by Ally Kennen
Nobody does.
“Wake up, Terry,” says Carol. She shakes his shoulder. Terry! It is the bloke she fancies.
I sidle up to her.
“Don’t think much of your taste in men,” I say. Reluctantly I take his arm and roll him on his side, trying not to look at his dick flopping around. Then I take off my jacket. It will probably get covered in sick and I haven’t got another one. I cover him up.
Somebody shines a torch on him. Brown stuff is still running out of his mouth and I see the whites of his eyes as his eyeballs roll up into his head.
“Terry, it’s me, Carol.” She kneels by his side.
“Your woman needs you, Tezza,” says some bloke and they all laugh.
Terry starts choking and they laugh some more. The smell of the burning clothes is stinking out the car park. Some girls start coughing. Then the DJ puts on this kick-ass tune and really cranks up the volume and everyone starts going in the hall.
I am just going off to find Josie when Carol grabs my sleeve.
“What am I going to do?” she asks. I try to pull away but she won’t let go.
“Stephen, you’ve got to help,” she says.
“He’ll be all right, he’s just pissed.” I shake her off and squint through the crowd. I can’t see Josie anywhere. Then I spot her. Some huge kid is chatting her up, leaning against the wall with her behind him. Who the hell is he?
“I don’t think. . .” mumbles Carol.
“Oh chill out,” I say. “At least this way you might get your wicked way with him.”
I can see Josie’s shadowy face and she is laughing at something the big bloke has said. I didn’t make her laugh. I wonder if he will punch me if I go over. I decide he is not her boyfriend. If he was, they’d be snogging or else he’d be ignoring her. No, this is a chat up scene I’m watching and I’m not going to stand around and let it happen. I blow in my hands to check my breath and saunter over.
Carol’s voice cuts through the night and the music.
“He’s not breathing.”
Everything seems to go quiet.
E l e v e n
Of course it’s muggins here who ends up taking Carol’s man into Casualty. As soon as he starts puking his guts up and she realizes he’s just paralytic, she refuses to come with me. She doesn’t want anything to do with the situation in case it gets worse. But I don’t reckon it will. He’s just drunk. I’ve seen it a million times. She should be worrying about the kids doing the lighter fuel. That’s dangerous.
“I can’t leave my own party,” she says. “I need to keep an eye on things.”
I know what she means. It’s pretty wild. But if I was Terry I’d be pretty pissed that she won’t come. What kind of a girlfriend is that? Not that Carol is his girlfriend.
I reckon the real reason Carol won’t come is because she’s scared, simple as that.
Part of the reason I let her off is I think someone should watch out for Robert. I want to take him with me but he refuses. I don’t blame him. He has found himself a bottle of red wine and is sharing it with three gorgeous sixteen year olds. As for me, I don’t even get to say a proper goodbye to Josie.
Bloody Carol.
Have you ever been to Casualty on a Friday night? It’s not a pretty sight. There are loads of drunks, like Terry, and blokes running round with blood streaming down their faces, as well as normal people who have broken an arm or are having an asthma attack.
The nurse on duty gives me this filthy look as I drag Terry in over the shiny floor. He’s sobering up a bit now and is coming out with all this crap about his exams. I dump him in a chair and a nurse comes and I answer the questions as best as I can.
Full name?
Don’t know
How much has he drunk?
Don’t know
How old?
Don’t know
Address?
Don’t know
Parents’ phone number?
Don’t know
I’ve wrapped the car seat cover round his middle and he’s still wearing my jacket so at least he isn’t flashing any more. He slumps in the chair and the nurse calls for assistance.
At this point I leave him to it. Don’t blame me. He’s in safe hands and I’m not going to sit around all night in that scummy place with doctors giving me dirty looks like it’s all my fault. Besides, I’m worried about Robert. You know when you get that kind of feeling that something is going to go badly wrong? Well I’ve got that feeling now. Like something bad is going to happen at the party and I want to get back there.
Look at me! Mr Worry. I must be getting old. By rights I should be piling in the drink with the rest of them, trying to score with anything in a skirt. Maybe that’s the real reason I am so keen to get back. I definitely want to catch Josie. I don’t want her thinking I’m not interested, especially since I’ve got competition.
I drive up the hill, back to the village hall. I’m just passing the Reynolds’s house when I catch up with a fire engine. Don’t ask how fast I was going, besides, you’d be putting your foot down if you had a bird like Josie on the cards. It’s typical of Carol to mess things up for me. If I hadn’t taken Terry to hospital, I might be getting off with Josie on the cricket pitch right now. I watch the blue lights flashing. I wonder how far she’d let me go?
To my surprise the fire engine is slowing. There is an orange glow in the sky. I pull over. Three other fire engines are in the car park of the village hall. The flames are so high and so bright the whole night is lit up. I can see a whole part of the roof has collapsed and smoke is pouring out. All these firemen are pointing their hoses. I turn off my engine and get out. I am hit by the smell of smoke and there’s lots of shouting.
Someone is talking through a megaphone.
“EVERYONE STAY AT THE FAR END OF THE CRICKET PITCH. MAKE NO ATTEMPT TO ENTER THE HALL. I REPEAT, STAY AT THE FAR END OF THE CRICKET PITCH. DO NOT ENTER THE HALL.”
I stare at the flames. I’ve never seen a fire so big. Even when we set fire to the skip in the school playground all those years ago, we scarpered long before it spread to the classroom. There is a mini explosion and all these golden sparks fill the sky. It is quite amazing really. I find I am enjoying myself. I am absolutely not guilty of any of this. I can lean back and enjoy the show. I can’t find my fags so I have to make another rolly. The shadows of Carol’s mates move at the far end of the field. I bet they’ve all sobered up now. I could climb through the hedge and run across the field to join them, but I am quite happy where I am. Outside it all, just watching.
A car draws up behind me and a middle-aged woman gets out. She ignores me and runs into the car park. A fireman comes to meet her and turns her back.
“But I just want to know my son is safe,” she says. Her voice ends in this kind of wail. Like an animal. But she’s walked back to her car and told to wait. I hope Josie’s OK. But she was hanging around outside for most of the evening, and she wasn’t pissed. I have the feeling she can look after herself. Then I remember Robert and get panicky. Does he have the sense to stay outside? Is he with all the dark figures at the end of the field? I don’t trust Carol to make sure he is all right. Robert is only little. I should have taken him with me. I knew something was going to go wrong. Why did I leave him here with all these maniacs?
I decide to get through the hedge and go and find Robert when I hear a car pull up behind me. I assume it is another parent and keep climbing.
“Hang on, son,” says a male voice.
I twist my neck round and curse. It’s the pigs. I decide to pretend I haven’t heard him. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. In the dark he wouldn’t recognize me. But I haven’t got very far bef
ore I feel a hand on my collar.
I am pulled unceremoniously down the bank and on to the road.
“I said, wait,” the copper snaps. He shines a torch in my face and then at the rolly in my hand. “And what the hell have you been up to?”
Some people reckon they are born under a lucky star, or that a guardian angel is looking out for them. That’s not me. This girl once said to me that you make your own future and luck has nothing to do with it. All I can say is I hope I do better in the future.
Everything you do leaves scars. Like when I got bitten by my affectionate little pet. I reckon all those cars I nicked, all the stuff I robbed, the vandalism, the broken bottles, the glue, everything; it all still shows, though I’ve been pretty clean for over a year. And that’s why the plod nick me. Every bad thing I’ve done before shows in my face.
The copper cuffs me and bundles me into the back of his police car. He gets me breathalysed (thankfully the beer I had earlier has worn off), takes away my watch and car keys and bangs me up in a cell within the hour. He’s found my file on the computer and seen that I’ve been in trouble for arson before. As far as he’s concerned I am guilty as charged.
I sit on the thin plastic mattress. I count the bricks in the grey wall. There is a stain on the floor which looks like a bear. I shiver in this overall thing. They’ve taken my clothes away to test them. You see, the copper reckons I set fire to the village hall. But you know I didn’t do it, don’t you? You know I’d taken that dozy kid to Casualty? I know I just have to keep my cool and the truth will come out. Loads of people saw me drive Terry off.
A man is led past my cell and he is shouting and swearing. He sounds pissed. I hope they don’t put him in here with me. A beating is the last thing I need. There’s the clink of keys and the sound of a lock turning and the creak of a door. Then the shouting gets muffled. Thank God for that. The piss-head is next door.
I reckon Jimmy will come and get me out soon. What had they said? That there would probably be a lock-in at The Globe and they’d be back at one o’clock in the morning? He’d get the truth out of Carol and Robert.
Carol.
I swear out loud. There’s no way she’s going to tell the truth. Of course they’re going to blame me. She’s not going to own up to the candles. I knew they were dodgy. She’s not going to tell Mummy and Daddy that her little friends were sniffing lighter fluid in the car park. She’s not going to admit her beloved was so paralytic, he was practically pissing himself. Why would she start telling the truth now? My only hope is Robert.
The hours go by. I lie on the bed and watch the walls grow lighter, my stomach aching.
At seven o’clock in the morning, the guard brings me a cup of tea. I’m so thirsty I burn the skin off my tongue. The tea is cheap and nasty and smells cheesy. The milk must be off. I need to blow my nose but there is only this tracing paper bog roll, so I use the sleeve of the overall. I feel like shit. I’m going to end up like my dad whether I like it or not. No wonder he chooses to live outside after being shut up in a tiny room like this for so long. I want to get out of here so much it hurts. I wipe my nose again. I wipe it so much it gets sore and my sleeve is damp. I must be allergic to something. The mattress is probably rammed full of fleas and bugs. Horrible little aliens you can only see under a microscope.
Where the hell is Jimmy?
My stomach hurts worse every minute.
At ten twenty someone finally unlocks my door. I expect to see the guard and to be led up to the interview room. I expect Jimmy to be there.
The door swings open.
It’s Mindy.
T w e l v e
Mindy’s wearing a long purple hippy skirt, with a black T-shirt so tight I can see the rolls of fat round her waist. Her hair is screwed up into a bun and she has pink lipstick smeared on her mouth. She carries a large green file.
“Oh, Stephen,” says Mindy. “You’ve been doing so well up to now.”
I look away. Is this what they teach these people at Social Worker School?
“The Reynoldses think you were jealous because you hadn’t been invited to the party,” says Mindy. “Correct?”
Has she never heard of “innocent until proven guilty”? Man, have I ever got the wrong social worker. This woman hates me. I don’t know why. Maybe she is scared of me. I am bigger than she is. And maybe it has penetrated even her thick skull that I don’t give a toss about her. These people need to be liked. I know that. Why else would they do such a shitty job?
“Apparently you were very angry last night,” says Mindy. She puts a veiny hand on my shoulder. She’s wearing old-woman rings. “I expect you felt rejected and I believe you’re upset about St Mark’s.”
“I didn’t set fire to the hall.”
I don’t know why I bother saying it. It won’t make any difference. Mindy has imagined the whole thing already. Evil Stephen with his can of petrol. His jealous rage. The lit match.
Mindy gives a little sigh which she probably thinks is cute and humorous. Then she looks round to check where she’s put her handbag.
“You’re going to have to stay here a while, I’m afraid. Then they are going to transfer you to the young offenders’ institute at Bailbridge.”
I nearly laughed then. I’ll be meeting up with lots of familiar faces.
Sometimes it seems that my future has been all mapped out, and nothing I do will make any difference.
“I took Carol’s boyfriend, Terry, to Casualty last night,” I say. “I can’t have done it. The place was a fire trap anyway. There were all these candles and Carol. . .”
Mindy interrupts.
“I’ll arrange for your things to be collected from the Reynolds’s,” she says. “I don’t expect they’ll want you back after this. Do you?”
I tell her to eff off.
Do you blame me?
Mindy gathers her file, shaking her head. “We are all disappointed in you, Stephen. But most of all you’ve let yourself down.”
I turn away. I shouldn’t let that woman get to me. I should’ve learned by now to ignore anything she says.
I stare at the wall.
At 11.45 I have a lunch of mushy peas and ham and straight after I am taken upstairs to an interview room. A policeman tells me they have found four empty bottles of lighter fluid. Someone has checked out Casualty and there is video evidence of my presence there. Several kids have backed up my story already.
I’d like an apology but I don’t get it.
I am taken home in a police car. And when I get there I find Carol crying on the sofa. I imagine it is because she is in trouble about the fire.
“Hey, Carol,” I say cheerfully. “How about this? Two arsonists in one house!”
“Robert’s in hospital,” she says.
Her eyes are puffy and she’s wearing her old yellow dressing gown. She looks about twelve years old.
“He inhaled too much smoke and passed out,” she says. “They took him away in an ambulance.” Her nose is running and she doesn’t bother to wipe it.
I collapse in the armchair opposite. Why did I take that useless kid to Casualty? I knew something was going to go wrong. I could have foreseen all of this. I could have prevented it.
I can’t do anything but sit and stare.
We hear the crunch of tyres on gravel.
“Please don’t mention the candles,” says Carol. “They think the fire spread from the wheely bin.”
“It won’t make any difference,” I say. “They’ll find out that candles started it. There’ll be forensic evidence.”
“Please, Stephen.” Carol sits up and wipes her face. Suddenly she looks sixteen again.
I have a flashback to all the times Carol lied to get me into trouble. Right from the first day I didn’t stand a chance with this family. They always took her side, even if they said they believed me.
I shrug. “Makes no odds to me,” I say. “How’s Terry?”
She colours up.
“He’s OK,” she says slowly. She feels her neck. “Thanks,” she says. The word nearly chokes her, I can tell.
Jimmy comes in alone. He’s left Verity at the hospital. He looks at the ceiling and says that Robert is going to be all right, but that they have to keep him in for a few days.
The relief is incredible.
“Can I go and see him?” I ask.
Jimmy finally looks at me.
“No, Stephen. He needs to be kept quiet.”
He blames me for the fire. I can see it in his face. Despite the evidence, he still thinks it was me. I feel this wave of anger. I haven’t had such a good night myself. I’ve been in the slammer, and no one came to get me out. But then Jimmy takes a step towards me and pats my arm.
“You all right?” he asks.
I shrug. No thanks to him.
Carol starts to say something nasty and changes her mind. I never heard her do that before. Things have changed between us. I can feel it. I’ve got her on a string now.
The thing is I just don’t care enough to take advantage of it.
I’m sitting on the garden swing at the Reynolds’s, tickling Dog behind his ears and watching Eric the blacksmith measure the wall.
“Maths,” he says. “It’s all maths.”
He asks me to hold the tape and I end up writing all the figures in his notebook for him.
“How’s the little boy?” he asks, nodding at the house.
“Better,” I say. “He came out of hospital yesterday.”
Robert is a little paler than usual but full of mad stories about how he hallucinated from the smoke, and about the sexy nurses giving him bed baths. He has to keep quiet for a bit but he’s all right.
