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.

 

 

 

 

14

 

Dear World, those bastards! For the last two weeks they have refused to let me see, or speak to Joe. I can’t tell you how evil this is, I can’t begin to explain how depressed it makes me. He is about the only one who keeps me sane World! I feel I am falling apart without him, and I am not joking about this. Those evil hypocritical bastards have not allowed me to even phone him, or text him. They took my phone away and everything. The same goes for him.  Our parents have got together and decided on this forced separation themselves. Tough love they call it, the idiots! After I admitted to smoking weed too, they pretty much all lost the plot.  They can’t quite decide who the bad influence is among us.  None of them think to look any further than Joe and me.  One of us led the other one into it; they just can’t work out whom.  I hear layers of shocked and outraged conversations between them, where none of them actually go as far as to point the finger at the other parents, but the insinuation is there all the same.  The fact is, neither Joe nor myself have done anything to outrage or upset them before now, and they don’t know quite what to make of it.  In truth, the fact that we have barely focused on their radars before now, seems to make them come down on us even harder.  It feels like they already have Sara, Leon and Travis to lose sleep over, and they simply will not entertain the idea of Joe and myself adding to it.  It’s just not going to happen.  My dad tells my mum not to buy me any more new clothes, and my pocket money is suspended.

“I’m not having it,” I hear him hiss his opinion, when the four of them are huddled in our kitchen one evening, no doubt sipping wine and beer and flicking fag ash all over the place as they discuss what do to with us. “Drink is one thing, that’s one thing! I can handle that. We all did that. But drugs! Smoking weed! I don’t bloody think so, I’m not bloody having that, that’s bloody disgusting behaviour that is.”

I am listening on the landing.  They may be aware of this, but it does nothing to stop or hasten their enraged discussions.  “Leads to more of it, more drugs, that’s what happens!” my mum is freaking out about this.  The opinions of others and the newspapers she devours have convinced her that next week her youngest daughter will be smoking crack cocaine, and most likely be injecting heroin by Christmas. “It’s a gateway drug,” she informs the other three adults.  “That’s what they call it.  A gateway to harder things.”

“Well I’m not bloody having it,” my dad says again.

“Never even had this from Leon and Travis, did we Mick?” That’s Lorraine, obviously.  I can hear Mick grunting.  I can just picture him screwing up his face and squaring up the way he does, even when there is nothing and no one to square up to.

“They’re spoilt and lazy, that’s the truth of it,” he huffs and puffs in my kitchen, and the others murmur in agreement.  “I had a bloody job at that age, I bet we all did! They just lie around all day with nothing to do, that’s the problem.”

“Well Joe’s on babysitting and dog walking duties for the rest of the summer, isn’t he Mick?”

“Too bloody right he is!”

“And no band practice either.  We’re coming down tough on this, Michelle, and we think you two should as well.”

“Oh we are, we are, aren’t we?” my mum says quickly. “Well, I’m letting her have Marianne over, because she’s such a sensible young girl.”

“Is she?” Lorraine does not sound so sure.

“Oh yes, oh yes, have you seen where she lives? Her parents are very well off you know.  She’s a lovely polite girl.”

I don’t know about Joe, but I get through it by keeping a low profile.  I stay in my room, I go out jogging, or I take the dog for long walks around the estate.  I avoid my mother; because I do not want to have another drugs conversation with her.  Les is still living with us, if you can call it that.  He still has to run and hide every time my dad shows up.  I am relieved that I am allowed Marianne over, or I would probably go insane.  I soon learn that Joe has not been allowed the luxury of other friends at all.  Josh and Ryan are banned, and Joe is under house arrest.  He is forbidden from leaving the house at all.  I think that if they are deliberately trying to drive him crazy, they are going about it the right way.  Marianne comes over nearly every day during this punishment period.  It amazes me that my mother has no qualms about this at all, based solely on the fact that she comes from a big house and her parents have good jobs.  She has no idea that Marianne is so fucked up she slices into her own arms most days! She has no idea that Marianne was getting into the weed as much as us.

“Do you think they would let me visit Joe?” she wonders, when we are up in my room kneeling on my bed and gazing out of my window.  I sigh, feeling like a prisoner in my home. I am wondering how the hell Joe is surviving it.  At least I’ve got relative peace and quiet.  He’s got those bloody kids!

“I doubt it,” I tell her, watching one of the neighbours little girls ride her bike up and down the road.  “But you can try asking if you like. He must be going out of his mind by now.”

“You can’t even phone him?” she shakes her head incredulously.

“Nope. I did try on the landline.  Mick answered and went mental.  It’s not worth it.  They’ll just add another two weeks on.”

“Poor Joe.”

“I know.  It makes me sick.  The fuckers.”

“You could have landed his brothers in it too.” Marianne looks at me sideways.  I stare dismally down at the street.  Her younger brother has joined the little girl from next door.  He still has stabilisers on and can’t keep up with her, so he is crying and calling after her, but she won’t stop, she won’t slow down for him.

“I nearly did,” I tell her. “But it’s up to Joe really. They’re his family. Apparently he’s saving up for a drum kit. Leon reckons he would rather keep making money than drop them in it.”

“Insane!” Marianne breathes, her eyes growing wide.  I nod in agreement with her.  “So is he still sneaking out for them then?  Is he still, you know?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit.  “I wouldn’t risk it if I were him.”

“Oh my god,” Marianne smiles. “Crazy!”

She pulls back from the window and lies flat on her back on my bed.  She is wearing a long black skirt today.  Her pale little feet just barely poke out the bottom of it.  I look back out of the window, as my neighbours little boy crashes his bike spectacularly in his efforts to keep up with his sister.  I watch him sprawled out on the concrete, knees bloodied and face wailing.  I should feel sympathy but I don’t.  I look at his sister to see what she does.  She stops her bike and turns it around.  Then she looks up at her house to see if anyone is coming out yet.  She makes no effort whatsoever to go to her little brother, or to help him.  He just wails at the indignity and the unfairness of it all, as he clambers onto his shredded knees and throws back his head to the sky.  Finally their mother, who is very overweight and always wears bright pink tracksuits, comes waddling out of the house.  She shakes a finger and says something to the older girl, who just looks back at her blankly.  The mother drags the little boy up from the ground, slings him onto her hip and grabs his bike with her other hand.  I watch in awe as she staggers back to her house with both.  He must be about five, and the bike looks heavy.  I think to myself, well there you have it. Children are cruel.  Siblings are born to outdo each other and tear each other to pieces in the scramble to be the best.  Parents are simply adults who have been bumped to a higher status merely because of  the fact they are physically able to have sex and squeeze out babies. This all becomes clear to me from my window.  We live in a merciless world.  This life is full of people who want to stamp you down into the ground to stop you getting past them.  That is what it feels like World, at the moment. I am torn between wishing I was a child again, not having to worry about anything, except being allowed to play out, and wishing I was old enough to leave home like Sara, just pack my stuff and get the hell out.

I sigh again and look down at Marianne. I realise she has been a good friend to me this summer.  I used to view her with suspicion.  She intrigued me, but I did not trust her.  I found her hard and abrasive, lacking in warmth.  I could never tell if she meant the things she said.  I could never quite work out if she actually liked me or not.  But I feel differently now.  She must like me, and Joe, otherwise what the hell would she be doing with a pair of rejects like us?  I feel bad too.  I feel bad because she was right about us always being joined at the hip.  We don’t always think of her.  We don’t always think to ask her along, not unless we need something from her.

“You’ve been a good friend,” I tell her then, surprising her with a rare compliment.  She even sits up and gawps at me.  “What?”

“Wow.  It’s just unusual to hear you say something nice, or positive!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I can’t talk.  I’m the same. What makes you say that?”

“Just, you know,” I slump back against the wall, under the window and shrug at her.  “You’ve been keeping me company and stuff.  Me and Joe probably leave you out a bit, usually, don’t we?”

“Oh I don’t mind that,” she grins, waving a hand at me. “I know what you two are like. I’m used to my own company anyway, remember?”

“Well yeah, but you know,” I shrug again.  I am not comfortable with praising someone.  It never sounds genuine, does it? It always just sounds like you are sucking up to them for some reason.  “I’m sorry,” I say instead. “If we have left you out ever.  That’s all.”

“Forget about it!” Marianne laughs at me.  “Don’t be silly. Hey, when this punishment is all over, I’m getting you both over to mine for a piss up.  And Ryan and Josh too.  They can bring their instruments!”

“Your parents won’t mind?” I feel brighter now she has said this.

“Course not.  They like me having people over, because I’m an only child and all that.  Anyway, we’ll do it when they are out.  It’ll be brilliant.  We need some good nights don’t we?  Before we go back to school and everything.”

I groan at the thought.  “Yeah, we do.  Definitely.”

“I bet you can’t wait for the stick insects at school to see you.” I look at her, and she is smiling a devilish smile at me.

“Oh yeah,” I murmur.  She stifles an excited little giggle.

“They probably won’t even recognise you Lou.  You’re gonna’ blow their tiny little minds.  They’ll be all over you like a rash.”  She leans forward then and puts her hand on my arm.  “I think you’ve done amazing, by the way.  Really amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Has it been really tough?”

I shrug.  I am not sure.  I have not really thought of it that way. “Not really,” I tell her. “Once I made my mind up, that was it.”

“So many people fail, don’t they?  Fat people, when they try to lose weight.  They can never do it normally.  But you did!””

“Yeah,” I say slowly, frowning slightly at her delighted little face.  She seems particularly hyper today, I have to say.  “I did, didn’t I?”

“You should be extremely proud,” Marianne insists. “You’ve totally changed your body you know.  All by yourself!  No one helped you.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Yeah, I know.  Amazing.  Really amazing.”

I have to admit, as odd as she is at times, I do enjoy Marianne’s enthusiasms over my weight loss.  It’s really kind of her, I think, to encourage me all the time.  Makes me feel less alone.  She seems to notice every pound that I drop.  Bless her.

I consider telling her how odd it seems to me that I never feel hungry anymore.  That I really, truly cannot recall the last time I felt hunger.  I did at the start.  Bloody hell it was nothing less than torture at the start! I would find myself staring longingly at the food my mother and sister stuffed into their faces.  The silky smoothness, and overpowering sweet scent of  Cadbury’s Dairy Milk chocolate; my mum’s favourite ‘sin’. But I don’t do that now.  I don’t look at food like that anymore.  In fact I kind of see it the opposite way, if that makes sense.  I see the fat content and the spoonfuls of processed sugar.  I see the fat beneath my skin swelling and growing with every mouthful that I allow to enter it.  It’s great though, I think.  It’s great not feeling hungry anymore.  It makes it so much easier to eat less.

I don’t share this with Marianne.  Probably because she might think I had lost the plot a bit.  I don’t know.  I don’t tell her about the photos my mum took of me recently either. I hate having my photo taken World. It does not matter what you dress me up in, or what you do with my stupid hair, or whatever, I still don’t photograph well.  I am not, what do they call it?  Photogenic, that’s it. I’m just not.  Never have been. Well my mum has this old camera she’s had for years. She must be the last person on earth to still take rolls of film to Boots to be developed, bless her. I keep telling her just to get a camera phone, but she seems to think the two things should be separate.  Sometimes there is just no telling grown ups. So anyway, she was snapping away over my birthday, like she always does, then rushes off to get them all developed. Shows me. Fuck me, I wanted to cry. Oh look, oh look darling, she waffled on, going all teary like she always does when one of us is a year older, oh you look so grown up, so pretty! I don’t know what she sees when she looks at photos fof me World, but it sure as shit isn’t what I see! Would you believe World, even after all this effort, I still looked fat?  I was all ewww in those photos.  Really.  I wanted to shout bollocks and screw them up, but she whisked them off to send them to obscure and uncaring relatives. So I don’t tell Marianne this, as she already knows I always look down or cover my face when any of my friends snap me with their camera phones. But I do make a promise to myself to treat her more like a friend from now on, and not just an acquaintance, someone we call on from time to time.  She deserves more than that after all.

 

After Marianne has gone home, my mum comes up and sits on my bed next to me.  She has her hands in her lap, between her knees.  There is no tea towel.  She seems lost and weary and I almost consider putting my arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug.  I don’t though.  I don’t know why she has come up here, and my cynical suspicions are aroused.  “I have decided to tell your father about Les living here,” she sighs eventually, and confirms that I am nearly always right.  I nod, and wait for more.  “You are right, Lou.  I can’t live my life for him anymore.  He left me didn’t he?  He went to her.  I should be over it by now.  I should move on.  And Les is a good man, isn’t he?  What do you think?”

“Well,” I say, thinking on it for a moment before replying.  “I haven’t seen that much of him, seeing as how he’s mostly having to hide under your bed, but apart from that, he does seem okay.  I mean, he talks to you nice.  Not like dad.  He talks to you like you’re a human being, not a piece of shit.”

My mum looks at me with a stern frown.  “Lou!”

“What?” I shrug at her.  “It’s true.  Dad talks to nearly everyone like they’re shit.  Especially if they are female.  Can’t believe you’ve never noticed.”

“Well, actually I have noticed.  I was married to him, you know.”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.  Give me time.  It takes courage to work up to these things, you know Lou.  Even when you’re an adult.  Life doesn’t stop being scary.  I’m not looking forward to it.” She looks back at her knees and takes a deep breath, before exhaling again, as if to give herself some strength.  “I will do it though, I promise you that.  No more lies and secrets.  Everything out in the open.  Maybe Les and I will be happy.”

“Well I hope so mum.”  And I do.  I mean it.

“I will tell your sister too. Next time I see her.”

“Okay,” I nod again.  “Cool.”

“Lou, you’re not going to smoke that stuff again, are you?” She looks slowly at me, turning her head as if it pains her to do so.  Her eyes are narrowed, like someone flinching from a smack.

“You mean, cannabis?” I ask her, and she physically squirms at the word.

“Yes, Lou.  It’s time we had a proper talk about all that.”

“Course I won’t mum,” I tell her, with another shrug, that means so little, I wonder if she buys it any more than I do.  How can she even ask me that, I wonder.  How am I meant to know what I might do, or not do?  The chances are slim anyway, so it seems easier to just say no.  I don’t tell her that I would take being hammered over being stoned any day.  Though that might actually be a relief to her.  Obviously alcohol is a ‘safe’ adult approved and tested gateway drug.  “I only did it to keep Joe company.  You know.”

“Well no, I don’t know actually, but if you promise you won’t do it again…” she looks at me pleadingly.

“You were a teenager once mum,” I point out to her.

“And my mum would have clipped me round the ear if I’d even thought about doing something like that!” she tells me incredulously.  “It was very strict.  You did what you were told or else.”

“That’s not so different from today,” I mutter, thinking about Joe.  Mum blows her breath out through her teeth, and lifts one leg to cross it over the other.  She tugs her knee length skirt down towards her knee.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know really.”

“You mean us punishing you and Joe, don’t you?”

I shrug in reply.  She puts her arm around me then, taking me by surprise.  She wraps it around my shoulders and pulls me into her side, and I let her.  I rest my head on her shoulder, and feel her hand rubbing up and down gently on my bare arm. “You two,” she says, and I can feel her smile.  “You’re just like sister and brother, aren’t you?  Always have been.  Always been joined at the hip you two.  Never seen anything like it.  Me and Lorraine always say it, you know.  The rest of the kids never bothered much with each other, but you two….You two are so sweet.”

“Mum, why are they so horrible to him then?”

“I don’t think they are horrible, Lou.  They just think it’s best to be tough.  To nip these things in the bud.  Boys can be a handful you know.  Lorraine was on her own for a while with the first three. I know how tough it was for her.”  She is still rubbing my arm slowly.

“But mum, you don’t understand.  When I was there, Mick just waded in and smacked Joe in the head.  He has no right to do that!”

“Oh Lou, Mick is very fiery, he acts first and thinks later, you know that.”

“That’s no excuse.  He’s vile to her kids! He thinks his two can do no wrong!”

“Well they are only little, darling. It’s different.  Three teenage boys in the house is hard work for anyone.  I don’t think I could do it!” She holds me a little tighter and leans in to kiss me on the top of my head.  “I’ve always been glad I had two little girls, you know.  But Mick cares about those kids really, he does.  He wouldn’t do a thing if he didn’t care.  He would let them do whatever the hell they liked, wouldn’t he?”

“Well I don’t like him,” I say, petulantly, and I pull away from her hug, dismayed at her allegiance to him, determined to not ever feel empathy for him.  “He’s always horrible.  Always has been.”  I cross my arms over my stomach.  Mum sighs a little and gets to her feet.

“You might understand more when you are an adult, and a parent Lou,” she says, looking down at me calmly.  “That’s all I can say.  It’s the hardest job in the world being a parent, and I imagine being a step-parent is even harder.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay,” she sighs, this time it’s a huge one, and she walks to the door. “I’ll leave you to it.  You can go and see Joe tomorrow, okay?  Lorraine said.  But you two are on thin ice, remember?  Best behaviour or else!”

I could say whatever again, but I don’t.  I just turn my back on her slowly, making a feeble effort to hide my disappointment, and I lie on my belly on my bed.  I hear her open the door.  “Lou, I don’t want you getting any thinner either,” she says suddenly, and the way she says it I can tell it’s not just an after thought, but more like something she has been building up to saying.  “You’re lovely as you are now okay?  I don’t want you taking this diet any further.”  I don’t answer her, so she goes out and closes the door behind her.  I am left alone with my own jumbled thoughts.  I lie flat on my belly and experience a whirlwind of contrasting emotions.  I feel the familiar stab of pride at my weight loss.  Even the fact my mum has mentioned it the way she has makes me feel proud and defiant.  I feel excited and yet nervous about seeing Joe tomorrow.  How has his two weeks been?  What are we going to say to each other?  I feel a little warmer towards my mum, and relieved about her telling dad the truth for once, but still….she always has to stick up for Lorraine and Mick, doesn’t she?  Makes me sick.

 

13

 

 

Dear World, for a moment or two it feels like time stands still, and not in a good way. I often wish I could freeze time, pause it so that I can catch up, catch my breath, but this isn’t the kind of moment anyone would want paused, or dragged out.  This is one of those moments you want to end as quickly as possible and never have to relive again.  Joe does not answer Mick’s question.  Instead he takes a small step backwards, towards the door that we have closed behind us.  I look at his face and I can see he is shitting himself.  Mick is holding a whole handful of the roaches Joe has been throwing out of his bedroom window.  Mick looks wild.  He comes forward.  He thrusts his hand towards Joe’s startled face.  “I said are these yours!”

I look from Mick to Joe, starting to panic now.  Joe nods his head ever so slightly.  Lorraine is right behind Mick.  I glance past her towards Leon and Travis, who are keeping quiet, just watching.  Mick pulls his hand back and sniffs the ends.  He narrows his eyes slightly.  “Not just fag ends are they?” he barks at Joe.  Joe has his back flat against the door now.  His hazel eyes are getting wider by the second.

“Are they joints Joe?” Lorraine snaps then, coming up beside her husband, shaking her head at her son, as if daring him to say they are.  Joe says nothing.  He looks down, away from her accusing face, and he scratches at the back of his neck.

Lorraine’s eyes shift to me.  “Lou?  Are you going to help fill us in?”  I don’t know what to say.  I start to shrug my shoulders, but think better of it, and just look down at the floor instead.  “They are aren’t they?” she goes on.  She jerks her head back towards Leon and Travis, lurking in the background.  “Now we’ve grilled these two already.  They say this is nothing to do with them.  We found these in the back garden, Joe.  Tommy was collecting them up and putting them in his dumper truck.”

At the mention of his precious baby son, Mick’s eyes widen in anger, and he folds his fist over the roaches, and licks his lips slowly.  He looks like he can’t decide what to do first.  Like there are a couple of possible solutions that would make him feel better right now, but he can’t choose one quick enough.  He lifts one hand momentarily and touches his own forehead, glancing down, almost as if he is attempting to compose himself. “Have you been smoking fucking weed in your bedroom and throwing the butts out the window?” he asks, not looking at Joe. Joe swallows.  Scratches his neck again.  Looks at his mum.  Looks down.  He knows he cannot win here.  He knows this is bad.  I watch his nervous eyes flick towards his brothers, as if pleading them to step in and say something, but we both know that they won’t.

“Joe,” Lorraine says the word clearly and carefully.  Her hands are planted on her hips.  Her eyes are fixed on Joe in a stern and motherly way that traps him in her eye line, forcing him to look her in the eye.  She knows he cannot lie to her face and she is using this to full advantage.  “Tell the truth.  Have you been smoking weed up there and throwing the butts out the window?”

Joe finally drags his gaze down to the floor again as he mumbles his almost incoherent answer.  “Yeah.”

“Where my fucking kids can play with them?” Mick roars, rushing forward then, coming at us with his fists up.  I move back, nearly stumbling over my own feet, and Joe cowers against the door, ducking at the same time, and Mick’s fist catches him on the back of the head.  He crouches down, against the door, arms over his head, fearing more.  I stare at Mick, and Lorraine in disgust and horror, but they look resolute and strong, and not embarrassed.  Lorraine merely puts a hand on Mick’s back, and he stops at that, but leans over Joe, shaking his head from side to side and pointing a finger at him.  “You’re smoking cannabis up there?  You fucking little shit!”

I am close to tears.  I look desperately to Leon and Travis, begging them with their eyes to stop this, and help their brother, but they remain silent witnesses in the background.  Leon has his arms crossed.  He looks stern faced, but calm.  Travis looks like he would rather be anywhere else in the world right now.  Guilt is splashed all over his reddening face.

“Kitchen!” Mick barks into Joe’s ear.  Then he straightens up, as Joe stands away from the door, and he looks back at Leon and Travis, and points at them quickly, one at a time.  “You two out.  Now.”

I move closer to Joe again, as he steps from the hallway and into the lounge, I reach out and grab his arm again, and I can feel his whole body shaking.  I see him looking at his brothers again, looking at them for help.  His eyes are begging them, but they do and say nothing.  They just walk past us and leave.

Joe heads for the kitchen, with me in tow.  But Lorraine holds her hand up to me.  “You need to go too love.” I feel outraged by the sight of her. I want to lash out and slap her pinched up, make-up plastered face. I step around her and follow Joe into the kitchen, where Mick has pulled a chair from the table.  Joe stands there looking lost and helpless. Mick shoves him into the chair.  He is a raging bull of a squat little boxer man, all thick pulsing arms and broad shoulders, and short stumpy legs.  I hate him.  I can feel Lorraine behind me, sighing angrily at me.

“What’s the matter with you anyway?” Mick asks, slamming his hands down onto the table in front of Joe.  “Running around with girls all the time like a little gay boy!  Smoking drugs out the window!  I ought to throw you out!”

Joe folds his arms across his t-shirt and stares at the table.  “I’m not gay,” he says, teeth clenched.

“Why you always with girls then?” Mick questions, his confused glare taking me in.  “Unless you’re girlfriend and boyfriend all of a sudden?” He straightens up and looks even angrier for a moment, as if being deceived by us about this would be even worse than having a gay weed smoking stepson.  “Are you two girlfriend and boyfriend?” he asks, looking at me.

“No!” I say haughtily, my voice shaky and emotional. “And he’s not gay either!”

Lorraine steps around me.  “Are you smoking this stuff too?” she asks, peering into my face. “I’m going to have to talk to your mum.”

“No she’s not,” Joe speaks up from the table, with his back to me.  “She never has.  It’s just me.”

“Go home then Lou,” Lorraine says it again, this time her tone is gentler. “This is family business now, okay?”

I don’t want to leave Joe there with them, but Lorraine takes my arm when I don’t move and propels me back towards the front door.  I can’t stand it, but I don’t know what I can do.  One way or another they are just going to destroy him.  As Lorraine pulls open the front door I hear Mick saying; “I can’t cope with you kids much longer.  There’s always one of you causing trouble.  If my Will or Tommy had fucking eaten those or something?”

I am pushed outside.  I am still clutching my fucking New Look bag.  The sun blinks and glints off of all the cars parked in the street.  I don’t know what to do World. Then I see Leon and Travis leaning against the fiesta and smoking cigarettes.  I march right up to them.  I am shaking with anger and disappointment by the time I reach them.  “You’re not going to stand up for him?” I practically scream at them.  “They’re tearing him apart in there!”

“Nothing to do with us,” Leon gives me his usual unbothered shrug.  I want to smack him in the face as hard as I can and watch his nose explode.

“Yes it is! Who does he get it from? You!”

Leon throws down his cigarette then and snatches up my arm, hissing into my face; “keep your fucking voice down!”

I try to pull away but he holds on.  “I ought to go back in there and tell them the truth,” I say to him, our faces barely an inch apart.  “Why should he take all the blame?  You got him into all of this!”

“He can handle it,” Leon says to me, still holding my arm.  “You know them.  We’re nearly rid.  Then it’s all over.  They’ll chuck all three of us out if you tell.”

“He’s right,” Travis tells me, almost apologetically.  I finally yank my arm free of Leon’s grip.

“Unbelievable,” I spit at them.

“Please,” says Travis.

“It’s not like we’re not sharing the money with him,” Leon points out, stepping back from me and shoving his hands into his pockets.  “He’s saving up for a drum kit, you know.”

“Look, we’re not going anywhere,” Travis says, his voice falling softer, his teeth biting at his lower lip.  He glances quickly up at the house and then back at me.  “We’ll stay out here.  Make sure they go easy on him.”

“You’re a pair of scumbags.  You’re the worst brothers in the world.  You just stand there and let Mick smack him in the head.” I feel tears prick my eyes now, so I turn away.  I start to walk away from them.  “You make me sick,” I say quietly, and I leave them there.  I have no idea if either of them feel guilt, or concern, or indeed are capable of it.  They say nothing as I walk away.

I have no choice but to go home.  I feel so heavy as I walk; each footstep is a trial, a huge effort.  I feel like someone up above has their hands upon my shoulders, and I’m being slowly pushed down into the ground.  It really feels that way World, like you and all your troubles are pressing down on me, trying to grind me into the pavement. I want to shake it all off, but it clings to me as I walk, the heaviness of despair.  I struggle on, anger fading away now, only to be replaced by sheer sadness.  Poor Joe.  None of them understand him.  Poor Joe.

I let myself into the house and once again I am instantly met with solemn, straight adult faces.  My mum and my fucking dad, no less.  I throw my New Look bag onto the stairs and kick off my shoes.  My shoulders are slumped; my feet drag as I walk down the hallway to join them in the kitchen.  It is plainly obvious that Lorraine has already been on the phone to them.  They know everything; I can see that from their faces.  My dad is smoking a cigarette, with one arm slung across his waist as he leans against the worktop.  Mum is sat at the table, wringing a tea towel in her hands.  Does she ever fucking put them down? “Let me guess,” I say to them, slipping weakly into the chair opposite my mother.  “Lorraine has already filled you in.”

My mum looks at my dad.  He smokes his cigarette.  Why the hell has she got him here anywhere?  I wonder where poor old Les is again.  “She phoned me when they found the cigarette ends, or whatever they are,” mum answers me, holding onto the twisted tea towel with both hands as she rests it on the tabletop.  She shakes back her short hair, glances nervously at my dad, and then back at me. “She wanted to know what I thought.”

“Oh right,” I say, looking away from her. “What do you think then?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, sounding flustered, and looking to my dad for help again, but he just remains silent and smokes his cigarette. “It’s not you though is it love? Its just Joe smoking that stuff isn’t it?”

I look back at her and sigh, and I really want to say, no it’s not just Joe, it’s me too whenever the hell I feel like it, but it is just Joe running around the estates at night delivering cocaine to people for his brothers.  It all goes through my mind.  It enrages me again.  “I’ve tried it a few times,” I tell her, watching her carefully, wondering what the hell she is going to say to this.  My dad lowers his hand, the one holding the cigarette, and he cocks his head at me as if he has not heard me correctly.  My mum has covered her mouth with one hand, finally letting go of the bloody tea towel

“You better be joking!” my dad yells at me.  I look at him, scowling in disgust.

“What?” I say to him. “Why would I joke? I suppose I could lie and say it’s all just him, but that wouldn’t be very fair on him, would it?”

“Oh Lou,” my mum is shaking her head into her hand. “I am so disappointed in you.  I thought you knew better than that.  What has gotten into you two lately? First getting drunk and fighting and now this?”

“Getting drunk and fighting?” my dad practically explodes at her. “You never told me that! When was that then? What the hell is going on around here lately?”

I get up then.  I do not want to hear any of this. “Stay there please Lou,” says mum, holding up her hand. “We need to talk about this.”

“There are lots of things we need to talk about mum,” I say viciously, raising my eyebrows at her, so that she understands what I mean.  Who I mean.  She closes her mouth quickly, biting back her words.  I know I have won.

“This is a joke!” my dad yells at mum.  He is not even looking at me.  He does not give a shit if I smoke weed or get drunk, he just relishes another reason to throw shit at her, to hurt her and humiliate her and ground her down even more than he already has done.  “What kind of mother are you? Letting one daughter move in with her boyfriend, and the other one is just running wild!”

I leave them to it, which is really rather cruel of me, as none of this is my mum’s fault really.  But I’ve had enough.  I could stand there and really get into it with them, really give them what for on their own fucked up little lives. I could turn it all around on them, and ask them to think about why Joe and me have let them down so badly.  I mean, who raised us eh?  But I can’t handle this anymore.  I need to be alone.  I can’t even look at my dad most of the time, let alone argue with him.  What is the point?

Up in my room I hear them screaming at each other downstairs.  It is so bad I have to cover my ears with my hands.  I close my eyes and tell myself over and over again, that I will never be like them; I will never be like them.  No one will ever talk to me like that.  No one will ever treat me like that.

“You can never lay the law down can you?” I can hear my dad bellowing.  “You’ve never been able to control them!”

“Easy for you to say!” my mother is screaming back at him.  She can scream with the best of them when she’s angry enough.  “You were the one who walked out on them! I’m the one who stayed! You have no right to say a thing!”

I listen to them going at it, and I am reminded of every argument that filled my childhood.  The screaming, the banging, the slamming of doors, the accusations, and the crying.  I remember thinking, why are you even together?  What are you doing married to each other if you hate each other this much?  I could never work it out.  I could never see where the love was.  I could never see what the point was.  Maybe I never will.  My mum says I will understand everything when I am an adult, when I have grown up and been in love myself, when I am a parent.  Maybe she is right.  Fair enough if she is.  But right now I want to tell them to shut the fuck up.  It’s only a bit of weed.  There are far worse things we could be doing.  If only they knew.