,” he smirked. “She’s out all night on those pills. I like her that way you know.  Good and quiet.  See, she’s a good girl for me, not like you. I don’t have to remind her who’s in charge. But you.” He smile was a snarl as he pointed one finger down into my face.  “You.  You must like it.  That’s what I think.  You fucking ask for it, little man.”

“I’ll tell her in the morning,” I said, my back pressed flat against the wall. His smile merely stretched upwards.

“Try it,” he said, as he turned calmly towards the closed door. “And I’ll kill her.” His smile slipped down, receding into a straight, hard line, his lips almost transparent.  “Right in front of you,” he went on. “Just try it.” With that he opened the door, slipped through it and closed it softly behind him.

I shook my head at the closed door.  I wondered if he expected me to carry on with the glasses, and I just knew he fucking did.  I stayed where I was, just breathing, feeling the slime of soapy water and dregs of beer sliding down my back and chest beneath my t-shirt.  The corner of my forehead was stinging, so I put my hand there and brought them down to examine.  There it was, blood and mess strung out between my fingers.  My t-shirt was soaked through, my hair dripping all over the floor.  What I wanted to do then was take my own head by the hair and ram it again and again and again into the hard, tiled floor.  I wanted to smash it until it fell apart in my own hands.  I felt this climbing roaring agony inside my chest, a hysteria that aimed to reach the top and break through and explode.  I rubbed at my cold arms and decided I was never coming back there again.  I also decided that if I ever got the chance, if I ever found a way, if there was no way I would get caught, then I would do it, I would fucking kill that bastard before he killed me first.

I forced myself towards the door and tugged it open.  My head was already spinning and pulsing with pain.  I peered out.  The hallway was narrowed by the lines of cardboard boxes containing crisps and nuts.  I slid out through the door and hurried down to the end of the corridor, and emerged, blinking, back out into the hot, dark club.  I pushed urgently through the crowds, the doors in sight, desperate to get out.  As I neared the entrance, manned by two men who resembled bulldogs in leather jackets, I felt a hand snatching at the back of my t-shirt and I rounded in fear, my fist pulled back.  Behind me was the surprised face of Jaime Lawler, holding up his hands to me.  “Whoa sorry mate, didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Fuck off,” I said, and walked away.  I shoved my way outside, and felt the cold shock of the night air upon my wet clothes.  Jaime Lawler was at my side.

“What the fuck happened to you? You’re all wet!”

I reached out and shoved him. “I said fuck off!”

He held up his hands again, but kept walking. “Sorry!  Hey, relax, it’s just me, I’m on your side mate!” I shook my head, shoved my hands deep inside my pockets and marched on.  He laughed a little. “Come on, what happened? Someone shove your head down the toilet or what?”

“Just get lost!”

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on, I’m just joking mate.”  He walked briskly beside me, a faint smile upon his long, pale face. “I just wanted to check if you needed anything, that’s all mate. You know, for the weekend? Got a good deal for you this time.”

“What?”

“Whatever you want. What do you fancy?”

“How much?”

“I can do you a wrap of whizz for a fiver this time.”

I kept walking.  I kept my eyes on the black pavement as it rolled beneath my stamping feet.  Jamie Lawler kept up with me easily. “I can do you some downers too,” he was saying. “Take the edge off the next morning. Try it for free.”

“I haven’t got any money on me.”

“Ah that’s okay, I’ll get it off you next time I see you.” He shrugged his thin shoulders at me and stopped walking.  I did too. “I trust you man,” he grinned, and nodded to an alley running between two shops.  We lowered our heads and slunk over to it, wandering half way down until the walls grew so dark we could barely see eachothers faces.  The streets beyond were full of the noise of the drunk, yelling and screeching their way back home.  I hovered in an alley way with Jaime Lawler, my hair wet and my head leaking blood, my body shivering violently from head to toe, and I absorbed misery to take the place of the fading anger.

“Do you know a place called Chaos?” I asked him, as we made our deal. He nodded instantly.

“Yeah, in Belfield Park.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s like a rock, or indie place, it’s alright. Cheap beer.  Place is a dive. Why, you thinking of going?”

“Maybe.”

“Well let me know, I can get hold of some blinding fake I.D’s for a tenner.”

I nodded okay and walked back out of the alley alone, my unpaid for purchases stuffed deep inside my back pocket.