by Phil Earle
‘Why do I have to be on something just because I sorted this out? It’s not just you or Jamm who can get things done round here. And you needed my money, didn’t you?’
‘Maybe we did,’ Den was standing firm. ‘But that doesn’t mean I have to like where it came from. So what is it, then? You dealing for someone, taking a bit for yourself at the same time?’
Hitch twitched as he straightened his shirt, not realizing just how rank he looked.
‘Bit rich coming from you, isn’t it? How much beer have you put away this week?’
‘Not enough to stop me changing my clothes and having a wash. I mean, Hitch, have a word with yourself. You look like a bum.’
What followed was unforgettable, burned itself on to the inside of my eyelids, haunting me for nights to come. It defeated everything about us, what we’d managed to avoid all our lives: in a heartbeat, the gap between the two of them disappeared, Hitch ramming Den against the balcony, a knife of his own wedged hard below Den’s ear.
I couldn’t believe it; if he was carrying, why not show it to the crew. Why save it for someone you were tight with?
Maybe I should’ve held my ground but I couldn’t; even if Hitch turned the knife on me I didn’t care. This wasn’t what we did.
‘Get off him!’ I yelled, hanging off Hitch’s arm, which refused to move. ‘Den’s right. This isn’t you. So whatever’s eating you, let us help.’
‘I don’t need your help,’ he spat, the words only just recognizable through his gritted teeth. ‘What I want is some respect for once. For one of you to be grateful for what I did.’
‘I am. They’d be scraping me off the pavement if it wasn’t for you. But I didn’t want it at the expense of all this, of you in this state, threatening us. Come on, Hitch, put the blade down, we can help.’
The knife held firm, but in the seconds that he stopped to listen, Den snatched the initiative, jamming his knee hard into Hitch’s groin, skittling him, the knife spinning across the walkway.
Den was on it in a flash, holding it at an angle from the floor before stamping hard on the blade, snapping it in two. Hitch yelped again like it had caused him more pain.
‘That’s it,’ Den roared. ‘No more. Now you’ve two choices, Hitch. We can forget this, all of it, and whatever’s eating you up, we can sort it out. Or …’ and Den paused, offering him both pieces of the weapon. ‘You can take this and go.’
Hitch was hurting, but from the laughter that left him as he crouched, he seemed to be buzzing off it too.
‘You’re hilarious, you know that? The fact that it’s so simple for you, that you can sort this out for me, just like that? Well, MATE –’ and there was such venom in that word that I already knew which way he was going to jump – ‘looks like you’ve made my mind up for me.’
Hitch stood slowly, not bothering to dust himself down. His clothes were well beyond that. Instead he gave us all a look that could bend steel and twitched his way to the stairwell, not caring if he found the Cudas there waiting.
I tried to follow him, but was yanked back by Wiggs. ‘Not now. He’ll calm down.’
He lit a cig and pulled hard on it, tension leaving him as he exhaled.
I felt envious, would kill for that release, but knew I wouldn’t get it from a smoke.
Instead I let myself slide down the wall and cupped my head in my hands, looking for something, anything, that would stop my brain from exploding.
Sonny
One problem replaced another, which wasn’t alien to me. I just wasn’t used to problems being quite so big.
It should’ve been a relief to get the Cudas off my back, but instead I spent all my time either worrying about Hitch or looking for him.
I did it on my own too; no way Den was going to join me, while Wiggs was too scared of the big man to go behind his back.
The hunt started in the obvious place, his flat. But the only thing I found as I pushed the letterbox open was a toppling pile of pizza menus and an overpowering smell that took me straight back to the face-off on the walkway.
It smelt like someone was rotting in there, too much for either my nose or one of his neighbours, who had a pop as I staggered away.
‘You a friend of his?’ he yelled. ‘Tell him I’m calling the council. Always people coming and going, making a racket.’
I didn’t bother asking if he’d seen him, didn’t reckon he was the Samaritan type, so instead I scoured every inch of the Ghost, even the darker spots we normally avoided.
I didn’t have much to go on other than the involvement of drugs. You couldn’t grow up on the Ghost and not guess that it had something to do with gear. Drugs made the estate go round. All right, the colour might vary from brown to white depending on whatever music had some heat, but there wasn’t a minute in the day when a wrap wasn’t passing from one palm to another. Everyone saw it and knew about it, even the coppers. I just presumed that most of them were taking a cut too. Why stop it when there was a slice in it for them?
There’d been other lads, other Originals over the years, that had made the choice that we’d walked away from, but that didn’t make us smarter or better, it just defined us as Originals. The odd toot on a smoke was one thing; smack, crack and pills were another.
Out of all of us, I’d come closest to caving in, not that that will surprise you. I was thirteen when Jamm found a pill in my pocket. Wasn’t a full one, just a yellow half-crescent that I pathetically tried to pass off as a hayfever tablet.
I thought he was going to rip the hair out of my head as he marched me up every flight of stairs in Pickard House. He didn’t stop till I’d seen every toothless skaghead on every landing.
I didn’t tell him that it got to me, but I dreamed of nothing else for the next month, which was why I was nervous going back there now, in case I found Hitch slumped among them.
Not a great deal seemed to have changed: stairwells were still littered with charred foil, bent spoons and, where the stuff was strongest, blissed-out bodies. The girls still looked twenty years older than they really were, cheekbones jutting through taut skin, crumbling teeth accompanying every offer that came out of their mouths.
What I actually needed from them was a heads-up on Hitch, but no one seemed to know of him. So I trawled every inch of the Ghost, my blond hair still shining like a pelican crossing. If the police were staring at me, it was in shock not because I matched who they were looking for.
The endless scouring mashed my head. It was agony, searching the same spots every day, seeing the same faces slowly rotting away. I couldn’t help imagining Hitch going the same way, wondered how long it would take before I didn’t recognize him either. The thoughts clung to me as I dragged them home, and only dissolved with Cam’s help. She was amazing: calm when I was stressed, tough when I was unravelling. And she managed it all despite her old man crawling out of his latest whisky bottle in a predictably violent mood.
I tried to offer a shoulder for her when every inch of me was desperate to give him the same pasting back. Not that Cam let her raw nerves get in the way of seeing things clearly. She made me feel calm in a way I’d never experienced before. And I loved her for that. Completely.
She also had a playful side that was hard to resist. I was never at my sharpest first thing, took me a good hour to string a sentence together, so when Jamm decided to call before eight in the morning, I was completely blindsided. Especially as Cam was lying next to me.
The conversation started with the normal banter, but I tensed up when he realized I was distracted.
‘You all right, pal?’
What did I say to that?
‘Yeah, fine, just tired, you know.’
‘Tell me about it. Too hot to sleep over here.’
I wasn’t helped by Cam either, who’d woken up in a mischievous mood. ‘Stop it, will you?’ I whispered, hand over the receiver. ‘Just for a minute. It’s Jammy.’
‘Is that Mum in the background? Stick her on if you like.’
It was too much, way too much, and as much as it killed me, I had to jump out of bed and leave her. She gave me a look of mock disappointment.
‘She’s just leaving for the factory. Can’t be late for a shift, you know how it is.’
I thought for a second I heard disappointment in his voice. ‘OK. So, how’s the lads? All good?’
It felt like every question was loaded with a bomb. Didn’t want to go anywhere near any of them in case they went off.
‘Everyone’s fine. Busy, you know.’
‘Doing what?’
‘The normal stuff. Trying to earn some cash.’
‘You’re not telling me you’ve all found jobs, are you? Honestly, I can’t leave you lot for a minute.’
I spelled the word out slowly. ‘J.O.B. I’m sure I know what that is. Can’t say any of us have got one, though. Not spotted very often round here, those things.’
It was the normal Jammy call, the same old banter, but I knew he was ringing to check on me. Make sure I hadn’t burned the place down. So I got frustrated like I always did as the questions built up, then flat-out sarcastic when he asked about Cam.
‘Have I seen her? Yeah, course I have. She’s around, you know. I see more of her some days than others.’
At that very moment she was circling me, pulling me back towards the bed, and there was no way I could handle two things at once. So I did the stupid, selfish thing and chose the one who was stood right in front of me.
‘Look, Jamm, I’m going to have to go. Mum read me the riot act about the flat. Says I have to get it spotless by tonight. You know how she is.’
‘Right. Yeah, well go do what she says for once. And tell her I’ll phone back, will you?’
‘Course. Go steady.’
I ended the call way too quickly, pushing the guilt to the bottom of my gut as we hit the bed.
It wasn’t till later, when Cam had gone home, that it surfaced and smacked me across the face. That might have been it: the last time we’d speak.
I buried my head in the pillow and let out a muffled scream. It never failed to amaze me, how many times I could manage to get everything so wrong.
Sonny
Home offered no sanctuary. Mum went into overdrive as Jammy’s homecoming drew nearer. With a week to go, there wasn’t a surface, cupboard or picture rail that wasn’t scrubbed within an inch of its life. I think if she’d had her way, she’d have done the same to me.
‘What exactly was the plan with the hair colour?’ she asked. Not really a question I could answer honestly.
‘It’s called being on trend,’ I said, not having a clue whether I was right. ‘You should try it.’ It sounded harsher than I meant, but once it was out there I couldn’t take it back.
‘Yeah, well, that costs, doesn’t it? And strangely, by the time I’ve filled the fridge for you and the other animals, there’s not a lot left for hair dye.’
It didn’t bug her really, the lads making themselves at home and feeding their faces. With Jamm away, their presence was one of the things that put a smile on her face.
Ironically, it wasn’t them who’d been doing the damage to the fridge, it was Cam. The girl could eat, and with her dad in residency with the strongest twelve-pack he could steal, she was spending most of her time with us. Keeping me calm about Hitch, offering distractions.
‘Road trip!’ she yelled one morning, ignoring my typically grumpy response. I had no idea what she was going on about. Didn’t have a clue how we could have a road trip when we had no car, was even less impressed when I found myself at the bus stop an hour later, clutching a round of sandwiches made from slightly mouldy crusts. It didn’t exactly have the makings of a classic day.
‘So where are we heading?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Er … yeah?’
She didn’t let my miserable mug put her off, just shrugged and told me we were taking two buses to the end of their routes, see where that led us.
‘But that could be anywhere.’
She punched me on the arm and smiled. ‘That’s the whole point, numbnut. Does it matter where we are, as long as it isn’t here? Anyway, it’ll do you good to spend a few hours not looking for Hitch. He will turn up, you know.’
I smiled and nodded, hoping it wasn’t in a bodybag.
The bus came after an age, the driver getting the hump when I paid the fare with the last of the shrapnel I’d found in my room. I didn’t have enough to pay for a second bus, never mind for Cam too, and the realization cemented the wall of fog that filled my head.
‘You know what I love about you?’ she asked, as we sat in silence. ‘It’s the constant banter. Shut up, will you? You’re making my ears bleed.’
I gave her a gentle dig, the strange sensation of a smile lifting my spirits as she went off on another tangent.
‘What do you think they’ll want to do when they get home?’
‘Who?’
‘Who do you think? Tommo. Jammy.’
I hadn’t a clue. Wasn’t like there was more to do here than in Afghanistan. Nearly as many weapons, though.
‘Do you think we should have a party?’ she asked. ‘Nothing special, just a few drinks, tunes, you know? Reckon your mum would be up for it?’
I knew she would. She’d cover anything that didn’t move in streamers if it made her big boy happy.
‘Will you even have any time for me when they’re back? Fit me in among buttering bread and blowing up balloons?’ I was only half-joking.
‘If you’re lucky you might get five minutes.’
‘Enough time to tell everyone about us, then.’ I didn’t like the thought of disappointing Jamm yet again, but we had to come clean at some point. At least I hoped we did. The thought of her cooling off gave me the fear.
‘You do still want to, don’t you, Cam? You know, carry on?’
‘You know, for someone so sharp, you’re also the dumbest person I know. Where have I been for the last seven nights? Who have I spoken to? Who knows every secret I’ve got in my head?’
I hated it when she did that, put me so completely at ease in seconds.
‘What, you’ve been seeing Wiggy too? Unbelievable.’ It was lame, the only defence I had left, and she stuck me in a headlock for my trouble.
‘What do you want, Sonny McGann? Matching tattoos?’
I fought back, flipping her on to the bus seat, ignoring a tut from a granny in front.
‘Now you’re talking. My initials on your neck. You know, something classy, like the lasses from Pickard House.’
‘I’ll need a baby if you want me to nail that look …’
‘It can be arranged.’
‘Not with me, it can’t. Unless you want to feed it at four in the morning?’
The wise-cracking went on. All the way to the end of the line, the driver eyeing us suspiciously as he kicked us off. Idiot! It wasn’t like there was anything we would nick from his scabby bus.
We destroyed our sandwiches on the next ride, despite it being way off lunchtime.
I’d got past the problem of no cash by sneaking on through the back doors as an old fella creaked his way off.
‘I could’ve paid for you,’ Cam smiled as I slid in next to her.
‘I have my principles.’
She laughed hard. ‘Really? Morals of an alley cat, you.’
‘And that’s why you can’t get enough of me.’
Her hand rested on my knee and stayed there for the next hour as the bus stuttered its way beyond town and on to narrower roads.
It might have been the vibrations of the bus hypnotizing us, but we didn’t say much for a while. Instead I sat and watched the landscape roll by.
It was strange, all a bit chocolate-box and
smug. Nothing needed painting, all the cars gleamed as the sun bounced off them and I found myself craning to see through the windows of the houses. I’m not sure what I expected to see there, but my interest was pricked by just how alien it was.
Cam didn’t seem quite as interested and was on the verge of sleep when the bus finally stopped and the lights flashed on and off.
We were the last people on board; I could see the driver trying to remember where I’d got on in the first place.
We’d ended up in a village, if you could call it that. How many houses make up a village? It didn’t matter. We were faced with twenty or so bungalows, a poky shop, a pub and the biggest sky I’d ever seen.
Seriously, it was huge and filled every corner with a light that I wasn’t used to. On the Ghost you were always stood in a shadow from one of the towers. But here? Nothing but undiluted sunlight.
It was a strange feeling, had me feeling relaxed and tense at the same time and made me aware of how scruffy I looked. The fraying mess at the bottom of my jeans seemed to be growing by the second; I had to fight the temptation to tuck my t-shirt in. It was ridiculous but I couldn’t help it.
‘What are we going to do, then?’ I asked.
‘Eat!’ shouted Cam as she pulled me towards the pub, only to find it shut, which baffled us. Pubs on the Ghost opened at nine a.m. Regulars were often seen with a full English and a pint of lager. Whoever owned this place was missing a trick.
So we turned to the shop instead, Cam insisting I let her pay instead of me filling my own pockets. Chances of nicking anything were minimal anyway: the old girl in there followed us round until we left. Even opened the door for us on the way out. That’s how desperate she was for us to leave.
If I hadn’t been so hungry I’d have kicked up. Plus Cam thought she was sweet, in a mothball and blue rinse kind of way.
We exhausted the rest of the place in about ten minutes flat, and I could feel myself starting to twitch at the quietness when Cam spotted the village green beyond the pub. Kids’ playground all made out of wood, cricket pitch and pavilion. It looked like the sort of place Miss Marple hung out before busting a vicar for some vicious murder. I thought spots like this only existed for afternoon TV repeats. Turns out I was wrong.
