by Jules Grant
And what if the lads say sorry girls but you’re on your own with this one, we can’t be backing you up on this. Thinking if they did there’d be no end to it and then some Cheetah or Longsight dyke could shimmy up and smooch their missus right out from under their skinnyboy arse. Maybe they’re right.
What you smiling at? says Lise.
Nothing, I says. What we got in the back?
She’s up and climbs over and pulls up the floor, peeps back over.
Mac, the Glock, three bats and the tyre arm, she says.
Then I’m looking at the Mac and I’m shaking my head. The Uzi, I says, look under the seat. And I’m not being picky for nothing because I swear not one of them can hit shit on a barn door with a Mac-10, and one day the kickback’s gonna take us all out.
Sonn leans down and she’s scrabbling under the dash, pulls out the Black & Decker and grins. And you gotta hand it to her, she loves that fuckin’ nail gun even though no one else with a gram of sense would touch it. God love her, chain of evidence means nothing to that girl.
Yo, Uzi! shouts Lise from the back.
I wedge my feet on the dash. Listen up now, I say, because this is the score. Darts to Cheetah, we got no problems, but Carla’s not just dipping her swizzle in some other chick’s sherbet so we got no real argument girl on girl. We go in now and it’s gonna piss the Cheetahs off big-time, and then they’re gonna come mob-handed, thinking we musta cleared it with Mike, which we haven’t. Then we got us a war.
I’n’t we supposed to ask before we kick off a war? goes Lise.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Lise like a sister, and in a showdown there’s no one I’d rather stand with, but for someone with all them GCSEs there’s times she isn’t that bright. Sonn’s polishing the nail gun with the hem of her T now, and even though she’s looking down I can tell that she’s grinning.
You could say that, Lise, I says.
Now I’m looking over at Carla for some help. Well I’m hoping for some kind of back-down if I’m honest, but she’s looking straight down the road into the estate like she’s expecting the three wise men to rock up, do some tricks with a camel.
You sure about this one, Car? Because this could be a shit-loada trouble.
Carla looks straight ahead like she never heard.
I don’t like the way this thing is going, so I got one more thing I can try. It’s a low punch, but it beats a good kicking, which is deffo what we’re all heading for if things don’t slow down. What about Mina then? I says.
And right off I wish I hadn’t, because maybe I’m imagining things but she gives me this look, What about her?
So that’s it then, game on, because whatever goes down I’ve run with Carla for more years than I been without her, and one way or another she’s like my sister, my blood. And maybe if we get out of this even half-alive I won’t ever have to think about what happened with Mina, because Carla must want this new one pretty bad, so she’s not gonna care about what we got up to.
Carla leans forward, and with the street-light on her and her mouth pressed together like that she’s got the face to make a heart turn. She looks right at me. Girl, you coming or not?
Hey gorgeous, I says, you got it.
Then she starts up the van and turns off the lights, and we’re moving slow across the border and down the estate. And it’s dead quiet, except for the click-click of Sonn loading up the nails, and the thumpa thumpa thumpa of our hearts.
OK I don’t know why but now I’m thinking about Aurora and I can’t shake it.
I’m up to three god-kids now, counting Ror – four if you count the one on the way. Everyone knows Ror’s my special one though because she was the first, and because she’s Carla’s if I’m honest, which makes her nearly mine. Not that I’m into all that Our-Lady-Of-All-The-Sorrows shit. I’ve got shit enough without having to kneel down for it.
When it comes to god-kids I only do girls. Lise says having only girls could be discrimination but I told her it’s not, it’s just putting the balance back. The way I see it, what a girl needs these days is someone to back her up. And round our way that better be someone who can back her up, not someone who’s going to beat on her or fuck her or fuck her over, not someone she’s gonna owe. A girl needs someone to tell her, look, just because you’re a girl you don’t have to take all the shit they throw out. Especially not lying down. A girl needs someone around who knows that when she doesn’t want to do something it’s most likely because she doesn’t want to do it, not just because she can’t piss standing up.
Lise says soon people going to only want girls and that’ll be my fault. I told her, not before time. Truth is women are just catching on, being how boys are just grief. Every mam knows you can’t just love them and let them alone to figure it out, think stuff out for themselves. You got to work on them, hold on to them, no let-up. Otherwise they’re like those rat things that follow each other over the cliffs on Discovery Wild, just going to band together, get themselves killed.
Being my god-kid is an honour, anyone will tell you; it’s a matter of protection when all’s said and done. If she’s my soldier she gets to use my tag when she hits the streets and then no one’s going to shit on her. No wonder there’s a queue. And it makes sense: what kind of mam wouldn’t want the best for her kid?
Anyhow, like I said, Ror’s my special girl, she’s just gone ten now, born October 1998 just after me and Car left care. That was a good year all round. Sometimes I tag her up with mine when I’m passing the school. D-o-n-n-A-u-r-o-r-A. Link us up on the A just so’s everyone knows she’s my soldier, in case there’s any of that playground shit. Other times I sneak into the yard, sit under the prefab window. Throw bits of gravel one at a time up at the glass, just to make her smile.
One time last summer, when everything smelled of hot tarmac and old cans, and Aurora got herself right next to the window so we could pass notes, we’re just minding our own business when the window bursts wide open.
Old Wizeny-Cunt puts her head out, sees me, then slams it shut, hard.
I can hear the other kids laughing. Then, over the top, The Wiz starts shrieking,
O-Rora. Give. It. To. Me. Don’t. You. Dare.
And then I knew, it was the note. My girl’s gone and swallowed it, without me having to teach her, or anything. I have to tell you now, I was properly proud.
I pull the handbrake up hard, cut the engine. Carla slams her fist against the wheel, What the fuck now?
Don’t get me wrong, Carla’s a great mam. Probably the best, being how she never shouts and hardly ever hits out, how her and Ror are always laughing about some scam or other. And Carla’s dead good at all that soppy stuff that I’d be totally shit at. But sometimes she gets carried away with things, gives no thought to what might happen to Ror if she’s left all alone with both of us gone. Lise says that’s most likely because Carla’s got a mam that would have been better dead years ago but just isn’t. Anyhow, now and again I gotta do the thinking for all of us.
Get in the back, I says to Carla, you’re not going. The rest of us, it’s enough.
Now everyone’s looking at me, thinking I’ve gone soft in the head. Maybe I have, but I’ll get plenty of time to think about that later. Right now I gotta pull rank, just to get some control back, before we all get the jitters. It’s a fucking order, I says.
Carla’s looking down the street through the windscreen. I follow her eyes and see Fatboy’s steel door glint in the street-lights.
It’s too late, she says. And it is.
I look around, nothing moving.
It’s too fucking quiet, I say. And it is.
Next thing, Carla whips the van round, puts her foot down, backs up the crescent quick-time, engine whining like a 747, it’s a pure wonder they don’t hear us in Hattersley. Before we know it, we’re up on the pavement by the house. I give Carla a shove, Stay in the van then, keep her ticking. Just till we know.
Sonn’s over the side gate and round the back before you can
say commando. Knows her stuff that girl. Me and Lise are over the front fence, bank up the door on each side, Glock cold and sweet in my hand.
Then something makes me look back at the van and I can see Carla texting, the wink of her phone. What the fuck is she doing?
I’m watching Carla for a sign but she’s leaning back now inside the van, in the shadows. I can hear my own breath, tight in my chest. The blood pumps to my knees and those tiny prickles creep up and all over my skin. I wait. The blood rushes to my thighs and I’m breathing shallow, hardly moving. Better than good.
I bang once on the door with my fist.
Seems like forever before I hear the grille-hole slide open, me and Lise sinking back into the wall, brick cold and wet against my cheek, everything smelling like bonfires and dog piss. I hear the bolts on the door slide back, one by one, sneak a look at the van.
Then bugger-me, like she’s on a walk in the park I see Carla smiling as she slides out of the van, and I know it’s not me she’s smiling at. Course it’s not. And right beside me the door opens, and this tiny cute chick with long black hair and a silvery holdall steps right out of the doorway like she’s stepping on to the fucking red carpet, and I swear she floats to the van. No, Hi girls. Not even a, Ta then. Doesn’t even bother to close the door behind her.
And Carla’s standing there, right in the middle of the pavement, bang in the middle of a Cheetah estate like she’s Mother Teresa, holding out her arms. Fuck’s sake.
I try to work up some heat, but I know there’s not much point, being how I’ve seen it all before. Flash Carla a new shade of lip-gloss and any discipline goes straight to shit.
Hey Donna, says Lise, sorta quiet.
I follow the look and then we’re both staring back into the doorway.
Two round pairs of eyes, not three foot off the floor, Paddington duffel coats all buttoned up, staring back. The big one’s got this Dora the Explorer pulley bag, the babba’s got some kinda dog-cum-teddy thing, holds it out to me.
I look back at the van, but I can’t tell where Carla ends and Fatboy’s old lady begins, so I reckon any help from those two is out of the question.
We can’t just leave them, says Lise.
We’re not taking them, I says, or we’re fucked.
On the way back, it’s pretty quiet, Sonn driving, glasses slipping off the end of her nose, leaning over the wheel like Mr Magoo. Carla’s got a grip of the new chick, cooing and shushing her all over the place. Then those two weird little kids, four eyes like saucers, sitting right up front in the middle, just staring out.
And all in a wunner I know things just up and got crazy. To be honest I don’t know what I was thinking before. Like maybe if we get out of here with his woman Fatboy’d be glad to be rid? Or maybe he’s got some other old lady lined up and won’t even notice this one’s gone? Or maybe he’ll just wanna forget how we did him, so he’ll pretend it all never happened?
Yeah that’s right Donna, as if.
2
I wake early-doors, get my chuff round to Carla’s soon as I’m up. I’ll have to talk some sense into her pronto or we’re all in the shit. God knows I’m no angel, but some day that girl’s sheer appetite is going to be the death of us all.
When I get there, she’s in the kitchen making a butty for Aurora for school. Hey there lovely, she says, want a brew?
I look round the kitchen. Where is she?
Kimmie? She’s upstairs.
Kimmie? Do me a favour.
She curls a lip at me, Why you always gotta be like this?
Car, she’s a Cheetah’s old lady for God’s sake. You tired of living or what?
Then her eyes go all bright and she laughs. Oh stop fussing, she goes.
She’s cute, because that’s where Aurora gets it from, but I’m having none of it. I tell her I want Kim out of here by tonight, before the Cheetahs come knocking.
Then she gets sulky. Where they gonna go?
I tell her Tools got a cousin got houses all over, owes me one. Got this two-bedder empty over Ardwick way, gave me the keys. I jingle the keys at her, smile.
They’re going babe. Today. If I have to take them myself.
Carla’s got that big fat scowl on, but someone has to think straight and I know she’s going to thank me for it one day soon, no matter what she says. But for now she’s whining, Aw, she wants to stay here.
Right, I say. She’s gonna stay here. And what you gonna do when the next one comes along?
What next one? she says.
I look at her face, all flushed and warm, and I know we got big trouble ahead. I swear to God, sometimes she believes her own shit, that girl.
It’s not like she’s in love. No more than usual anyway. Carla’s always in love with someone or other, see, but it never lasts. And when I think about it I suppose it must be hard, trying to stay ahead when everyone just wants to shag you senseless, and you can’t trust anyone, nowhere to turn.
I’ve not got that problem myself. Not that I go short or anything, but Carla she just can’t seem to help it. She walks into a club and I’m not kidding everyone just turns and stares, as if something comes off her people can’t turn away from. Like making music or being a mam, loving’s just in her blood. And when she turns and does that slow smile it feels like the sun just came out, all tingly and warm. Not that it gets me like that, but I can tell you, I’ve seen grown women weep.
What I’m really saying is, I get it. And hell, I wouldn’t have her any other way. It’s just the way it takes her over sometimes, makes her forget the important stuff, and that’s when it gets me jumpy and shit.
Aurora stomps into the kitchen in her socks, leans back against the fridge, arms folded, in a right old strop. Maroon sweatshirt with the badge sewn on wonky, Clearwater Juniors.
I’m not bloody going, she says.
I smile. I wouldn’t want to go either if I had to wear that sweatshirt.
Carla gives me the look, turns on Ror. Oh yes you are lady, get your shoes on, she says.
Ror stares back, chin out, Ricky Hatton style, tosses her head back towards the door. They’re not going. Why do I have to go?
She means those two little fuckers of Kim’s, and you have to admit she’s got a point.
Get your Frosties, goes Carla, I’m not mucking about.
Ror’s still there arms folded when those two brats come racing in, bump into Carla, make her drop the butter all over. Oi now watch it, she says.
See? I can’t go, you’ll never cope, goes Ror, sly. Tell her Donna, she says.
But before I can say anything Kim floats in, hair all messed up, wearing Carla’s blue shirt. Bare feet and a toe-ring, tiny scorpion-thing etched on her ankle. And OK she looks pretty hot all undone like that, but she’s not really my type. I like something you can get hold of with both hands, and Kim, she’s got a look like she’s fragile, as if you couldn’t really love her, you’d be too afraid that she’d break.
Now Carla’s all sweetness and light and she’s smiling at Ror, but tight like a warning. C’mon love, get your shoes on, you don’t want to be late.
Ror sees right through it, points over at Kim. And who does she think she is?
Carla’s up and got Ror by the arm, frogmarches her into the hall. You’re going, lady. And while you’re about it, grow up.
I grow up any faster I’ll overtake you, says Ror.
Well, you’ve got to smile, and now even Carla’s laughing. I’m not kidding, sometimes that kid just makes us all howl.
3
Aurora: fed up
Geeta: wer r u?
Aurora: on bus wish this snow wd go
Geeta: me 2 wots up?
Aurora: i hate me mam
Geeta: i no i hate mine 2
Aurora: runnin away u comin
Geeta: cant 2day got kickbox at 6
Aurora: satdi then?
Geeta: safe
Even in the prefab, it’s baltic. Old Wizeny-Cunt in that big red coat your Nan wouldn’t even
wear.
You can keep your coats on today class, goes The Wiz. Handy that, seeing as how me mitts are pure blue.
Aurora Borealis, says The Wiz. Now then, who knows what that is?
And straight off, I just know that’s gonna stick. Like the time she made us do Sleeping Beauty for a play, just so I’d have to scrap anyone who called me Princess. She just picks on me like that.
Everyone looking. Oh go on then gog me whydontya? Starin’ are we? U don’t even no me. Even that sly one Sunita-kiss-me-arse-Clegg, and what she’s got to laugh about, I dunno. If I had her face, I’d kill myself. I give her a wave. I’ll see you at break-time, I says.
Me Miss! Oh I know Miss! Oh yeah, it’s that lardy snitch Chelse with her hand up like usual. Someone wants to put that girl on a diet. Me, I don’t know what geography’s even for. I’m never gonna need it, am I, on stage?
Yeeaaahhs Chelsea, goes The Wiz.
Aurora Borealis, Northern Lights Miss, says Chelse.
Then everyone looks right at me, and laughs.
As if I care. Then I’m thinking about that X-Factor one, she’s great. I got her going round in me head now off YouTube like Whass-uh-hup, Oh Ba-by Whass-up? I can see her going with her stick-legs all jerky. And one day, my fans, that’s gonna be me.
I’m just looking out now on to the yard, and the snow’s all shitty banked up at the edge, that Dale Smith who’s only got his Nan, acting like he’s not even late. Must be mint not having a Mam to drag you outta bed every day. Me, my life’s shit, I never get to be late.
Half-ten and tac-tics is definitely called for, so by now I’ve got me hand up and I’m nudging Geet. Miss? Please Miss? Toilet Miss?
The Wiz shakes her head, mean. Only five minutes till break-time O-Rora, you can wait.
