Heroic

by Phil Earle

  No disrespect to Tina or anything, but she’s … ample. So big there’s a health warning tattooed under her bra strap about the danger of suffocation.

  Don’t get me wrong, she’s a nice girl, big heart, big everything really, but she’s not interested in me, and frankly, phew, ditto and amen to that.

  Cam on the other hand is … well, it’s impossible to explain. She’s just Cam.

  A stupid, gorgeous, tough, quirky mess of contradictions.

  People who don’t live on the estate would tell you she’s typical of a girl from the Ghost, that she’s brassy and confrontational. But if you actually watch her, I mean really watch her, you’ll see that she’s never the first to speak. All right, she’ll fight her corner if pushed, in fact she’s tastier with her fists than any of the lads from the west side of town. But you’ll never see her strike first, only strike back.

  That’s one of the things that makes her rock my entire world, but by no means all of it.

  I mean, the girl is fit. Tall without being lanky or scrawny, everything in the right place, without her ever feeling the need to flaunt it like others I could mention.

  She’s everything I’m not, basically, and for that reason I always reckoned she was leagues above me. She’s Man Utd to my Grimsby Town. If any of us were ever going to stand a chance with her, it was Jammy.

  Which is why the whole thing messes with my head on such an epic scale.

  No one knows about it of course. Not Wiggy, Hitch or Den, and especially not Jammy or Tommo. Though if it did get out, the news wouldn’t take long to reach them. Ghost estate gossip could easily reach Afghanistan, believe me.

  I tried to work out who would be most hacked off if they heard, Tommo or Jamm. Tomm’s her brother, after all, so you might say him, but the rule belongs to Jammy, so he’d probably try and come down hard to mark his territory.

  I thought about it for a few minutes then gave up. It wasn’t like I signed a contract or anything, and I didn’t chase it either. These things just happen sometimes. And when they do? Well, you just have to roll with it, don’t you?

  You see, Cam and Tommo’s situation is complicated.

  Actually, that’s not true. It’s not complicated at all, they just have a disgrace for a dad. The kind of disgrace who likes to hide behind his drink; the kind who can’t hold his beer by the end of the night, because by then his hands have clenched into fists. Fists he can’t straighten out until they’ve had a go on someone who he’s supposed to love.

  It’s when I see his ratty face that I’m glad I don’t have an old man of my own. He’d only disappoint me too.

  We’ve known about what Larry does for years, how he rules the house and how the drink rules him, but it’s not like we can do anything about it. Police aren’t interested unless someone in the family makes a statement, and the chances of that, knowing the beating that would follow? Well, it’s never going to happen.

  I often wondered if that was the reason for Tommo joining up. He’d never gone on about the army before. Maybe he’d just had one too many pastings from Larry. I don’t mean he signed up out of fear. Tommo wasn’t scared of his dad. He’d often take one for the team. Two black eyes and a split lip meant his ma and Cam were left alone. No, he might’ve followed Jamm because he was about to snap and put the idiot in the hospital. And if he did that? Well, Larry would have no problem dialling 999.

  The issue I had with him going to Afghanistan was Cam. I mean, if she was my sister, there’s no way I’d leave and put her next in the firing line.

  But Tommo had his reasons, and he’s sound. One of us. An Original.

  On the day he left with the rest of them, I saw his face. What it meant. I could see some of the other soldiers, all screwed up out of fear for themselves, wondering whether they’d ever come back. I’m sure Tomm was feeling that too. But the way he held on to Cam, the way their bodies shook without a word? It said everything I needed to know, and what I needed to do.

  I know what you’re thinking when you hear all this. That I engineered it, me and her. But that’s not how it happened. First week I dropped her a few texts:

  how u doing?

  Nothing heavier. Responses were brief.

  Fine.

  All gud.

  Then everything changed with a knock at the door about two and a half weeks in. Listen to me being vague. I know exactly when it was. Eighteen days after they left. It was a Wednesday. Three in the afternoon.

  I’d not been in long, still burning up after a run in the heat. It wasn’t a clear-your-head-and-keep-fit kind of run, more the if-you-stop-you’ll-have-your-head-caved-in variety, but either way, I was sweating. Shirt off and Coke in hand, I’d collapsed in front of the box and was surfing for something to watch. The knock was irritating, but not for long. Not when I saw who it was through the frosted glass.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Her words were out before the door was fully open, before I had time to stick my pecs out and pull my stomach in.

  ‘Course,’ I said, resisting the urge to sniff my pits.

  ‘Sorry to barge in,’ she went on, turning to face me.

  Her cheeks and eyes were red, the top of her chest above her vest was blotchy. Instantly I thought of Larry, of rearranging his face.

  ‘What’s up?’ I offered her the chair but she wouldn’t sit. ‘Is it your dad? What’s he done?’

  Reaching for my phone I scrolled for Den’s number. He was the biggest of all of us, the one you wanted at your shoulder when it all went down.

  ‘It’s not Dad. I haven’t seen him for days. He does this, goes under for a week or so then pitches up like nothing’s happened. Longer he’s face down in a pint, the better.’

  ‘Then what’s up? What’s going on?’

  Her face dissolved. Not in a pathetic way. She could never be that.

  ‘It’s the telly. The news. I’ve barely switched it off since Tommo went. It’s on twenty-four hours. Always about bombs and shootings. I want to turn it off and leave the house, Sonny, but I can’t. I keep thinking if I leave it on I’ll catch a glimpse of him, and be happy. But he never shows up, and now there’s reports of another explosion. One of those improvised ones. The worst yet. Then they said where it was and I couldn’t remember if it was the same place that Tommo and Jamm went …’

  No more words came. She just swayed and looked at me, so scared she couldn’t even manage to wipe the smudged tears that fell to the carpet.

  I didn’t know what to do. Hold her, calm her, stick the news on myself? I daren’t do any of them for very different reasons, but had to pick one, so I stabbed at the remote until I reached News24.

  As the camera settled on a raging cloud of smoke, I felt nerves prickle across my chest.

  It summed up why I’d been resisting the news ever since they left. It was bad enough the scenarios playing out in my head without being confronted with it on the TV too.

  I thought about others on the estate going through the same thing. Young mums little older than us, their kids screaming as Daddy left for Helmand. They told me about stuff they did to keep the little ones calm. Jars full of sweets: a Smartie for every day Daddy was away. And when the jar was empty? Then Daddy would be home.

  It seemed so simple. Made me wish I was ten years younger and a hundred times more innocent.

  It was clearly getting to Cam. She wasn’t blinking as she stared at the screen. She didn’t even react when the newsreader told us that the family of the blown-up soldier had been informed. All she did was pull the phone from her pocket and jab at the keypad before pushing it to her ear.

  ‘Mum?’ Her voice was calmer than when she’d been talking to me. ‘Anyone been in touch?’

  I presumed the answer was no as she exhaled loudly and slumped on to the settee, hanging up in the process. Immediately I checked my own mobile. Couldn’t face the prospect of a missed call from Mum.

  ‘I never understood why they always said that stuff about families being informed,’ she gasped. ‘I do n
ow. It’s so idiots like me can stop bricking themselves 24/7.’ She looked angry at herself, which I wasn’t going to have.

  ‘Give yourself a break. It’s not easy, I know that.’

  ‘I can’t help it, though, Sonny. I can’t walk past a newsagent without looking at every page in every rag, just in case I’ve missed something. If there’s a telly in a shop, I’ll watch it till the news rolls round to the start again.’

  ‘I understand. I do. But you’ve got to try not to worry. It’s not like we can do anything about it, except trust they’ll look after each other.’

  I thought for a second that her face had softened from panic to mild dread. But it didn’t last long.

  ‘Do you ever find yourself Googling Jamm’s name? In case it’s leaked on to the web before it reaches the news on TV? I try to stop myself but it’s …’

  ‘Hey!’ I interrupted, then let my voice soften. ‘It’s OK. I get it.’ I really did, but had no idea how to make it any easier for her. So I did what I always do and winged it.

  ‘Look at us. All of us, and the scrapes we’ve got through to be here. All right, it’s not easy, but we’re still in one piece despite it all. That’s why I reckon they’ll be all right. There’re as many knives here as there are guns over there, and there’s none sticking out of us yet, are there? They’ll be all right if we are.’

  I made a joke of it, patting for an imaginary blade across my shoulders and hers. My fingers turned pure electric as my skin touched hers, especially when she didn’t flinch. I left them there, squeezing gently as Jamm disappeared from my head for the first time in weeks.

  ‘And we are all right, aren’t we?’ she asked, eyes all the more magnetic for the make-up smudged around them.

  I felt brave. Don’t know why or how, but for once, around her, I felt invincible.

  ‘You tell me? I reckon so.’

  And that was it. The gap between us disappeared. Not because I lunged or took advantage. It just happened. And happened. And happened. The footage on the news disappeared. Jamm and Tommo were looking the other way, for now at least.

  Breaking a rule had never felt so good.

  Sonny

  No one knew the estate like us. That’s why we were The Originals.

  It wasn’t a name we bandied about, or sprayed wherever we could.

  We weren’t a crew, in fact that was the point. We were anything but. An anti-crew.

  People talk about living on the Ghost, reckon there’s only one thing you need to have straight in your head to survive.

  Are you in or are you out?

  Know that and you’re set.

  We knew different. We blew that theory up every day. And, mostly, that was down to Jammy.

  He just got this place, knew how to play it.

  Step in far enough to keep face without ever wading out of your depth.

  That’s how the commandments came about.

  It’s not like I don’t listen to them or to him. It’s more that I could never live up to everything that he was.

  Jamm’s taller than me. Broader, blonder, better looking, brighter, smarter (there’s a difference, apparently), and after a while, standing in that kind of massive shadow gets to you. Stops you even trying to match up. I’m short enough as it is, I don’t need people knocking me down any further.

  So I play with the commandments. Shave the edges off some, fold others without ever quite ripping them in half.

  You see, that’s what Jamm isn’t always so good at. Being creative.

  And that’s why no one knows the estate better than me.

  Because I always need somewhere to hide.

  The day after we turned the van over, though, it wasn’t just me who needed to be invisible. It was all of us. Seemed like on every pavement there was a sign asking, ‘Have you seen these scumbags?’

  I was surprised to see them, the signs. They were those Crimestoppers’ ones that demand witnesses come forward and spill the beans. They didn’t appear very often on the estate. If there was a sign for every shonky deal that went on around here, then we’d be reduced to walking on the roads. Fact.

  But for some reason, our little scam had taken the interest of the authorities, or maybe Fat Barry was slipping the coppers a bung to try and get even with us. Either way, we were reminded of our van scam every time we stepped outside. And as a result? Well, I was beginning to feel paranoid. Seemed like it was only a matter of time until someone matched the description on the signs to one of our mugs, and we couldn’t have that. It wasn’t like I could pay back what I took. The money was already well spent, and to make matters worse, I’d broken another of Jamm’s more important rules:

  Don’t fence goods on the estate.

  It’s not our patch to sell, only to buy.

  Simple, but I’d managed to break it straight after the robbery because I didn’t have time to flog my stash anywhere else. Not if I wanted flowers for the parade, and anyway, I was doing that for Jamm. To prove that I’m not as useless as everyone thinks I am.

  Except I must be, because I’d sold stuff where I shouldn’t have and now I’m paying for it by having to lurk in every alley and staircase on the estate.

  I hadn’t had to leg it yet, as no one knew it was definitely me. But the lads from the Cuda crew weren’t usually bothered with hard evidence. A rumour’s all you need when you run practically every racket on the estate.

  The prospect of that confrontation, plus the paranoia of the police closing in, was enough to get me calling the boys together, panicking in a way that Jammy never would.

  I’d guessed the others had followed the rules and taken their booty clear of the estate before lining their pockets. Then again, I thought, as I opened the door to Wiggy, maybe they had no need to sell their loot at all.

  Wiggy’s a prolific smoker. One of the best I’ve ever seen. Can destroy a cig in seconds. Maybe it adds to that movie star demeanour of his, I don’t know. I’ve known him all my life but I can’t really remember a time when he didn’t have a butt dangling from his lips. Even as he stepped inside now, he had one on the go and a pack tucked into his t-shirt pocket.

  Den, however, is more about the sauce. The boy loves a drink. Not in a sitting-on-a-bench-with-a-brown-paper-bag kind of way. We’ve all seen enough of them, had too many in our families to fall into that trap. What I mean is, if the party needs starting, Den’s your go-to guy for a swig of something special.

  Not that he turned up today with a four-pack of anything. I think he knew from my message that I wasn’t up for a party.

  ‘What’s up, then?’ he asked, filling the doorway as he entered.

  ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll tell you. We’re waiting for Hitch.’

  He blew a long breath out. ‘Be more than five, then.’ His face wore a look that said, I wish I’d brought some beers after all.

  Hitch, you see, well, he’s the real Original among us. Like Den, he’ll have a go on anything that’s getting passed around, but without ever getting trolleyed.

  I don’t know, he’s a quiet one. Keeps it all in. When the banter’s flying about, he’ll laugh along and point the finger, but it’s not often he’ll chip in.

  We all reckon it’s to do with home. None of us exactly come from a model family: any of us that have two parents, one of them’s either a drunk or a disgrace. But none of us really know what the score is with Hitch.

  I remember asking him, years ago, when we were kids, ‘Who do you actually live with?’

  He didn’t bother to stop chewing his nails as he answered, ‘Auntie.’

  ‘Mum or Dad’s side?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘How is she your auntie, then?’

  ‘Dunno. Just is.’

  ‘Family friend?’

  ‘Something like that. It’s complicated.’

  That summed him up for me. Hitch was complicated and simple at the same time.

  When it all kicks off, he’s there. Well, he was. He’s seen me through more scrapes t
han I can remember and never once filled Jammy in on details he didn’t need to know.

  We just knew to accept whatever was going on behind his front door.

  Had our suspicions that he’d mostly brought himself up. Certainly Auntie had disappeared by his seventeenth birthday, leaving him on his own in a shabby council flat. There were times, watching him destroy a bag of chips, that you wondered when the last food had passed his lips. He was an enigma. He came and went. And since Jamm and Tommo had been overseas, he’d been even harder to pin down.

  Wiggs sighed after fifteen minutes had dragged by. ‘Call him.’

  ‘I already have. Twice.’

  ‘Rudeness.’ Den was twitchy too, so when the doorbell buzzed, we were both on the verge of breaking out the party poppers. Can’t say Den’s delight lasted when I walked back in with Cam, though Wiggs, as usual, led with a gag.

  ‘You done something with your hair, Hitch?’

  ‘Funny you should mention that,’ laughed Cam, waving her bag in their direction.

  They looked confused as I shot her a look, I haven’t told them yet!

  ‘What’s going on, Sonny?’

  ‘We should wait for Hitch.’

  ‘He’s not coming, is he? He’s flaked out like always. So let’s have it.’

  ‘Ten more minutes …’

  ‘NOW!’ Den was on his feet, blocking out every inch of sun. I was out of time.

  ‘Well,’ I stammered, ‘we’ve got a problem. Or we did have. The good news is I’ve got a solution. That’s why Cam’s here.’

  They stared at me, then Cam, then me. I saw their hearts sink as they saw the hair clippers come out of her bag.

  Wiggy ran his fingers over his skull, looking nothing like his nickname. ‘Couldn’t you have given me a number one? You didn’t have to take the guard off the clippers as well.’

  Cam blew the last of the hair away and looked at me. ‘Tell the boss, not me.’