by Nigel Bird
SMOKE
a novella
Nigel Bird
Published by Blasted Heath, 2012
copyright 2012 © Nigel Bird
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author.
Nigel Bird has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by JT Lindroos
Cover photo: Stokkete
Visit Nigel Bird at:
www.blastedheath.com
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-908688-29-3
Version 2-1-3
Jimmy
Sean Mulligan started it outside the school dining hall.
Jimmy was minding his own business when Sean jumped him, pinned him to the floor and tried to undo his trousers. Jimmy fended him off a couple of times. Managed to grab himself a handful of ginger hair and land a couple of blows to Sean's acne-ridden face. Fighting back just made things worse.
Sean punched him. Caught the corner of his eye then smacked him on the nose. By the time his brain stopped fizzing the trousers had gone. So had his boxers.
He lay surrounded by hysterical teenage girls, his tackle exposed, his dignity gone.
"Tosser," he shouted, and cupped his hands over his privates.
The girls around him laughed and pointed. He thought they should have been old enough to know better. Hoped he would be when he reached their age.
Jimmy tasted iron in his mouth. Recognised it as blood. Ran his tongue over his upper lip to check. It had the flavour of the bottom of the toy cars he played with when he was really small.
He let his head fall to the floor. Might have left it there too if he hadn't seen Fiona Taylor and her gang wandering his way.
Fiona was the girl all his mates fantasised about. Long legs, blond hair and always had the top buttons of her blouse undone. If she saw him without his trousers, he might as well give up all his dreams right then and there.
He stood. Thought. Took off his purple sweat shirt. Turned it upside down and stepped into it. Slid his skinny, white legs through the hole for his head and pulled it up so that it covered his cock.
He ran for the fire doors at the end of the corridor with all the grace of a drunken woman in a pencil skirt and stilettos rushing for the last bus home.
The stitches of his uniform shirt pulled and ripped with each step.
He headed for the High Street as soon as he got outside.
Crossed the road without waiting for the green man.
The Edinburgh bus screeched on its brakes and the driver leaned out to scream obscenities.
Jimmy pirouetted majestically, raised his middle fingers and was off.
Horns beeped at him like injured animals, but he didn't turn round once.
Moments later he was banging on the window of 'The Golden Fry'.
Mrs Edgar looked up, straightened her back as far as she could manage. Rubbed her hip as she hobbled over to unlock the door. A smile broke on her face which seemed to hide all her wrinkles momentarily. "Jesus. Ethel, will you look at those legs."
Ethel stopped mopping the floor. She'd been at the fake tan again. Looked like a pensioner who'd been poisoned by Orange Tango. "Go and put on some breeks or we won't be able to help ourselves, will we Bonnie?"
"Aye, it's been a while since I saw such a fine figure of a man." Mrs Edgar winked and started over to the counter.
Jimmy was quick. A hop and a skip and he vaulted it like a gymnast.
Upstairs, he rooted around in his wardrobe. Decided on a pair of jeans. Felt better as soon as he slipped them on.
He looked into the mirror and pulled at his skin. The wound was like a new mouth, its lips moving without making a sound.
Sean Mulligan would to have to pay for what he'd done. Big time.
Jimmy went downstairs where the two ladies were waiting for him with the first aid kit.
Ethel dabbed on antiseptic with a ball of cotton wool. Jimmy flinched with every sting. Pictured Fiona Taylor undressing to take his mind from the pain.
***
Next morning was the first since starting High School that Jimmy arrived on time.
Facing up to the kids was like falling off a bike, his dad told him. You needed to jump into the saddle straight away or you lost your nerve.
A small group of first-years stood at the entrance looking up.
Flying high over the school for everyone to see, where the Eco flag usually fluttered: Jimmy's trousers. The bastard Mulligan had taken things too far.
Didn't bother going in. Instead he hurried home and waited for the Integration Team to call to find out why he wasn't in school, to go through all the same old crap of how he needed to keep his head down and do his work. Bad as the social work, those guys.
***
At midnight he got out of bed already dressed and crept downstairs.
His dad slept in front of the telly. His head lolled to one side and a line of saliva connected his mouth to the faded blue of the mermaid tattoo on his forearm. It was difficult for Jimmy to imagine the hard man his dad was supposed to have been when he looked at the man before him — the quiff completely collapsed, the paunch and the open fly.
At least he was in no fit state to ask any questions. No need for Jimmy to explain why he was going out at such a time. Or to mention that he had a hammer and Stanley Knife in his bag.
Out on the street a group of kids gathered at the roundel. Couldn't tell who they were on account of the hoods. Jimmy pulled the cord in his own hood tight, blew into his hands and took a detour through the back yards.
Came out on Kennedy Street. Took out the piece of paper with the address just to make sure. 36 Grinton.
Jimmy crept around the back.
He tried all the windows and doors. Everything at ground level was locked.
He slung his bag onto his back and gave the drainpipe a test.
Satisfied, he took hold and pulled himself up.
When he got to the top, the pipe's fixings loosened in the wall, damp brick-dust rained down to the ground. No way he'd be able to leave the way he was going in. His stomach tingled when he looked down. The quicker he was in the better.
He took the biggest screwdriver from his bag. Pushed it between the window and the frame.
The softwood gave-way under the pressure.
A few quick jabs the whole rotten mess was exposed. Council should be ashamed letting good property fall apart when people were paying money to live there.
Not that Jimmy was complaining.
One small push and it was open.
He slipped in through the window as if it were something he did every night of the week.
The place stank. Like the toilet hadn't been flushed for a year and the potpourri was rotting vegetable.
He scanned the room with his torch. The shower curtain was covered in mould. Fungus grew where the walls met the ceiling.
Jimmy's body responded to the spores in the air. His head itched, his eyes puffed up and his lungs struggled to fill.
He checked the bag for his inhaler.
"Daft sod." Hadn't thought about putting it in.
He took slow, deep breaths that wheezed into his chest. Washed out his eyes and took a sip of water until he felt he was back in control. Eased open the door and tiptoed into the hall.
It smelled stale. Body odour and urine just like the alley by the bookies.
Wanted to leave right then, but remembered why he was there.
All he had to do was find the room, beat the crap out of Mulligan and get out in one piece.
The
layout was the same as his house. Meant he should be able to find his way around in the darkness.
First bedroom on the left, Ramie Boyle had told him.
He walked to the top of the stairs, remembered the joke about leaving the landing light on and chuckled.
Then he stopped.
A door opened.
Light spilled onto Jimmy like he was on the stage.
A spectral figure appeared before him.
Beneath a full-length nightie, the old woman's silhouette was all too clear. The way her tits sagged and her skin drooped disgusted him. Her skinny arms were all wrinkles and sores and her face cream could easily be used at Halloween. And she stood right in the way of Jimmy's exit.
"Declan. Darling." Her hand reached out. "I knew you'd be back."
She touched his cheek.
Jimmy shuddered the way he did when there were scary bits in films. "Paedo!"
He threw his head forward with all the force he could muster. It connected with the bridge of her nose.
The lady dropped at his feet like he was the Messiah.
"Bloody hell." His dad would kill him.
He sprang over the banister. Landed. Saw the door ahead of him.
If the floor hadn't given beneath him, the foundations hadn't swallowed his legs, if his ankle hadn't busted and his head hadn't caught the joist, he might have got away with it.
***
By half past twelve, Jimmy had had enough of being educated.
Double history and French had sapped his patience.
He picked up a burger and chips at the Fry and ate as he walked to the estate.
Entering his street, he screwed up his chip papers, threw them over a hedge and noticed someone in a wheelchair heading in the opposite direction. Too far away for him to see who it was.
He turned into his garden and entered the house through the back door. Found his sister sitting at the table in tears.
"What the fuck?" He stood and stared at Kylie. Her left eye was swollen and he could practically feel the heat from the welt of the handprint throbbing on her cheek. Her ponytail was a mess, strands of renegade, brown hair falling every which way. The only colour in her face came from the welt and the dark circles under her eyes.
"Bloody hell, Jimmy, you gave me a fright." She pulled the open flaps of her pink dressing gown together and held them with clenched fists.
"What the fuck?" he said again.
"Fell on the stairs."
Jimmy dropped his bag onto the floor. "Dad'll kill him and I'll be cheering him on."
"Kill who?" She blew her nose and gave her eyes a wipe.
"Wise up sis. Your boyfriend's a prick."
"I don't know what you mean."
"If you're sticking to the stairs story, you'd better get some ice on that face otherwise dad'll be dusting for fingerprints." Jimmy went over and put his arms around her shoulders. "Joe sleeping?"
"Just down."
"You should get some rest." There was no point pushing it further. If she was going to tell him, she'd have done so straight away.
"No school?"
"Excluded." It was plausible enough.
"Nobody phoned."
"Well they would've excluded me if I'd stayed. I just saved them the bother."
Now they were even. It was the way things worked — they either scratched each other's backs or blackmailed each other into submission.
"You should change," she told him.
"And you should get some peas from the freezer for that face of yours."
Kissing her forehead, he headed upstairs taking them two at a time.
***
A sleep and a change of gear revived Jimmy and he was ready for some action. Needed a smoke, only he was clean out.
He headed over to Nan Ramsay's to see if he could cut a deal. Might even bump into Kris while he was there, make him feel uncomfortable about hitting Kylie like that.
He chapped on the door and waited.
Jimmy never understood why her house was such a state. They'd been on the rob for years, yet their home looked like it was waiting for someone to put it out of its misery.
Kris opened the door and stood stripped to the waist, revealing a stretched stomach and the undulations of his ribs. A tattoo of barbed wire started at his shoulders and coiled around his torso until it disappeared beneath his boxer shorts.
Jimmy wasn't sure what to say. "Out of my way, you lanky fucker," came to mind. "Nan in?"
"Back garden," Kris told him, scratching his armpit.
Jimmy stepped forward to go through and Kris blocked his way. "Password?"
"Give me a break."
Kris leant out of the way and Jimmy walked through. Got a kick up the arse as he went. Stumbled forward and kept going.
Nan Ramsay was sitting in the middle of the patio in a deck chair.
The garden shed in the corner was missing a roof and a window.
Weeds grew up between the patio slabs.
They weren't about to win 'Tranent In Bloom', that was for sure.
Nan saw Jimmy coming and pulled the oxygen mask from her face.
"I need it more in the summer," she said. "The rapeseed brings my hay fever on something chronic." She placed the mask on the table. Reached over, took a cigarette from her pack and lit it, ignoring the no-smoking symbols on her machine.
Jimmy was pleased to see she'd put her teeth in. The last few times he'd been over he'd barely understood a word she'd said.
He took a fag from her packet and lit it with a match. Enjoyed the way smoke kicked the back of his throat and made his head feel like it was about to float away.
"Twenty pence," Nan said.
"Aw, come on. We're practically family."
She laughed and coughed. It came from deep inside her chest, a raw, rasping sound that made Jimmy wince. After spitting a lump of brown phlegm onto the floor, she took a tissue and wiped her mouth.
From his pocket he took out his fifty pence and put it in front of her.
Nan took two more fags from the box and passed them over.
Jimmy rolled them back across the table. It may have been the going rate, but having to put up with Kris sniffing round Kylie had to be worth something.
"How do you reckon you deserve more, laddie?"
"Cos I'm special. Cos I'm your favourite customer."
Nan took a couple of cigarettes from the packet and added them to the others, took the money and slipped it into the pocket of her tabard. Pulling the elastic strap over her head, she poked the two small tubes back up her nostrils and replaced the mask over her mouth.
Negotiations were over.
He picked up the fags, thanked her and went back indoors.
Kris blocked his way again. This time he was staring into the mirror and squeezing a pluke on his chin. Without looking at Jimmy, he straightened up, took a packet of ten Regal Kings from the ledge and handed them over.
Jimmy held them for a moment as if trying to estimate their weight. As he walked towards the door he reached through the banisters, put the packet on the stairs and left.
***
Walking down through the new houses, Jimmy sensed the curtains twitching on both sides of the street.
The buildings here looked about the same size as the council properties if you didn't count the double garages and bricked driveways. Jimmy couldn't see what all the fuss had been about. Sure, none of the windows were smashed or boarded up, but it didn't make sense that they were worth three times the houses on the other side of the Wynd. The builders hadn't even put in proper pavements for people to walk on, for god's sake.
Jimmy despised the people in this part of town. Never saw them on the High Street or hanging around. Must have had better things to do and money to do it with. The thought corroded his mind.
At Church Row, he ducked under the fence and descended into the cutting at the Heugh. He had a look around. Made sure there were no police or social workers on the prowl.
A couple of his
mates were already hanging out.
Viz, Charlie and Craig were gathered round a wheelie bin, all wearing the green and white hoops of their beloved Celtic. Jimmy could see that they'd already started.
Craig stood up, lifted the lid and stuck head right in. The smoke rushed out and filled the air with the acrid smell of burning plastic. When he came out again his greasy, long hair was plastered to his face. He rocked on his heels and fell back into a sitting position. Dropped his head and rested it on his arms.
Viz moved forward to take his turn. Pulled his jogging bottoms up and brushed his hair up in the middle to straighten out his Mohawk. He stuck his head in and stayed in there for longer than Charlie. It looked like they were sending out smoke signals to the town the way it puffed out in spurts.
When Viz emerged he was laughing like a hyena on dope.
"How's it going?" Charlie asked as Jimmy joined them. The slur in his voice made him hard to understand. Hadn't made eye-contact, just stared at his trainers.
"Going away," Jimmy said and they all touched knuckles. He looked round again to make sure they were alone. Anyone caught them and they'd be onto the police. None of them needed any more problems with the local coppers.
"Fancy a shot?"
"Nah." Last time he tried he had an attack. His inhaler wasn't strong enough. Had to call an ambulance to take him to Sick Kids.
While his friends smoked from the bin, Jimmy puffed on cigarettes and joints.
Pretty soon they'd all disappeared into their own little worlds. Every so often one of them burst into laughter. The others followed suit as if sharing a hilarious telepathic joke.
Half an hour later, when the rain began to fall, the gang decided it was time to call it a day.
Craig, Viz and Charie headed to meet up with their mates outside school.
Jimmy decided to go over to old Mrs Lorimer's to do some of the gardening. Might as well get an hour of his Community Service crossed off. He'd still have plenty of time to get cleaned up before the football.
***
Jimmy saw a ball lying at the side of the path in a mesh of brambles. Thinking about the evening's match, he booted the ball clear and lifted it with his toe for a bit of keepie uppie. Left foot, right foot, right knee, left. Down to the right foot and up in the air for a header. "Lie forritt, Hibees," he shouted.
