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.

 

12

Dear World, I have not written to you for the last two weeks, and I can’t really tell you why, except for that I didn’t have much to say.  Maybe I thought I was going to be all right on my own.  But things are still concerning me World, and my wall is still overflowing with it all, so if you could bear to listen a little longer, I will fill you in.

So guess what?  I now weigh eight and a half stone, and I am a size ten.  This is like a miracle to me.  This is like a dream.  A fantasy.  Something I have yearned for my entire life, yet never believed would truly happen.  My mum seems pleased when I tell her I have reached my goal weight and size, and she ruffles my hair and tells me how beautiful I am, and how proud she is of me.  But she looks anxious when I tell her I really, really need new clothes again.  She even rolls her eyes, and lets out this big heavy sigh.  It’s as if she expects me to go around in trousers that keep falling down.  Tops that hang off me like tents.  How would she like that?  She says she will have a word with dad about some money, because she has none.

In the end though, I don’t need either of their money.  Joe takes me shopping in town, and we drag Marianne along for the fun.  She always has money, but never seems to want to buy anything, except music and books.  Joe shoves me into New Look and stands about awkwardly, telling me to hurry up and choose something.  I choose two new tops, both closer fitting than I would ever have dared to buy before, and a short denim skirt, and some rather small shorts.  I try them all on with Marianne, and for the first time in my life, when I look in the mirror in the changing room, I honestly, genuinely like what I see.  I smile, and Marianne smiles at me smiling.  “You look lovely in all of them,” she tells me, and I feel tremendous.  I feel on top of the world. I feel like I was right. Everything is all right now that I am slim.

I mean, it should be shouldn’t it world?

Joe insists I have all of them.  He pays the girl at the till with cash.  I swap looks with Marianne, and she just grins.  She knows what he’s up to for his brothers, but typically, she gets off on the thought of the danger, and thinks it’s all cool.  I thank him with a kiss on the cheek, and we all link arms and head to a café for a milkshake.  Joe pays again, and Marianne spends most of the time fiddling with her phone and making us repeat the parts of the conversation she has missed.

After that we wander down to the quay, and this time Marianne puts her hand in her pocket and buys us all an ice cream.  All the schools break up today, so we are reminded that this is the last time for six weeks that we will have all the parks, the fields and so on, to ourselves.  Soon enough there will be screaming brats and stressed out parents in our way wherever we go. Joe groans that he will be expected to watch Tommy and Will even more, and asks us to remind him he needs to be home by four o’clock at the latest, as his first babysitting duty commences at that time. We determine we must enjoy this last day of total freedom. “We’ll do whatever it takes!” Marianne informs us brightly. Only six weeks left now until we go back to school.  It’s a horribly grim thought and drapes me in a momentary cloak of depression.

Marianne invites us back to her house, so my mood lifts again in curiosity.  As usual, her parents are not at home.  While she puts the kettle on to make us all a cup of tea, Joe spreads his cigarette papers out on the large oak table, and starts to roll a joint.  “Yippee, great idea,” Marianne enthuses.  I say nothing. I think he has been getting his little tin out far too much lately, but who am I to tell him this?  He has a lot he wants to escape from, I guess. He has a lot he wants to block out.  We take our cups of tea out to the garden.  Marianne grabs a packet of chocolate chip cookies and brings these too.  She leads us down to the summerhouse, which is beautiful.  “I could live in here,” I tell her, as we pull out the deck chairs and set them up inside.

“I’ve kind of adopted it lately,” she grins.  She has certainly put her teenage stamp on it, I think, as I look around.  There are posters stuck on the walls, and she has shoved all her dad’s packets of seeds and gardening tools into a cardboard box on the floor.  She has set up a little radio and she stands and fiddles with this, while Joe sinks into a chair and lights his joint.

“I could pay you rent,” I say, sitting down next to Joe and gazing around me.  The summerhouse is gorgeous; it is painted white, and looks like a little log cabin.  Marianne laughs, finds a station she likes on the radio, and passes us our teas.  “I am not joking,” I tell her.  “I really could.  When the shit hits the fan at my house, I am moving in here, I’m telling you.”

“Me too!” agrees Joe, smiling widely.

“We won’t even tell you,” I go on.  “You’ll just come down here one day and find us here.  We’ll claim squatter’s rights and everything.  You’ll never be able to get rid of us.”

“I won’t mind that,” Marianne says, shrugging her tiny shoulders.  She has been brave enough to ditch the long sleeves today.  She would have melted in this heat.  She is wearing tiny black shorts, and a deep purple vest top.  The scars on her arms stand out like tiny white and pink flecks, like her skin is mottled and covered in veins.  I try not to look too long, but there is one new one on her right wrist, that looks pretty nasty.  The scabs are huge.  She seems happy though, I think, looking at her face.  She seems fine. Like nothing in this world can touch her. “I’d like the company,” she tells us, and then she holds her cup of tea out to me, indicating that we clink cups.  I oblige, and Joe holds his out too.  “To you, Lou,” Marianne says sweetly.  “Well done on the new you.”

“Yeah, well done,” Joe agrees with a snort. “Though I still say you looked fine before.”

I shake my head at Marianne. “Yeah, right.”

“Well I thought that too,” she says, “but it’s what Lou thinks and feels. That’s what important.  It doesn’t matter if other people tell you that you look great, does it?  If you don’t believe it yourself.” I nod in agreement.  Joe makes a face at us, drags for the third time on his joint and passes it my way.  I take it.

“So this is a celebration?” he asks, sitting back in his chair, looking very chilled out and relaxed.

“Yes I think it is,” replies Marianne, her eyes on the spliff and me. “A celebration of Lou’s hard work.”

“Well I think you’re both stupid if you really believe any of that shit matters,” Joe says to us.  Marianne frowns at him and crosses her thin little arms.

“It matters to Lou,” she tells him.

“But it doesn’t really matter,” he argues. “You know, in the grand scheme of things, that’s all I’m saying.  I think Lou looks great, yeah, but I thought she looked great before as well. I’m not going to encourage her to go along with all that superficial shit.”

“I am here you know,” I speak up, exhaling, and passing the joint onto Marianne.

“Not if you get any thinner,” says Joe.  I laugh at him, but I do feel slightly annoyed at him really.  It’s like he’s pissing on my celebration, making a mockery of my achievement.

“Oh Joe,” Marianne sighs, smiling lazily at him, and evidently enjoying her turn with the joint very much indeed.  “We can’t expect you to understand, being a male.  You can’t possibly understand what girls have to put up with.”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“The whole society that surrounds us! Everything! It’s all geared towards looks and sexiness, isn’t it? For girls.  All the magazine, all the TV shows, the pop stars, everything.  You’re made to feel fat if you’re any bigger than any of them.”

Joe gives her a look of pure contempt and drinks his tea, shaking his head slowly.  “Crap,” he mutters.

“No, she’s right,” I butt in.  “It is like that, you know.  It’s not like that for boys. You don’t have to care what you look like.”

“Neither do you! You don’t have to.”

“Oh he doesn’t understand does he?” Marianne touches my bare knee with her little pale hand and smiles at me as if we share a secret.

“No, he doesn’t understand.”

“You’re both so stupid,” Joe leans back in his chair and tells us.  He has his legs crossed at the ankles, and I look him up and down.  He is wearing old jeans with grass stains around the knees and a Rolling Stones t-shirt that he’s had since he was about fourteen.

“How are we stupid?” I ask.

“You’re stupid if you think any of that stuff matters.  All this weighing yourself every ten minutes, and starving yourself just so you can be a fucking size ten? What’s that about you moron? You’re you! It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, you loser.” The scorn that he drips onto me is never-ending and vicious and I can’t help but love him for it.  “Idiots,” he tells us again.  “Brainwashed. Think you’re modern feminists, but you’re not, you’re sheep!”

Marianne stands up for me.  I don’t have to say a word.  She launches a counter attack in her deadpan, emotionless voice, staring Joe right in the eye and refusing to release him.  “It’s not her fault,” she says, neatly excluding herself from his insults. “She’s a product of this male dominated, consumerist society.  Look at every ideal that has ever been forced upon her, from fucking Barbie dolls, to princesses in fairy tales, to all the famous people who are all fucking skinny. Go to your mums shop now Joe. Look at the covers of the celebrity magazine. So and so and their magical weight loss! Diet shame! Who’s lost and who’s gained? People scrutinising every pound they lose or gain. Cut her some slack Joe.  It’s hammered into girls from the moment they are born. It matters what you look like.  Boys can roll in the mud, and have torn clothes, and get their food all over their faces, but girls can’t, because it does matter what you look like. Bollocks if you think any different.”

Joe raises his eyebrows in calm surprise, looks to me, and starts to laugh.  I start to laugh too.  I can’t help it.  “I’m not saying you’re not wrong,” he tries to speak over his own giggling. “I’m not saying I don’t agree with you on that.”

“Shut up then,” Marianne tells him curtly.  “Don’t try to have opinions on things you don’t understand.”

“I just don’t want you to go along with it,” he tells her, his shoulders still shaking with laughter.  Marianne is smiling silently.  “Don’t fall for it!”

I am laughing so much, and I am not really sure why, or what at, that I lean back too far in my deck chair and the fucking thing suddenly collapses under me.  I hit the floor with a bang, and they stare at me in amazement, before bursting into hysterical laughter.  “What a bunch of fucking freaks we are!” I say to them from the floor, where I am so weak from laughter that I have no fucking chance of getting back up again.

“Speak of yourself!” Joe yells at me.

I point a finger at him.  “You and your drugs you fucking stoner!” I point at Marianne, “you and your cutting, and me and my weight obsession.  Fucking bunch of freaks!”

“She’s right,” Marianne is smiling at Joe and nodding.  The joint is on its way around again, and she opens the cookies up as well.

“I’m surprised we’re not beaten up on a daily basis at school,” I manage to croak, trying to pull myself together.

“Me too,” says Marianne, holding out the cookies to me.  I take one, thinking oh what the hell, it won’t suddenly make me fat again.  I am ravenous.  I get onto my knees, give up on standing, or sorting the chair out, and eat my cookie.

“We should be dead meat every day,” Joe agrees with me.

“It’s only because of your family,” I tell him. “Everyone knows how hard they are.  No one will mess with you because of them.”

“True,” he nods. “That’s one thing to thank them for I suppose.”

I stay where I am on the floor, which I realise I seem to be doing a lot of lately.  It just seems easier, that way.  I finish my tea, take two more cookies from Marianne, and tell myself it is a reward for fitting into my wonderful new size ten clothes.  The warmth of satisfaction fills me again, and I feel giddy, and girlish, and brimming with happy confidence.  I know deep down that Joe is right.  It is superficial to care about such things.  It is sad to want to be like everyone else.  But it is easy for him to say.  He has good genes, looks wise.  He has always looked good, damn him.

Plus, he’s a boy.  He doesn’t know what it’s like to look in the mirror and see every little flaw.  He doesn’t know what it’s like to be name called for being fat by your own stinking family. I feel a closeness to Marianne then, which I have never experienced before.  I want to be alone with her, even.  I want Joe and his good looks to sod off and leave us alone.  She understands.  She’s tiny and skinny, but she is odd looking, and she cuts herself up, and I don’t really understand why or what sadness drives her to do it.

I roll onto my side, and find myself gazing up at her strange, calm little face.  I think we ought to get a bit drunk one night and have a conversation.  Take things a little deeper.  Right now is not a good time though.  I feel sleepy again.  I put my head down on my arms, and close my eyes, and listen to the conversation going on between Joe and Marianne.

I wake up suddenly when one of them kicks me in the backside.  They start giggling immediately.  I roll onto my back and glare at them.  “You fell asleep,” Joe tells me.  He is on his feet; hands on hips and grinning down at me like an idiot.  Marianne is stood next to him, looking even tinier from where I am lying on the floor.

“Really?” I ask, hoping my tone is as laced with sarcasm as I intend it to be.  I feel groggy and light-headed.  “Was I?”

“Been out for ages,” Marianne giggles. “We thought we better leave you to it.  You obviously needed the kip!”

“It’s the lack of calories,” Joe says, faking concern, nodding his head at Marianne.  I roll my eyes and sit up.

“Shut it idiot.  You could have left me alone.”

“I need to go,” he replies. “Back to look after the little shits, remember?”

I groan again, feeling rushed and irritable.  “Is it that time already?”

“Nearly.”

“Okay, okay.” I haul myself slowly to my feet and pick up my shopping bag from the floor.

“You don’t have to come too,” Joe points out.  “I’m just telling you I got to go.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll help you,” I say with a yawn, and we head out of the door together, while Marianne remains inside the summerhouse.  “What else am I gonna’ do? Go home?”

“Bye Marianne,” Joe calls back to her.  “Thanks a lot.”

“Oh yeah, thanks,” I say over my shoulder.  She just watches us go, and nods her head once.  It is not until I am on the front driveway that I realise what I bitch I have just been.  Why didn’t we ask her to come too?  I flick my hand out at Joe, slapping him on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Forget it,” I say grumpily.  I look back at the house as we leave.  Why didn’t I stay with her?  God, I am a bitch.  I could have stayed with her.  Oh Christ.  I decide to chat to her properly next time I see her. Or maybe text her later. I remember my thought about getting a bit pissed and grilling her about a few things, and I nod to myself.  I am definitely going to do this.  I am going to make more of an effort with her.  She’s actually pretty cool.

“Good day, wasn’t it?” Joe says, as we start across the sun-parched fields towards his house.  He links his arm through mine and I swing my New Look bag back and forth as we walk.

“Yeah,” I grin. “It was a really good day.  Thanks so much Joe, for the clothes.”

“You’re welcome Carling. You look good in them.”

“You ought to spend some of the money on yourself though.  You’re the one earning it.”  He looks at me and rolls his eyes and shakes his slim shoulders with a little laugh.

“That’s true.”

“It doesn’t scare you yet?  Not at all?”

He looks down at the ground as he kicks along.  “Not really, no.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“I just get on with it,” he grins at me, as if he is talking about mowing the lawn, or washing the car or something.

We turn into his road, and walk slowly up to his house.  I am not relishing the thought of helping baby-sit Tommy and Will, but I am less keen on going home.  Sara is not at dads anymore.  I knew that wouldn’t last long.  They are just as fiery and outspoken as each other.  She has moved in with her boyfriend Rich, who she has been going out with for nine months.  Mum and dad are both concerned and angry about this, and so poor Les is practically living under the fucking bed.  I just can’t be witness to it World, I just can’t!

We are grinning and feeling stupidly warm and fuzzy and at ease as we open the front door and go into the hallway.  But almost instantly, that feeling changes.  There is something wrong.  My body knows it, and Joe’s body knows it too.  There are four silent faces staring at us from the lounge.  Tommy and Will are nowhere in sight.  Joe and I hesitate in the hallway, our smiles falling away, our eyes meeting, our bodies stiffening with caution.

It is Mick that moves and speaks first.  He gets up from the sofa where he has been sat rigidly beside Lorraine.  Leon and Travis are behind the sofa, Leon looking shifty and nervous, and Travis even more so.  I feel the urge to reach out and hold Joe’s hand.

Lorraine rises from the sofa behind Mick. Her face is pinched and scowling, her eyes are blazing.  She cannot wait to explode. Mick thrusts his hand towards Joe and I in the hallway where we have frozen.  We can see his open palm is full of what look like scrunched up fag ends.  A horrible realisation floods me then.  I feel my skin turn cold.  I do reach out for Joe.  I slip my hand around his arm, just above his elbow.

Mick’s wrinkled up, bashed in face is a mask of barely contained rage.  “Are these yours?” he demands.