Noah Can't Even

by Simon James Green

  Peace & love,

  J. x

  Riffling through the rest of the box he found more letters, all along similar lines, all sending “filthy lucre”, “moolah” or “spondulicks”. Why his dad couldn’t just say “money” he had no idea, but it didn’t matter. Here was an entire history, undiscovered and shut away – a man he barely knew, but wanted to, desperately.

  The sadness in his stomach flared up into red-hot rage. His mum had no right to have kept all this from him. What about his persistent questions over the years, asking about his dad? Didn’t Noah have a right to know? A right to decide if he wanted to see him or not? His mother had not just evaded his questions, she had downright lied to him! She had painted a picture of a man who had selfishly abandoned his family and left them high and dry, struggling to survive, neither of them knowing how to replace a fuse or put up a shelf. But the truth was very different. The exact reasons for his father’s departure and the full details of his life in Spain were left unexplained by the letters, but he was clearly full of remorse and was doing his best to make things good. Every letter was an apology. What could he have done that was so bad he couldn’t be cut a little bit of slack?

  Noah counted a total of fifty letters, sent over the course of four years, and every single one made mention of enclosing some money. And the five birthday cards and six Christmas cards that were addressed to Noah each made reference to “a little loot to get yourself something”. So where had all that money gone to over the years?

  Noah looked around his mum’s bedroom, his eyes lighting upon the Ruby Devine outfits, the TV on the wall, the satin sheets on her bed. These were expensive things – where had the money really come from to buy them?

  He punched his fist into her pillows, blow after blow, imagining his mum’s face. He wanted to charge downstairs, scream at his mother and rip her lying throat out. But he couldn’t. In typically selfish fashion, she was out.

  And what about his dad? His poor old dad who had written to him for years and who had never received a reply from him? His dad must only assume that Noah didn’t want anything to do with him either – that’s how it looked! Oh God… It all burst out of him, tears of frustration and fury and at the same time relief that his dad was actually alive and clearly cared.

  He gasped down air, feeling like he was drowning.

  And then … finally … calm.

  And a new resolve came over Noah.

  He wasn’t going to be a victim of circumstance any longer.

  He was going to be a man of action!

  Back in his room, Noah powered up his computer and googled “Jon Mortimer Spain.” It was indeed an impressive-sounding name. And a scan of the search results was even more impressive. It looked like his dad owned some sort of massive apartment block. There was a website – “Mortimer Holdings”, offering luxury flats for sale, with pictures of his tanned father, smiling, shaking hands with various men and women in suits. God, his dad was handsome. He had fashionable hair and bright white teeth and sharp outfits. And there was a picture of him in casual clothes, drinking a cocktail on a yacht! In a bloody Ralph Lauren sweater! Holy shit, he must be minted!

  In the absence of an email address, Noah had to do it the old-fashioned way: he opened his desk drawer, pulled out a crisp sheet of writing paper and his best fountain pen and set to work with trembling hands.

  Dear Dad,

  You might be wondering why I haven’t written before. Well, that’s because Mum is a total bitch and had been hiding all your letters to make me think you hated me / were dead and has clearly been using all the money you sent to buy cigarettes and bras and stuff. I can see now why you left her! It’s lucky for you that you were able to get away, whilst I must stay here and suffer horribly.

  I’ve really missed you, Dad. I honestly didn’t know what happened or where you’d gone. Sometimes I thought you were the worst father in the world because you clearly didn’t care about me or what I was up to. But now I feel bad about that because I can see you did care. And now it looks like I was the one who didn’t care about you, because I never replied.

  Things have been pretty bad, to be honest with you.

  Why exactly did you leave? What did Mum do? You don’t have to tell me if it’s private, but I would like to know. Was it her stupid Beyoncé act? She’s still doing that, by the way.

  I like girls but recently some people have been saying that I am gay, but that isn’t true because it was complicated and I…

  A text came through on his phone.

  “HI NOAH IT’S ERIC FROM SCHOOL. GOT SOMETHING I THINK U WILL WANT. REALLY WANT. MEET ME IN PARK IN 20 MINS. BRING MONEY. UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR LIFE TO GET WORSE, GAY BOY.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It felt like the words were burnt into Noah’s eyeballs. “UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR LIFE TO GET WORSE, GAY BOY.” His mouth was dry. What had Eric got? Noah racked his brains for anything he might have sent or said that Eric could have got hold of, because he clearly had got something. Eric didn’t waste his time. What choice did Noah have but to go? Lie awake all night worrying about what it was? No, thanks.

  Noah took one of his dad’s letters and all the birthday and Christmas cards and hid them in his room. As for the money, he had taken the lot. After all, it was rightly his. And if his mother found it gone, she could hardly accuse him of taking it because she would have to admit her own appalling treachery. Most of it he’d left at home. He could perhaps use it to start an investment portfolio – something responsible anyway. Twenty he had stashed about his person – five of it in his trouser pocket, five down his sock and a further tenner down his boxers. Yeah. He knew how to fool potential muggers. In addition, he grabbed his trusty pocket torch, a first-aid kit and a whistle, because at this time of night you never knew what could happen.

  Ahead, silhouetted in the orange glow of a street light, was Eric. Noah steeled himself and strode up to him with as much confident swagger as he could muster.

  “You hurt your leg?” Eric snorted.

  “No.”

  “Why you doing that funny walk, then?”

  Damn it. He’d seen other people strut down the street like they owned it; why couldn’t he? “Good evening, Eric.”

  “Know what this is?” Eric said, smiling smugly and holding his hand open.

  “A memory stick.”

  “Wrong. It’s the answer to your prayers, that’s what.”

  “You’re speaking to an atheist. I don’t pray,” Noah replied, like a boss, which was a miracle because he was totally bricking it.

  “All right, then. It’s the solution to all your problems.”

  “How?” Noah could feel his heart pounding in his mouth. What the hell was on that stick?

  “Because on this little device is three beautiful gigabytes of video footage from the party on Saturday. Everything that happened in that little girl’s bedroom is on this little stick.”

  He felt his stomach lurch in horror. “Everything?”

  “Oh. Now you’re interested.”

  “I was always interested, Eric. If I wasn’t interested I wouldn’t be here.” He felt like his knees might give way. “What’s on it, exactly?”

  “About half the year getting off with people they shouldn’t. You and Harry…”

  Noah swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah. I reviewed that footage most carefully,” Eric said with a dangerous smile playing across his lips. “I knew that’s what you would be most interested in. It wasn’t just holding hands at all, was it? You two had a nice long kiss.”

  “No!”

  “Very romantic!”

  “You’re … lying!” Noah spat.

  Eric shrugged. “Cameras don’t lie, Noah. And I’m sure the whole school will agree, when they see it.”

  Shit. Video. Him and Harry. The kiss. His classmates’ interest might have died down in a couple of days, but now … with this … all it would take was an upload to YouTube, or for someone to make a GIF, whack it
on some sites… Him and Harry, everyone seeing … everyone knowing … it would no longer just be hearsay, a bit of gossip that people had seen scant evidence of. It would be real. Hard fact. Immortal. Noah would forever be known for that gay kiss. Nothing else would matter.

  “Two questions,” Noah said, trying to buy a bit of time. “First, how did you get the footage?”

  “HD video camera hidden on top of the wardrobe. I put it there when I arrived. Like always.”

  Noah looked at him, dumbstruck for a few seconds. Eric was such a disgusting excuse for a human being. “OK… Well, fine… And why me? Why offer this to me? Sounds like loads of kids would wanna buy this off you.”

  “Got a lot in common, me and you.”

  Noah stared at him. In your dreams, he thought.

  “So … how much you got?” Eric asked, squaring up to him so they were nearly nose to nose.

  “How do you know I want it?”

  “Let’s not mess about. We both know you do.”

  “I need to think about it.”

  “No can do,” said Eric, sucking in a breath. “Special offer, you see. Available today only. Take it or leave it.”

  “Give me until tomorrow, at least?”

  Eric shook his head. “I’ve got other buyers lined up. Thought I’d do you a favour by offering to you first. No skin off my nose either way, ’cause if you don’t want it there are plenty of others who will. This will be in someone’s hands by midnight tonight. It could be in yours, Noah. It could be in yours.”

  Noah swallowed. He couldn’t risk the footage going viral. “How much do you want?”

  “Make me an offer.”

  He had no idea what the going rate for extortion was. “Four quid?”

  Eric laughed. “All right. Sorry I troubled you, Noah. This is big boy stuff, yeah? See ya,” he said, turning and starting to walk away down the path.

  “Wait! Eric, wait!” said Noah, scurrying after him. “That was just my opening offer! Obviously I’ve got more… How about a tenner?”

  “Go home, tuck yourself up and go to sleep.”

  “Eleven? … Twelve?”

  “Oooh! We’re talking big numbers now!” Eric mocked.

  “Twenty? Twenty pounds? I’ve literally only got that on me! Please, Eric! Twenty quid!”

  “Not enough.”

  “How much, then? How much is enough?”

  Eric turned and eyeballed him. “I want a hundred.”

  Noah gasped in disbelief. That would mean handing over all the money he had. “No way!”

  “Then that’s tough for you.” Eric shrugged. “Like I said, there’s plenty of people who will pay. Believe me. I know the going rate.”

  “How about fifty?” Noah pleaded.

  “The price is a hundred.”

  “Sixty, then? I’d need a bit more time to get it, but…”

  “A hundred.”

  “Please!”

  “Why should I do you any favours?”

  Noah glared at him and wished he was the sort of boy who could stride over to a heinous enemy and smash their stupid face in, until they were possibly dead. “Why? Why would you do this? What have I ever done to you?”

  “It’s just business. Stop taking it so personal.”

  And then he recalled… Eric had been hovering outside the toilets after school earlier. And inside those same toilets had been Harry, crying his eyes out. It didn’t take much of logical leap to see the two things were connected.

  “Harry didn’t want to buy it, then?” said Noah.

  “Well done, Einstein,” Eric replied, his eyes flicking sheepishly from Noah back to the ground.

  “Tried to blackmail him too, did ya?”

  “I offered it to him. That’s—”

  “I’ll do it,” Noah said, cutting him off. He knew there would be no chance Harry would be able to buy the video – how could he? Harry got pocket money from his folks, but it would never be enough to pay off Eric. And normally Noah would be in the same boat … if it hadn’t been for his mum’s little stash. Fate was smiling on him a little bit, maybe. For about half an hour, he’d been rich. Now he would be poor again. But it didn’t matter because he would put Harry’s mind at rest that the video would never see the light of day. They would get through this, together.

  “I’ll take the twenty you got now as a deposit. The remaining eighty I need by tomorrow, else I sell it to someone else. Look, you also get the footage of the other kids too, remember – pretty priceless stuff. You’ll be sorted at least until the end of Year Eleven; no one will touch you if they know you’ve got shit like this on them, promise!”

  “All right. Yes,” Noah said. He wasn’t a natural blackmailer, and he probably would never use the video, but there was no harm in having a little insurance policy against his bullies.

  “Good boy. Now, the twenty, please.” Eric smiled, holding out his grubby little hand.

  Noah looked at him with as much contempt as he could muster and extracted the money from his sock and (much to Eric’s bewilderment) boxers. He held his hand out for the memory stick.

  “No.” Eric smiled. “The deposit means I won’t sell it to anyone else. You get the goods when you pay the balance.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m not an idiot, Noah. You pay the rest tomorrow, like we agreed, and it’s all yours.”

  Noah scowled at him, but what choice did he have? He could hardly wrestle Eric to the ground and get the memory stick; Eric would win. A gnat would win.

  “Well, that’s that, then. I don’t need to be standing here chatting when I got other business to attend to. See you tomorrow, with the cash.” Eric turned and walked away, leaving Noah standing alone in the shadows. That boy was such a grubby little waste of atoms.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Noah pounded down the pavement on his way back from the park, beating himself up about all the devastating and powerful things he could have said to Eric, but which he’d only thought of right now. “Do your worst,” he could have sneered in his face. “You don’t scare me, you dastardly knave,” he might have snarled.

  It was bin day tomorrow, and he almost didn’t see her as he rounded the corner on to Gordon Road. She was sitting, hunched over, between two wheelie bins, knees drawn up to her head, crying her eyes out.

  Noah stopped, frozen between wanting to pretend he hadn’t seen her and wondering if he should do something. He made a subtle coughing noise to attract her attention but failed to get any sort of acknowledgement. He waited a few seconds, and – suddenly fearing that she might actually be injured – he got out his pocket torch and shone it straight in her face.

  “Gerr-off!” Jess Jackson shouted, shielding her eyes and squinting up at the torch owner. “Noah?”

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed with your teddy bear or something?” she said, sniffing back the tears.

  “No. I’ll have you know I haven’t got a teddy these days, so…”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  Noah considered the situation. He absolutely hated her guts, and he owed her no favours. But … a young lady, alone on the streets… This was the time of night when murderers were at large. How would he explain it to the authorities if Jess Jackson were to fall victim to a terrible crime? How would it look if he had left a vulnerable teenage girl on the streets at the mercy of all manner of bandits? He would be spotted on CCTV footage or something, and the headline would read: “Noah Grimes leaves defenceless girl to be MURDERED because he had a PETTY GRIEVANCE with her!” Oh God. He probably wouldn’t get into uni if that happened, due to him lacking any sort of moral fibre.

  “Stop shining that stupid light at me!” Jess screamed.

  “Sorry.”

  “Just piss off!”

  “Are you all right?” he ventured.

  “You’re still here. Why are you still here? Go back to your … books.”

  Noah smarted. His books? What did she mean by that? That he was some ge
eky loner? Well! He was damn well going to show her there was a whole lot more to Noah Grimes these days. A whole lot more!

  “You can’t stay here, Jess,” he said, in as manly a voice as he could manage.

  “I can stay where I like!”

  “It’s bin day tomorrow. What if you fall asleep and the bin men don’t see you and scoop you up into the masher lorry?”

  “You saying I look like trash?”

  “No!” he said, resisting the urge to tell her it was “rubbish”, not “trash”. They weren’t in America.

  “That’s what you think of me!” Jess screamed, with unnecessary volume. “I’m just trash! Pointless, waste-of-space, thick, stupid trash!”

  A bedroom window opened on the other side of the street. Not wanting to alarm anyone, and fearful that the police might be called, Noah turned and gave a small, friendly wave up to the bedroom occupant. “It’s OK. We’re not a dangerous teenage drugs gang or anything,” he assured them.

  “Noah – get lost!” Jess shouted.

  “Is that young man bothering you?” called a female voice from the window.

  “Yes!” Jess shouted back.

  “No!” cried Noah.

  “This is a respectable street!” the voice shouted down.

  It wasn’t immediately clear to Noah what he was supposed to do with that information, but in any case Jess provided response enough by replying, “Shove it up yer fanny!” quickly followed by a “Leg it!” as she hauled herself to her feet and started sprinting, unsteadily, down the street.

  “I’m calling the police!” the female voice yelled. “This is a neighbourhood watch area! Barry?! Code red!”

  In a panic, and with no other option, Noah turned and ran in hot pursuit of Jess as a burglar alarm started wailing from the house opposite. It didn’t take him long to catch up with her as she was, it transpired, pretty drunk and was lurching from lamp post to garden fence, careering down the street like an out-of-control fairground dodgem.

  “This way!” he said, pulling her left, down an adjoining road. The pair twisted and turned through the streets of Little Fobbing, only coming to a stop when Noah could run no more.