by Paris Lees
Sweet Like Chocolate
I’m off to meet Max down Mansfield. I’ve got ma headphones on. Madonna. “Music”. I’m worried I might look a bit gay. But I’m already on the bus now so there’s not much I can do about it. I’m wearin’ ma Adidas T-shirt wi’ the lime green stripes, an’ ma Nike Air Max. I’ve started to care about ma underwear now people see it, so I’m wearin’ the grey pants me mam got me from Marks an’ Sparks. I’ve had to wear a belt coz the Walkman makes ma combats fall down. I love ’em, though, I look like I’m in All Saints. I could do with a handbag, to be honest, but lads aren’t allowed, are they? I’ve got ma hair in a quiff – a quiff! I love that word. I were gonna put on some coloured hair gel, but that really is too much for Mansfield. We could get gay-bashed if we’re not careful!
They’re proper mutants round Mansfield.
I do look dead cool, though. Everyone keeps tellin’ me I’m gay so why shun’t I look the part? When I got on I asked the driver, “D’ya go all the way?” an’ we just burst out laughin’. To be fair, I did say it in a very sexual way. But that’s just how I am. I don’t fancy ’im. It’s Hannah Bailey’s dad! Funny though, aren’t I? I’m determined not to lose ma ticket so I’ve put it in ma wallet. Smanfa always folds ’ers an’ hides it behind ’er phone case, but I’d just end up losin’ the whole phone if I did that. Mam got me a Nokia 3210 for Christmas an’ ya can change the cover on it. It’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever had. Before that, I’d have probably said it were Lego – ma pirate ship, or Robin Hood’s castle. Burra love gerrin texts from Max.
I like bein’ excited but sometimes I get too excited, d’ya know worra mean? It’s like I can’t keep still – I’m like a bagga beans! That’s what Mrs Clarke used to call Wayne in English. No. Wait. Hang on. Worms. “You’re like a great big bag of worms, you are, Wayne.” That’s what she used to say. Well, I’m like a great big bagga worms on this bus. I love buses! I always sit at the back. Everyone’s dead bad on the way home from school, although I always behave mysen when I’m on ma own. I like lookin’ at the parks an’ old houses. Everythin’ looks dead nice when yer just goin’ past, don’t ya think? I bet most places would be ’orrible if ya actually had to go an’ live there, though. D’ya know what else I like lookin’ at? Lads! But it’s the same problem, coz most of ’em would be dead ’orrible if ya stopped an’ talked to ’em. Not that I would, obviously. Most lads don’t like me, although I reckon one or two at school do but are too scared to admit it. Like David Gammon. He definitely likes me. He’s ma dream man. I mean, after Max. An’ Jude Law. An’ David Beckham. Oh, an’ Craig from Big Brother. He’s not even that good-lookin’ really, but I just really like ’im.
I’m about to burst by the time we pull into Mansfield bus station, but Max in’t where he said he’d be. We always meet at the same time an’ place on Sat’days. I were gonna ask ’im if we could go an’ see The Beach an’ get ice cream, coz it’s only a 15 an’ I reckon I can get in with ’im. I don’t have any credit though, so I’ve had to come to a phone box an’ reverse the call coz I’ve got no change either. I’ve seen that on telly, ya dial up 100 for British Telecom an’ the operator calls whoever it is ya wanna speak to an’ asks ’em if they’ll accept the charges. But she sez, “I’m sorry, it’s going straight to his voicemail. Would you like to try again later?”
I’ve bin tryin’ every fifteen minutes for the past two hours, but he’s not pickin’ up. He’s nowhere to be seen.
The Bomb
Mam’s ruined everythin’. I hate ’er. I absolutely fuckin’ hate ’er. I can’t believe she’s done this. I’ll never, ever forgive ’er. She asked me if I were in love. I were dead shocked. I sez, “How the hell do you know?” She sez it’s obvious – coz I’m always on ma phone, apparently. Always textin’. Always happy. Always gerrin excited every time it beeps. Like it’s a crime! Well don’t worry, coz Lisa’s puttin’ a stop to all that. She sez I’ve bin on a completely different planet for the past few months. Oh, she can be so clever. Not like Gaz. Well, she went through ma phone – ma phone, ma personal messages – an’ then she went an’ met Max. She actually met ’im! Face to face. Behind ma back. I can’t believe it. Me mam! An’ Max! Together!
How could she do this to me? How could she destroy what me an’ Max have? Meetin’ Max is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No one else treats me like a grown-up. Well, I’m sick of ’er, sick of Gaz, sick of everyone! Max is literally the only person who makes me happy an’ she’s gone an’ ruined it. I’m livid. She’s just as bad as Gaz, why has she done it? She guz, “Byron, yer fourteen years old – what d’ya expect me to do if I find out ya goin’ out with a grown man? I’m yer mother, for God’s sake.” I’m like, “Oh, yer ma mother now, are ya? Coz you’ve never bin to parents evenin’, never thrown me a birthday party an’ ya send me off to Mammar Joe’s at the weekends so ya can go out clubbin’ wi’ Denise! An’ the mam o’ the year award guz to – drumroll – Shirley Valentine!” She slaps me. Hard. I run up to ma room an’ cry.
He sez he can’t see me no more. She told ’im she’d go to the police if he don’t keep away from me. At first he tried to tell me he’d just bin thinkin’ about our age gap an’ realized it were wrong, but I’m not stupid. I knew he were lyin’, so I got the truth out of ’im. An’ it makes sense now coz the other week I were givin’ ’er a cuddle an’ I were wearin’ aftershave an’ she sez, “Have ya gorra girlfriend?” I sez no, so she sez, “Have ya gorra boyfriend?” An’ I just laughed. She sez, “Ya can tell me, ya know, I don’t mind.” Well, if she don’t mind why has she gone an’ fuckin’ ruined it? Just coz she’s got bad taste in men, don’t mean I do. Max is a nice person.
Well, Gaz is right about one thing, she’s manipulative. I wish she’d just stayed in Turkey now. She told Max to be nice about it when he broke it off wi’ me. Oh yeah, Mam, tell ’im to stick a knife in me, but nicely. He sez I’ve gorra wait, that he’ll hold on for me, that maybe we can make a go o’ things when I’m old enough. Obviously I don’t want ’im to get into trouble. I mean technically he’s a paedophile, innee? But it’s not really like that, coz I wanna be with ’im. It’s different.
She’s deleted ’is number from ma phone. I’ve got no way of contactin’ ’im. I even tried ringin’ that Winston, but the line were dead. Why in’t he callin’ me? I can’t wait two years! He’ll meet someone else an’ forget all about me. An’ worram I s’posed do till then? Go to school? I fuckin’ hate it. She’s literally ruined ma life. What the fuck am I gonna do? I’m gonna find ’im, that’s what. An’ persuade ’im to run away wi’ me. I have to talk to ’im.
Starlight
There’s nearly two grand. He keeps it hidden in ’is waistcoat pocket. I can’t even remember how I found it now, I think I were just goin’ through ’is wardrobe an’ I found this big wad of notes. It’s mainly twennies, but there’s loadsa fifties too an’ they’re ma favourite coz ya don’t see ’em usually. Ya can fit quite a bit of money in a pocket, an’ a burglar would never think to look in there. Credit where it’s due, that’s quite a good idea for Gaz. Mind you, I wun’t wanna be a burglar in Gaz’s house. Can ya imagine if ya got caught? It’s bad enough bein’ ’is child when ya an’t even done owt wrong.
He sez he don’t trust banks. I reckon it’s coz it’s money he got from sellin’ fags he bought in France. I’m gonna be rich one day an’ have a massive room full of gold that I can dive into like DuckTales. When I were little, me an’ Old Mother ’ubbard went to Blackpool an’ won open-the-box at bingo, which is where ya have to stick yer hand in a bagga keys an’ pick the one that opens this box wi’ loadsa money in it. Well I did it, I picked the right key an’ we won! I dropped it at first, but I felt around for it again. Everyone clapped as I walked back to our table.
I thought it were gonna come in a big suitcase like what ya see on telly. I were dead shocked when the man just handed Mammar Joe this wad of rolled up notes. I were like, “I can’t believe it. I’ve neve
r won owt before!” Which made Mammar Joe laugh coz she sez, “Yer not even ten years old – I’ve had the flu for longer!” an’ she probably has coz Mammar Joe always makes out she’s unwell, although Mam sez she’s a just hypochondriac an’ smokes too much. It worra good holiday, although one night they cancelled the show we were gonna see coz Princess Diana had died. I were upset coz I liked Princess Diana. Me mam sez she only used to take me to McDonald’s coz Princess Diana took William an’ Harry. Everyone was upset really, except for Gaz, obviously. He don’t have feelin’s, does he, apart from anger. To be fair, he gave Mammar Joe the money for that holiday. So he’s not all bad. We bought ’im a mug that said “I went to Blackpool and all I got was this stupid mug” with a picture of a bloke on it who looked a bit like ’im. I’m not sure he saw the funny side.
When ya get the notes out they’re all bent an’ ya have to gerrem the right way an’ fold ’em back up again. Obviously I wait till he’s out. He’s told me he’s got savin’s coz he’s always goin’ on about how hard he works an’ how he’s takin’ me on holiday or gerrin an extension on the house. I’d rather the extension, to be honest. I can’t think of owt worse than havin’ to go anywhere wi’ Gaz. He were ’orrible to me in Whitby. But I doubt he’s gonna notice twenty quid missin’ when he’s got so many, so I just took one. It’s so bad that he’d never think I’d dare. But he owes me mam loadsa maintenance money that were menna be for me, so fuck ’im.
Ya can actually do a lot wi’ twenty quid. Smanfa’s brother reckons that’ll get me on the bus, in the club, an’ some Bacardi Breezers down ma neck. An’ I should have enough for some chips an’ the bus home, wi’ change left over, apparently. When I’m old I bet I’ll look back an’ go, “Remember the days when twenty pound got ya drunk, an’ chips, an’ the bus back, an’ change left over?” An’ people’ll just laugh an’ not believe me. Ya know, like how old farts go on about how ya could buy a house for a farthin’ or whatever it was back in Olden Times. Mammar Joe’s always goin’ on about stuff like that, an’ how “dear” everythin’ is now. She remembers when it were shillin’s an’ tuppence. Tuppence! That’s like four hundred year ago.
I’m gonna sneak out tonight. I hope Gaz shuts ’is bedroom door. He’s like a prison warden. He woke up once when I were already halfway down the stairs an’ I had to wait ten minutes till he started snorin’ again. I’m in the attic so there’s two lots of stairs, an’ I’m tellin’ ya, there’s about three steps in the whole house that don’t sound like a crypt door creakin’ open in an old horror movie. I sneak out all the time an’ go up the hill, though, so I know exactly where to put ma feet now without makin’ too much noise. There’s a real skill to it. I’m like a friggin’ ballerina going down them stairs.
I like goin’ out when the whole town’s asleep. I sit on the electricity box an’ look at the moon. Some lads have painted a nob on it wi’ spunk comin’ out of it. There’s a poem:
Hickory dickery dock
A mouse ran up me cock
The clock struck two
I shot me goo
Hickory dickery dock
It’s stupid, innit? But it makes me laugh, coz readin’ graffiti – or writin’ it – is about all there is to do round here. Which is why I’ve decided I fancy a little adventure.
Flawless (Go to the City)
Smanfa were dead worried. I were like, “Babe, come on, how much trouble could I gerrin to really?” As soon as I said it though we just looked at each other an’ burst out laughin’ coz Mammar Joe always sez I could get mysen into trouble even if I were locked in a padded cell by mysen for five minutes. But I never really get into trouble, do I? Mrs Clarke sez I’m like water – I can escape almost anythin’. Includin’, it now seems, the cobbled streets of old ’ucknall Town! I showed Smanfa ma outfit an’ she were like, “Oh my God, what would yer mam say if she saw ya dressed like that?” So I sez, “She’d say ‘Take that off – it’s mine!’” Smanfa went, “What if she notices it’s missin’?” I sez, “With all due respect, I cun’ give a flyin’ fuck, babe. I’m still furious with ’er.”
It felt so good as we went past the sign for Bulwell. See ya later, ’ucknall! I’d never bin on that bus at night. I’ve bin down that big road that takes ya into Nottingham when Aunty Ray took me to the pantomime. But it’s dead bright on the bus. Ya can see yer reflection in the windows when it’s dark. I don’t really like how I look though, so I pressed ma face to the glass an’ looked out into the night instead. We passed the golf course an’ I just wanted to get out an’ find people, just walk around an’ make new friends. Mind you, I’d probably get beaten up within five minutes but still, there’s a whole world out there, an’ I’m gonna explore it.
Mam likes goin’ out. She guz down Black Orchid. She come home with a black eye once coz someone accidently punched ’er while they were dancin’ inside a cage or summat an’ everyone were off their ’eads. An’ I wanna go an’ dance inside a cage while everyone’s off their ’eads, although I don’t know if they’ll have one where I’m goin’ an’ I definitely don’t need no more black eyes. This face has bin through enough. I mean obviously, when I first saw Mam’s bruise, ma immediate reaction were “Gaz!” but she still laughs about it now, so she must have bin tellin’ the truth. She hides a bagga speed inside ’er boots when she guz out so she don’t have to carry a handbag – she thinks I can’t hear ’er when she’s on the phone to Denise!
She always comes home wi’ loadsa phone numbers written on bits of paper an’ throws ’em away the next day, an’ I’m tellin’ ya she enjoys that more than cleanin’. She got back at four o’clock in the mornin’ once an’ were dancin’ round in the livin’ room wi’ no clothes on to the Prodigy! By ’ersen! I heard ’er tellin’ Aunty Ray the next day coz she were worried she might have woken up Pop next door. But apparently he din’t hear owt, which is good coz Pop’s dead nice an’ lets us take ’is rhubarb through the hole in the fence. He’s gorra water fountain an’ a pigeon shed too. He lets ’em fly over the field every day an’ they come back to ’im. We’ve just got grass an’ a broken fence that kids from school cut through so they don’t have to go down the jitty. It pisses me off coz they wun’t dare if Gaz lived here, but what can we do? The council’s already replaced it twice. But they’ve got used to havin’ the shortcut now an’ jump over it till it breaks again. I hope they break their necks, the bastards. Gaz said he were gonna fix it but Mam went “that won’t be happenin’ any time soon, then.” That were six months ago.
But this in’t about them, it’s about me. An’ I did it! I snuck out, an’ went to AD2. I just walked straight in an’ ordered a Bacardi Breezer like it were the most natural thing in the world. An’ they served me! Din’t ask me for ID or nowt. I cun’ believe it. I were shakin’. All them twats at school, they’ll never believe I got served in town! I’ve always bin more grown up than them anyway. Especially the lads. I felt a bit sad, though, coz I’ve only ever got drunk wi’ Max. An’ I miss ’im. But I’m excited too. There’s a disco ball hangin’ from the ceilin’ an’ coloured lights flashin’ across the dancefloor.
I decided to sit in the corner an’ take ma jacket off. They were playin’ “Rhythm o’ the Night”. They used to play that at the yoof house near me mam’s, but I were always too scared to go in. It’s lot more empty than I thought it’d be, but it is a weeknight, I s’pose. I’m wearin’ me mam’s favourite top. It’s from FCUK. I like it coz it shows ma body off. I watched this programme when I were little an’ they were makin’ jokes about gay people listenin’ to the Pet Shop Boys an’ wearin’ tight white T-shirts an’ it just stuck in ma ’ead coz I liked the way it sounded. Tight. White. T-shirt. It’s all the Ts, innit? Well, it turns out a lot of ’em do wear tight white T-shirts, actually, though not all of ’em. I don’t think Max would. But I look good.
I were hopin’ I’d see ’im. An’ that he’d put ’is arms around me an’ tell me he loves me. But he’s nowhere to be seen – he’s good at that. I don’t
stay on ma own for long, though. After five minutes this bloke comes over. I thought he were gonna ask me how old I am, but he guz, “Oh dear, we can’t have a little chicken like you sitting on your own, can we?” An’ I’m thinkin’, Lil’ chicken? What ya on about? But he offers to buy me a drink, like on TV. Sez ’is name’s Peter. An’ he seems quite posh, so I’ve not done too bad, have I? He’s maybe mid-forties or summat. Around Mammar Joe’s age. He sez, “What’s your name?” but I don’t tell ’im Byron, I tell ’im the new one. Not Nick. Ma favourite one. He guz, “Would you like to join us for a drink?” So I go over with ’im. There’s about five or six of ’em. “Well,” he guz, spreadin’ ’is arms open. “Welcome to the Fallen Divas Project.”
