by Paris Lees
It’s quite funny when ya think about it, though. Gaz Lees, the ’ardest man in ’ucknall – an’ father to one of Nottingham’s premier rent boys. I think he were hopin’ for a footballer or summat. A boxer, like ’im. That’s another thing. I don’t have to go to another boxin’ lesson for as long as I live. He tried to teach me to stick up for mysen, but it was ridiculous. I hated goin’ with ’im, so in the end Uncle John said he’d take me instead. I love Uncle John an’ enjoyed goin’ with ’im more coz I’ve always wished he were ma dad, but I still hated boxin’. An’ I still had to come home to Gaz. I hated every single minute I were there. Apart from the drives.
I could be mysen at me mam’s. I could play wi’ ma dolls an’ ma Polly Pockets an’ it were never a problem. I used to have Belle from Beauty an’ the Beast, Princess Jasmine from Aladdin, an’ Mulan. When I went to live wi’ Gaz he made me put all ma girl’s toys in a box an’ took ’em off me. He said he’d dropped ’em off at the big Oxfam in Nottingham, so that weekend Mammar Joe took me. We asked if a box of dolls had bin handed in, but they said they’d not had owt like that. They were Christmas an’ birthday presents, them dolls. Some of ’em were dead expensive. An’ I honestly don’t know what’s worse – the thought of ’em sittin’ in some skip, covered in muck, or thinkin’ he gave ’em to one of ’is mates in Matlock, or wherever it is he guz when he’s off to “see a man abaht a dog”. Seven years later, an’ I still wanna know. Are they in the corner of someone’s bedroom? Maybe Paddy’s little girl? Or Neil’s? Or are they sittin’ under a ton of rubbish somewhere? I’ll never know.
If I can put up wi’ ’im, I guess I can put up wi’ Fag Ash. She was stayin’ in a shelter for a bit but she’s livin’ with ’er cousin now in Sneinton. He’s gay too. Fancy havin’ two in one family – an’ they’re Muslims. Needless to say, they’re the black sheep o’ the family. I guess I am too. So I’ve taken their spare room. Ya can walk into town from here, so I basically go out for free these days. I gerra bottle of Cherry Lambrini an’ drink it while I put ma makeup on, then head out. Sticky Nikki gets me into NG1 for free coz she works in the cloakroom now an’ the doorman fancies ’er. So I don’t have to pay for ma jacket or nuffin these days, an’ we never pay for drinks. To be honest, I usually come back wi’ more money than I go out with. People are always givin’ me drinks or pills an’ that. I’ve obviously got one o’ them faces that sez, “Gizza line of coke.”
Asha’s dead tidy. Almost as bad as me mam. So that’s good, coz I don’t think I could live wi’ someone who weren’t. The house itself is a bit scruffy, but it’ll do. There’s no central heatin’, but I’ve gorra wall heater in ma bedroom an’ there’s a gas fire in the livin’ room, so I come down wi’ me quilt wrapped round me in the mornin’ an’ we sit an’ watch Trisha. They light candles when they have a bath, so I’ve started doin’ it now an’ all. I could never do stuff like that at Gaz’s. He’d say that’s what poofters do. An’ it is. But the difference is, that don’t matter here – coz it’s tranny an’ poof towers, an’ we make our own rules. Asha’s family forced ’er into an arranged married when she were eighteen. She’s gorra little boy, but they don’t let ’er see ’im now she’s livin’ as a girl. I can hear ’er cryin’ at night sometimes.
The more I think about it, the more I appreciate how nice it is to live somewhere where I’m not bein’ constantly scrutinized an’ judged for every little thing I say or do. It’s like I can just, ya know, be mysen? An’ no one bothers me. I’m so grateful I’ve not even argued wi’ Fag Ash yet, an’ I’ve bin here for a month. It’s a miracle. I reckon she’s bein’ nice to me coz she likes the extra money. An’ I’m dead clean. I’ve not invited me mam or anyone. I don’t even know if I want ’em to know where I live, to be honest. I don’t really like the fact Liam knows, but there’s not much I can do about that. He an’t bin round yet, thank God. I think he’s avoidin’ me as much as I’m avoidin’ ’im. Good.
I’ve bin pretty worried about all that. Every time the door guz I keep expectin’ it to be the police. At least it’d be here, an’ not at Gaz’s or Mammar Joe’s. I even changed ma number coz I din’t want Liam messagin’ me, but it’s pointless when he knows where I live. I’ve not had owt to do with ’im since ma psychosis. I don’t even know why I did it now. Well, I do, an’ it’s pathetic. Coz I were scared. An’ I wanted ’im to like me. To think I were cool. At least that’s worrav bin tellin’ mysen. But sometimes I lay in bed an’ start thinkin’, What if it’s just coz I’m a massive twat? Coz I can’t seem to stop doin’ stupid stuff.
I’ve bin goin’ out loads an’ gerrin on it again too. When I’m off ma face is the only time I’m not worryin’. Ma “habits” have got worse too. I’ve bin washin’ ma hands obsessively an’ that sorta thing. I’ve got this new one now where I’ve gorra touch every bit of glass in the room before I can go to sleep. The windows. Ma mirror. Ma watch. It’s weird, innit? Fag Ash sez I’ve got Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but I don’t see ’er complainin’ when I’m on all fours cleanin’ the oven out. I’ve gorra enrol at college soon. I’ve got enough GCSEs, just about. I’m shittin’ it, but at least I did well in English – I gorran A! I’m gonna apply to Clarendon College. I’ve gorra try an’ sort mysen out. I’m clever. I can’t be a rent girl for the rest of ma life, canna? The problem is, I may have got mysen into a bit more trouble. I know. It’s not even bin a month. But ya know worram like.
Baby Boy
Lady Die wanted a piss. She sez, “Here, hold this”, an’ giz me ’er handbag. I were like, “Can’t ya just wait till we get home? We were by the path at the top o’ the Forest, just off Mansfield Road. I din’t even see the guy till he were right next to me, he just come up an’ went, “Excuse me, have ya got –” an’ the next thing I know he’s snatched ma bag out ma hand! Just swiped it off me. He snapped the handle an’ all the beads went flyin’. So I were just stood there wi’ this scrap of leather left in ma, tryna process what’d just happened. An’ I just sort o’ threw Die’s bag at ’er an’ razzed after ’im.
All I could think was, He’s got ma phone, he’s got ma bastard fuckin’ phone – an’ ma Laura Mercier makeup compact – an’ I am not losin’ another fuckin’ phone. I’m always losin’ ma phone. An’ this is the second fuckin’ time this has happened to me! The first time I were mugged I ran after ’im an’ shouted, “Stop, thief!” like they do on telly, but there were no one about an’ he were too fast for me. So I thought, Over ma dead body am I gonna let someone get away wi’ muggin’ me again.
Runnin’. It’s the only physical activity I liked at school. Coz I’ve got long legs an’ cross country’s summat ya can do on yer own. I bet he assumed I were wearin’ heels, but I had ma flip-flops on. I din’t have any problems catchin’ up with ’im, though. All I could think was, I’ve gorra catch ’im, I’ve gorra catch ’im, but as I started to close in on ’im I were like, OK now what? An’ these flip-flops are goin’ slap, slap, slap! Like someone bashin’ one out. Lady Die’s screamin’, “Oi!” an’ I’m lookin’ at ’is shoes thinkin’, I wish I had trainers on – an’ then I have a brainwave. I think, I’ll trip ’im up! So I swing ma leg an’ catch ’is ankle, an’ he comes crashin’ down. I manage to get on top of ’im an’ grab ’old of ’is wrists. He’s on ’is back. I push ’is arms above ’is ’ead an’ I’m in ’is face like, “Yes, ya little cunt, I’ve got ya now”, but I’m worried he’s gonna push me off an’ beat me up, so I shout, “Die! Get here now!”
She’s a bit behind us as she were mid-piss when it happened, but then she comes runnin’ down an’ I’m just prayin’, Please get here fast, coz he starts strugglin’ an’ I’m worried he’s gonna overpower me. But I’m thinkin’, Am I fuck lettin’ ya go. She finally catches up an’ I’m like, “Sit on ’is legs!” cos he’s thrashin’ about. I look at ’im an’ go, “Don’t worry, she’s used to dealin’ wi’ men’s lower halves – yer in good hands.” An’ we just sat there on ’im till he stopped strugglin’. I sez, �
�Get yer phone out an’ call the police. But don’t let ’im get away.”
He started strugglin’ again though, so I got ’is wrists an’ scraped the back of ’is hands across the gravel. I got in ’is face like, “Thought you’d mug us while we were vulnerable, din’t ya? Well, guess what, ya picked the wrong girls, mate!” I’m thinkin’, Maybe them boxin’ lessons weren’t such a waste of time after all. We stay like that for five minutes till the police come. Lady Die’s cussin’ ’im out, “Ya jankrow fucker.” They were pretty quick, but it’s a long time to be straddlin’ a stranger. He were beggin’ us to let ’im go, but I sez, “No, sorry, too late.” He were foreign. I do feel a bit sorry for ’im, though, coz ya don’t know where they’ve come from or what sorta life they’ve had, do ya? Coulda bin a war-torn country or summat. But I’m just so sick of people robbin’ me.
I’m not kiddin’, about five police cars turned up. I’m no fan o’ the pigs but they did actually come to our rescue. The headlights were so bright. We must have looked funny, but I don’t think they knew we were transsexuals coz one of ’em sez, “I bet he were lovin’ it, wi’ you two sat on top of ’im.” He kissed Lady Die in the interview room! She’s goin’ on a date with ’im next week. I’m so jealous. I wish a fit police officer would kiss me. How does she always manage to pull people in the most unlikely situations? She din’t even wanna go to the station at first, she were goin’, “I can’t be arsed to make a statement.” She hates havin’ owt to do wi’ the police usually, so it’s quite a turnaround really.
Ms. Jackson
Liam called me the other day. Fag Ash gave ’im ma new number. I’m pissed off coz she knows I’m tryna keep away from ’im, but I just styled it out an’ were like, “Hiya, Liam, ya alright?” He said he were in a bit of trouble an’ needed ma help. Sez this lad he’s seein’s bin accused of murder. Sez he’s ’is alibi. But coz it’s so serious the police need to confirm every detail. I were like, “Erm, OK.” He sez, “It were that night.” I’m like, “What d’ya mean, that night?” He guz, “That night. Ah need ya to tell the pigs ya were wi’ me, an’ that ya saw me leave in a taxi.” I’m thinkin’, Are you fuckin’ real? He guz, “Ah ordered it at half past twelve an’ it come at quarter to one. I need ya to tell ’em ya were there an’ had bin wi’ me all night.” I sez, “What about what we did?” He sez, “They don’t know about that. So keep yer mouth shut, OK? Yer just confirmin’ that I got in the taxi when I said I did, coz I got there at the time this murder is supposed to have happened. I need to prove he din’t do it.”
I reckon it’s the one he’s in love with. The one he plays that song about. One o’ the Woodies. I really don’t wanna talk to the police about what I were doin’ that night, even if it’s not connected, but I can’t find a reason not to an’ I don’t wanna piss Liam off or get ’is mate in trouble. I did see ’im gerin a taxi at quarter to one, so I’d only be tellin’ the truth. An’ it seems to be important to ’im.
“But what if they ask us what we’d bin doin’ all night?”
“Just tell ’em we’d bin playin’ video games an’ din’t realize how late it was.”
I go, “OK, Liam, I’ll back ya up.” An’ regret it straight away. But what else can I do? When Liam asks ya to do summat, you do it – but that’s how I landed in this mess in the first place, innit? The next day, I gerra phone call from the police. They ask me to confirm ma name an’ address an’ that I were wi’ Liam Murphy on the night of January the twenty-fifth, two thousand an’ three. I sez, “Yeah, I saw ’im leave in a taxi at quarter to one.’ He guz, “OK, just to confirm, your legal name is Byron Lees, of 26 Finsbury Avenue, Sneinton, and you were at Flat 2, 34 Forest Road, Radford, on the night in question.” I sez, “Yeah. That’s right.” He guz, “Thank you, that’s very helpful.”
“D’ya need anythin’ else from me?”
“No, that’s great. You’ll be hearin’ from us.”
On Monday mornin’ there worra knock on the door. Fag Ash were in the bath, so I answered. There were two policemen stood there. I sez, “Oh, how can I help ya?” I thought they’d come to gi’ me an update on the guy who mugged me, but then one of ’em guz, “Are you Byron Lees?” I were like, “Yeah, is there a problem?” an’ I’m shakin’ by now coz I know it’s bad. I can see people’s net curtains twitchin’ on the other side o’ the road. You’d think they’d be used to police round here by now. He guz, “I’m here to arrest you for unlawful imprisonment and armed robbery. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law as evidence.” It was like what ya see on the telly an’ that.
Porcelain
I hit a girl at school once. I can’t even remember why now. I think we’d bin playin’ tag an’ she hit me, so I hit ’er back. I shun’t have done it. I know I shun’t. I’d not long moved in wi’ Gaz an’ school phoned ’im up. Just wait till yer father gets back. I sat there dreadin’ ’im walking through the door, knowin’ I had no escape. That house had an ’orrible vibe, it always felt so empty. One of ma earliest memories was goin’ there an’ lookin’ up at the sunflowers by the jitty. An’ that’s where I stood waitin’ for ’im, by the bins. I put every pair of pants I owned on to try an’ soften the blow. Thirteen. I should’ve known it were bad luck. He felt ’em. He pulled ma jeans down an’ sez, “Think yer clever, don’t ya? Ah’ll show ya who’s fuckin’ clever”, an’ whacked ma lower back instead. That’s how I got the bruise.
’Is girlfriend Kelly lived there when I first moved in, an’ she come out an’ told ’im to leave me alone. They started arguing an’ he chased inside after ’er. There worra lotta bangin’. I stayed where I were for what felt like hours, till finally he shouted, “Gerrin here, now.” There worra broken stereo at the bottom o’ the stairs, but Kelly were long gone. She just took ma little sister an’ left. They never come back.
I remember when I first come down wearin’ ma nightie. The fire had a grill round it to stop the dog an’ the baby gerrin too close. Gaz was out, an’ I sat there wi’ ma fingers pokin’ through the gaps, tryna get dry after ma bath. I wrapped ma hair up in a towel, like I’ve always done. An’ Kelly looked at me like I were an alien, an’ guz, “Why ya wearin’ that?” No one on me mam’s side o’ the family had ever questioned me before, they just let me be mysen. I sez, “What d’ya mean?” She sez, “Girls wear nighties, not lads.” I sez, “But I like wearin’ a nightie.” She sez, “I’ve got cousins yer age, an’ they’d never wear that. Or sit there like that.” I looked down at mysen an’ thought, What’s wrong with it? Why do I have to listen to this? I’m menna be at home. But that house weren’t ma home. An’ it were never OK to be mysen. Ya had to go through the back bedroom to get to the toilet an’ she woke me up one time coz the door swung open an’ the light come through. I were half asleep. But just as ma eyes were adjustin’ she screamed, “Stop gawping!” an’ slammed the door. I were like, What the fuck’s just happened? But the fact is, she weren’t comfortable wi’ me. She din’t want me there.
She always saw the worst in me. Things that weren’t even there. They both did.
After she left, he blamed me. He resented me. He sez that if he hadn’t have had to take me on, she’d have stayed an’ he could’ve brought ma little sister up. Maybe he’s right. Maybe if I hadn’t have bin so out of control, I wun’t have bin sent to live with ’im an’ everyone would’ve bin better off. So I started goin’ inside ma ’ead, fantasizin’ about what I’d do when I grew up, about how I’d escape into the night, how I’d go to parties an’ wear silver an’ black. I thought I’d be free, one day, but yer never free, are ya? An’ I’m laid here thinkin’ about it – about all of it – coz this bloke’s got the same stereo on ’is bedside table that were at the bottom o’ the stairs that day.
Bird of Prey
I’m in Wolverhampton. I woke up on Sat’day mornin’ an’ got that feelin’ in ma stomach that I always get before I do owt bad – like needin’ to go to the to
ilet – an’ thought, I’m goin’ to Birmingham tonight. Lady Die an’ Asha were bein’ dry though, so I thought, Fuck it, I’ll go by mysen. I din’t wanna risk goin’ out as a girl on ma own so I went to a gay club dressed as a boy. I met this lad on the stairs an’ he gave me a Viagra. I sez, “What do I need that for?” But he reckons a lotta people take it to enhance their pleasure now, even women. So I went back with ’im an’ we had sex till daylight. Then we slept for a bit. Then we had sex again.
By the time he dropped me off I were on a coke an’ ecstasy comedown. My favourite. I’d told ’im I din’t have any money to get home but he just went, “Ah, what ya gonna do?” I said, “I dunno.” So he just left me at Wolverhampton, knowin’ I had no way to get back. I thought, That’s really fuckin’ nice, innit, when you’ve spent all night wi’ me, but who’s to blame, eh? Me, as usual. Coz I’m a fuckin’ twat an’ I keep gerrin mysen into these ridiculous situations. It’s bin six months since I were arrested, an’ this is all I do now. I just go out. I don’t go to college. Ma life’s a mess.
I begged enough money in the station to get me back to Birmingham, which ya have to go through anyway to get to Nottingham, an’ thought I’ll beg the rest there coz Birmingham New Street’s dead busy. But by the time I get twenty quid, I’m hungry, aren’t I? So I go an’ buy a magazine an’ a packet o’ fags an’ head to KFC. By the time I’d finished it’d got dark, an’ I din’t have enough money for a ticket, so I thought, I know what I’ll do, I’ll find some toilets. I cun’ see any that were open though, so I just ended up walkin’ around the streets for hours. Eventually I broke into a boarded-up buildin’, an’ just went an’ lay down in the dark. It were dead peaceful, for a while. But then I heard sirens an’ a car pullin’ up, so I panicked an’ ran out the back.
