by Ally Kennen
You know when your mum buys a chicken from the supermarket and it’s all pinky-yellow and sitting neatly as a pussy cat with all its giblets gone and its legs tucked in nicely? Well they don’t get like that on their own. Some mug like me has to wear the stupid hat and push it into shape. It has to be plucked, gutted and set. Not all chickens come through this process very well. They don’t look very tasty. A wing might have been torn off, or the skin is ripped down one side. Some of the chickens are in a pretty bad way. Naomi shows me how to hide the obvious imperfections, others she tells me to put aside, so the meat can be stripped and turned into kebabs. The really manky ones Naomi tells me to throw away.
You can imagine how I feel about throwing away meat. I keep thinking of my hungry Beast. I’ll work something out, don’t worry. It is funny how different the chickens are. In the supermarket they all look the same, don’t they? But here, some are flabby, some are scrawny. They vary in colour from bright yellow to a nasty purple. By the time they leave the factory they’ll look all sterile and uniform and the sort of thing it is easy to put in your shopping trolley and forget was ever alive.
At lunch time I engineer it so that I am sitting at the same table as the foxy girl. I ask her for a light which she doesn’t have, and I get a good look at her face. It is broader than I thought, which is quite a shock. The eyes are far apart which gives her this calm sort of look. She has a small nose and a nice mouth. I give her an eight out of ten, but I can’t really judge because she is wearing far too many clothes.
Her pasty mate gives me a light and I sit smoking throughout my chips, giving the girl sneaky looks. I hear pasty-face call her Josie. I wonder if this is a nickname or if it is short for something.
“Crap innit?” I say to her. Stephen, the master chat up artist.
“Yeh.” She gives me a nod and dives into her food. That, by the way, is not a good sign. Selby says if a woman stuffs her face in front of you, then they are definitely not interested. Don’t ask me why. I wonder if it is the same rules for men. Should I be piling into my chips? I decide not to worry about it. I’m too hungry to start pissing around.
It turns out it is the easiest thing ever to bag me a couple of mouldy chickens. At the end of the day, like before, most people have gone. I am the only one in the chicken room except a couple of students who wouldn’t care less what I’m up to. I grab a new bin bag and stuff two chickens in, and sling it over my shoulder. If anyone asks, I’ll say I’m taking them to the incinerator. But nobody says anything.
I chuck the bag in the boot of my car. I realize that I can do this every day if I’m sneaky. The Beast will grow even bigger at this rate.
My car won’t start. When I turn the ignition, there’s nothing. Then I realize I have left the lights on. It was foggy this morning.
“Shit.” I smack the dashboard. What can I do? For a minute I am tempted to nick someone else’s car. There’s a Vauxhall Cavalier parked next to me. It would be so easy. But I remember that I have enough to worry about without getting done for car theft. And I might get my licence taken away. I couldn’t risk it. Besides, I can’t exactly drive it up the Reynolds’s drive, can I? What will I say? “My mate gave it to me”?
I’m fiddling around with the bonnet, just wasting time really, before giving Jimmy a phone, when I hear a truck pull over behind me.
It’s the blacksmith bloke with the piercings.
He leans out of the window.
“I thought I recognized you,” he says.
“Do you work here?” I ask stupidly.
“No I’m doing a job, welding up some crates. What’s wrong with the motor?”
“Flat battery,” I say.
Eric gets out of his truck. “I got some jump leads,” he says. “Let’s give them a go.”
Eric chats quite a lot as we wait for my battery to charge. He invites me to sit in his truck with Dog. It’s a real mess; bills, receipts, newspapers, chocolate wrappings, tools and bits of metal lie everywhere.
“It needs some love,” says Eric. “I’m too busy to tidy it out.” He fishes a bag of nuts out of the dash. “Want some?” I nod and he empties a handful into my palm before funnelling the rest into his mouth.
“What’s it like working here?” he asks after he has finished chewing and swallowing. Dog puts a dirty paw on my knee.
“Crap,” I say.
There’s a massive hammer wedged in between the seats. I pull it out and examine it. It could smash a skull with one blow.
“You interested in metalworking?” asks Eric.
“Dunno,” I say and put the hammer down.
Eric tells me about his business, and how he’s about to expand into new premises, and how most of his work these days is curtain rails for posh people’s living rooms but what he really likes doing is construction work. He tells me he’s just had a massive row with his girlfriend, but he’s hoping they’ll make up. I decide he’s a bit soft but I quite like him. He has quite a good CD player but his music collection is terrible. It’s all death metal and heavy rock.
“Do you nail shoes on horses?” I ask him.
“That’s what a farrier does. I’m into metalworking.”
When the battery has charged up a bit, Eric gives me a push and we bump start my car. I don’t want to stop once I am going so I shout “Cheers,” out of the window.
Eric nods. “Come round the workshop sometime,” he says. “You might find it interesting.”
I keep up the revs so I don’t stall and my wheels spin over the tarmac.
The Reynolds’s house has this mad buzz about it. Verity is testing fairy lights, Jimmy is writing his name on all his CDs, as if anyone would want them! And I know Carol is somewhere close because I can smell her. She leaves these body sprays in the bathroom. They have crazy names like “Mountain Fire”, and “Purple Dream”. Each one smells worse than the last.
I make myself a melted sandwich and settle down to watch.
“What’s going on?” I ask Verity as she switches on her lights.
She looks shifty. “Have you forgotten?” she says. “It’s Carol’s birthday party tonight.”
Party! No one told me about it.
“Jimmy and I are going to the pub quiz,” she says. “Robert’s refusing to come with us.”
I bet he is. Carol’s got lots of tasty friends.
I find Robert in the downstairs bog, trying to pierce his ear. Blood is splatted all over the washbasin.
“The needle won’t go through,” he mutters. He looks a bit green.
“You need ice to numb the pain,” I say.
Robert looks at me gratefully. “Get me some will you, Stephen?”
I am dropping ice cubes into a mug in the kitchen when Carol appears. One of her eyelids is silver, the other is metallic green. I hate to admit it, but she looks great.
“I hope you’re going out,” she whispers to me.
“I knew nothing about it,” I say honestly.
Carol leans closer. She has got shimmery skin. One of her presents was talcum powder with sparkles in it.
“They didn’t tell you, so you wouldn’t invite any of your scummy mates,” she says. “Not that you’ve got any.”
I take a deep breath. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I say. “But I shall be here all evening.”
Maybe I should feed her cat, Dudley, to the Beast, as a birthday present.
T e n
The front door closes. Robert, Carol and I exchange glances.
“Right,” says Carol. “Stephen, go and get me some cider and some fags, will you? I’ll pay you back later.”
“Your parents will kill me if they know I’ve been buying you booze,” I say. “Anyway, I’m under age too.”
“Just do it,” she says. “They only left me a crate of lager shandy. I ask you, what was the point of that?”
&nb
sp; I decide to do as she asks. What does it matter what Jimmy and Verity think of me? I’ll be out of here soon enough. I know an offy in town where I can get served. I’m beginning to look forward to this party.
“Get a move on,” says Carol. “People will start arriving in an hour.”
When I get back I realize straight away that something is not right. The house is quiet. I expect to see people beginning to arrive, but there’s nobody here. I walk into the kitchen and notice the fairy lights are still on the counter.
“Hello?”
I search the house but don’t find anyone. I sit at the bottom of the stairs and sigh.
After a short time I think I have realized what is going on. Before I leave the house I find Carol’s school bag, which is wedged between the sofa cushions in the sitting room, and I remove her English and geography exercise books. She has just done her mock exams and is very pleased with herself because she got As. Very neatly, I tear six random pages from the geography book. These are covered in tables and charts and Carol’s swirly blue handwriting. I fold the pages neatly, ease them into an empty Kettle Chips packet and bury them in the bin. Robert never locks his room so I place the English book in a plastic bag under some smelly T-shirts in the bottom of his wardrobe. I’m too old for this sort of thing, but sometimes, I just can’t help it. I feel a tiny bit bad for Robert. He will suffer if and when the book is discovered, but he has played a role in this and deserves comeback. All of this is sad, I know, but it makes me feel better. Now I can go along to the party, I am fairly sure where it is, and I can be calm. I think Carol and Robert have got off lightly.
Don’t you?
The village hall is half a mile up the road. As I expect, there are crowds of teenagers hanging around outside. Music is blaring out from the doors. People are being dropped off. I park and saunter inside.
Carol is swigging from a bottle of whisky.
“Stephen,” she shouts over the music, “where’s my fags?” I hand them over with the cider. She is with a couple of her mates. One of them is OK, but the other is a right minger. They’re all wearing shedloads of make-up. “You found us then?” says Carol, sniggering. She is only talking to me because she is with her mates. They are all looking at me so I walk off. I find Robert annoying the DJ. I am pleased to say he at least looks guilty when he sees me.
“She said she’d kick me in the knackers if I told you where the party really was,” he says. I believe him and give him a can of Stella.
“Make it last ’cos that’s all you’re having,” I say. The hall’s practically empty because everyone’s outside. I don’t blame them; it’s really bright in here. Like a club when they turn all the lights on to get rid of everyone.
There’s a tap on my arm.
“Candles,” says Carol. “There’s some in the kitchen drawer. Go and get them for me will you Stephen, please.”
I stare down at her. I never realized how small she is next to me.
“Why, are you planning to move the party somewhere else?” I ask.
She smiles nastily. “You might as well make yourself useful since you are technically a gatecrasher.”
“No,” I say.
To my surprise Carol does not insist.
“Robert,” she says, “candles, fetch.” As if she is talking to a dog.
Her mates giggle and Robert looks uncomfortable.
“Robert,” she says. “You know what will happen if you disobey me.”
“Don’t be tight,” says the minger mate. I decide she is not so bad after all.
“I’ll tell everyone about your little secret,” says Carol. “Your Sex Box.”
“Shut up,” says Robert. He looks really upset.
“Leave him alone,” I say. “Go and get the candles yourself.”
At this point, luckily for Robert, a bloke Carol fancies comes into the hall.
“Terry,” she shrieks and bounces over. “Have you got me a present?”
I turn to Robert. “Let’s get some air,” I say.
Outside there is some hard drinking going on. I reckon there’s about fifty or sixty kids and most of them are knocking back something or other. Some have already paired off, but mostly the blokes are one side of the car park, and the girls are the other. Robert and I go and sit on the cricket pitch and I roll a fag.
“Give us a puff on that,” says Robert when it is made.
“You’re too young,” I say.
“This is medicinal necessity,” he says. “Please.”
I hand it over. Robert puffs away like he has the lungs of an old Rasta.
“Go easy on that,” I say. “I’m not letting you get addicted.”
Robert hands it back and settles down on his elbows.
“What did I do in my former life to deserve such a sister?” he says.
“Robert,” I ask. “What exactly is this Sex Box?” I’ve found it of course, but Robert always keeps it locked.
Robert grins and taps the side of his nose.
“You’re too innocent, bro,” he says.
Later, I’m scanning the girls to see if there’s anything I like the look of. I must need a girlfriend because none of them look too bad. Even the girl I thought was a minger has taken off her jumper and is wearing this tiny vest that shows off her tits and belly.
The party is beginning to take off. People are shouting and running and one boy is puking into an ice cream container. The DJ has turned up the music and people are dancing in the car park. A crowd of boys are doing a lot of coughing from inside the ladies’ toilets. Carol has got hold of loads of candles and is lighting them all round the hall. She turns the lights out and everyone cheers. They look good but I have to move one when it starts to turn the wall behind it black.
“You need to watch these,” I say. “The whole place could go up.”
“Oh piss off,” says Carol.
Outside, Robert sits on a car bonnet surrounded by Carol’s mates. They are calling him sweet and patting his hair.
“Look at the legs on that one,” he whispers to me as I walk by. I turn to see who he is gawping at. She is wearing a short skirt that shows off her long, slim legs. My eyes travel up over her body to her face. Even in the gloom I can see it is Josie, the girl from the meat factory.
I want to go and talk to her, but I’m too scared. What would I say? She’s with all these other girls. She probably won’t recognize me anyway. She catches me watching her and gives me a smile. I feel incredible, like I’ve just found a load of money or something. I find an unopened can of lager and take it over.
“Hello,” I say. “Do you want a drink?”
She takes the can. “I thought I recognized you,” she says. “Marshall’s, right?” She has quite a deep voice.
“Yep, kebab line,” I say. There is an awkward pause. “I’m Stephen.” I feel like a right knob, but she smiles and tells me what I already know; that her name is Josie.
We carry on like this, slagging off the meat factory and its occupants. She is quite easy to talk to and her mates seemed to have fallen away from us. I look down and see I’ve crushed my beer can into a little disc. I drop it and hope Josie hasn’t noticed.
There’s a load of shouting from inside the hall and I hear the showers being switched on. I look around for Robert, but he is still sitting on the bonnet surrounded by his ladies. He looks like he is having the time of his life. He makes me laugh, that kid.
Splashing noises and yelling comes from the showers. A boy comes running out into the car park. He is soaked, pissed and very pleased with himself. He goes up to these girls and shakes himself like a dog and they all scream.
“Do you want some?” Josie offers me a swig from the can.
“No thanks,” I say, watching the wet kid pushing down the bonnet of the car, trying to set the alarm off. He pushes so hard, Robert slips off. I de
cide not to get pissed. Someone has to keep an eye on Robert. I’ve seen parties like these turn nasty. He’s still too young really. Verity and Jimmy should have made him go with them.
In the corner of the car park there are a couple of lads sniffing lighter fluid. I watch and feel worried. What’s happening to me? I’ve done it myself. But you’ve got to be careful. I know this kid who died doing it. But I can hardly go over there and tell them, can I?
“Great party,” says Josie. I wonder if she’s being serious. I also wonder if she has a boyfriend. I am about to ask her outright when there is all this screaming from the showers.
“Where my closes?”
A couple of lads push past me and dump something in a wheely bin. Next thing is they’ve grabbed the lighter fluid off the others and are pouring it in. A kid lights a match and drops it in and WHOOSH, the bin is full of flames.
A naked boy comes running out and everyone laughs. The boy can hardly stand he is so drunk and he is trying to cover up his prick with his beer can.
“Wha’ve done with my close?” he burbles.
Somebody wolf-whistles.
“Look at his white bum,” shrieks a girl.
I look around for Carol. This party is getting seriously out of hand.
Naked boy collapses and lies face down on the concrete.
“Someone should cover him up,” says Josie.
I agree but I am reluctant to part with my jacket. We watch as his so-called mates take turns in giving him little kicks.
Then this crazy thing rushes out of the hall. It’s Carol.
“What have you done to him, you bastards?” she shrieks.
The kid on the ground is in a bad way. He’s paralytic and brown fluid is dribbling out of his mouth. Someone ought to roll him over so he doesn’t choke on his vomit.
