18

 

Dear World, it is far easier than I imagined sneaking out at night! Ha! Makes me wish I had tried it before!  I had been getting worked up about creaking stairs, and shimmying down drainpipes and the like.  But in the end, all I do is come out of my room, creep quietly down the stairs and go out of the front door.  Mum and Les are still up.  I can hear the TV on in the lounge, and the door is shut.  Brilliant.  Easy.

I walk quickly down the road, past the shops and on to Joe’s house.  He is already there and waiting for me on the corner of his road.  He looks pleased to see me, and a huge grin envelopes his face.  We link arms automatically and you know, I just feel good again, despite what we are doing. The nerves and the tension are gone from my belly. My face just wants to smile.  “Well that was piss easy!” I tell him with a giggle.  I feel wired.  I feel alive, and brimming with fear and excitement.  He looks at me, still grinning.

“Told you. Piece of piss.  Parents are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice half the stuff that goes on.”

“Everything okay at your end when you went home?” I check.  He grimaces.

“I copped it from Leon.  He was majorly pissed off after babysitting the brats all day.”

“He can’t fucking complain!” I argue, amazed at his audacity. “You’re doing this aren’t you?”

“I know.  I did remind him of that before he could lay me out.  Seemed to work.”

“Stupid arsehole.”

“Fucking dick brain.”

I laugh at him. “Useless twat faced moron.”

“Vile cunt.”

We carry on like this for a few minutes, before it occurs to me to ask where the hell we are going.  “Just the bridge,” Joe says, his arm still through mine, and his hands in his pockets.

“The bridge to school?” I ask, and he nods.  Our estate Herton, is separated by a dual carriageway from the Somerley estate, where our school is.  Somerley is next to Redford, and the kids from all three estates go to Somerley secondary.  We have to cross the pedestrian bridge over the carriageway to get to school each day. “Why there?” I wonder.

“Just easy,” he shrugs.  “It’s not near anyone’s houses, or shops.  Police aren’t likely to spot you up there, are they?”

“I suppose not. Bit creepy though.”

“Oh this guy is okay,” Joe reassures me as we walk on through the night. “He’s like Leon’s age, or whatever. A real stoner.  Bit stupid actually. It won’t be scary I promise you.”

“Hey,” I dig him in the ribs. “I came to protect you remember?” Joe laughs.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.  My bodyguard right?”

“That’s it.  I’m coming every time from now on.”

“Really?  Why?”

“Why not?” I reply.  “Who cares?”

“My thoughts exactly,” says Joe, with a nod.

Five minutes later we start climbing up the steps to the bridge.  I squint into the darkness and can just make up the figure of a man, loitering up there already.  I know Joe said he was okay, but I can’t help looking down at the road beneath us as we climb higher, and imagining how easy it would be for a psycho drug user to hurl us to our deaths.  I swallow and cling to Joe’s arm, and up we go.  The cars roar by in the darkness under us.  We approach the man casually.  I try not to look at him.  I try to look unconcerned and bored; as if this is the kind of thing I do every day.

“All right mate?” the guy calls out in a gruff voice, as we get closer.  “Brought a friend?”  I look at Joe in fear.  He seems relaxed.

“My bodyguard,” he says, and the guy laughs out loud.

“Oh right yeah! I get you!”

We stop in front of him, and it is all done very quickly and politely.  Joe hands over a small taped up package, and the guy, who I can just make out, has long blonde hair under his hood, hands Joe a note, and that is it.  “See you later man,” the guy says, and slopes off towards the other end of the bridge.  Joe pockets the money, turns around, and back we go.  I look up at him and feel a weird, unexpected surge of pride.

“Well that was easy.”

“Told you. That’s it.”

“You are kind of cool, you know.”

“What?” Joe looks at me, wide eyed with disbelief.  “What did you say Carling?  Was that a compliment?”

I lean into him and punch him in the arm.  I want to tell him I love him, you know, as a friend, like girls tell each other all the time, but I can’t really do that, when he’s a boy can I?  It would sound wrong.  “You’re just cool,” I say instead. “The way you deal with everything.  I’m proud of you.  I like you being you.”

“Oh okay,” Joe smiles at me and laughs as we walk along.  “Whatever that means!”  I want to tell him it means that I can only really be myself around him.  That I feel different around everyone else, like I have to watch what I say, and think about what I do.  Not with him.  I’m just me.  He’s just him.  Why can’t it be that easy with other people?  “Anyway,” he says then, breaking into my thoughts.  “Thanks for coming.  It was nice to have the company.”

“No problem.  I want to be the first to listen to you when you get this fucking drum kit, you know.”

“Deal.”

We walk on in comfortable silence together, arms linked.  Joe tries to give me some of the money when we get back to his, but I refuse.  I don’t need it.  He does.  He needs his bloody drum kit, doesn’t he?  We say goodbye and I head home, feeling better than I have in ages.

 

Dear World, it’s my mum doing her bloody tap tapping at the bedroom door that wakes me up the next morning.  I am rolled up in my duvet, warm and snug.  I do not want to move.  “What?” I call out to her.

“You mobile keeps going off! It’s Marianne! Did you leave it down here on purpose?”

“Oh Christ.” I close my eyes for a moment, and wonder why my guts clench at the thought of speaking to her.  “Okay coming.” I throw back the duvet, my feet hit and floor and I open the door.  Mum is on the landing, holding a cup of tea, and my mobile phone.

“I made you this.”

“Oh thanks.”

“Have some toast or something with me in a minute?” she asks hopefully, as she goes into the bathroom.  I nod at her and go downstairs with my phone in my hand.  I am starting to wish dad would kick off and give her some grief.  At least that would get her off my back for a while.  I go into the kitchen with the phone.

“Hiya?”

“Good morning Lou,” Marianne sounds as cheerful as ever.  “I don’t suppose you are off out for a jog yet are you?”

“Just got up,” I tell her, with a yawn.  “But probably soon I will, why?”

“Thought I could come with you?”

I am perplexed.  “Why?”

“For exercise,” she replies chirpily, “and for fun, and for company! I thought you might get lonely on your runs.  Or do you prefer to be alone?  Just say if you do, I won’t be offended.”  She has given me a chance to say no and get out of this, but I am too groggy and heavy headed to work it out.

“No it’s okay,” I tell her like an idiot.  “You can come.  Shall I meet you on the fields then?”

“Yes, what time?”

“What time is it now?”

“Ten fifteen.”

“Bloody hell.  Okay.  Say eleven fifteen then?”

“Brilliant!” she cries happily. “See you then!”

“Okay. Bye Marianne.”

I chuck the phone on the table and sit down  with my cup of tea.  Just then Les shuffles in, hiding behind his newspaper.  I wonder if he is ever going to have the guts to speak to me.  “Morning?” I say to him.  He lowers his paper hesitantly and looks at me as if he is surprised to see me, or hear me there. He tucks the paper under one arm and gets a cup down from the cupboard.

“Morning Lou,” he says, flicking back his hair.  “How are you today?”

“Wonderful,” I tell him dryly, and he smiles, and turns his back to make his tea.  What a great conversationalist he is! Incredible.  I am blown away by his social skills, and I’m a teenager for fucks sake!  What is his excuse? Luckily mum reappears then, or the silence would have become unbearable.  She starts making me toast.  Does she never go out anymore?

“What did Marianne want?” mum asks me.

“To come for a run with me.”

“Oh.  Right.” Mum is silent for a moment, while she scrapes margarine and marmite onto my toast for me.  She turns and places it in front of me, with this strange pinched look on her face.  She looks tired I think. “But she is so skinny!” she says then, clasping her hands together under her chin.  “She doesn’t need to lose weight either!”  Oh God, now she probably thinks we are in a strange pact or something, a twisted version of weight watchers.

“Mum, running is not just about losing weight.  It’s about keeping fit and healthy.  Keeping supple.”

“Oh,” she says unsurely.  “Okay.” I see her eyes flick down to my toast.  I shake my head.  I pick it up and eat the lot.  Every fucking crumb.  Just for her.  It’s okay, I tell myself as I chew it down.  I will do a longer run.  I will show Marianne what I am made of.  She has no idea what a fucking machine I am.

“Can you take Gremlin when you go for your run?”

“No mum.  It will kill him.  I’ll take him out after.”

 

An hour later I am on the field, doing my stretches as I wait for Marianne.  I see her walking slowly across the field towards me, and when she sees me she lifts one hand in an excited little wave.  I just don’t understand her.

“Ready?” I ask her when she gets to me.  I am thinking about that toast.  I can see it sat in my stomach, starting to digest.

“Oh yes, I’m ready,” she enthuses.  She is wearing a tight pair of immaculate black jogging trousers, and a tight fitting black vest top.  “Can we talk and run at the same time?” she asks, as I take off.  I nod at her.  She can talk if she wants to talk.  “How far do you normally go?”

“Two or three times around the entire field, depending on how I feel. Was aiming for four times today actually.”

“Ooh why?”

“Don’t know.  Just to push it.”

“Oh, I see. Hey guess what?”

“What?”

“I’ve sorted out a party! We are having a party!” I look at her sideways and frown.  She is bursting with this, I can just see.  She is extremely pleased with herself.

“Seriously?  Where?”

“My house!  Like you said! My parents are away next weekend, from Friday until Monday.  They’ve said I can stay in the house, as long as you keep me company.” She flashes me a secretive smile.  “And if we behave ourselves too, of course.”

“Oh right.  I see.  Bloody hell.”

“So we have this week to organise it,” she goes on breathlessly.  So far she is doing a good job of keeping up with me, which is pissing me off.  “It’s got to be the best party ever.  It’s going to be amazing.”

“Brilliant,” I say.  “Can’t wait.”

We are on our second loop.  I don’t talk to her, because it gives me a stitch to speak.  She carries on though, nattering on about this party of hers, and whom she is going to invite, and what music they are going to have.  She seems to think Josh and Ryan can play their music for us.  Hmm.  I just smile and run.  I run faster.  God damn it, she is like a fucking robot.  Keeping up with me on her tiny little matchstick legs, chatting away, barely breaking a sweat.  Unbelievable.  On the third loop I really go for it.  I think of the stupid toast and I picture me as a size eight, and I run faster and faster.  I would normally collapse by now, when I am alone.  Three loops equals a forty minute run nearly.  But I keep going. “Round again?” Marianne questions.  I look at her long enough to see the sweat shining on her forehead.  She runs neatly, I think, little arms bent and pumping up and down, little legs hammering along.  Her black hair tied up in a high ponytail.

“See if we can,” I mutter, and press on.  Marianne keeps up with me.  At one point I swear she even tries to overtake me.  I don’t let her.  I keep up the pace; upping my speed every time I think she is getting ahead of me.  This is madness; I realise and grimace as I run.  We must look like lunatics.  Why are we doing this?

“Oh I give up, I give up!” she finally cries out, and stops running.  She leans down over her knees, hair hanging.  “Christ Carling! You’re trying to kill me!”

I run on a bit longer, then turn around and run back.  She has plonked herself down on the grass, and is panting heavily.  “Sorry,” I shrug at her.  She grins.

“Bit of a pro these days, aren’t you?” she says.  “Not like at school. You really hated P.E, didn’t you?”

I sit down next to her, red faced and sweating intensely.  “That’s different.”

“Can’t wait for this party,” she says, pushing her damp hair back from her face.  “How cool is it gonna’ be?”

“Your parents will go mad if the house gets wrecked.”

“It won’t get wrecked.  I’m gonna’ lock loads of the rooms.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll have the lounge and dining room, conservatory and garden.  That’s plenty.  Want to come to town with me and buy some decorations?”

I shrug.  “Could do.  Have to bring the dog though.  I told mum.”

“That’s okay.”

“How are you going to get booze?”

“Parents have loads,” she says.  “And don’t you think Leon and Travis would get us some if we paid them?”

“You’re going to invite them?” I ask her.

“Of course,” she laughs, looking me in the eye.  “Wouldn’t be a party without them, would it?”

Is she insane?  Is she?

I watch her curiously as she lies back on the grass and folds her arms behind her head.  “Need to make a list,” she says, eyes closed against the sun.  “List of food, you know, party nibbles and stuff, drinks.  Probably need paper plates and cups, because I’m gonna’ lock all mums away.”

“Good idea,” I say, and lay down next to her on my belly.  I pick a piece of grass and stick the end in my mouth for a chew. “What about big burly men to do the door?” I ask her, my tone serious.  She snaps open her eyes and frowns at me.

“Are you serious?”

“Depends who you’re inviting,” I shrug at her.  “Depends if things kick off. You saw what happened at Hogan’s party.”

“Yes, and we all know whose fault that was, don’t we?” she smiles at me, licking her lips, as her eyes narrow to slits.  I roll my eyes.

“Ha fucking ha.  I did nothing wrong.”

“I am only joking,” she giggles, touching my arm briefly.  “I won’t really need security will I?”

“Just call the police if things get out of hand,” I suggest.  “Or have a word in Leon’s ear if you’re so determined to invite him.”

“Oh yes I am,” Marianne rolls neatly onto her side, props herself up on one arm, and grins at me.  “Well you can, can’t you?  You can tell him, or get Joe to tell him.  They’ll all come won’t they?”

“I expect so,” I sigh.  “And I expect you will end up regretting it.”

“No chance,” Marianne shakes her head at me.  “Come on Lou, we need to get showered and changed and get shopping! So much to organise!”

 

That afternoon is a strange one, World.  I meet Marianne again when we have both been home to shower and change.  She is adamant that we do not invite Joe on our shopping trip.  We are having ‘girly’ time apparently, whatever that is.  We catch the bus with Gremlin, and spend the rest of the day traipsing around town.  Marianne keeps her arm linked through mine the whole time, which I cannot help but find slightly unnerving.  I keep thinking back to when we were all stoned.  How her face changed when I told her Joe had kissed me.  How sarcastic she was after that, going on about my diet and stuff.  I can’t relax, as we shop.  I keep expecting her to change again, and come at me with her smiling sarcasm.  She doesn’t though.  She is like the best girlfriend I never had at school.  Friendly and attentive, excitable and genuine.  I would have really enjoyed it if I hadn’t been so on edge the whole time.  She buys paper plates and cups, tons of frozen pizzas and crisps and dips.  I wonder where she gets the money, but don’t ask.  I am just mystified by her as we shop.  She even buys plastic tablecloths, balloons and bunting for fucks sake.  I can see her having a career as a party organiser when she leaves school.  She would be great at it.  But I don’t like to tell her that the balloons and bunting will be totally lost on most of the people she is intent on inviting.  Bless her.  Let her discover that for herself.

 

Obviously it falls to me to invite Joe’s brothers.  I have to break the news to him first, of course, which I do later that evening, when we meet up for another walk across the bridge.  This time we have to go right across the other side, and knock on the door of the first block of flats on the Somerley estate.  A skinny girl in tiny shorts and a huge hooded jumper, opens the door smoking a cigarette.  She wears her hair in a high ponytail, and is plastered in makeup, but I have a horrible feeling she is actually about forty-five or something.  She has vicious eyes, so I hang back behind Joe as he passes over the package wordlessly.  She takes it, unwraps it, for fucks sake, right there in the doorway, sniffs it, and then stuffs it in the pocket of her jumper.  She looks Joe up and down, and for a terrible moment I fear she is just going to slam the door in his face and not give him the money.  “Bit young for this kind of shit, ain’t you love?” she asks him, as she presses the money into his waiting hand. “I got a boy your age.  I’d have a fit if he was doing what you’re up to.”

Joe just smiles and turns away.  “Night then,” he says to her as we leave.  I try to stifle my giggle until we are far from the flats.

“Oh but it’s okay for her to be taking that shit?” I ask him, laughing, as we head back to the bridge.  “Her poor kid!”

“She looks familiar,” Joe says with a shiver.  “Bet he goes to our school.”

“Fucking hell.  Hey at least our parents aren’t druggies Joe!” I am still giggling.

“There are many things they could be that are worse, I suppose,” he agrees, with a wry grin.  “We should look on the positive side. Hey, how is the infamous Les anyway? My mum keeps raving on about what a gentleman he is!”

I snort with barely contained laughter. “That is so ridiculous.  Typical of your mum.  Anyone who is not a stocky dwarf with a smashed in face is obviously a gentleman!” We both look at each other and laugh again.  “Oh he’s all right,” I shrug, when the hilarity has subsided.  We are crossing the bridge again.  “He just keeps to himself.  He’s like the fucking invisible man or something.  He has nothing to say.  No opinions or questions.  He just has the paper in front of his face the whole time.”

“Weird,” nods Joe, hands in pockets.  “But he’s nice to your mum and everything?”

“If you can call being an utter dullard nice, yeah.”

“At least he stays out your business. He’s not trying to tell you what to do or anything.”

“Oh no.  Think he’s scared of me actually.  Think teenagers freak him out, or something.  I should probably have some fun with him.  Start telling him all my intimate problems, or something.”

Joe digs me in the side with his elbow.  “What fucking intimate problems have you got Carling?” he demands.  I look at him in mock anger.

“Oh you mean besides being a secret drug dealer, and having a best friend who may very well be my worst enemy?”

Joe looks at me, open-mouthed.  “You better not mean me!”

“Course not dumb arse.  I mean Marianne.”

“Oh right.  Why?  What’s she done?”

“Oh nothing,” I sigh, looking down at the bridge as we cross back over to our side.  “She’s just hard to read sometimes.  I can never quite tell if she is taking the piss out of me, or not.  You know.”

“Well I think she’s a nutcase.  She gives me the creeps half the time.”

“She’s got some sort of crush on your brothers,” I tell him then, nudging him with my own elbow.  He frowns down at me in confusion.  I nod, giggling stupidly.

“You’re joking?”

“She’s having a party,” I tell him.  “On Friday night at her house, and it is her explicit instruction that I invite you, and you bring your brothers.  Her explicit instruction I tell you.”

Joe is frowning deeply at me, walking along with his hands deep inside his pockets, and shaking his head at me in disbelief.  “That’s insane,” he reasons.  “Why the hell does she want them at her party?  Is she mad?”

“She’s intrigued by them, apparently,” I tell him with a shrug. “Don’t ask me Joe, I have no idea what goes on in her mind.  I only know she’s having a party and she wants them there.”

“She’s asking for trouble,” he says then, looking back at the bridge and the steps as we approach them.  “One way or another.”

“It’s up to her.  I have tried to warn her.”

“Who else is she inviting?”

“Well us, and Josh and Ryan, and people from school I suppose.”

“Hmm.  Should be interesting. Okay, I’ll tell them. Count me in.  Definitely count me in.”

I nod okay, look forward to telling Marianne, and we go down the steps on the other side.  “This must be nearly over by now?” I ask Joe then, looking up at his face in the moonlight.  I have stopped growing, but he is getting taller.  He makes a face.

“They say so.”

“But what does that mean?  Like, how many more trips?”

“I don’t know Carling.  You don’t have to keep coming you know.”

“I like coming, stupid.”

“Well they say it’s nearly all gone.” He lifts and drops his shoulders before releasing a huge yawn.  “So it must be.  Then that is that.  Thank fuck.”

“Will you miss the money?”

“Nah.  I’ll get another job.”

“Will you miss them needing you?  Being nice to you?” I smile wickedly at Joe as he glares sideways at me.

“They don’t know how to be nice to anyone Carling,” he reminds me. “So don’t worry about that.”

“It’s not really their fault,” I tease him.  “They weren’t brought up properly.  They can’t help being total turds.  Blame your mother.”

“Oi.”

“Oi what?  It’s true! People are not born bad you know.  We all start off the same.  Innocent babies.”

Joe snorts at this.  “Mum says Leon was never innocent.  She says he had an evil glint in his eye when he was a baby.”

“I can believe that actually.  So anyway, what was all this crap you were saying before, about them being your real brothers and that?”

“Well they are,” Joe shrugs.  “They are my real brothers.  The others are half brothers.”

“So what though?”

“I just meant that if I had to choose one pair over another, I would choose my real brothers.”

“Even though they’ve always treated you like shit?” I ask incredulously, unable to understand how he could choose two thugs over two sweet little boys.

“Yeah but they’re my real brothers,” Joe says again, as if it is not getting through to me.  “They might be horrible, but they are my real brothers.”

“Yeah but Tommy and Will are just little kids,” I argue with him.  “They’re sweet, and innocent and all that.”

“No they are not!” Joe cries back vehemently.  “They’re just as vile Carling! Just because they are little does not make them sweet and innocent.  They’re conniving little shits!  You have no idea.  They’ll do anything to get us in shit, I’m telling you.”

“All right, calm down idiot,” I tell him, grinning, but I reach out and touch his arm as well.  “You don’t need to tell me.”

“Sometimes I think even mum would wish us older three away so she can just have her nice new family,” Joe says this sneeringly, and I feel awkward, and get the feeling he has thought about this a lot over the years.  “She says she can’t wait for us to move out, often enough.”

“She doesn’t mean it, you idiot,” I say, shoving my arm through his and leaning my head on his shoulder.  “She loves you really.  Come on, cheer up.  Think about this party on Friday!” I jog him and he looks down and rolls his eyes at me.

“Ah don’t even…that party is going to be a fucking nightmare.”

“It’s going to be hilarious Joe,” I tell him, resting my head back on his shoulder.  We are nearly home.  We have walked past his house, as he insists on walking me home first.  He is silent and subdued, his hair hanging down over his eyes, as we stop next to my front garden, and I pull my arm free from his.  For some reason then, I just cannot bear the sad look on his face, so I reach up; I go up on tiptoe, and plant a kiss on his cheek.  He looks instantly embarrassed and shocked, so I turn quickly, smiling, wondering what I have done.  “Night Joe,” I say, and he says nothing.  Just stands and watches me go in quietly through the front door.

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

Dear World, I think we all sleep for a while. Joe peels himself up from the floor around mid-day.  He looks a mess, I think, gazing at him from my deck chair.  His hair is getting too long, and it is all stuck up everywhere.  His eyes look a bit red, and his clothes are crumpled.  “Better go home then,” he mumbles dejectedly.  I am not capable of saying much in way of comfort.

“Probably a good idea,” I tell him instead. Marianne does not move from where she is lying on the floor, with her eyes closed, and her hands laced together on her stomach.  Her top is riding up enough to show us her belly button.  Joe yawns as he opens the door.

“You still gonna’ come meet me like you said?” he asks me, in a lower tone.  I nod at him in reply.

“You bet I am.  See you then.  Good luck.”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

When he has gone, Marianne’s eyes snap open and fix on mine. “You’re going with him?” she asks, incredulously.  “You’re gonna’ help with the drug deals?”

“I’m just going with him,” I shrug irritably. “I don’t want him going alone.”

“He’s a big boy, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saying,” she sits up then, and shrugs.  “You do baby him a bit, you know.” I just stare at her, wondering what the hell she means and where this is coming from?

“No I do not!”

“Okay, calm down,” she says, holding her hands up apologetically. “Don’t bite my head off. I just meant that he’s managed this far on his own, so why do you suddenly feel the need to go with him?”

“Because he nearly got his arse kicked by someone the other day.  I don’t want him to get hurt do I?”

“So what are you going to do? Protect him?” I glare at her angrily, trying to let her know she is pissing me off, but all she does is smile in that calm controlled way of hers, as if nothing touches her, nothing breaks through.

“Come too, if you want,” I say to her, wondering if this is what upsetting her.  She just wrinkles her nose at me.

“No thanks.  I’m not doing the dirty work for those idiots.”

“What’s your problem then?  What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing is.  Don’t be so touchy.  You are so unbelievably touchy.  Especially when it has anything to do with that family.  Do you want some lunch?” Marianne pushes herself up from the floor, and shakes back her dark hair.  I look up at her, and feel totally confused.

“No thanks,” I tell her.  “Just a coffee.”

She rests one hand on the door and smiles at me sweetly.  “Oh well done you. Still on the diet, eh?”

I bite my lip for a moment.  “Sorry,” I say then, looking at her carefully. “I probably am a bit touchy about Joe.  He kissed me yesterday.  On the lips.” I see it then.  I see it in her face, and there is not a damn thing she can do to hide it, though she tries fucking hard, I can tell you.  Her face changes.  Her face falls.  Her eyes harden.  It pisses her off.  Then she cracks a massive smile. And I wish I hadn’t said it.

“Well aren’t you the popular one?” she asks, opening the door. “First one brother, now the next?  Bet you’ve got your eye on Leon, really, though?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” I tell her. “I haven’t got my eye on any of them, least of all that moron.”

“Look, I’ll be back in a minute.  You can tell me all about it.” She goes out, closing the door with a gentle bang behind her.  I sit back, slightly triumphant, but also weakened.  She’s cleverer than me.  There is something about her, I think then.  Something that lets you know she could destroy you if she wanted to.

 

While she is gone, I sit in the deck chair and seethe with paranoid insecurities.  I feel like a dick for telling her about Joe kissing me.  I really wish I hadn’t said it like that now.  Why the hell did I do that World?  Say something that I immediately wished I hadn’t? What is wrong with me sometimes? I wish I hadn’t smoked the weed either.  That was stupid too.  Suddenly I feel horribly self-aware, almost transparent in my crapness.  Why did I say it like that?  Like a fucking brag?  Idiot.  What is wrong with me?  I sit there and wait for her to return, and fear what is running through her tidy little mind right now.  I see myself sat in the deck chair, a wasted, gibbering wreck of a person.  I tell myself that apart from Joe, who is a boy, I have no real friends.  I’ve never had any real friends who are girls! I realise this with a crushing pain in my belly.  Idiot.  Loser.  Freak.  Now I’ve gone and pissed off the one girl who could have been my friend. Christ World, what if she secretly hates me? What if she is really one of those, what do you call them? Frenemies, that’s it, that’s what they call them! I don’t think I could deal with that. I know I couldn’t.

 

I try to shake myself out of it, when Marianne returns with a bag of crisps, a mars bar and a massive salad sandwich.  She passes me a huge coffee silently, and kicks the door shut with her foot.  I take the coffee gratefully and wonder if she has spat in it.  She tucks herself up on the other chair with her feast of a lunch.  I look at it, my mouth dry.  I wonder helplessly if she is doing it on purpose.  Lucky bitch can eat whatever the hell she wants and never put on weight.  She doesn’t even have to exercise either.  She was born tiny and will always be tiny.  I sigh, and drop my head into one hand.  “You okay?” she asks me.  I nod and groan.  “Bit wasted?”  I nod again.  That’s for sure.

“Shouldn’t do it really,” I tell myself, speaking out loud.

“Sorry I said that, about you babying Joe.  You’ve known him your whole life.  I suppose it’s like looking out for a brother or something.”

I raise my eyes from my hand to look at her.  She is nibbling delicately at her sandwich.  “Mmm,” I say, half of me wanting to giggle for no reason whatsoever, half of me wanting to just cry.

“So,” she says, opening her crisps up.  The sharp smell of salt and vinegar hits my nose, and makes my tongue sweat.  “Tell me all about this kiss then.  The kiss from Joe, that is.  Not Travis.”

I can’t tell if she is being sarcastic or not.  Feigning fake interest.  I rub viciously at my temples with my hand.  I swear I can feel her bright eyes piercing right through me.  Just paranoid, I tell myself desperately. “Oh forget it,” I sigh. “I don’t even know why I mentioned it.”

“Because you were dying to tell me, obviously! Bet you couldn’t wait to get the chance.” Again, I feel like she is angry with me, but I am not sure why.

“Well it was nothing.  Just a kiss.  He took me by surprise.  He wasn’t thinking straight.  He was upset because Mick stamped all over his CD’s.” I lift my shoulders in a weary, halfhearted shrug.

“Mick stamped on his CD’s?”

“Yeah. Long story.”

“So he got upset and tried to kiss you?” Marianne asks, holding a large crisp up to her lips, and then flicking her tongue at it.  I nod slowly.

“Stupid idiot,” I say, with a weak grin.  Marianne lashes the crisp with her tongue again.

“Well, maybe he actually likes you. Maybe both of them actually like you.” I just look at her.  I can’t work out the expression on her face, and it unnerves me, or am I just getting incredibly paranoid? I’m not going to tell her what Joe said about Travis, no fucking way.  I decide to change the subject. That seems the best plan.

“Well anyway, I’m going with him tonight.  Fuck it.  I’m fed up of being such a good girl the whole time.”

“Ooh listen to you!”

“Well, it’s true.  It’s always been the same.  Me and Joe have always been the quiet ones in our families, you know?  The rest cause all the drama and we just stay good and quiet.”  I take a sip of the scalding coffee.  She has made it good and strong, just the way I like it.  I try not to look at the half eaten sandwich on her plate.  I try not to remember what bread tastes like.

“Hey if you can’t rebel when you’re sixteen, when can you?” she asks.

“Exactly.”

“So what’s the plan?  How does it work?”

“I don’t know really.  I’m going to sneak out at eleven and meet Joe at the end of his road.  Don’t know after that.”

“You don’t know where you’re going?  Who you’re meeting?”

“He says it’s someone he’s met before, so it should be okay.”

“Christ,” grins Marianne, slowly licking another crisp.  “You are brave Lou.  I don’t think I would want to mix with people like that.”

“So who the hell did you get the weed off then?  You haven’t told us that.”

“Oh it was just Ryan, you idiot,” she laughs at me scornfully. “He always has weed, you know that.”

“Didn’t actually.  Didn’t know he always did.”

“He says it helps him be more creative,” Marianne shrugs. “You know, with the band or whatever.”

“Really should listen to them some time,” I murmur.

“You should,” she nods.  “They’re not too bad actually.”

“Since when have you seen them?”

“Oh I don’t know, just sometimes, you know when you two are busy.” She meets my eyes with a sunny smile, and again I can’t read her.  It’s her voice you see.  She generally says everything in the same sweet, calm voice, as if everything just sort of thrills and pleases her, as if everything is just great.  But her eyes give it away.  If you look at her eyes you can just about tell when she is being sarcastic, or ironic, or whatever.  “We need another party,” she tells me then.  “You need to sort that out.”

“Me?  How am I meant to?”

“Another one like the one Leon and Travis asked us to. That was the best night.  This holiday is getting dull.  We should be at parties every week!”

I shake my head at her, frowning.  “That was not the best night, that was a fucking horrible night.” Marianne giggles at this.  “Anyway, you’re the one with the big fuck off house, can’t you have one here?”

“Hmm,” Marianne touches her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe.  I’ll have a think.  It could be done, couldn’t it?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“And I could invite Leon and Travis.”

“Okay.  But why would you want to?”

“I told you before,” she laughs, finishing her crisps and screwing up the empty packet.  “They intrigue me! They all intrigue me.  Doesn’t anyone intrigue you Lou?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Really?” she throws back her head and laughs deliciously at this.  “Now that is funny! But true?”

“Course its true,” I tell her warily.  “You’re a fucking enigma.”

“I can never tell when you’re being serious you know.”

“I can’t with you either.”

“Oh well, maybe we will just intrigue each other then!”

“Yeah, maybe.  Look I better go actually.  Got to squeeze a jog in somewhere today.”  I get up from the chair, drink the last of my coffee and place the mug down on the floor.  Marianne is just silent for a moment, curled up in her chair, with her feet tucked under her, and her fingers stroking her chin.  In my wasted state I see her as some kind of evil genius, plotting extreme damage.

“Well off you go then,” she says sleepily.  “Can’t get in the way of Lou Carlings bid for the perfect body, can we now?” I just raise my eyebrows at her. “Have you got a new target weight in mind then?”

“No, just want to stay like this,” I say, trying not to sound as defensive as I feel. “I don’t want to put it all back on again, do I?”

“God no,” she agrees quickly.  “That would be awful.  And so many people do that, don’t they?  Pile it all right back on again as soon as they relax.”

“Well, not me.  No way.”

“Good for you.  You go for it.  You’re looking so amazing now.  Didn’t have all these boys after you before did you?” I stare at her. I bite my lip.  I feel hurt and anxious and I want to get the hell away from her, but she just smiles up at me, that sunny sarcastic smile.

 

I wander back home in a dreamlike state.  World, how can I explain that I feel hurt, somewhere inside me, but I don’t know why? For some reason this feeling makes me want to find my mum and crawl onto her lap. Then I get even more worked up and insecure in my own company, and that is not good.  I walk along, and I am sure I can feet the fat of my thighs rubbing together as I do.  That can’t be good.  I place a hand against my belly every now and again, picturing Marianne’s hard flat stomach in my mind.  I may have lost weight, but I am still all flabby and wobbly everywhere, how do you get rid of that?  Oh Christ.  I feel like shit.  I feel like I want to shrink down small so that no one can see me.

I push open the front door and pause immediately.  The kitchen door is closed.  The kitchen door is never closed, unless people are having private conversations in there, and true enough, I can hear the murmur of voices coming from the other side of the door.  Curiously, I close the front door quietly so that they don’t hear it.  I tiptoe towards the kitchen door.  I can hear my mum and my sister, which totally freaks me out and confuses me.  Is she back?  What the hell?  I reach out to open the door, but freeze when I hear my mum say; “she’s taking it too far now Sara.  Jogging every day.  Hardly eating at all.” Oh right.  Okay then.  It’s back to this again, is it?

“Okay, okay I’ll have a word with her about being sensible,” my sister agrees reluctantly.  I press the side of my face against the door and try not to breathe too loudly.  I am outraged, but also enthralled.  I have never, ever overheard a conversation about myself before now.  I would have a hard time believing that anyone talked about me ever, before this.  What would there be to say?

“What with the drugs and everything, I’m at my wits end!” my mum is exclaiming to my sister.  She does sound anxious; I’ll give her that.  Funnily enough, this does not make me feel guilty, which is odd, because it should do really shouldn’t it World? My mum is a good person, and I have caused her stress. For some reason though, I just feel vicious and smug and snarly. “Her and Joe seem to be running wild at the moment, or that’s what your dad thinks anyway.  I don’t know.  I don’t know what to say to her.”

I decide that is enough.  I don’t really want to hear anymore through the door about what a delinquent I suddenly appear to be.  I open the door and they both look up in surprise from the table.  “It’s okay,” I say.  “You can carry on.”

“Lou…” my mum says, her hand reaching across the table for me. “I am just worried about you. I thought Sara could help.”  I look coldly at my sister.

“Are you back then?”

“No, no, I’m still living with Rich.  Just came to see mum.”

“Oh,” I nod, and turn out of the room.  “Okay then.”  I head up the stairs, and become aware that someone is following me.  It is Sara.  She follows me into what used to be our bedroom, and closes the door behind her.

“Don’t worry about mum,” she says warmly, perching on the edge of my messy bed.  “She’s just being a huge drama queen as usual.  I’ve spent the last few hours convincing her that all is fine with Rich and me, and so now she’s turned her anxiety onto you.  Sorry.”

“What’s she even on about?” I complain, looking around the floor for my running clothes. “Bloody bollocks.  I eat loads!”

“You sure?  You’re definitely looking slimmer again.”

“Well fucking good!” I explode at her suddenly, facing her. “Who wants to be fucking fat their whole life?  Jesus Christ.  It’s got nothing to do with her at all.”

“Okay, okay,” my sister makes a face and holds up her hands.  “Calm down.  Don’t shoot the messenger.  I just said I’d make sure you were being sensible.”

“Oh God,” I groan, holding my hands over my eyes for a moment. “You lot are priceless. None of you gave a shit when I was too fat did you?  No one worried about that being healthy or sensible, which it wasn’t!”

“True,” Sara nods at me.  “Okay then.  Calm down.”

“Well it’s all right for you,” I tell her.  “You’ve left.  You don’t have to be surrounded by all this pointless shit all the time.”

“She says dad was okay about Les?”

“She says that.  Who knows?  Who cares?”

“Well, if you ask me, she’s just looking for trouble…”

“Sara do you mind?” I find my jogging trousers on the floor, pick them up and shake them off. “I’ve got to go for a run, before she tries to force feed me a fucking doughnut.  You can go and tell her I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay,” my sister says, getting up.  “Do you want to come by the flat and see me and Rich some time?  I gave mum the address and number.”

“Yep,” I say, not looking at her.  “Whatever.”

16

Dear World, I am sprawled on the sofa, with Tommy nodding off on my lap, and Will snuggled up next to me, when the front door opens, and Travis and Leon come in.  I narrow my eyes at them as usual, wondering where they have been, what they have been doing, who they are.  Will yawns and rests his head back on my shoulder after looking up to see who is home.  It is nearly five o’clock.  I was really hoping it would be Lorraine or Mick back, to take over.  I am shattered.  Utterly exhausted.  My mum was right when she said having kids is not easy.  It fucking isn’t.  I’m never having any, if this is what it is like.  I have spent the last three hours running around after them, telling them off, distracting them and tidying up the mess they make.  Why anyone would want to do that in life, I have no idea.

Leon walks through the lounge, barely giving me a look, and disappears into the kitchen.  Travis lingers in the doorway, looking confused.  “Before you ask,” I say to him, stifling a yawn.  “Joe is out and I have no idea where.  I got asked to baby-sit these two by Mick.”

“Oh right,” Travis shrugs, smiling slightly, before looking confused again.

“Joe broke my fort,” Will announces, his eyes on the TV, his little body loose and relaxed next to mine.

“Yes and daddy paid him back for that, didn’t he?” I say, looking back at Travis.  Travis raises his eyebrows in question.  “Mick trashed his CD collection,” I inform him.  “Stamped on them all.”

“Fucking prick,” Travis says under his breath, and I have no idea if he means Joe, or Mick.

“I have to go home,” I say, and start to ease Tommy from my lap.  He is nearly asleep, and rolls onto his side to bury his head in a cushion.  Will moves slightly as I get up from the sofa, then leans back and yawns again, eyes totally fixated on the TV.

“Quite a day then?” asks Travis from the hallway.  I approach slowly.

“You could say that.”

“Things have been tense round here lately.  To say the least.”

“Joe’s a mess,” I say, sinking my hands into the back pockets of my shorts.  I yawn, and glance at the kitchen, where I can see Leon at the back door, smoking a cigarette.  “He’s not himself at all.  He was vile to these two today.  That’s not like him.”

“Yeah, he’s been stuck with them constantly,” grimaces Travis.  “That’s probably why.”

“Still doing his little trips out for you two though, hey?” I ask, dropping my tone lower and looking quickly at the back of Leon again.  Travis looks at his feet, crosses his arms over his t-shirt and shrugs his shoulders.

“Nearly there,” he practically whispers.  “Honestly.”

I step closer, and Travis looks at me, his eyes slightly alarmed.  “For some reason,” I say very quietly, looking up at Travis, who is at least a foot taller than me. “Joe is incredibly loyal to you two.  Like you’re the only real family he has, or something.  I just hope you two are worth it, that’s all.”  I step carefully around him and slip out of the door.

 

I get home.  I feel totally wiped out physically, like I need to sleep for a week to recover from babysitting.  Mum meets me in the hallway.  “Tonight is the night love,” she tells me, hanging onto my arm and squeezing it.

“What?”

“Les is working late.  Your dad is coming over.  I’m going to tell him.”

“Oh right.”

I pull away from her and head for the stairs.  I can’t think about this now.  I am still trying to digest Joe’s kiss, and everything else.  “You are pleased aren’t you?” she says, sounding desperate.

“I don’t mind,” I tell her, one foot on the bottom stair.  “Just don’t involve me, okay?  Don’t go calling me down, or sending him up or anything.  I don’t feel very well.”

“Why?  What’s the matter?  Have you been with Joe?  Have you two been behaving yourselves?”

I pull away from her incessant questions.  I try to plant another foot on the stairs, but all of a sudden, the staircase is moving and blurring, and I can feel my head, somehow it is falling past me, it is like I can see it going, I can see it plummeting like a stone towards the stairs.  There is nothing I can do to stop it.  I am going down.

 

I think I am out for a matter of seconds, if that.  Mum is freaking out big time.  She tried to grab me and stop me going, but I hit my head on the stairs anyway.  She gets me up to my room, practically drags me there.  “You’ve never done that before!” she keeps saying, as she sweeps back my duvet and pushes me into my bed.  I fall in easily.  The mattress sags under my weight.  I sink into my Lou sized hole and want to smile.  My head hurts.  Everything still seems fuzzy, like when you are pissed.  She plants a firm hand across my forehead.  “You’re not hot,” she tells me.  “Do you feel sick?  What happened Lou?  You’ve never fainted before in your life!”

“I don’t know, do I?  Can I go to sleep now?”

“I’m so worried about you,” she goes on. “I think you’ve not been eating enough darling, that’s what it is.  You can’t keep this diet up anymore Lou.  I’m serious.”

“I have been eating,” I lie easily.  “I ate loads today.  I’m just not feeling well.  I need to sleep now.”

“I’ll let you sleep,” mum nods at me.  “But then I want a serious chat with you young lady.”

“Not another one,” I groan, closing my eyes against my pillow. “There’s nothing to chat about. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine to me.  You have never done that before!” She shakes her head. She looks like she is cross with me, though I have no idea what I have done wrong apart from keeling over when she wanted my attention and approval.  I close my eyes, and she finally leaves me alone and closes the door behind me.  I am left alone with my dark mind, my headache and my pleasantly empty belly.  I think to myself, I don’t care what she says, I don’t care what anyone says, I am not stopping my diet and getting fat again for anyone! Because that is what will happen.  If I go back to eating like that, if I stop jogging, I won’t be slim anymore, will I?  I’ll get fat again, World, that’s the thing.  That’s the fear. But they won’t understand that, will they?  I’ll be the little porker again.  I’ll be that person I despise, the one that no one noticed, the one that lived in the background.  It’s not like that now I am slim, is it?  I smile a triumphant smile to myself, while I curl my arms around my body, and place my hands over my ribs, ribs that never used to be there.  No, I think, it’s not like that now you are slim.  Travis notices you.  Travis tried to kiss you.  Joe tried to kiss you.  I am, for a sick little moment filled up with self-satisfaction and vanity.  I have never had the luxury of either before.  The thought of them both wanting me, of fighting over me, over me, is kind of funny and delicious and sexy all at the same time.  It’s wrong.  But fuck it, I think.  I have lived my life the right way for too long, trying to please them all, trying to be good. This is way more fun.  This is dangerous and scary and wild and wrong, but this, all of this, is way more fun.

 

I must sleep for a while, because it is the familiar old sound of my dad raising his voice that brings me out of it.  I sit up slightly and listen.  I have no idea what time it is, or how long they have been talking, but it sounds like my mum has finally told him about Les.  I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know about it.  I pull the duvet over my head and disappear into the dark.  That is their world, I think.  This is mine.

 

I sleep again.  I really sleep.  I sleep like I have never slept before, and it is wonderful.  I drift in and out of dreams that run away from me every time I creep close to consciousness, and then I feel myself go back under again.  It’s amazing.  I never ever want to leave my bed and face the world again.

 

Great World, listen to this. My mum wakes me up in the morning by telling me that she has made me breakfast.  I am gutted.  I had every good intention of grabbing my usual coffee and an apple and going over to Marianne’s.  I need to talk to her about Joe.  But my mother has other ideas.  She has the fucking table laid out and everything.  Tablecloth, full English breakfast, and huge mugs of tea.  My stomach does a little nervous flip just looking at it all.  “Mum,” I protest.  “I’m never really hungry in the morning, you know.  I can’t eat all that.”

Mum is sat at the table with Les.  He has a newspaper, and does a good job of hiding behind it.  Mum is frowning at me, so I slip into a chair and pick up half a slice of toast.  For fucks sake.  I hardly ever eat bread these days.  Doesn’t she realise?  I feel a surge of panic then, which confuses and alarms me, because I have never experienced it before, but I know it is panic about the food, which is really stupid if you think about it World.  She expects me to eat all that.  She wants me to eat all that crap! She wants me to get fat again, I think then, glaring back at her.  That’s what this, I know it.  I’ve been in too much trouble since I got thin, got too cocky, eh?  Now she wants to fatten me up and shut me up again.  I take a bite of the toast as my anger and paranoia intensify.  “You need to eat properly,” she informs me curtly, and I want to throw the toast at her. “I’m not having you fainting on me again!” She looks at Les, disguised as a newspaper. “She scared the life out of me, you know!”

“I told you, I was ill.  I slept for ages, now I’m fine.”

“It won’t hurt you to eat a proper breakfast for once, young lady. This is all healthy, good food.  Let me get you some sausages and bacon?”

“No, I only want toast.” I turn and look at the front door at the end of the hallway.  I feel the longing to run out of it.  I use my fingers to tear another piece of toast off and put it in my mouth.  It feels so stodgy and hard to swallow.  I try to remember if bread always felt like that?  I can feel it slipping slowly down my throat, even though I have chewed it for bloody ages.  I want to be sick.  I drink some tea to wash it down. “Mum, I have to go out now,” I say then, pushing back my chair.  She looks alarmed and reaches out for me.

“But you haven’t eaten much!  And I want to tell you how it went with your dad!”

I hold the toast, so it looks like I am going to take it with me. “Is he going to throw us out?”

“No, of course not.  He was actually very reasonable in the end.”

“Great.  That’s all I need to know.  See you later.” I turn and head for the door.  I hear my mum shove back her chair and race after me.

“Lou!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take the dog.”

“No, it’s not that.  Where are you going?”

“Marianne’s.”

“Oh okay.” She has no choice but to let me go.  I slip out the front door, holding toast and I am gone.

 

I am going to Marianne’s, but I cannot go without checking on Joe first.  He has not text me or called me, so I just want to see if he is okay.  I kind of want to see him, but don’t want to see him at the same time, if that makes sense?  Luckily for me, he is not even in.  Leon answers the door with a face like thunder. “You seen Joe?” he barks at me before I can ask him the same question.  I take a step back.  I always have the urge to move back, to move away when I am near him.  I try to peer around him to see if there is any sign of someone else, anyone else inside.

“I came to see him,” I say, feeling lost.  “Where is he then?”

“Wouldn’t be asking you if I knew that, would I?” Leon snaps back, looking bored now.

“He ran off yesterday, after Mick trashed his CD’s,” I explain. “He didn’t come back after that?”

“He came back,” Leon nods. “Then he left again, and he’s meant to be grounded and looking after the brats.  Guess who’s got stuck with the brats now?”

I have to stop myself from smirking.  “Oh,” I say instead.

“He’s got his phone turned off.  They’re gonna’ kill him when he gets back. You’ve no idea where he is?”

“No idea,” I say, honestly. “But I’ll look for him.”  I step back and turn to leave.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Leon says then. “Any chance you could take the brats with you?  I’ll pay you.”

“No chance,” I tell him, and walk off smiling.

 

I stroll over to Marianne’s house, feeling full of myself again. I sent her a text to let her know I am on the way.  Fuck Leon, the stupid nasty bastard. See how he likes looking after those annoying kids all day.  Hope he has to walk the fucking dog too!  It is only when I knock on Marianne’s door that I remember Joe is missing, and I start to worry.  Why is he doing this?  Why is he getting himself into even more trouble?  I don’t understand it, and wonder where the hell he is.  Marianne lets me in.  “Got so much to tell you!” I exclaim breathlessly as I jump into her hallway.  She closes the door, smiling calmly as always. “You’re not gonna’ believe what happened yesterday! Plus Joe is missing! Just saw Leon and they’re all going insane!”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Marianne says then, placing a soothing hand on my arm and leading me through to the kitchen.  “He’s here.  He’s in the summer house.”  I am stunned.

“What?  Why?  Since when?”

“I don’t know, I only just discovered him there this morning.  Think he slept the night or something.  Come on.”  She opens the French doors and goes out into the garden.  I feel a sickness in my belly then.  A nervous ache that starts to spread.  I had not planned on seeing him yet.  I wanted to talk to her first.  And why do I feel a sharp stab of what I can only describe as jealously, as she leads me down to the summerhouse?

I say nothing.  I try to work it out, as I follow her down.  Why did he come to her, and not to me? Marianne stops outside the summerhouse, looking as calm and relaxed as ever, and I wonder if she still looks that calm and composed just before she cuts herself up.  I bet not.  I can see Joe inside, and he looks up from where he is slumped in a deck chair with a cup of tea in his hands. “Is it okay if I talk to him alone for a minute?” I ask Marianne, guiltily.

“Course it is.  I’ll go and make you a tea, or coffee?”

“Coffee please.  And sorry Marianne.  I did come here to see you, really.”

“I know,” she grins as she turns away. “We’ll catch up in a bit.”

As she heads back to the house, I open the door and enter the summerhouse, pausing to close the door softly behind me.      “All right?” I say to Joe, and he nods at me in reply.  He looks thoroughly miserable.  Part of me is relieved though. At least he’s not brimming with rage anymore.  I sink into the second deck chair, with my hands in my pockets.  “Just saw Leon,” I tell him.  “He’s not happy.”

“None of them are ever happy,” Joe sighs, truthfully.  I swing my legs back and forth under the chair.  All I can think about, all I can see in my head, is his tear streaked face coming towards mine.  The surprising touch of his lips against my lips.

“So what are you doing here?”

“Hiding.”

“What did you do, sleep here?”

Joe leans back in his chair and runs one hand back through his hair.  His eyes lift to meet mine briefly, then hit the floor again, as if he is finding it difficult looking at me.  “I was out anyway,” he says.  “You know.”

“Working?”

“More or less.  I got a bit freaked out.  This one guy was a bit funny with me.”

“What happened?”

“He just started getting angry about the price.  He said it was meant to be less, but it wasn’t.  I didn’t know what to do.”

“Another good reason why you need to stop all this Joe,” I say, leaning forward in concern.  “You’re gonna’ get yourself beaten up, or worse.”

“I know,” he sighs again, “I had to let him have it cheaper in the end. I wasn’t going to argue with him.”

“So that’s why you didn’t go home? Because Leon will be mad?” Joe meets my gaze again and nods slowly.  “Fuck’s sake Joe,” I complain bitterly. “What the hell is wrong with you these days?  Are you purposely trying to fuck your life up or something?”

“I’m trying to save up for a drum kit,” he murmurs, looking down.

“You idiot!” I say, and I really do feel close to smacking him one.  “Why don’t you get a fucking paper round of something, you retard?  Anything but this!”

“It’s nearly done,” he says, and I am getting so sick of hearing that from all of them.  I growl and throw my hands up in the air, then drop them back into my lap, shaking my head at him and his unique stupidity.

“So you’re gonna’ keep doing it?  You’re gonna’ keep risking it?”

“What am I risking, Lou?” he looks at me then, frowning.

“More shit with your parents!” I cry in exasperation.  “Getting thrown out by Mick!  Ending up in the hospital or worse!”

“Those things are nothing new,” Joe replies, his eyes still on mine.  “I was living with those things anyway, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t be so dramatic!”

“It’s true.  I was just going along with it all.  Like you.  Like you do with your fucked up family.” He sits forward again now, elbows on knees, hands on either side of his face.  “Just taking it all.  Taking all their shit.  Doing what I’m told.  Never causing a fuss.”

“I know that Joe,” I tell him.  “I feel the same but…”

“Well why should we?  What do they do for us?  They fuck things up, that’s what they do!”

“I don’t know Joe, I just think…”

“If they’re not careful they’re gonna’ drive me insane,” he says then, closing his eyes tightly for a moment, before opening them and staring right at me. “I’ll end up doing what that Danny kid did over in Redford, if they’re not careful.”

I am silent for a moment, licking my lips slowly. He keeps his eyes on mine and I do not look away.  “Don’t even joke,” I tell him softly.  “That was different.  That kid was tortured for fucks sake.  And he went to jail for years!”

“Just don’t blame him, that’s all,” Joe shrugs at me.  “If people push you that far…”

I remember Joe had been very interested in the story the first time someone told us it.  Back in 1996 or something, it was, a boy from Redford, which is the estate on the other side of the bypass, stabbed his stepfather to death in his own home.  It’s become one of those myths I guess, an urban legend, told and retold so many times in the area, the truth of it was probably distorted long ago. He went to the same school as us.  Apparently there is graffiti on a bench in Redford, his name carved in a bench or something. It made the national news, and everyone at school; all the teachers were up in arms at the time.  Some of them took time off work they were so traumatised by it.  It was all over the newspapers when it went to trial, and in the end the boy got ten years in jail, even though it came out in court that his stepfather had been beating him up for years.

“He must be out of jail by now?” I ask Joe and he nods.

“Bet he wouldn’t come back here though. Not this bastard place where no one helped him.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that Joe.  Mick may be a stupid cunt, but it is different.  That boy ran away from home and everything to get away.  I think in his own way, that Mick cares about you.”

“I’m just saying,” Joe shrugs again.  “People like Mick should watch out.  Bullies.”

“Look, I know he treats you like shit compared to his own kids, but he’s no worse than your mum, is he?  She’s just as tough.  Maybe he just follows her lead.”

“Yeah, they’re all fucking scumbags,” he says bitterly, folding his arms across his chest.  “And now they’re wondering why I’m playing up.  Makes me laugh.”

“Well just calm down,” I tell him, pleadingly.  “Just relax.  You’re scaring me lately, you know.  You’re like a different person. You don’t want to end up in fucking jail too, do you?  What kind of life would that be?”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says then, and I frown at him, not knowing if he means the way he treated the little ones, or the fact he tried to kiss me.  I cross my own arms, mimicking his defensive stance.

“What part?” I ask cautiously.

“All of it.  I was a twat.”

“Hmm.”

“What does ‘hmm’ mean, Carling?”

I can’t prevent the small smile that pulls at the corners of my mouth.  “’Hmm’ means you were so retarded you tried to kiss me.”  I let the smile run.  I grin at him.  He grins back, and his cheeks immediately redden.

“Sorry Carling.  I won’t do it again.”

“Too right you won’t. I was so shocked I didn’t have time to punch you.”

“Sorry mate.  I was…I don’t know what I was.”

“So why did you do it then?  I need to know.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs.  “I was sort of thinking about Travis kissing you at that party.  That pissed me off.”

“Why did it?”

“Because you’re my friend, not his.  He doesn’t even know you.  He just suddenly likes you now you’re all skinny. How fake is that?”

“I don’t know,” I laugh, my mind whirling.

“Well it is,” insists Joe. “He never noticed you before did he?  He really likes you apparently. He wants to ask you out or something.”

“No fucking way!” I explode, and laughter seems to be my only chance of saving face.  “Shut up!”

“I’m not joking, it’s true.  Just wait and see.”

“Whatever!”

“Would you though?” Joe looks serious again for a moment.  “If he did ask you out?  Would you?  If he tried to kiss you again, would you let him?”

“Course not!” I tell him, although I am not entirely sure if I am lying to him or not.  It just all seems so ridiculous.  I want to change the subject.  I put my hand on Joe’s arm and give it a squeeze. “Look, you retard, you are my best fucking friend in the world, right? I never want to do anything to upset you.  I’m here for you whatever shit happens. I’ll even start helping you get shot of those fucking drugs if you want.”

Joe’s eyes widen in disbelief.  “Carling, are you insane?”

“Probably,” I shrug.  “But two things just occurred to me.  One, if I help, you’ll get rid of them quicker, then this will all be over, and two, you are right.  You are right about everything.”

Joe grins the kind of grin I have missed on his face.  His hazel eyes shine with warmth, and all the anger seems to vanish.  “You’re a legend,” he tells me.  “And I am right, aren’t I?”

“Well not the bit about wanting to stab Mick to death and go to jail.  You can forget about that.”

“Okay then,” he laughs.  “I will.”

 

When Marianne comes back with the coffees, we are smiling and laughing, and all sanity seems to be restored.  I feel like I have my friend back again, even if he is in a shit load of trouble.  Marianne sits herself down on the floor between us, and is smiling knowingly as she pulls something out of her back pocket.  “What’s that?” Joe asks, leaning forward.  She is holding a little metal tin, like the one Joe has.

“Anyone fancy a smoke?” she asks us, placing it on the floor in front of her and tapping the lid with the nail of her index finger.  Joe and I exchange amazed looks.

“Where did you get it from?” Joe breathes softly, his eyes widening in hunger.

“That’s for me to know,” Marianne replies with a trace of smugness.

“You’re a fucking legend!” he tells her, and I look at him and think, hang on, that was me a minute ago.  But it does not matter.  We are soon pleasantly removed from our troubles and giggling on the floor, with a cloud of smoke swirling gently above our heads.

 

 

 

 

 

 

15

 

Dear World, when I am finally allowed to see my best friend again, it is not a reassuring sight.  Neither is it the happy reunion I expect it to be.  Instead, Joe slouches out of his house, Will and Tommy flanking him on either side, and Rozzer on the lead.  He gives me a look, which tells me this has been his existence for the past fourteen days, and I swallow and grimace, and the words I hope to find to make light of it, do not come.  He comes out of the front door stony-faced and dark eyed.  Despite the heat wave, his face looks pale, with large dark shadows hanging beneath each eye.  “You look like shit,” I tell him bluntly, hoping to raise a smile.  He takes the strain as Mick’s dog launches into his panting, heaving death walk, and does little more than raise one eyebrow at me.

“Haven’t had a smoke in two weeks,” he grumbles, yanking Rozzer back on his lead, to no avail.  “Leon won’t risk giving me any.  Fucker.”

“That’s why you look like shit?”

“Can’t sleep,” he snaps at me.  “I was always having a quick one before bed.  It was nice.”  He walks along, with one arm stretched out in front of him, and the gasping, lurching dog on the end of it, half strangling itself.  Tommy and Will walk politely behind him, as if sensing how unwanted and begrudged their presence is.  I glance back at them in guilt.  They are holding hands, and talking to each other.  Tommy has a little plastic truck clutched in one grubby hand.  We head silently to the park.  All the things I want to say to him, to ask him, I cannot say in front of a three year old and a seven year old.  The atmosphere is heavy with Joe’s anger and resentment.  I am so relieved when we make it to the field, and he unclips Rozzer from his lead. “Go on then fuck off!” he shouts to the dog, as it races off across the grass, barking at nothing.  “Bloody thing, bloody hound from hell,” Joe mutters in disgust.

“I should have brought Gremlin,” I say, watching as Tommy and Will run on their little legs towards the park.  “They would have worn each other out.”

“Can never wear that bastard out,” Joe spits.  “Take him out all day and he’s still a bloody nutter at home.  Stupid thing.”

“So how have you been?” I ask, now that the little one are out of earshot.  I look at him and he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks along to the slide.  He sits down and I join him.  I look back, inside the hut, and remember how we had stretched out there after our smoke that day, after I’d thrown up.  Joe just sits and glares out at the world.  I feel like I am walking on eggshells with him.  I feel like everything I want to say is going to annoy and enrage him, and this upsets me.  This is not the Joe my mum and me were talking about yesterday.  He looks both haunted, and rigid with rage at the same time.  “Joe?” I say softly, prompting him.  He does not look at me.  “Are you okay?”

“Just brilliant,” he replies, his tone cold.  “Had a brilliant two weeks thanks.  Haven’t left the fucking house unless it’s to come here and do this.  Fun times.”

“But it’s over now,” I remind him, “we can have fun times now.”

“How?” he asks, glaring at me.  “I’ve still got them twenty four fucking seven.  I’m still being punished.”

“They can’t make you have them the entire summer!”

“They can,” Joe disagrees, “They’ve both taken on extra hours at work.  They say they need the money.”  I look into his eyes then, and all I can see is the pain and the fury that has been spinning in his mind for weeks.  I swallow quickly and I drop my hand onto his arm.

“Look, it’s okay,” I tell him firmly.  “Okay, I’ll help you.  We’ll do it together okay?”

“Push me on swings!” Tommy is yelling suddenly.  We both look up at him.  He is over at the baby swings, clinging onto one with all his might, legs dangling and kicking as he tries desperately to propel himself into it.  I feel Joe tense and stiffen beside me. “Joe push me on swings!” Tommy yells again.

Joe tries to ignore him.  He looks down at the ground and digs the heel of his trainer into the dirt.  “I’ve been so bored,” I tell him, trying to lighten the mood.  “Had Marianne round a bit.  Mum likes her! Thinks she’s sensible or something.”

“Oh yeah?” Joe snorts with vicious laughter. “Sensible hacking her arms to bits eh?”

“Well obviously she doesn’t know about that.”

“Push me on swings Joe!”

“Fuck off,” Joe hisses under his breath.

“She’s been cool though,” I go on, although I am horribly aware that anything I say could push him over the edge.  He is glaring down at the dirt and taking deep breaths in and out.  “I feel bad actually,” I witter on, “you know, ‘cause we never really like include her or anything.  She’s been really cool.”

“Good.  Brilliant.  Any other news?” Joe is still staring at the ground.

“Push me! Push me! Joe push me on swings!”

“Well, sort of.  Mum is going to tell dad the truth about Les.  At some point.  Kind of a good idea I think.”

“Cool.”

“Have you seen much of Leon and Travis?”

Joe finds a stick lying in the dirt and picks it up. He holds it by one end and stabs the other end back into the dirt.  “Swings!” Tommy is now yelling at full volume.  There is a mother near the swings, pushing her toddler in a buggy.  I see her looking awkwardly at the hanging Tommy, and then over to us, as if expecting us to do something about it.  “Joe swings!”

“Hang on a minute Tommy!” I call out, more for the mothers benefit than Tommy’s.

“Just ignore him,” hisses Joe.  “And no, I haven’t.  They’ve been busy.”

“I bet they have.”

“Don’t start,” he sighs at me, dropping his head into his hand.

“What?”

“Just don’t.”

“Joe, I could have fucking killed them that day,” I tell him, glancing up at Tommy, who has fallen back from the swing, and is now sat on his bottom on the ground, wailing angrily.  Will hovers near him wondering what to do. “The way they stood back and let you take the blame.”

“It was my blame to take though.”

“But they gave you the weed! It was their fault too.”

“No point us all getting in trouble.”

“So what do they ever do for you?”

“Oh shut up, forget about it, shut up,” Joe looks up then, and catches sight of his two half-brothers, one crying in the dirt, and the other stooping down to comfort him.

“Push me on swings Joe!” Tommy wails again.

“No I fucking won’t!” Joe screams back at him suddenly.  I am shocked.  The mother with her toddler is shocked.  Even Tommy is shocked.  Because he stops asking, and shoves his thumb into his mouth to stop himself from crying.

“I will Tommy,” I say then, getting up.  I do not look at Joe as I walk away from him, over to Tommy.  Will scuttles off.  The mother with her toddler has unstrapped him from his buggy and hauls him into one swing.  I pull Tommy up to his feet and lift him into the one next door.  He stops crying and sucking his thumb and starts to giggle in hysterical contentment.  I stand there and push Tommy back and forth in the swing, while Joe sits and sulks in the hut.

I don’t look at the mother with her child, as I push Tommy on the swing, because I know that my cheeks are red with embarrassment.  She looks well dressed, with poker straight blonde hair, and subtle make-up on.  Her little boy is clean and wearing expensive Clark’s trainers.  I sigh, and imagine she comes from Marianne’s side of the fields.  It seems like I have only pushed Tommy for a few seconds, before he changes his mind and starts demanding to get out.  I stop the swing and lift him out and he runs over to where Will is climbing up the ladder to the slide, right above Joe’s head.  I drop my shoulders as I walk slowly back to Joe.  He looks bored and angry.  He does not even thank me for pushing Tommy.  I sit back next to him.

“Have you still been helping them?” I ask softly, meaning Leon and Travis.  Joe stares at the dirt and does not look at me.

“Sometimes.”

“But how?”

“Sneaking out when they’re all asleep.”

“You’re insane,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Can’t they do it themselves now? Haven’t they got you into enough trouble?”

Joe shrugs at me, uncaring. “Think I would go crazy if I didn’t get out the house anyway,” he tells me.  “I don’t mind doing it. I need the money.”

“Joe, how are you going to explain to your parents where you got the money for a drum kit from?” I wonder what the hell he is thinking.  What the hell is going through his head right now.  He looks up, past me.  Tommy is wailing again, this time because he is in pain.  It looks like Will has given him a pretty hard shove down the slide, and he is now lying face down in the dirt at the bottom.  Joe stands up, huffing with frustration.  He goes to Tommy and wrenches him up by the arm.

“Did you shove him down?” he demands, looking up at Will who is just about to come down the slide.  Will lifts and drops his hands apologetically.

“He wasn’t going down! He takes too long!” Will slips slowly down the slide towards Joe, just as Tommy’s wailing reaches a painfully high pitch in his ear.  Joe lets go of Tommy and grabs Will by the neck of his t-shirt.  I can only stand and watch in horror as Joe punches Will in the head, just as Mick had done to him that day.

“Joe!” I practically scream at him.  He doesn’t look at me.  Will starts to cry and tries to pull away.

“You’re mean! You’re mean!” he yells.  I look up helplessly.  The mother by the swings is staring at us with her hands over her mouth.  Joe does not see.  His face is ruined by rage.  He looks like he wants to kill his brothers.

“Joe, stop it, stop it,” I tell him firmly, and I reach for Will and grab his arm.  Joe swats at him again as I pull him away, catching him on the ear.  “Joe no!” I shout, and I pull Will and Tommy away from him, and the staring, horrified mother.  I pull Will to my side and wrap my arm around his shaking shoulders.  He has balled his fists up into his eyes and is really sobbing.  Tommy is just screaming for the sake of it.  It really is a horrible grating sound.  “Get the dog!” I hiss at Joe as he glares at me silently. “Get the dog, we’re going!”

Joe stomps away finally, swinging Rozzer’s lead in one hand.  I have an arm around each boy, and start to lead them gently away from the park.  I keep my back to the woman staring, but I can sense her accusing eyes on me.  I feel red faced and ashamed and angry.  I want to shout back at her, what are you looking at? It’s not his fault, that’s what they all do!

“He’s mean to me! He’s mean to me!” Will chants behind his leaking eyes.  I have to keep my arm around him, as he is not looking where he is going.  I pat his shoulder in a clumsy way.  Part of me feels genuinely sorry for him.  He is only seven, and he didn’t deserve that.  But part of me feels more sorry for Joe.  I don’t even like to think what will happen when Mick finds out.  I almost want to tell Will and Tommy to shut the hell up and be good for once.  I want to tell them how lucky they are, to have both their parents together, and on their side.  I feel like telling them they will never understand how it is for Joe.  But I say nothing, except for the odd pointless ‘there, there’ and ‘it’s okay’.

Joe has called Rozzer back and clipped his lead back on.  The dog is not tired out in the slightest, and pulls and gasps the whole way home.  We walk in a cold stony silence, Joe staring at the ground as Rozzer hauls him along.  Tommy and Will manage to stop crying, and just utter the odd pathetic whimper instead.  I decide to get them something to eat when we get in.  Something they can go in the garden and stuff their faces with.  Anything to keep them quiet, and out of Joe’s way for ten minutes.

We get back to the house.  Joe drags out his key and unlocks the door.  Will heads inside and disappears.  Tommy immediately trips over the doorstep and hits his head and starts to scream again.  Joe has no patience left to lose.  He lets Rozzer go, and reaches out for Tommy. “Just fucking shut up will you!” he hisses at him, grabbing his little arm and pulling him to his feet.  I see Tommy staring up at him, his face red and glistening with sliding tears.  “Shut up for once! I’m sick of you!” Joe releases him, but can’t help giving him a little shove into the lounge.  I’ve had enough.  I follow Joe in and close the door, and I pull him back by his arm.

“That’s enough,” I warn him.  “Seriously.  They’re just kids.”

“They’re his fucking kids,” Joe corrects me, eyes blazing.  “Spoilt little brats.  They get away with everything.  I hate them.”

“It’s not their fault, Joe,” I tell him, still holding onto his arm.  “They didn’t ask to be born, any more than you did.”

“Tough luck.”

“You’re just passing it on to them.  Like Leon and Travis did to you.”

“Leon and Travis are my real brothers,” he says, and pulls away from me.

“This isn’t like you,” I say helplessly, following him through to the lounge where he drops down onto the sofa and sticks his feet up onto the nearest coffee table.

“Good,” he replies, “I’m glad.”

“Well I’m not! I like the old you better!”

“Tough shit,” he tells me with a shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t care.”

I can see that.  They have done a good job on him all right, I think then, staring at him in disbelief.  They have taken away nearly everything that he cares about, and ruined his summer by lumbering him with two whining kids and a dog that never tires out.  And here is the result.  He is acting scarily like Leon, I think, watching him.  Blank and uncaring, simmering rage just under the surface, no empathy or concern for anyone.  I lower myself onto the sofa, as he gets up and sets up the play station.  I have no idea where the little ones have gone, but I don’t blame them for totally vanishing.  I watch in silence, trying to find the right words to say to get through to him, as he plugs in the play station and starts to play a game, slumped back into the sofa, with his thumbs waggling the controls.  His face goes totally blank, his eyes dead and unseeing.  I get up with a sigh and go into the kitchen to make us both a coffee.

I find cups, and put the kettle on, and lean against the table while the water boils.  I fold my arms around my body, and find the bumps of my ribs against the palm of my hand, and I find it comforting.  There is a cardboard box on the table, full of broken biscuits.  I smile slightly, remembering the excitement of broken biscuits, and I think, only poor people can find broken biscuits exciting.  I find a clean plate and pile it with broken biscuits for the little ones, in case they reappear.  I am just pouring the coffee, and starting to feel a little bit calmer, when I hear Joe start to swear in the lounge. “You little shit!” he is cursing. “I told you to stay out of my room! Damn it!”

I run in, holding the plate of biscuits.  Tommy is standing in the middle of the room holding one of Joe’s CD’s.  I think the kid must have a death wish.  Will has reappeared too.  But he is keeping his head down, and is crouched on the floor in front of the TV where he has his Lego spread out.  It looks like he has been busy building some sort of fort out of Lego.  There are heaps of little plastic soldiers mixed in with Lego, lying all over the carpet.  Joe snatches the CD from Tommy and checks it over.  It looks okay to me, but Joe is searching for a crack, or a smear, his face screwed up, his eyes scowling.  “Just stay out of my stuff!” he growls.  Just then Tommy picks up the play station control from the sofa and starts to press the buttons.  “Get off that!” screams Joe, shoving him away. He loses his temper completely then.  I have never seen him so wild, apart from when he attacked Travis, and then he had been very drunk.  “Touch my stuff and I’m gonna’ touch yours!” he starts to yell loudly, and brings his foot down on Will’s Lego.  Will moves back, eyes wide in horror.

“No!” he screeches.  “My fort!”

“I’m gonna’ break all your stuff and see how you like it!” Joe is shouting, and now he is stamping again and again on the Lego.  The fort is destroyed, and little pieces of coloured plastic start to splinter and fly about the room.  Will covers his face with both hands and just sobs uncontrollably at the loss of his fort.  When Joe has had enough, he sits back on the sofa, picks up the controls and goes back to his game.  Just like that.  I feel like I am in some kind of nightmare, where Leon’s warped soul has infiltrated Joe’s sweet one.

“I’ll help you build it again,” I say quickly, kneeling down next to Will and putting the plate of biscuits on the floor.  Tommy sits next to me and helps himself to half a bourbon.  I only look briefly at Joe, as I start to sweep armfuls of bricks towards me. Will takes a biscuit, but carries on sobbing.  “We can build an even bigger, better one,” I try to tell him.  “A massive one! One with towers and everything!”

Five minutes later, Joe is totally engrossed in his stupid football game, Tommy is eating his own body weight in biscuits, and Will is still crying about his fort.  I am not that good at Lego.  Everything I try to do just seems to make him cry more.  He is still whimpering when the front door opens and Mick storms in.  I stare up at him in horror, my eyes frozen on his heavily lined, boxers face.  He slams the door behind him and squints down at his two little sons.  “Daddy!” Tommy cries out gleefully, a biscuit in each hand.  Will just stares up at him, eyes wet with tears.

“What’s the matter with you?” Mick asks, in that unbelievably soft tone he uses for his boys.

“My fort!” Will tells him, starting to really sob again.  His whole face has gone red with the effort.  I look apologetically at Mick.

“I’m helping him fix it,” I say uselessly. Mick frowns.

“Oh look at that!” he says, kneeling next to Will and stroking his back with one hand. “What a mess!”

“My fort daddy!” Will wails again, sobbing into Mick’s shoulder. And then I hear him say it; “Joe did it! Joe did it daddy!”

My glance flicks nervously to Joe on the sofa.  His eyes register the accusation, but he says nothing, and keeps his eyes on the TV, his thumbs still waggling madly on the control.  Mick’s face hardens and he gets back to his feet.

“Is that right?” he asks Joe, nodding at the Lego.  “Did you break his fort?”

Joe does not answer.  I watch as his bottom jaw juts out slightly in defiance, but he says nothing.  “He stamped on it all daddy!” Will says, adding fuel to the fire.  Mick’s eyes widen.

“Oh yeah? Is that right? Did you stamp on it?  On purpose?” He does not wait for an answer this time.  “Right, that’s it,” he snaps as he reaches for the control in Joe’s hand and snatches it away.  He throws it down, and hauls Joe to his feet by his arm.  I feel sick.  I can’t look.  But I have to.  Mick holds Joe by the top of his arm and drags him towards the stairs.  I see Joe resist slightly, but other than that he does not put up a fight, or yell, or even say a word.  Mick drags him up the stairs. “Let’s see how you like it eh?” he is yelling furiously.  I stand in the hallway, feeling utterly helpless, biting at the knuckle of one hand.  I hear Mick kicking open Joe’s bedroom door.  “Picking on little kids, are you?  Let’s see how you like it!”

I can hear smashing.  Stomping.  Plastic splintering.  Next thing I know Mick hurtles back down the stairs and seems to be shoving a ten-pound note at my face. “Bloody hell I only came home to check on things! I can’t trust him, can you look after these two?” he is saying to me.  I just stare.  He looks stressed out, running one hand back through his short hair, waving the ten-pound note under my nose.  “Come on,” Mick prompts. “I’m desperate.  I’ve got to go back out.  You kids have no bloody idea the shit us adults have to put up with, you know.  I can’t deal with this now.  Please?” I have never heard Mick say please before.  I take the note and put it in my pocket.

“Okay,” I say.

“Good.  Great.  Thanks.” He pats me softly on the shoulder and goes back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.  I glance at the kids.  Will has picked up the control for the play station.  Tommy is on the biscuits again.  I take a deep breath and head up the stairs to Joe’s room.

His door is open, so I walk in. He is lying face down on his bed, sobbing into his pillow.  When I step forward my foot crunches on something on the floor, and I look down and see his CDs in a smashed up pile there.  Mick has thrown them down and it looks like he has stamped on them repeatedly.  There are pieces of broken plastic and snapped CDs all over the place. “Oh Joe,” I say quietly, looking back at him.  He stays on the bed, and tries to control himself, tries to stop crying.  I am heartbroken.  I cannot remember the last time I saw Joe cry.  We must have been very little.

I go over to the bed and sit down next to him.  I place my hand on his shoulder, and he lifts his head and looks back at me.  “You can’t say anything, you can’t do anything, in this house, they don’t let you!”

“Joe…”

“You can’t do anything…”he says over his sobs.  “They don’t let you! You can’t even breathe!”

“Joe, I’m so sorry, we’ll try to sort them out, they’re probably not all broken.  I’ll sort them out for you.”  I squeeze his shoulder and he sits up suddenly then, turning towards me, and wiping with his hands at his eyes, wiping the tears away. “It’s okay,” I try to tell him, even though it so obviously isn’t.  I don’t know what else to say, I really don’t.  I don’t want to make things worse, I am scared of saying the wrong thing, so I just wrap my arms around his shoulders instead, and I pull him in for a hug.  He lets me, and he rests his wet cheek on my shoulder and I feel and hear him sigh heavily, a juddery shaking sigh, his final sob.  I am rubbing his back and telling him it will all be okay, when suddenly he pulls back, looks at me strangely and then kisses me on the mouth.  I am so shocked that I automatically pull back away from him, and I straight away see the hurt in his eyes, and before I can stop him, he jumps up from the bed and runs from the room.  “Joe!” I cry after him, but all I hear are his footsteps thundering down the stairs, and the door slamming after him.

I sit on the bed in stunned shock for what seems like an age.  I try to take in what has just happened.  Every time I try to figure it out, the shock just smacks me in the face again, and my jaw hits the floor.  Part of me wants to laugh out loud; it’s so strange, so crazy.  Part of me wants to run out after him, grab him and tell him to stop being so fucking stupid.  Part of me wants to run home and hide in my bed, and stop being sixteen, with all this confusing shit going on all the time.  I am shook from my daydream by the sound of Tommy and Will fighting downstairs.  I get up, step over the broken CD’s and yell out at them; “stop fighting, and I’ll be down in a minute!”

I can’t leave Joe’s room without at least trying to sort out the CD’s, so I kneel down slowly and pick up the nearest one.  Radiohead, ‘OK Computer’, one of his favourites, smashed to pieces.  The case is in three pieces, and the CD itself in split right down the middle.  I put it to one side.  Oasis ‘What’s The Story, Morning Glory’, the case is split, but the CD inside is okay, or seems to be, so I put it to the other side.  I should have reminded him that he can just download them again, but it probably would not have made him feel any better. Joe loves his music.  He downloads stuff, but he loves buying old CD’s and records just as much. I dread to think what would have happened if that bastard Mick had got his hands on his vinyl collection. The anger trembles through me then, as I find his Black Keys albums and try to locate their cases in the mess. This isn’t the same as breaking Lego, I want to shout out to whoever may be listening.  Lego is just fucking bricks! You can make it again, for Christs sake. Just then Will appears cautiously in the doorway. “What you doing?” he asks me.  “Where did Joe go?”

“He got upset because your dad smashed his CD’s,” I reply, not looking up as I examine a Bruce Springsteen CD he got off ebay only last month, and was so chuffed about. It is so smashed it is almost in two pieces.  The same goes for Amy Winehouse, another one of his favourites. Totally fucked.

“Joe smashed my fort,” says Will, hanging onto the door with both hands.

“I know,” I say.  “That wasn’t very nice of him.  But Lego can be put back together again.  CD’s can’t.”

“Where did he go then?”

“I don’t know Will.  He’s not very happy at the moment, living here.”

Will leans down and picks up another CD.  The case is hanging open, slithers of see through plastic hanging off one side.  He takes out the CD and it is all in one piece.  “Put it with that one,” I tell him, and he does.  He chews at the nail on his thumb for a few moments, watching me while I sort them out.  “Are you looking after us now then?” he says eventually.  I sigh, thinking of the tenner in my pocket.

“Looks that way.”

“Can we have something to eat then?  Can we have some crisps?”

“In a minute,” I tell him.  “When I’ve done this for Joe.”

Will seems happy with this, and goes away.  When I have finished cleaning up the mess, the ruined pile is twice the size of the okay pile, and I feel devastated for Joe, looking at it all.  I would want to kill someone if they did that to my music.  I remember his money then, for the drum kit, and go over to his drawers.  I open the top one and feel around until I find the fat sock at the back.  It is even fatter now, jammed tight with ten and twenty pound notes.  I hope it will be okay there, and close the drawer again.

I wonder where he is.