Street Song

by Wilkinson, Sheena;

  Toni had typed out the set list for Saturday – ‘Plastic Girls’ to open; ‘You Think You Know Me’, ‘Northern Streets’ to get them all dancing and singing along and then slow it right down to end with ‘Secret Self’.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I sucked on the end of the pen I’d dug out of my guitar case. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to end with “Street Song”?’

  ‘It’s not called “Street Song”. You always get that wrong.’

  ‘Whatever. It’s better to leave them on a high.’

  ‘It might be,’ Marysia said.

  Toni glared at her. ‘Marysia, we discussed this on Friday.’

  ‘We weren’t all here on Friday.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  I shrugged. ‘Look, I don’t mind what order we do them in,’ I said. ‘Why don’t we ask Queen Jane what she thinks?’

  ‘She’s not into music,’ Toni said.

  ‘She’s into giving her opinion, though,’ I said. ‘Like you.’

  She gave me the tiniest smile, and Marysia laughed.

  Queen Jane agreed with me. Amazingly.

  ‘Now I’ll have to retype the set lists,’ Toni said, ‘Like I haven’t enough to do with exams starting on Monday and—’

  ‘You don’t need a set list for four songs,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, you do. You have to hand it in to the judges, actually,’ she retorted.

  In two days’ time.

  41

  I climbed the long slow hill out of the city centre, my guitar dragging at my shoulder. If I timed it right I’d miss the Friday regulars coming for their lucky bags.

  I couldn’t feel the same about Joe since Dean and Tyler had come round. After the rehearsal last night, I’d tried to say something to him.

  ‘I was surprised how young some of them were,’ I said.

  Joe shrugged. ‘They’re old enough to know what they want,’ he said. ‘If they weren’t getting it off me, it’d be somebody else. And at least what they get off me’s good stuff.’

  ‘It’s not good stuff. Christ, Joe, I was in rehab for three months last year. I dropped out of school …’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve seen the damage they do.’

  And was Shania old enough to know what she wanted? But I didn’t mention her name.

  ‘Look, kid, if you don’t like it, you can move on.’ He didn’t sound threatening, or angry, or even annoyed. He was just reminding me how things were. In what was, after all, his house.

  By the time I arrived back, Shania, Caitlin and Madison were in the living room, with Joe and Kevin and a couple of older guys I didn’t remember seeing before. Shania had her head on Joe’s lap. They were all smoking, and the air was thick with the smell of dope.

  I hesitated in the doorway. It should have been a happy enough scene. A few girls, a few guys. No one was out of control. It was far mellower than some of the crazy nights here. Kevin was even drinking a cup of tea.

  But Joe and his friends were all older than me, and not one of those girls looked over fifteen. And they weren’t tough, confident girls like Toni and Marysia. Madison’s arms were criss-crossed with scars, Caitlin was fat and nervous, and Shania – Shania was as brittle as that shell I’d picked up on the beach. She was gazing up at Joe like he was some kind of god, her eyes never leaving his face. Like Louise and Ricky. Only worse because Louise was an adult.

  Joe held out a spliff, careful not to hit Shania with it. ‘Want to join in, kid? Play us a song?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m all played out.’

  Kevin threw me a can of Carlsberg. ‘Ach, get your gob round that,’ he said.

  Madison giggled. ‘D’you say that to all the girls, Kevin?’

  ‘I’m tired,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you.’ I threw the can back.

  42

  I jerked awake in the dark with my head pounding and the unmistakeable realisation that the vague cold I’d been fighting had finally burst out as something nastier. I swallowed down nails. Shit. Backlash started in – I checked my watch – thirteen hours.

  I hated the thought of crawling out of my sleeping bag but I was desperate for water. And there’d be plenty of drugs in the kitchen – not the lucky bag kind, but the stuff Joe had maxed out on when he’d had this bug last week. If I dosed up now and rested all day I’d be grand by tonight. I had to be. I was never ill, apart from hangovers.

  The house was quiet, though snores stuttered from behind Kevin’s door and the fourth stair creaked as usual. The kitchen light was on and the room looked worse than usual, grease shining on the worktop, the floor crunchy with crumbs under my bare feet. I ran the tap until it was cold, and then had to unearth a pint glass from the mound in the sink. I opened a cupboard and riffled among the pot noodles and boxes of teabags. I found some kind of flu-max thing with night-time tablets for zonking you out. Perfect. I took one and washed it down with the water, and pressed out a couple to take back to bed with me for later.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  I swung round.

  ‘Shania.’ I was suddenly aware of being only in boxers and T-shirt, which was more than she was wearing. She had on a T-shirt of Joe’s and I couldn’t help seeing, no matter how hard I tried not to look, nothing else. ‘What are you doing still here?’

  She wrapped her arms round her thin childish body. ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘Took some uppers.’ She giggled. ‘Need some downers. But a hot chocolate will do. Want one?’ She reached across me and switched on the kettle.

  The last thing I wanted was to shiver in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate with a half-naked Shania, but then I thought, well, maybe it’ll be a chance to talk to her, so I said I’d have tea and sat down at the table, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Here.’ She plonked two mugs down, sat opposite me and lit a cigarette from the packet on the table. She looked at me with her bushbaby eyes, and stretched out a bare foot towards my leg. I jerked away.

  ‘Oh my God, what is your problem with me?’ she asked. ‘You used to be dead nice and since you moved in here you’re like – not.’

  ‘I don’t like seeing you – well, off your head, or …’ I was maybe not up for this conversation at four in the morning, after all.

  ‘Oh – so you’ve never been off your head? Yeah right.’ She waved her cigarette at me. ‘That first night you came here you were so pissed you could hardly stand.’

  I coughed. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘And I used to do a lot worse. And I see you doing the same kind of stuff and I suppose it makes me scared for you.’

  ‘I just like having a good time.’

  I looked down at the steam coming off my mug. ‘Or is it more that you let other people have a good time with you?’ I held my breath. Was this going too far?

  She was quiet for ages, just smoked and looked at me. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ she said after a while, her voice brittle.

  ‘Joe’s a lot older than you.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘And Kevin and – I don’t know, maybe those guys tonight? They treat you like – like you’re a piece of meat.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ She scratched her neck with the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette. She had false nails, bright pink with some kind of glitter on them. ‘They’re lovely. Specially Joe. They treat me really well. They’re always buying me stuff and—’

  ‘They’re grooming you,’ I said. ‘They give you the drugs and the drink so they can—’

  ‘That’s rubbish. That’s like paedophiles and shit. Oh my God. You watch too much TV.’ She shook her head like I was some kind of idiot.

  I wanted to ask if she’d slept with any of them, but couldn’t think of any way of asking that didn’t make me sound dodgy myself. So instead I said, ‘Well look, if you’re not happy about anything you should – you know – tell somebody. Your mum or – or someone. Georgia.’

  She looked scornful. ‘My mum’s a cow. And Georgia hates me because Joe doesn’t fancy her. Look – I’m fine. I love staying round here. And tomorrow –
well, today, I suppose – Joe’s taking me out, just me, not Caitlin or Madison or nobody. And he’s buying me loads of stuff. So butt out.’

  The way she talked about Joe. The way her eyes shone. I knew who she reminded me of: it wasn’t just Louise. It was Ryan Lee Callaghan, aged 16, when Ricky first paid attention to him at PopIcon. I’d wanted some of Ricky’s shining confidence. Most of all I’d wanted him to notice me. He’d been the judge I’d wanted to impress. I’d stood there week after week doing exactly what he told me, being who he wanted me to be, singing the vapid songs he’d picked for me in the way he’d told me to sing. I’d even secretly worried that I’d some kind of gay crush on him. When he’d got together with Louise it had seemed like the perfect happy ever after. For about five minutes.

  He’d told me he could make me into somebody and I’d let him make me into nobody.

  My throat closed against the tea. I poured it down the sink.

  ‘And you know what,’ Shania said, as I was lifting my glass of water to take back upstairs. ‘You’ve been sponging off Joe for weeks. So don’t start bad-mouthing him now.’

  I nodded as I walked past her. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I know.’

  43

  ‘Toni? Hey. Just wanted to check the time for the soundcheck.’

  ‘Six o’clock. We’re meeting outside the Ulster Hall.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  I hadn’t forgotten. I’d got her two reminder text messages yesterday. I just needed to hear her voice.

  ‘You OK, Cal? You sound hoarse.’

  ‘I’m grand.’ Please don’t go away. ‘Uh – you all set for tonight?’

  ‘Of course I’m all set. You know me.’

  I don’t know if I do. Not really.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, as if she’d forgotten something. ‘I got my Oxford interview date. Mum’s just booked my flight.’

  ‘Wow, congratulations.’ Stay on the phone.

  ‘Yeah – just after my mocks end, so you know, big week. So – I’d better go and do some revision.’

  ‘OK. See you later.’

  ‘You sure you’re OK? You sound weird.’

  ‘I’m fine. See you at six.’

  44

  The knocking got louder. It wasn’t a dream; it was someone at the attic door.

  ‘Come in,’ I said, my throat scraping. I’d slept on and off all day, aching and sweating, and the little rectangle of sky in the skylight was darkening again.

  Shania burst through the door. I had a confused moment when I thought that only a few minutes had passed since I’d seen her in the kitchen. Then I realised that she was fully dressed, in a short black dress I’d never seen before, and that she was crying her eyes out.

  I wriggled out of my sleeping bag and pulled on jeans and a hoody over my sweaty T-shirt. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  She stood inside the doorway, shaking. I drew her in and sat her down on the sleeping bag, since there was nothing else to sit on. She reeked of sweat and alcohol and men. Her nose was running and she kept dashing her arm across it. Her arms were bare, skin reddening to bruises. She hugged herself and shook. One of her pink glittery nails had come off and the real nail underneath was bitten and ragged. I dug out my other hoody from Granny’s wardrobe and wrapped it round her, trying not to touch her.

  ‘What happened, Shania?’ I asked gently. But I knew.

  She looked down at herself, at the skimpy black dress, and gave a huge sniff. She shook her head, her wispy blonde hair swinging round her. ‘You were ri-i-ight,’ she said. She started sobbing really hard, catching her breath like a child. I knew I should comfort her but I was scared to touch her.

  ‘Someone hurt you?’

  She nodded silently. ‘Joe took me out and bought me this dress. Like he promised. And he was dead nice to me.’ She sobbed harder. I dug out a wad of tissues from under my guitar case and handed them to her. ‘He took me to this big house. He said it was his friend’s. He said we’d go and have a drink there. He wanted to – to show me off.’ She was quiet for ages. I could hear both our breathing.

  ‘What did he give you?’ I asked gently. ‘Something you’re not used to?’

  She nodded. ‘Pills. And whiskey. He said I looked so grown up I should have a grown-up drink and that’s what they were all drinking.’

  ‘All?’

  ‘His friends. Three of them.’

  ‘Did they—?’ I didn’t want to put words in her mouth. And, oh God, I did not want to be here on my own dealing with this. I checked my watch. It was nearly four. Two hours before I was due at the Ulster Hall.

  I reached out and pushed the hair off her face. ‘Will I take you home?’ I suggested. ‘To your mum?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ She pulled at her hair. ‘My mum’ll kill me.’ She bent over, and started rocking herself. ‘They took turns,’ she whispered. She clamped her hands over her mouth. ‘Gonna boke,’ she muttered. There was no time to get her to the bathroom, so I yanked over the bin and held her hair for her. I remembered Joe’s hand on my back that horrible night in the yard, how kind he’d seemed. When she’d finished she curled up on my sleeping bag, crying. The room reeked of alcohol and sick. ‘Shania,’ I said, stroking her hair but still afraid to touch her body. ‘Tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you, I promise. Will I call Georgia?’ But Georgia was only a kid herself. ‘Shania, please let me take you to the police.’ I thought of Toni’s words the one time she’d met Shania: She’s jailbait.

  ‘No!’ She sobbed until she was retching again.

  ‘Shania, these men – Joe and his friends – they’ve committed a crime. If you report them now, they won’t be able to do it to any more girls. Like Caitlin or Madison or—’

  ‘They didn’t force me,’ she sobbed. ‘Not really. And I didn’t mind Joe – just – not the others.’

  ‘You’re underage,’ I said. ‘You have bruises.’ I was pretty sure there’d be more evidence when they examined her, but I didn’t want to say that in case it terrified her even more. ‘How did you get away?’ I asked her. ‘Where does Joe think you are now?’

  ‘Oh, he knows I’m here,’ she said. ‘He dropped me off. He’s away to do a message and then he’s bringing us back a Chinese. To celebrate. He doesn’t know I’m upset. He – he said he was proud of me. He’s getting me an iPad.’ She blinked back her tears and tried to smile.

  My skin turned to ice.

  ‘Shania. Please tell the police. They’ll look after you, be really nice to you, I promise. They won’t blame you. ’

  ‘No! I’ll get took into care.’

  ‘Is this going to be your life? Being used by men? They took advantage of you!’

  ‘Joe loves me!’

  ‘Is that why he hurt you?’

  She chewed her lip for a long time. Then, in a tiny voice, she asked, ‘Will you take me to the police?’

  What could I say?

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Course I will.’

  I threw all my stuff into my backpack. The sleeping bag, rolled up small, just about fitted. ‘What are you doing?’ Shania whispered.

  ‘Well, I’m not coming back here.’

  ‘So where will you go?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be grand.’

  45

  Where the hell are you? It’s ten past.

  Really sorry, something’s come up.

  Emergency.

  Will be there asap promise.

  Tell me you’re joking.

  I wish. At police station.

  I’m not in trouble.

  You ARE.

  I don’t know why I thought I’d get away with just texting. I’d had my phone on silent since I got to the police station – I wasn’t meant to have it on at all, but I couldn’t ignore the flashing TONI CALLING.

  ‘What the hell—?’ she demanded. ‘We’ve had to go ahead and soundcheck without you.’

  ‘I’ll be there. Soon as I can. Can you maybe – I don’t know – get us a late slot?’


  ‘Where are you? What’s so important you had to do it now?’

  ‘I’m at a police station. I have to give a statement.’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing. I can’t really talk, but – remember Shania? She—’

  My phone went dead.

  ‘Hello?’ The policewoman smiled. ‘They’re ready for your statement now.’

  ‘Is Shania OK?’ I slipped my phone into my back pocket.

  She sighed. ‘Well, we’re looking after her, but it’s not the same thing, is it?’

  They’d been really gentle with Shania, and fetched her mum, who cried and said she couldn’t cope and didn’t want her kids taken away. And there’d been a social worker and a nurse and it had taken hours, in a succession of musty hot rooms, and I kept trying to leave but they wouldn’t let me. They’d brought me tea and sandwiches but I couldn’t eat. I’d thought I was doing my bit by taking her there and helping her to explain, but they wanted way more than that. At one stage I even wondered if they thought I’d been at her myself, and I nearly wished I hadn’t got involved, but I remembered her voice saying, They took turns, and I knew I hadn’t had a choice.

  Making the statement took ages. When it came to signing it, I hesitated. But I was in a police station. ‘Just your normal signature,’ said the policeman. And I signed the name I hadn’t written for months: Ryan Callaghan.

  They let me go. I stood on the street outside the police station, backpack over one shoulder, and guitar case in my hand. I checked my watch. It was twenty to nine.

  46

  From behind the closed doors into the Ulster Hall auditorium I could hear the thump of a bass. But it wasn’t Polly’s Tree.

  ‘The event started at eight,’ the woman behind the box office desk said. ‘You’ve missed most of it.’

  ‘But I’m with one of the bands!’ I gestured towards my guitar case.

  ‘We can’t let anyone in after the competition’s started,’ the woman behind the desk said. ‘And bands had to register by six o’clock.’