by Paris Lees
Hey Boy Hey Girl
I’ve never met anyone like this lot. They’re a right bunch, but I guess that’s why they call us queer, innit? One of ’em’s proper fit. Blond. Cute. Looks dead gay. Wears a denim bucket hat. ’Is proper name’s Damian, but he sez everyone calls ’im Dirty D, an’ so does Smanfa now coz I took a photo of ’im wi’ ma disposable camera an’ she thinks he’s dead fit too. I don’t think he fancies me though, he likes older lads. I’m a bit too girly for ’im. Well that’s fine, coz he’s a bit too girly for me. I’m a bit jealous of ’im, to be honest. I reckon a lotta folk who’d fancy me would fancy ’im. So I’m gonna keep an eye on ’im. Competition, innit?
There’s this Asian one too. I din’t even know ya could get that. There’s only one Asian family in ’ucknall an’ they run a corner shop. Talk about a stereotype. I tried to walk home wi’ the lad once but he sez, “Ah’m the only Paki in ’ucknall an’ yo’re the only poof. We can’t be seen together.” So I sez, “Fine, fuck off!” But he had a point. I can just hear ’em all now goin’, “Oh look, it’s Paki an’ poof, skippin’ home to bum.” Well, this one’s wearin’ a hat too – why are they all wearin’ hats? Must be about nineteen. Sez ’is name’s Pavash, “But everyone calls me Fag Ash, coz I smoke like a chimney”, then sparks one up as if to hammer the point home. He takes a puff, holds it for a second, then blows smoke in ma face an’ guz, “And I’m a massive fag!” then tips ’is head back an’ starts cacklin’. I dunno what to say, so I just go “Ooh” like a twat. It were so embarrassin’.
Then this girl in great big platform trainers comes bombin’ over an’ shouts, “I’m sweatin’ ma cunt off, I am”, before bargin’ into Damian. So Peter guz, “Nikki darling! What wonderfully vibrant language, but why don’t you say hello to our new friend”, an’ turns to me. She’s like, “Ey up, duck, ya sure yer old enough to be drinkin’ that?” But this Damian elbows ’er in the ribs an’ nods to where the bouncer’s stood, no more than three feet away. Well, I must have turned a whiter shade of pale coz this Peter guz, “Don’t mind them, it must be awfully overstimulating for you, first time in here.” I’m like, “Is it that obvious it’s ma first time?” But I’m happy coz no one in ’ucknall uses words like that. Peter sez it’s called the Fallen Divas Project as he has a habit of collectin’ waifs an’ strays. I sez, “Am I waif or a stray then?” “Oh,” he sez, lookin’ me up an’ down. “You’re definitely more on the waif side o’ things.” I thought, Oh give over, ya silly old poof! But I reckon I could get used to all this overstimulation business.
So there it is. I’ve got proper grown-up mates downtown now. I’m goin’ back out with ’em soon. I even know worram gonna wear. Ma Kangol shirt, ma nice jeans an’ ma seventy-pound trainers what Old Mother ’ubbard got me out the catalogue. I’m gonna borrow me mam’s contact lenses too. I wear ’em to school sometimes an’ everyone freaks out coz they make me look like I’ve got cat’s eyes. Teachers don’t like it, but they can’t say nuffin, coz there’s no rules against ’em yet. Hannah Bailey has some that look like footballs. I were jealous at first but cat’s eyes are better anyway. I’ll be like Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns.
When I were little I thought dogs were boys an’ cats were girls. Ma great-grandma used to have a dog an’ a cat, an’ I thought they were goin’ out with each other till Uncle Andy put me right. Uncle Andy is Mammar Joe’s brother, so ma great-uncle, really. Uncle Andy an’ Uncle Roger are alcoholics so if anyone ever buys Mammar Joe a bottle o’ booze for Christmas she has to hide it under the kitchen sink behind the bleach in case they come round. It’s a shame coz Uncle Roger’s dead clever. When Mam were little he come round so drunk once that Mammar Joe had to put ’im in the coal shed. He woke up black.
Mam sez yer not s’posed to share contact lenses but fuck ’er, she’s ruined ma life. Anyway, I wash ’em. Ya have to use this special liquid from Boots an’ rub ’em between yer fingertips. Yer hands have gorra be dead clean. I love cleanin’ things. I’ve got that off ’er. I’m gonna put ma hair in a quiff wi’ Gaz’s gel, an’ glitter on ma cheeks. It’s gonna be a proper little art project. I’ve gone down the yoof house near the leisure centre like that, but no one appreciates it round ’ucknall. They have a DJ booth, so you can play what you want, but no one likes ma favourite song so I always end up dancin’ by mysen. I reckon gay people’ll gerrit, though. They love that sorta thing, don’t they? But Max in’t like that. He don’t even like clubbin’, he reckons everyone’s on drugs an’ he’s not into all that, although he smokes weed an’ he’s always got poppers on ’im. But I know he guz to karaoke night at AD2 on Sundays, coz he told me. That’s where I’m gonna find ’im. I’m gonna surprise ’im.
At Night
I din’t even know if it worra man or a woman at first. She were dancin’ on a podium in NG1. I’d never seen anyone like ’er. I sez, “’Scuse me, I don’t menna be rude but are you a man or a woman?” She just laughed an’ went, “I don’t know, duck.” She had a bandana on an’ a little top that showed off ’er belly bar. It had the Pepsi logo on it, but instead of Pepsi it said “Sexi”. Sez ’er name’s Lady Di. I go, “Like Princess Diana?” She sez, “Exactly, darlin’. I’m a quintessential English rose, me.” But I’ve never seen anyone so black in ma whole life. I guz, “What’s yer real name?” She’s like, “Deon. But no one calls me that. An’ it’s Lady Die – with an e. Coz everythin’s better with an e!” I sez, “Oh, ma mammar’s a ‘Joe’, with an e, like a man. But everyone calls ’er Old Mother ’ubbard.” She sez, “Is yer mammar a transsexual?” I sez, “What’s a transsexual?” She sez, “You’ll soon find out if ya hang about in here, duck.”
NG1’s a gay club. It’s an absolute freak show. An’ I love it.
Peter sez Lady Die’s androgynous. I love that word. He sez I am too, it’s when ya look like a boy an’ a girl at the same time. Sez I’m very glam rock, like David Bowie. Sounds good, don’t it? Peter knows loadsa stuff like that. He sez I look “subversive” too. I can’t remember what that one means, though. He really is like one o’ them people ya see on telly, although he’s a bit weird. He’s got this collection of rubber toys from McDonald’s coz he sez the smell turns ’im on. Lady Die sez it’s a fetish an’ he’s a paedophile, but I don’t think he is. He hangs about a place called the Jazz Café in Hockley. Sez I should come up some time, so I’m gonna go on Sat’day. It’s just around the corner from Ice Nine.
Well, this Lady Die sez she knows Max too, an’ that he’s seein’ someone else now. I sez, “Are ya ’avin’ me on? We’ve only just split up!” But she definitely knows ’im coz she described ’is willy, an’ she’s right – it’s like an air freshener canister. I knew this would happen. I knew it! An’ it’s all me mam’s fault. I hate ’er. I s’pose I should just do what everyone else in ’ucknall does an’ go an’ find someone who knocks me about a bit, eh? Like I don’t get enough o’ that as it is. Well, this lad he’s menna be seein’s called Dalton an’ she sez they always go down AD2 for karaoke on Sunday nights an’ do “Islands In The Stream”. Max is Kenny Rogers. It’s like bein’ punched in the stomach. Well, at least I know now. I’m gonna walk out if I see ’em. Guess I weren’t that special after all, eh? How could I be so stupid? I lost ma fuckin’ virginity to ’im! But I love ’im. I still love ’im.
Lady Die knows Fag Ash an’ all. They go out together dressed up an’ trick people. They’re dead convincin’, but obviously there’s always some who can tell. I’ve told ’em ya can’t fool all o’ the people all o’ the time, although I reckon I could. People can’t tell if I’m a boy or a girl when I go out an’ it makes me laugh coz I’m not tryna look like anyone really. I just wanna look like me. All night folk are comin’ up to me goin’, “Are ya a boy or a girl? Are ya a boy or a girl?” Even when I’m not wearin’ makeup. It’s coz of how I talk. To be fair, I’ve never seen anyone who looks like me – an’ I don’t think anyone else round here has either. Apart from Boy George an’ that, but I’m on about in r
eal life. I love the eighties. I reckon I were born twenty years too late. Mam always listens to Annie Lennox when she’s cleanin’, this album called Diva where she’s wearin’ loadsa makeup on the cover. She looks a bit like ’er.
Ma favourite outfit’s this blue belly top Hannah Bailey left at Smanfa’s – although she’s always askin’ for it in case Hannah comes round. It’s a bit late though coz I’ve cut one o’ the arms off to make it asymmetrical. Lady Die sez symmetry’s borin’, an’ I agree. I wear it wi’ me mam’s cat collar, one I got from Ice Nine wi’ studs on it, an’ a chain I’ve nicked off the dog. I’ve gorra badge with a pair of lips on it an’ a silver ring Peter gave me that I have to hide at home in case anyone asks where it’s from. But the crownin’ glory’s ma hair. It’s gerrin quite long an’ I put it into spikes wi’ this wax from Boots. One of ma earliest memories were walkin’ by Trent Bridge with Aunty Ray an’ lookin’ up an’ seein’ this man wi’ this massive Mohican. It were all multi-coloured, I cun’ take ma eyes off it. I wanted to talk to ’im, but I were only little. I put coloured gel on mine. Peter sez it’s a look.
I wear makeup too. It’s funny how puttin’ colours on yer face can make ya look better, innit? Ma favourite’s eyeliner. I just love how it changes the way I look. Then I draw black round ma lips an’ fill in the middle wi’ some green eye shadow Smanfa gave me from H&M. It makes me look dead pale, like Lord Byron. The finishin’ touch is some glitter hearts from Claire’s Accessories. Lady Die sez I look dramatic, an’ I like that coz I din’t know you could look dramatic, an’ I am partial to a bit of drama. Gaz sez I’m an attention-seeker. Peter sez I’m a “kitchen-sink drama queen”. I don’t know what that means, but put it this way, I’m impossible to ignore. Everyone knows me, an’ no one forgets meetin’ me. Ya can see it in photos, people just gawpin’ at me. I love it. I love bein’ different. I am different. I’m special.
I get loadsa men after me too. We never pay for drinks. It’s funny, coz gay guys say I’m too girly, but there’s all these Persian guys that go down NG1 an’ they love me. I don’t really know if they’re gay or straight, but they fancy us. Lady Die’s bin with a few of ’em. One of ’em’s dead cute, he always dances wi’ me an’ buys me drinks. There’s actually summat quite nice about the fact he don’t speak much English. I lie about ma age sometimes coz a lotta guys won’t sleep wi’ me otherwise. But some of ’em don’t give a shit. I were sittin’ at the bus stop on ma own last week an’ this taxi driver rolled ’is window down an’ guz, “D’ya wanna lift?” I don’t know if he thought I worra boy or a girl, but he must’ve known I’m underage. Right outside Vicky Centre. That’s like Gaz or Uncle John just chattin’ up a fourteen-year-old in the middle of town! What if I’d have got in? What if I’d had sex with ’im an’ then told the police? Peter sez there’s cameras everywhere these days. I just can’t get ma ’ead round it.
Not that I’d ever grass anyone up. I like goin’ out, so I’m not tellin’ anyone anythin’. Fuck that. I’ve thought about phonin’ social services on Gaz before an’ sayin’ he’s touched me up. I wish he would sometimes, coz everyone makes excuses for ’im now, but no one could defend that, could they? An’ then I wun’t have to live with ’im any more. I don’t have the guts though. They might not believe me an’ lock me up instead. An’ anyway, it’d be wrong. I don’t really wanna upset me mam or Mammar Rita like that, even though they do ma friggin’ ’ead in. But I just I hate livin’ with ’im so much. I hate bein’ in that house. As soon as I’m old enough, I’m movin’ out. Then I can do worra want.
Toca’s Miracle
Damian text me. “Sneak out 2nite. Every1s goin Palais. C u ltr.” Its proper name’s the Palais de Danse. That’s French for “Place Where Everyone Gets Off Their Tits”, accordin’ to Peter. It sounds quite posh though, so I thought I’d better do ma makeup like Joan Collins. An’ guess who was out? Lady Die. Proper shockin’ out to Missy Elliott. I sez, “I wish I could dance like you an’ Fag Ash”, an’ she turned round an’ went, “Me black as tar an’ gay as a goose, darlin’ – if I cun’ dance there’d be summat seriously wrong wi’ me.” Although there’s summat seriously wrong with all of us, if ya ask me. I reckon Lady Die’s ma best mate now. Well, along wi’ Smanfa. I call ’er a stupid black bitch sometimes. She calls me a stupid white slag. She knows I don’t mean it, though. She knows I’m not racist.
Pavash calls ’ersen Asha when she’s dressed up. When she looks good, she looks like Princess Jasmine. On a bad day it’s more like Jafar. She hates people sayin’ that though, an’ by “people” I mean “me”. I’ve told everyone at school I won’t answer to Byron any more. Hannah Bailey shouted it from across the road on ’ucknall High Street the other day – I think she wants ’er top back – an’ I just carried on walkin’ an’ made out I cun’ hear ’er. The Fallen Divas only know me by ma new name, although Dirty D knows ma real name coz ’is next-door neighbour’s sister went to school wi’ someone whose best mate used to do me mam’s hair. But I’ve made ’im promise on ’is mam’s life not to say owt. He gave me a pill. I were worried coz I don’t wanna end up like Leah Betts, but they’ve all had ’em before, so I thought, Fuck it, why not? Everyone else does ’em.
I sez, “Ooh, Dirty D! Ya do live up to yer name, don’t ya?” although I cun’ really tell if it had done owt to me at first. But after the club we all ended up goin’ back to his. Fag Ash went off wi’ some lads. She just got into a car with ’em – four lads, an’ she din’t even know ’em, so maybe they’ve found out she’s a man an’ murdered ’er. She’s lost ’er phone too, so I guess we’ll just have to wait an’ see if she’s out next week. We gorra bus to Basford, but we had to walk to Dirty D’s. They said it weren’t gonna be that far, but it took aaaaaaaaages.
There were me, Lady Die, Dirty D, Sticky Nikki an’ this lesbian called Jo. We played truth or dare while we were waitin’ for the bus, an’ them lot dared me to run down Parliament Street naked, so I did! Right outside Boots in Vicky Centre! I’ll do owt for a laugh, me, although I hate people who say stuff like that normally coz they’re usually called Karen an’ dead borin’. But I really will. Peter sez I’ve got no boundaries. I sez, “That’s good, innit? No, no limits!” He sez that’s one way of lookin’ at it.
When we get through the door Damian guz, “Oi, look in the mirror, check out yer eyes,” an’ d’ya know, they were as big as the moon! They looked quite nice, actually. I sez, “Why are they like that?” An’ they reckon yer pupils dilate when yer on pills. It means you’ve “come up”. I mean, I felt good, but not that different. I thought all the walls would be meltin’ an’ I’d be havin’ mad hallucinations like what ya see on the telly, but it weren’t really like that. We ended up havin’ such a good time, though.
Me an’ Sticky Nikki pretended to get married. We had a proper ceremony an’ everythin’. We pulled down the net curtains an’ I made them into a veil, Sticky Nikki were the groom an’ I were the bride, obviously. Dirty D said I had no business wearin’ white, so I sez, “That’s perfect, babe, coz these net curtains are anythin’ but.” He were the vicar, an’ this Jo gave me away. Lady Die made a big show of cryin’ coz she sez that’s what people do at weddin’s. We reckon it would’ve bin legal in Olden Times.
I do think those pills sent us a bit funny though. We were tryna climb inside the washin’ machine at one point coz Sticky Nikki were convinced it worra portal to another universe, daft bogger. But ya never know, do ya? We were just bein’ silly. We all get a bit carried away when we’re together. Jo don’t do owt like that though coz she sez ’er dad took too much LSD in the seventies an’ now he’s a bit antisocial. I guess ya do have to be careful wi’ these things.
God knows how we din’t wake up Dirty D’s mam an’ dad. They’re dead nice, they know he’s gay an’ they’re not even bothered! They don’t even mind ’im havin’ gay people round. When I woke up it were dead late an’ everyone were in the back garden listenin’ to Kylie Minogue. ’Is mam an’ dad must be loade
d coz they’ve gorra table an’ chairs for the garden like Mammar Rita, an’ a patio to put ’em on. They were all laughin’ coz Lady Die were singin’ the Spice Girls – “2 Become 1” – but instead of, Set your spirit free, she were goin’, “Ya’ve bin fuckin’ me, an’ ya gave me HIV.” We’re gonna form a band wi’ Fag Ash, although I can’t sing an’ I don’t really like Fag Ash, to be honest, but we need three to make it like Destiny’s Child.
Dirty D reckoned we were still a bit “up” from the pills coz we were in such a good mood, so I sez, “What shall we do then?” So Die’s like, “It’s a nice day, why don’t we go for a walk?” An’ I’m thinkin’, I know, why don’t we go to Newstead Abbey? Gaz used to take me there after Sunday dinner at Mammar Rita’s. She lives in Linby, this dead nice village next to ’ucknall, an’ ya can get to it from there. It’s a lovely walk through all these fields an’ woods wi’ streams runnin’ through ’em. I don’t know where ya get the bus to Linby though, or if there even is one coz it’s dead tiny, so I sez, “We’ll have to go from mine.” I thought, Fuck it, I’m takin’ the Fallen Divas Project to ’ucknall.
Another Chance
Nikki said she needed to nip home an’ put ’er trainers on so we all piled round there first. She’s gorra van restin’ on bricks on ’er front lawn wi’ no wheels on it, so we went an’ sat in that. Then ’er mam come out in ’er dressin’ gown an’ guz, “Ey up, d’ya wanna cuppa tea?” Dirty D asked ’er if he could have “twos” on ’er fag – an’ I’m thinkin’, Oh my God, did ya really just ask someone’s mam for twos? But she guz, “Course ya can, duckie!” Me mam would never share a cigarette wi’ me, she’d go mad if I even asked ’er. An’ she don’t call ’em fags, either. She sez that’s common. Well, this tea makes us “come up” again, so we were all feelin’ perky by the time we got the bus. An’ I were worried what folk might say, coz ya don’t get gay people round ’ucknall an’ ya can tell by the way Damian walks, an’ Lady Die is just – well, she may as well be from another planet. I sez, “Look, try an’ tone it down when we walk through ’ucknall, OK? No prancin’ about.” But I’m thinkin’, Fuckin’ hell, I sound like Gaz. That’s worram always in trouble for, ma mannerisms. But I’m not embarrassed by the Fallen Divas. I just don’t want anyone to start on ’em. Or me, if I’m honest. Coz I still have to live here, for now.
