by Jim Eldridge
‘Get Mr Vibrator!’ laughed Jo.
The police bikes had pulled to a halt outside the Cappuccino Cafe and the policemen rushed inside.
‘All that just for one thief!’ said Kerrys disgustedly. ‘I took him on my own!’
‘But they’re not you, Kerrys,’ said Cassandra admiringly. She looked at her watch. ‘Hey, I’ve got me a flight to catch.’
A sudden thought seemed to strike Kerrys, because she said, ‘Before we go, speaking of men: you gotta come to my brother’s birthday party on Sunday. You as well, Cass. We got family coming and I’ll go mad if you lot ain’t there.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ smiled Cassandra. She reached out and hugged the girls to her.
‘Wish me love,’ she whispered.
‘Love, bitch,’ murmured back the other three.
Then Cassandra was gone, heading to where her parents’ immaculate Bentley was waiting for her, complete with chauffeur.
The others looked after her.
‘That girl sure travels in style,’ said Joanne.
The other girls hugged and air-kissed, then headed their separate ways, while Shannon unchained her bike. She couldn’t help but compare her own mode of transport to Cassandra’s. Money, she thought to herself. They say it can’t buy you happiness, but it sure would help.
She thought of Cass, off to New York to lose her virginity. Some way to go, and such a shitload lot of money. She was sure Cass’s parents’ driver would have done it for her. Hell, he’d even have paid her. And they could have done it in the back of the big Bentley, just to rub her parents’ nose in it.
But no, Cassandra wanted it to be with love. This guy Brett. Shannon sighed. She hoped Cassandra would be protected, otherwise there was always that downside. That heart-aching, mind-numbing feeling as if your body was being torn apart and there was just a hole there where there should have been . . .
Shannon shut the thought out of her mind. Don’t think about it. It never happened.
But it did.
Shannon cycled home, her head full. Of what had happened to her. Of Dillon. Of a mural she was already thinking of. She pulled up outside her house, chained her bike up and walked in. She was shocked to see her father doubled over on the floor of the living room, his face creased in pain. He was rocking backwards and forwards, clutching his stomach, tears running down his agonised face.
‘Dad!’ she yelled in alarm.
Then she became aware of her mother sitting on the couch. She looked calm, detached, but the way she held her hands clasped together showed the tension in her. Shannon looked at them both, stunned.
‘What . . . ?’ she began, and then she stopped. She wanted to say ‘What’s happening?’ but it seemed such a stupid question. So inadequate. Her father was on the floor in agony. Her mother was just sitting, her face tight, unsmiling.
As Shannon stood in the doorway, bewildered, her mother stood up. Shannon was aware of a suitcase beside the couch.
‘Shannon, I’m leaving,’ said her mother.
‘No!’ moaned Mr Richards, and he rocked in pain even more. ‘No, Lauren! Wait, please . . .’
Shannon’s mother stepped past her rocking husband and came to Shannon and looked her firmly in the face. Now Shannon could see the pain in her eyes.
‘I love you, honey,’ said her mother, ‘but I want to be happy again.’ She took a deep breath, then asked, ‘Didn’t you read my note?’
Shannon stared at her, stunned.
‘What note?’ she asked.
‘I put it in your bag,’ her mother said. ‘I couldn’t have said it to your face without breaking down, and if I did that, I couldn’t leave.’
Despite her mother’s stiff posture, Shannon now saw that tears were rolling down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ said her mother. ‘I love you, Shannon, but I just can’t stand this any more.’
Her mother went back into the room, took hold of the handle of the suitcase, and headed determinedly for the hallway and the front door.
‘Bye, Shannon. Bye, Jack.’
Shannon stared after her, shocked. This couldn’t be happening!
‘What note?!’ she shouted.
But it was too late. The front door had shut, and her mother was gone.
3
Shannon looked at her father, sitting on the living-room floor. His tears had gone dry, he’d cried himself out. Now he just rocked and moaned.
Shannon’s own eyes filled up with tears, blinding her. Angrily she brushed them away and rushed upstairs to her room. Her TV was on. A newsreader was announcing some breaking news: ‘With inside knowledge the gang of thieves managed to pull off the biggest gem theft that Amsterdam — the diamond-cutting capital of the world — has ever suffered. The police said the raid was conducted . . .’
Shannon snatched up the remote and turned the TV off. She didn’t want to hear about some robbery — that was just money. This was her mother leaving!
Frantically she opened her bag and began searching for an envelope, but there was nothing in there. Why had her mother mentioned it if she hadn’t put it in there?
Anger welled up inside her. Anger and sorrow that tore through her. She bit her lip as she fought to hold back the tears that would otherwise burst out. She had to get out of this house. There was so much she wanted to know, but she couldn’t talk to her father. Not right now.
She pushed her sketch pad and some pencils into her art bag, and hurried out of the room. As she reached the living room she looked in. Her father was still there, crouched on the floor, pain and misery etched on his face. He looked at her, and for a moment there was the feeling of shared pain, an unbearable silence. Then Shannon hurried out of the house and unchained her bike.
At Jo’s house all the lights were ablaze. Music pumped. Shannon dropped her bike on the ground and rang the bell. After what seemed like ages, Jo’s sister, Gwen, opened the door.
‘Hey?’ she asked.
‘Is Jo home?’ asked Shannon.
‘Sure, she’s in her room,’ nodded Gwen. She opened the door wider so that Shannon could enter and at the same time shouted up the stairs; ‘Jo! Your weird mate’s here!’
Shannon ignored the ‘weird’ and hurried upstairs.
Jo was in her underwear, putting on a yellow and orange uniform.
‘Sorry, Shaz, I’m in a real rush!’ she said as Shannon came in. ‘This is a real bitch! I haven’t been at the mart for ages, and now I’ve got to do the night shift!’
She began doing up the buttons of the uniform.
‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ said Shannon miserably, shaking her head.
Jo gave her friend a rueful smile, her attention fully on getting ready.
‘I’m sorry, Shaz, this isn’t a good time.’
‘My mum . . .’ began Shannon awkwardly.
Jo suddenly strode to the door and shouted angrily, ‘Gwen, you bitch! Did you take my hairbands?’
She turned and scowled at Shannon in disgust.
‘Fuck! I guess I’m gonna have to do without them.’
‘My mum . . .’ began Shannon again. She could feel herself welling up, tears pricking at the back of her eyes and blurring her vision.
‘Walk and talk,’ said Jo.
Then she was gone, snatching up her coat and hurrying out of the room and down the stairs. Shannon hesitated, then wiped the tears from her eyes and followed her.
By the time she reached the street, Jo was getting into her car. She slid behind the steering wheel and gave Shannon an apologetic smile.
‘I’m sorry but I really have to go, Shaz,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
‘I just wanted to talk!’ blurted out Shannon.
‘OK,’ nodded Jo. ‘Can we talk tomorrow?’
Shannon nodded. Inside she felt numb.
‘Go, girl.’ Jo grinned.
She started the car up, slammed the door, and raced away.
Shannon watched her go, and it
was as if the weight on her had suddenly got so much heavier.
4
Shannon sat on the bench on the canal path and looked at the water, her sketch pad on her lap, her pencil tracing a line on the paper, then filling in shadows.
Shannon loved the canal. She loved rivers, especially city ones. So many people told her that London’s canals and rivers were dangerous: water so thick you couldn’t see through to what was underneath, the hidden dangers. To Shannon that was part of their fascination, their mystery. The unknown, swirling, compelling.
As her pencil moved a portrait took shape. Her mother.
Why had she left? Was her father the whole problem? Was there another man in the background, who’d now be revealed?
Or was the problem her — Shannon?
‘I didn’t mean it, Mum,’ she whispered painfully, and she saw a tear splash on to the drawing.
Suddenly footsteps and voices came to her. The sound of young men, walking towards her, just round the bend in the canal. She didn’t want them to see her like this, see her tears. But there was no time to get up and run, not with her art stuff scattered on the bench. She swung her legs over the bench and dropped behind it, out of sight, as two young men appeared, deep in conversation.
‘I got family over!’ complained one, obviously resisting what the other was asking of him.
Shannon’s heart gave a leap as she recognised his voice, and she threw a quick glance at them. Manuel, Kerrys’s older brother. With him was Tee, an older boy she’d once seen with Dillon. It struck her then that Tee had been the man in charge.
‘Look, don’t give me fucking attitude!’ snapped Tee.
‘I’m telling ya!’ insisted Manuel firmly. ‘I can’t have ’em in my house long. I can’t risk being involved.’
‘It’ll only be one night,’ Tee pressed him. ‘Don’t be like a little girl! Look, just do it. Nothing to worry about. Trust me!’
Manuel frowned, not convinced. As he turned he caught sight of Shannon crouched behind the bench and stopped, puzzled.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Ain’t you my sister’s mate? What you doin’ down there?’
‘I . . . I dropped something,’ stammered Shannon, getting up.
Manuel spotted the art pad on the bench, and the emerging portrait of Shannon’s mum. He picked it up, and held it out to Tee admiringly.
‘Tee, check this out!’ he said.
Tee looked at the sketch, then at Shannon, and nodded.
He seems uncomfortable, thought Shannon. Why? Is it me?
‘I got to get to work,’ Tee muttered.
With that he headed off along the canal path. Manuel looked again at the sketch, then put it down on the bench and gave Shannon a wink, before hurrying after Tee.
Shannon slid the sketch pad into her art bag, and began gathering up her pencils and pastels. She felt hollow inside, empty. Her life was shit. Her mum gone. Her dad useless. Jo blowing her off. No one cared. She might as well be dead.
Where was the note her mum had said she’d written her? It wasn’t in her bag. What did it say? Maybe it gave her the answers she needed.
She thought about how different her life was compared to the other girls’. Jo, so busy she didn’t have time to breathe. Kerrys, always out there, proud, confident. Cass, rich and on her way to New York to get laid by some handsome hunk.
Maybe that’s what she needed. Getting laid. It had been a long time. In fact, it had been never. They hadn’t even done it properly. If they had, then it had been a disappointment, not like the way the others talked about it.
That’s what she needed. A good shag. Something to make her feel alive.
5
The Blam Bar was jumping. But then, it was Friday night — the Blam was always rammed on a Friday. Music pounded, voices shouted to make themselves heard, people danced, some close, some leaping about as much as they could in the crush.
Shannon sat perched on the high stool, her elbows on the bar for support, her head resting on her open hands, like two pillows. Her eyes were heavy. The sound of the music thumped inside her head.
She looked at the four empty glasses in front of her. Four shots. She didn’t usually drink. But then, she didn’t usually go out looking to get laid. How long had she been here? Ages. And still no one had come up and tried to pull her. Was it her? Was she really such a dog?
She felt a bit sick. She wanted to go to the ladies’ and puke, but it seemed too far away.
She was aware of a young guy sliding on to the stool next to her and smiling at her. He looked neat. Twenties. Quite cool. He pointed at the four empty glasses on the bar in front of Shannon.
‘You want anything stronger?’ he asked.
Shannon looked at him, frowning slightly. Was this a pick-up line? What could she say? Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. She didn’t want to open her mouth in case she said something stupid and scared him off.
He smiled again.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Shannon.’
He nodded.
‘I’m Fraser,’ he said.
Shannon nodded, and the act nearly made her fall off the bar stool. Fraser caught her just in time. He peered at her, concern on his face.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
Someone’s asking about me, thought Shannon. Someone cares!
‘Not really,’ she said.
Fraser shifted on his bar stool so he was now pressing against her, thigh to thigh.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Lonely?’
Shannon nodded. She was aware she was having difficulty focusing.
Beside her, Fraser shouted at the barman.
‘Three vodka triples, mate!’
Three? thought Shannon, puzzled. There’s just the two of us.
Three glasses appeared on the bar in front of them. Fraser picked one up and placed it carefully in Shannon’s hand.
‘Shoot this — you’ll feel better,’ he assured her.
Shannon looked at the glass, at Fraser’s smiling face, then back at the glass again. She tipped her head back, opened her mouth and poured it down in one go.
She slammed the glass down on the bar, a little heavier than she’d intended. She felt the spirit course through her, her veins on fire.
Fraser lifted another glass and steered it into her hand.
‘Now the other one,’ he said.
Shannon looked at the glass as if surprised to find it there. How had it got there? She squinted at Fraser, who nodded energetically and gave her another smile of encouragement. Shannon lifted the glass and threw it down into her mouth, felt it burn as it raced across her tongue and down her throat. She dropped the glass on to the bar, tried to stop it falling over, but missed. She watched the empty glass roll a bit, then stop.
Something was touching her back. A hand. She looked at Fraser. He was still smiling, but his arm was round her back, reaching down, his palm rubbing her skin. She felt his fingers grip her arse.
‘So, what are you doing tonight?’ he asked.
Shannon swayed slightly. What was she doing? She thought about it. It was a puzzle, but one she was sure she could work out. Her brain was all foggy. Then it became clear. Of course she knew what she was doing tonight!
‘Whatever you wanna do,’ she said.
She wasn’t sure if that had come out right. She was slurring her words, but Fraser didn’t seem to mind. He liked her!
‘Well, I’m feeling kinda horny,’ said a familiar voice behind her. ‘I was thinking we could go back to my yard and press flowers, if you get my drift.’
Kerrys!
Shannon swung round, even though the movement made her head swim and she had to catch hold of the bar to stop herself falling over. Kerrys was standing there, looking at her, a tough expression on her face. There was no sign of . . . what was his name? . . . Fraser! That was it. The nice guy with the hands.
‘Where’s that guy?’ demanded Shannon, looking around.
‘Gone,’
said Kerrys, then she added angrily, ‘What the fuck are you doing, Shannon? Are you nuts? I’m over there with Jas and I saw him touching you up, so I came over.’
Shannon did her best to draw herself up and look down on Kerrys, but it wasn’t easy when the world was going round.
‘Am I not allowed to get felt up?’ she demanded. She leaned in towards Kerrys and whispered, ‘I wanted to go to his place.’
Kerrys shook her head.
‘You’re drunk. He’s a dickhead. You don’t want nothing from him, trust me.’
‘I haven’t drunk that much!’ protested Shannon.
She tried to get off the stool, but found her foot was tangled up in it. She tried to jerk free and nearly fell. Kerrys’s strong hands caught her and pushed her back upright on to the stool.
‘Come on,’ said Kerrys. ‘I think it’s time for you to go home.’
Shannon shook her head.
‘I just wanna go with that guy!’ she appealed. Then suddenly her face collapsed and great tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘Jo won’t talk to me. My mum . . .’ Her words faded into a sobbing hiccup, and she lowered her head on to her arms on the bar and cried as if her heart was breaking.
Kerrys looked at her, bewildered.
‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded.
Before Shannon could reply, the sound of a glass smashing not far away made Kerrys whirl round, alert for trouble. The young man, Fraser, was struggling with another young man, punching and kicking. As Kerrys watched, the small fight erupted into a bigger one as friends joined in, men and girls, fists flying, feet swinging, handbags whirling.
Kerrys turned back to Shannon, who was now completely slumped across the bar.
‘This ain’t looking good, girl,’ she told Shannon urgently. ‘It’s time to go.’
There was a really loud yell from the fight, but this one was a harsh, angry shout of drink-fuelled fury. Kerrys turned again, and saw Fraser lurching out from the melee, his pointing finger and angry stare firmly fixed on Kerrys and Shannon.
‘I’m gonna kill you two bitches!’ he roared.
