Kill All Enemies

by Melvin Burgess

  ‘Leave it till tomorrow,’ she’d said.

  Yeah, right. Problem with that. I had to know if it still worked. Oh, I know, they have all their little tests and examinations and so on, but, ultimately, there’s only one test that really counts. You know what I mean. The proof of the pudding. Experience is the best scientist. That sort of thing.

  I needed to know. Without going into too much detail, it involved a longer-than-usual trip to the toilet. It was a tricky job – it was a delicate juggling act, if you get my meaning. But it worked. I went back to bed a relieved man.

  That night it started hurting reeeeeeeeeeeal bad.

  Rob

  I ran out of the Brant and off down the road. It was a nightmare. It was my life. It was never going to stop.

  ‘I’m sorry, Billie, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I shouted, even though there was no one there to hear. I think I was crying. I’d pulled down Billie Trevors’s kecks in public. Everyone saw. I was dead. I was going to get beaten up and have my nuts trampled on forever and ever. And then I was dead.

  I ran and ran, and then suddenly there was this awful blare, this howling roaring noise right next to me. I froze to the spot, waiting for the crunch. Then I turned my head … and there was this huge lorry just a few metres away coming right at me.

  And – I paused. Yeah. I stood there and watched it and I thought, I could just stand here and it’d smack into me and that’d be that. Because, you know what? That’d be all right, really. In fact, it’d be a good deal better than what was going to happen to me if I got out the way.

  And there’d be blood and guts. How metal is that? Yeah! I’d have died in my Metallica T-shirt!

  I jumped back and the lorry went past, horn blaring, the bloke shouting something at me. I got on to the other kerb, but I was really shaken up, because I nearly had just stood there. I’d been less than a second away from death. It would have been so easy to let it go over me.

  I’d wanted to die.

  Get a grip, will you, Robbie, mate, I said to myself. You don’t die in a road accident because it gives your T-shirt better cred.

  My life wasn’t making sense any more.

  I was at the bus stop before I realized I had nowhere to go except home. And why would I want to go there? That’s where Philip was, sitting on his arse drinking beer and watching daytime TV or whatever he does to get through his nasty, pointy little day.

  I sat down on a bench. I pulled off the top Jim had lent me and turned the T-shirt the right way round, to see if it had suffered any more, but it didn’t look any different. Billie had done most of the damage with her feet. I was a mass of new bruises. I felt them all over to see if bruises from Billie were different from the other ones that lesser beings dealt out. I reckon they were a bit sharper when you pressed them with your fingers, maybe, but I guess a bruise is a bruise, even when it’s been dealt out by the queen of pain.

  You have to hand it to her, though. I’ve been beaten up before – I’m an expert at it – but Billie has style. I hadn’t even seen most of the blows she landed. The others, thugs like Martin Riley, they’re just hammers on legs. Billie was an artist. It was a privilege to be beaten up by her … Only, it was the sort of privilege you could do without.

  I pulled out the T-shirt and gazed at it in awe. It was a mess. The skeleton looked half dead. His head was hanging off on one side, the bike was ripped in the middle. He was so creased he’d started to crumble. The whole thing was stained, ripped and mangled.

  It was the most metal thing I ever saw.

  ‘You and me have got a lot in common, mate,’ I told it. ‘Look at us! We’ve been beaten up, abused, kicked, spat on, shat on … and here we are, both still standing, ready for more.’

  The skeleton waved his hands in the air and laughed. ‘Yeah, man! This is the life. When are the drugs and the women and trashing hotel rooms going to start?’ he said, and we both fell around laughing, because to get those kind of things you have to be in a band. And to be in a band you have to have an instrument.

  You know – I could have been good. I really knew how to beat out a metal rhythm. Back in Manchester, me and my mate Frankie, we were really getting it together for a while. Frankie was a couple of years older than me, but we lived on the same street. I used to go round to his place to play on his PlayStation and he used to come round to mine with his guitar. He only had an old acoustic, but he used to thrash the hell out of it and I used to thrash the hell out of the drums. We couldn’t play all that well, but man! – We made a noise. It was the best time of my life, playing death metal with Frankie. We were on the same wavelength. Liked the same music, everything. Slipknot, Metallica, Slaughter. He used to write lyrics – really cool lyrics. We had our own songs. We were going to be a band. We even had a name for it: Kill All Enemies. It was this game we used to play on the PlayStation, a shoot-’em-up, and when you began each mission, that’s what used to flash up on the screen: Kill All Enemies. Somehow, it summed up our lives. That’s how it felt anyhow. Frankie had a stepdad too, see. We both hated our stepdads. We used to sit for hours, playing games and thinking of new and worse names to call them.

  Then he moved. Must have only been a year or so ago. It was soon after that when Philip took my drums away. My nan gave me those drums. He didn’t do it while she was still around – he’s too much of a coward for that. But, as soon as she was dead, he was in my room taking them down. Flogged ’em. I didn’t even get the money for them. He said he’d give it to me when he got some more, but he never did. He spent it on beer. Sold my dreams for a few more cans for him and his mates.

  ‘I wonder what he’s going to do when he finds out we’re kicked out the Brant,’ I said.

  ‘Sod him, man. Let’s play,’ said Skelly. I hit the drums. I could hear Slipknot in my head, ‘Dead Memories’, one of my favourite tracks. I was onstage, pounding the skins, driving out the devil, beating a path out of hell. Skelly whacked a riff on the electric guitar and the crowd went mad. Then both of us burst into song at exactly the same time, our own version, singing Philip away …

  ‘You bar-arse-stard. You bar-arse-stard. You bar-arse-stard,’ we screamed, at the top of our voices.

  An old lady sitting on a nearby bench got up and walked away. We waved at her. You can’t expect someone over a hundred to like Slipknot – be fair. Skelly scratched his bony skull.

  ‘Do you think she knows something we don’t?’ he said, and he tried to wink. ‘Know what I mean?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I see what you mean,’ I said. I was sitting there playing the imaginary drums, talking out loud to a skeleton. Worse, to a picture of a skeleton. I didn’t care. I wiped my nose on my arm and smiled at the other people on the benches around us. Most of them were already moving off.

  Me and Skelly, we had a bit of a chat and sorted a few things out on the bus on the way home. We decided that I needed to be very careful. We decided I was in the process of going stark raving bonkers.

  I got back. He was in. He’s always in. Telly on loud, which was a blessing, because at least I managed to get upstairs without him noticing. I put the headphones on and lay down in the bed.

  And … ahhh. The Philip world disappears.

  I push my fingers into my eyes …

  It’s the only thing that slowly stops the ache …

  But it’s made of all the things I have to take …

  Jesus, it never ends, it works its way inside …

  If the pain goes on …

  Aaaaaaaah!

  Yeah, man. Say it for me.

  Philip went out at lunchtime – down the pub, I expect. I crept downstairs for a few minutes to raid the fridge. Davey came home about three. Philip was still out. The phone rang. I left it, but it rang again. It was probably the Brant.

  I went down to check. Three messages. First one, never guess. It’s me mam.

  I got it up. ‘Phil,’ she say
s. She wants him, not me and Davey. Him. ‘Phil, I’ve gone for good this time. I don’t want you looking for me so I’m not saying where I am. I’m sorry you’re on your own with the boys for now, but it won’t be long. I’ll get it sorted. It’s fair. Davey’s yours and Robbie – I know he thinks of you as his real dad – he’s known you since he was ten. I’m sorry … I’m really sorry, but we both knew it was going to happen.’

  There was a pause. I could hear muffled voices, like she was talking to someone at the other end. Then, behind me the lounge door opened and there was Philip. He’s like a ghost – I hadn’t heard a thing. How can I be so stupid?

  ‘I’m trusting you. I’m trusting you,’ said Mum’s voice. There was another pause. ‘You knew it was going to happen,’ she said. Then she put the phone down. I turned off the answerphone.

  ‘You nosey little bastard.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What had that to do with you?’

  ‘I was checking for messages.’

  ‘You never get any messages on that – you have your phone.’

  ‘I do get some. I’m out of credit.’

  ‘You’re always out of credit. You can’t keep your snotty nose out, can you?’ He came right up, right up close. In my face. Then the lounge door opened again and Davey came out into the hall. He does that because he knows it won’t be so bad if he’s there.

  ‘Dad,’ he said.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Philip. He leaned across me and pressed the buttons so another message came up.

  ‘Mr Mansfield, it’s about your son, Robert. There was an incident at Brant Pupil Referral Unit earlier today. Robert ran off and we haven’t seen him since. We need to discuss the matter with you urgently. Could you ring us back, please, on …’

  He turned it off. ‘You couldn’t even keep that together, could you?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault!’

  ‘You pulled down some girl’s trousers and it’s not your fault? You dirty little git.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That bloody T-shirt,’ he said, as if the T-shirt explained to him why I went around pulling girls’ trousers down.

  ‘Dad,’ said Davey. ‘Dad, don’t …’

  ‘You go to your room.’

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Get up!’ he bawled suddenly, and Davey climbed the stairs, not looking at me. That’s when I knew it was going to be bad, when he sent Davey upstairs. If he doesn’t want him to see.

  We waited until Davey was in his room because it’s no sight for a kid. Then I made a dash for the door, but I had no chance – he was only a few steps away. I fumbled with the latch and he had me by the collar and marched me into the living room and pushed me to the floor. Well, he didn’t push me, I just went down. And then bang bang bang with the foot. He bent down a couple of times to punch me. It was even worse than Billie. I mean, she really knows how to do the do, but somehow it’s still worse when it’s your dad doing it. Even if he’s really only your stepdad.

  Bang bam bam bam. Neither of us ever say anything. I go into a kind of dream. One bit of me’s squirming and yelling, the other bit’s just watching, wondering what’s going on. I kept thinking about my mum. Does she really think I think of him as my dad? That’s what was going through my head. Does she really think that?

  Billie

  Hannah kept calling. I didn’t answer. She left messages – ‘Billie, I need to talk to you. Billie, don’t do anything stupid. Billie, please ring.’

  They were ringing for an ambulance when I left. All he was trying to do was stop me, and I put him in hospital. That’s me, that’s what I am. A nutter. It’s assault now. I’m not even looking at the LOK. I’m looking at Secure.

  You know what? I’m not doing time for anyone.

  I do care, Billie. I’ll be there for you, Billie. Billie Billie Billie. Yeah, where are you going to be, Hannah – in the Secure Unit? Will you really? I don’t think so.

  I turned the phone off.

  I was on my own now. I went round to Star Burgers to see if Cookie was there.

  I came round the back and pushed open the kitchen door. You should have seen his face – he never knows whether to look pleased or cross when I show up at work. I’ve been seeing him on and off since I was fourteen. He likes it how young I am. ‘Jail bait,’ he says. He’s twenty-five and he likes having a young girl, but he doesn’t like me hanging around with his mates at work because he’s scared of getting done. He shows me off to his mates at home, though. He has this friend, Jez, he hangs around with. They do everything together. Once, Cookie even tried to get me to give it a go with Jez – can you believe the nerve of that?

  ‘Why would I want to do that? He’s minging.’

  ‘Why not? It won’t hurt. He never gets a shag.’

  ‘No, Cookie. Bloody hell.’ He hasn’t got a clue. ‘Wouldn’t you be jealous?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re an idiot. Why do you think he never gets a shag?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s minging!’

  ‘So? I’m minging. We’re all minging. None of us are exactly page three, are we, Billie?’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  I didn’t go round there for ages after that. He never raised it again so I guess he got the message. I don’t know what he sees in Jez anyhow. He does everything Jez says. If Jez wants a beer, they drink beer. If Jez wants voddie, they drink voddie. If Jez wants a burger, Cookie says, ‘They’re in the freezer, mate.’ Then he goes and does it for him.

  It was lunchtime, and he was that busy he didn’t have time to come out and talk. He gave me a tenner, though, and smuggled a burger out to me before he went back in.

  ‘I’m on lates tonight. Could see you later in the week, eh?’ he said. ‘Me and Jez, getting some beers in. Fancy it?’

  That was Cookie’s idea of a good night out – beers with Jez, some weed, then half a bottle of voddie to wash it down. They really know how to drink, those two. I always get out of it dead quick, but sometimes you need to get off your face – like today, for instance. This might be my last few days of freedom.

  I ate the burger and bought a magazine and a packet of ciggies with the money. I managed to nick a can of lager from the Spar along the road. I went to Statside and hid by the lock-ups, where I used to hang out with Jane and Sue. I read my mag and smoked my fags. I kept thinking about that kid I stamped on. All he was doing was trying to help his mate, and look what he got.

  Later on, Jane and Sue turned up and we talked about the fight – the Battle of Betty, they were calling it. It’d made the papers. Apparently it’d even been in some of the nationals. They were dead chuffed. We went over it like you do – what I did, what they did, what the enemy did, how bad we did them over.

  It was kinda fun but … not how it used to be. Fighting used to be my life. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it any more, but it’s a lot harder, once you start thinking about the kids you stamped on for no reason. If I’m honest, though, it’s not even them I feel sorry for – it’s me. That’s pathetic, isn’t it? It was Hannah made me think like that, getting inside my head during personal-development sessions at the Brant. I went in there thinking I was the hardest thing on two legs and I came out just wanting to cry all the time. Personal development? Personal bloody tragedy. Once you realize that all you’re doing is digging a deeper and deeper hole for yourself it takes the fun out of it.

  But the thing is, after that, you’re supposed to get better. You’re supposed to realize who you are and what you want and where you’re going and take control and be responsible and make something of yourself. And – I haven’t. Two years later and I’m worse off now than when I first met her. I don’t like my old mates; I can’t make new mates. I don’t like fighting any more. I don’t like anything.

  She thought she was giving me something, but in the end she was just taking it away.

  Sue let me
kip on her floor that night, smuggled me in through her window after she went to bed. She wasn’t very happy about it. The next day, I hung around, copped another burger off Cookie. I wasn’t ready to go back and face the music. I was going down. I thought, I might as well sneak a few more days in while I have the time.

  And – I had some business to sort out.

  Katie. Doing all the housework and looking after Sam while that cow lies in her bed, drunk. In another year or so it’ll be Katie sitting out in the park, drinking beer and waiting to get locked up. And what was I doing about it? Stamping on some poor stupid kid’s nuts for no reason, when I ought to be sorting out that bloke Mum’s got round there, helping her booze away the child support.

  That’s me all over – always doing the right things to the wrong people. I felt bad about that lad. How could I go round and tell my mum how to behave while I had that on my conscience?

  I needed to put my own house in order. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a hypocrite. I needed to tell him. I needed to say I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it. I lost it. After that I could go round and hide out a few days at Cookie’s, get myself together. Then, when I was feeling more myself, I could go round and sort my mum out.

  And after that … after that they could do what they liked to me.

  I drank a couple more cans in the park, then I felt ready. I stubbed out my fag and got up. I’d start with the easy one first. See how I got on with that. Then my mum.