by Paris Lees
The doctor referred me to a child psychologist, but Gaz never took me. I reckon he were worried what they’d say. Just think how different things might have bin if he’d taken me! If he’d believed me. But d’ya know what pisses me off the most? I don’t think he din’t take me coz he din’t believe me. He din’t take me coz he did believe me, an’ he din’t wanna face the truth. But the funny thing about the truth is, it always seems to come out in the end.
Needin’ U
Where the fuck is Peter? He said he’d be here half an hour ago, which also happens to be the exact amount of time since I smoked ma last fag. As in, the last one in the packet. Ma lucky fag. Whenever I open a new packet I always turn the one in the middle upside down an’ smoke it last. It’s menna be good luck, although it don’t seem to have done much for me today. I’ve bin trapped inside the bogs at Nottingham train station for about forty-five minutes, an’ I’m cold, knackered an’ pissed off. I just don’t see why it’s takin’ so long to get here from Arnold.
It all started in Birmingham New Street. Asha an’ Lady Die wanted a coffee to perk up a bit. I really cun’ face standin’ there in last night’s makeup an’ a wig in the middle o’ the afternoon, but they just don’t care, do they? It were packed an’ I just cun’ be doin’ with it. Asha looked the best. I hate ’er. She even brought a fuckin’ bag wi’ day things in it. Who the fuck brings an overnight bag on a night out? She put ’er hair in a ponytail an’ popped on a cardigan an’ actually looked quite normal-ish. Well, I still feel, an’ look, like a piece of shit, hence why I’m hidin’ in here. Thank God I had the sense to nick a coat from the club. There worra big pile of ’em on the floor on the way out, so I just took one. While we had a fag I put the hood up an’ Lady Die sez I looked like the woman from the Scottish Widows advert. Fag Ash said I looked like Skeletor.
I were only gonna have a nap. I just wanted to lock the door an’ feel safe. I can’t cope without sleep. They can go all weekend, I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know how they could just fuckin’ leave me there, either, but I woke up an’ saw all these missed calls on ma mobile. I must’ve bin conked out for at least half an hour. I called ’em straight away, but they were already on the train back. How could they do that to me? I’d never treat them like that. Well, maybe Asha. But not Die. They know how much I hate the walk of shame at the best of times, let alone leavin’ me to make ma way back from Birmingham all on ma fuckin’ own. They don’t understand, coz they don’t have any shame. They were like, “We looked for ya! We called but ya din’t answer! We thought yer’d gone off without us!” But why din’t they knock or summat? Asha sez they could hardly have gone lookin’ in cubicles, but if they really did give a shit about me, they could have waited. I can just see ’em now, Fag Ash nudgin’ Lady Die an’ sayin’, “I know, let’s just go without ’er!” wi’ that grin on ’er face. That’s just the sorta thing she’d do to me. I know it is, coz it’s just the sorta thing I’d do to ’er.
Well, whatever. We had a wicked weekend an’ so long as I get home, I don’t really care. It’s not like they don’t disrespect me all the time anyway, is it? The thing that really pissed me off though is that I din’t have any money to get home, an’ we were s’posed to be skankin’ the train together. Which meant I had to do it on ma own. An’ it’s a miracle I din’t cringe to death. I thought I could just pretend to be asleep when the ticket man came, but the train were rammed. On a Sunday! People were havin’ to stand. I managed to nab one o’ them pull-down seats next to the bins, but there were loadsa people squashed round me. They must have bin able to see I were wearin’ a wig, but I were just too weak to stand up.
When the man come I told ’im I needed to buy a ticket an’ went into ma pocket knowin’ fully well I had no money. I had to pretend I’d lost ma purse. It were so bad. It went dead quiet an’ I could feel everyone lookin’ down on me – metaphorically an’ literally. I had about two pound fifteen, so only eight quid short! I must have looked so pathetic, coz he let me off, an’ they never do that, especially not when there’s loadsa people watchin’. Well, I won’t be doin’ that again, I can tell ya that for nowt. Guess we shun’t have spent all our money on drugs really. An’ it were ma idea to go out of town. I love bein’ spontaneous, but the thing with adventures is, ya can’t promise how they’re gonna end. An’ sometimes it’s in tears.
Which is why Peter’s comin’ to rescue me. I reversed the charges. I sez, “Peter, I’ve got mysen into a bit of a pickle.” He were like, “Oh, what a surprise!” an’ starts goin’ on about how I thrive in drama. I sez, “Look, I can’t help it if I’m good in a crisis”, so he guz, “The problem is, you sometimes go days without one.” Oh, he thinks he’s so clever. He’d better have the heatin’ on in that car. I hate that Mini. I look ridiculous climbin’ into a tiny little car wi’ some weird old man behind the wheel. God knows what people must think. Peter’s older than I first realized. Reckon he’s in ’is fifties. He’s got records from the eighties an’ that. Mam used to have a Whitney Houston record when I were little, but I’ve never seen one since. He’s got “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell. He was actually there, in the hallowed decade.
He works at Jessops an’ always has loadsa nice food from Marks an’ Sparks in this fridge. He wears a hairpiece. It’s basically a wig that’s glued to ’is ’ead. I’ve no idea how. I daren’t ask. He pencils in ’is eyebrows too an’ uses fake tan. He’s a bit silly really, but to be fair, he does look younger than he is. I reckon he’s in love wi’ me. He lives in Arnold, which he describes as a “cultural desert”. I sez, “Move to ’ucknall an’ see how ya like that, ya silly old poof.” Peter’s started buyin’ me fish an’ chips on Sundays an’ givin’ me an envelope wi’ loadsa twennies in it. I don’t even have to do owt with ’im most weeks. Where is he?
Love Story
Them lot have started hangin’ around wi’ this lad called Liam. Proper fuckin’ twat. We all went back to ’is the other night an’ he kept kickin’ me an’ sayin’, “No one falls asleep at ma parties, Tinkerbell.” I’d told ’em I were tired, an’ I must’ve bin coz I find it hard to sleep at the best of times an’ they were blarin’ out garage full blast. God knows why ’is neighbours din’t call the police. Liam don’t strike me as the sorta person who giz a flyin’ fuck about ’is neighbours, or indeed anyone but ’issen, but I can’t imagine he’d want the police round. He’s growin’ weed in ’is back room. Mind you, I don’t think I’d dare call the police on ’im if I he were ma neighbour. Let’s just say ya wun’t wanna bump into ’im down a dark alleyway.
I’d left all ma stuff at Lady Die’s, so I cun’ have gone home without gerrin changed. She can go all weekend without rest, she’s like a fuckin’ Terminator. She made me feel like I were bein’ unreasonable for wantin’ to go to sleep. Like a, ya know, human bein’. She’s the one I’m most upset wi’ to be honest coz I din’t think she’d like someone like this Liam. He’s not a nice person. Not a nice person at all. So much for the Fallen Divas. I were thinkin’, Ya don’t kick a diva when they’re down! But I din’t say nowt coz Liam sez he hates “all that camp shit” an’ takes the piss out of me whenever I try an’ have a laugh an’ that. Bastard.
They met ’im at Lost Weekend. It’s a straight club, but it’s pretty flexible. Die an’ Fag Ash go all the time to this night called Lovezoo where they play funky house all night. There’s usually a few bisexual guys in there – or there are by the time we’re through with ’em. But it’s about the music really, an’ a common appreciation for mind-alterin’ substances. Everyone gets proper battered. Well, Liam’s one o’ these who sez he’s bisexual. Proper straight-actin’. Proper little bully. Hates pop music. Only loves R ’n’ B an’ all ’is mates are black. He don’t like me coz I’m girly, an’ white, so I’m failin’ on all fronts as far as he’s concerned. He’s twenty-one an’ got ’is own flat in Radford. I reckon he’s a dealer. Either that or just a massive fuckhead – but he’s never short of drugs, I know that. So obviou
sly he’s like the Piedfuckin’ Piper to them lot.
I don’t know why everyone seems to think he’s so wonderful. Peter don’t like ’im either, but Peter would never come to Lovezoo, he only feels safe in NG1. Liam don’t go to NG1, he guz to the Bomb an’ places like that. He kept playin’ Layo & Bushwacka. I reckon he’s in love. But it’s dead catchy an’ I can’t help but think of ’im now whenever it comes on the radio. He knocks about wi’ the Woodies – this big gang in Radford. They’re at war wi’ St Ann’s. They’ve got guns. Even Gaz wun’t mess wi’ the Woodies.
I go in the kitchen an’ he guz, “Get that down yer neck!” an’ shoves this key up ma nose. I sez, “What do I want that for?” He guz, “Coz yer body don’t produce Vitamin K naturally.” I sez, “Ooh, yer tryna gimme that horse tranquillizer, are ya?” So he guz, “D’ya like horses? Coz I’m hung like one”, but then he smirks at me, like the joke’s on me an’ I’m just stood there thinkin’, Eh? Then Lady Die comes in an’ shouts, “I dunno abaht you, Miss Ketamine, but I feel so much yummier!” an’ morphs into Catwoman. Next thing I know I’m babblin’ on about why are kettles called kettles an’ ma arms are all long like Mr Tickle! It worra terrible way to carry on, really, but that’s the youth of today for ya, innit?
You do feel cool hangin’ round with ’im, but there’s summat really mean about this Liam. It weren’t just the way he kicked me. It were the fact he were laughin’ at me, an’ gerrin everyone else to join in with ’im. Lady Die were like, “Ah, leave ’er alone, Liam”, but then she guz to me, “Don’t go ter sleep, don’t be mardy.” An’ I were shocked, coz I wun’t just stand there if someone tried to humiliate ’er in front of me. I mean, she was rat-arsed, but even so. How could they like someone so nasty? The thing is though – an’ I’d never admit this to anyone – but I really fancy this Liam. I don’t think he’d ever look twice at me, though. I’m just dirt on ’is shoe. An’ I don’t gerrit. Coz Max would never treat me like that. An’ I don’t know how I ended up here, wi’ someone so ’orrible. Or why I want ’im to like me so much.
By the time me an’ Lady Die left it were mornin’ so she guz, “Shall we get breakfast in McDonald’s?” an’ I’m like, “I din’t even know ya could get breakfast in McDonald’s.” She must have bin feelin’ guilty coz she were like, “Come on, duck, I’ll get ya a bacon an’ egg McMuffin”, so I’m not as fucked off with ’er now, even though she insisted on takin’ the bus back. I sez, “Yer havin’ a laugh if ya think I’m gerrin on a bus dressed like this”, but she were like, “If ya wanna waste yer money on a taxi, fine, but I’m not.” It were light by then but I thought, Am I fuck payin’ for a taxi if she’s not chippin’ in, so we got the 44. I’ve never bin out dressed like that in the day. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so uncomfortable in ma entire life, an’ that’s sayin’ summat. An’ there weren’t even anyone on it.
We had to climb over the fence when we got to ’ers an’ I ended up gerrin all this green stuff on ma skirt. She said we had to go in the back way coz we look like prostitutes. I sez, “Die, we are prostitutes”, but she were like, “Just coz I sucked someone off down a jitty don’t make me a prostitute”, so I were like, “Yeah, but it does make ya a fuckin’ slag – at least I have summat to show for it.” ’Er mam lives on a cul-de-sac though like Mammar Joe, an’ she sez it’s bad enough for ’em bein’ the only black people round there, so I dropped it. But she is a prostitute anyway coz she stuck ’er finger up Sandwich-Van-Pete’s bum an’ sucked ’im off for fifty quid an’ a line a coke in front of a room full of people at a house party last week, an’ I’m sure it weren’t the first time. For either of ’em. Well I’ve had ma last ham sandwich off of ’im, I can tell ya that for nuffin.
Anyway, I’m sat there takin’ off ma makeup an’ I realize I’ve lost ma fuckin’ phone. Again! I knew I had it at Liam’s coz I’d bin lookin’ at the time an’ feelin’ annoyed at how late it were gerrin. An’ I specifically remember it turnin’ seven coz I told Die that if we din’t leave within the next half hour we’d be goin’ home when it were light, an’ I really din’t want that. An’ I definitely don’t remember havin’ it in McDonald’s. So I had to go back to Radford, an’ see Liam. He made out he din’t have it at first. Then he makes out he wants some money for lookin’ after it for me. I sez, “Please stop messin’ about.” “Anyway,” he guz. “How old are ya?” So I tell ’im. He guz, “When are ya sixteen?” I sez, “In a few months”, an’ ask ’im why he wants to know. He sez, “Here, take ma number in case ya ever need owt. K or owt like that.”
Missing
Lady Die bumped into Max the other day an’ apparently were askin’ after me. I’m pissed off coz she knows how much I wanna speak to ’im an’ she din’t get ’is new number, so I’ve made ’er promise on ’er mam’s life that she’ll gerrit if she sees ’im again. She guz, “I’m sure ya could find it on the back of any old toilet wall.” Cheeky bitch. She sez he’s always in town anyway coz he guz shopliftin’ in Marks an’ Sparks at lunch an’ gets a chicken pasta salad for that bloke who’s always sat outside H&M playin’ a xylophone. She sez he takes orders, so she asked ’im to teef ’er some sushi. I’ve never had sushi, ya wun’t even be able to get that in ’ucknall. So it’s probably like totally delicious. I can’t believe she din’t get ’is number! She’s a good laugh, but ya can’t rely on ’er.
We were comin’ back from Rock City the other night an’ stopped to get some fags from the garage, an’ these girls were stood behind us an’ one of ’em went, “Fuck’s sake, hurry up.” Die sez, “Alright darlin’, no need to be rude.” An’ the other one went, “That’s a man. Look at ’em!” an’ they both burst out laughin’. One black girl, one white girl. Like us, but the real thing. The black girl sucked ’er teeth an’ was like, “Nah. Chi chi man.” I don’t usually argue when this happens – coz it happens every fuckin’ time we go out – an’ it’s our own fault really, innit? I mean, we choose to come out dressed like this. We’re askin’ for it, really. But summat inside me snapped this time – coz it’s so unfair. No one deserves to be treated like that. So we told ’em to fuck off, an’ ran down the road.
Would ya rather have loadsa people hate ya an’ loadsa people love ya, or not be hated by many people but also not be loved by that many people? People seem to have a strong reaction to me. Lady Die sez it’s a hard question, but she’d probably rather be hated by loadsa people an’ loved by loadsa people. Me too. Take the rough wi’ the smooth. That’s why I don’t mind a comedown on a Sunday. It shows you’ve had a good night. In fact, I wun’t wanna be doin’ owt else on a Sunday other than layin’ around feelin’ like shit. I sez, “Die, d’ya think people are inherently bad or inherently good?” I like havin’ conversations like that with ’er coz I don’t have to explain what words like “inherently” mean. I sez summat were obscure once an’ Dirty D were like, “You an’ your big words, always showin’ off.” I sez, “How’s that a big word? It’s seven letters.” People say “beautiful” all the time, an’ that’s nine. When people say “big word” what they really mean is “word I don’t know”. An’ what other people don’t know’s not ma problem, is it? But I tell ya what, Dirty D sounds like Stephen Hawkin’ compared to Asha. She really is thick.
I like a few hours to put ma makeup on an’ that, but we can be ready in forty-five minutes if we have to – like a weapon o’ mass destruction. Lady Die sez ma eye makeup looked feline the other week an’ Asha were like, “Ooh, feline – what’s that?” so we told ’er an’ later on she were goin’ up to people in the loo sayin’ “I like yer makeup, it looks dead feline.” So the next time we were all gerrin ready I sez, “Ooh Die, what’s that perfume yer wearin’? Ya smell proper faecal”, an’ winked at ’er. Well Asha’s ears pricked up at that – talk about the dog takin’ the bait – an’ she went, “What’s that?” I sez, “It means alluring. Like a mysterious air.” Lady Die guz, “Yeah, mysterious! That’s just the word.” Asha guz, “Hmm, faecal. Fee. Cull. I like that. It’s co
z I’m wearin’ Mysterious by Britney Spears.” She spent the rest o’ the night askin’ strangers if she smelled faecal.
The Fallen Divas all talk like rude girls. Well, apart from Peter. An’ Lady Die. In fact, she’s the only one who sounds like a proper white person. Asha sez she’s a coconut coz she’s black on the outside an’ white on the inside, although she does speak patois if she’s tryna make us laugh, or when she’s angry. Lady Die reckons people are mainly good. I don’t know about that. Like look at that flood they’ve had in New Orleans. They were lootin’ an’ apparently people were rapin’ people an’ all sorts, coz people are evil when they think they can get away with it. It’s why I worry about Mammar Joe. Ya read about old ladies who get attacked in their eighties an’ that. Imagine thinkin’ you’d made it through yer whole life without much bad happenin’, an’ then someone doin’ that to ya. It must be ’orrible bein’ a woman. I guess ya only know if you’ve made it through life OK just before ya die, but that’s hardly gonna cheer ya up, is it? When yer on yer deathbed. I’m scared of dyin’. I don’t wanna be alone.
Lady Die sez, “Right, I’ve got one. Would ya rather be rich, beautiful or clever?” She sez beautiful. Coz ya can use yer looks to get rich, or marry someone rich. I reckon ya need to be clever too though, coz there’s loadsa pretty girls who are stupid an’ have shit lives. But if yer clever, ya can work out how to make yersen rich, an’ if yer rich, ya can pay to make yersen beautiful these days. But ya can’t turn money into brains, an’ ya can’t turn beauty into money without brains, so it’s gorra be brains. It’s the only one that can get ya the other two.
