Apples

by Milward, Richard

  Adam

  I was the boy who left home to learn fear. Instead of getting aggro at home for the loft wank, I wandered to Blockbuster where the Prick worked, stacking up boxes with him the next two nights, but it was fucking torture there and all. The videos got boring by six o’clock, and I made a sharp exit when the Prick went for a coffee in the back. Sometimes your friends aren’t even that friendly, and the Prick was so boring I just couldn’t waste my life flicking through Arnies or Rockys or even the X-rateds. He kept informing me which birds he’d love to put his knob up their bums. I felt crappy waiting for a bus back to Easterside, sitting alone at the top of a double-decker with the town getting ghostly around me. I’d started joining the Prick at Blockbuster after school-time, avoiding my parents but starving to death and just moping around dead depressed. I still hadn’t seen Dad since I put my foot through the ceiling, and it was hard to gauge how cross everyone would be. I knitted my eyebrows all the way back to the estate, undoing my purple tie and hoping to god the night ahead would explode with happiness and lucky stars.

  At Burny’s they were all eating pepperoni pizzas, and I had to stand at the door until he was finished at the table. Eventually he came out with a glass of orange and vodka, glugging it while we talked and he nodded me in.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said, but he wasn’t holding it against me. I laughed nervously then kicked off my school shoes, feeling fucking stupid for being an awkward little devil.

  ‘Yeah, well I haven’t been home or nothing,’ I said, scratching an eyelid. ‘I’ve been up Blockbuster, but there’s not much going on. What you been doing?’

  ‘Nowt, just getting ready and all that.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you haven’t got a shirt I could lend?’

  ‘Er, yeah, howay up,’ Burny went, charging up the brown staircase. ‘Donna’s here and all.’

  I tried to grin when we made it into his room, but it didn’t come out right. Donna looked ace out of her Brackenhoe outfit, but she didn’t really look at me and I felt myself slowly crawling back in my shell. Burny threw a plainish whiteish shirt at me then changed into a sky blue number himself, and occasionally I glanced at Donna who was undressing by the stretch mirror. She tugged off her red sweater without hesitating, then adjusted her boobs in a white bra and slipped on a shiny green halter-neck thing. She had a load of different outfits round Burny’s, and I gazed out the corner of my eye as she changed tops, swapped skirts, and twirled round to pieces of music. It was hornifying. Eventually Donna settled for the green, and I broke out of the trance and hurled on the white shirt in an embarrassed whirl. Burny poured a few cups of absinthe, and I swilled one straight down thinking it was only lime juice. I almost coughed my insides out, and I just nodded when he went, ‘You ready? We might as well get going.’

  It was my first night on the tiles. I left a bit of my school stuff on Burny’s floor, then we slipped outside. Donna was kitted out in lizardy high-heels and a bag with her name on it, and it felt good walking around with a girl. I breathed my cheeks full of air, Burny and Donna yelled bye-byes to his family, and we set off into the night.

  I shut the door gently four times then chased those two down Broadwell Road, where the dull semis bulged into terraces as the street swept out. Easterside had a fair amount of green space – unlike some other estates which were more cramped and jail-like – although you could still hear the sounds of rogues and screaming girls on the wishy-washy wind. I sniffed up that freezing smell of the night, and a shiver went down my back as the streetlights spun our shadows round and round while we stepped forward. There were knots in my belly about getting into the pub, but there was also some excitement there somewhere and a sexy little feeling in my long-johns.

  ‘Cheers for bringing me out,’ I murmured, once Burny and Donna stopped swinging and kissing each other. Occasionally couples were annoying, but only when you’re not in one. I caught them up again as we crossed over, and Burny said, ‘It’s alright. We’ll get dead wrecked.’

  ‘Have you brought lots of money?’ Donna asked, with a glinty look in her eyes.

  ‘Eh, about fifteen,’ I replied, cars bouncing over speed-bumps at our sides. I was the dictionary definition of a gooseberry.

  ‘You looking forward to tonight?’ I asked her, but she couldn’t be bothered answering. The Grove was smarter than the Viking, though it had to be done up every time it got torched. It was busier than I imagined but Burny burrowed to the bar, his arms round Donna’s waist like she was a shiny shield. All I got was stares and a brick of paranoia. Often these places were like the OK Corral, except the cowboys in Middlesbrough were all on steroids and dressed in Sherman and trackies. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to drink, so I asked for whatever Burny was having when he got the first round. Me and Donna went into the corner and got some stools by the pool-table, and I found it really hard to say anything to her. We ended up talking about the carpet and the sound-system, and it was a big relief when the drinks came over. I managed to loosen up though the getting drunk part was lined with a feeling of being lonely and bored. Me and Burny had a conversation while pool-balls clattered, but sometimes him and Donna had to go kiss and whisper sweet-nothings, and I felt shitty. I glanced at sexy groups of girls getting pissed, but how the hell were you supposed to go up to them? They were all rowdy bints getting chatted up by blockheads. After a bit more sitting it was my turn to get some drinks, and I paced across the room trying not to bump into anyone. I spotted Dan Williams in the corner with all these wide-boys he knew from school, but we never really talked to each other so I pretended not to see him. Waiting at the bar my tummy was stuttering and I felt panicky, but what an anticlimax – I was expecting to get chucked on the street by bouncers in bomber-jackets for being fifteen years old, but the barmaid just smiled and squirted my pints of lager. She looked about twenty or thirty with dark frazzled hair, and I grinned back but she didn’t fancy me or anything. It was nice to get some bit of recognition though, and walking back to the pool- balls I started feeling better and kept my eyes peeled for anyone I could get my hands on.

  When I used to live in Saltersgill there was a girl who rode past my house every morning on a pink bike, and though she was engraved in my head as a six-year-old it was funny seeing her standing there by the snooker table. She was about seventeen now, and I was hoping just to slink past and mind my own business but she grabbed me and went, ‘Is that Adam thingy?’ I nodded, luckily not throwing the pints all over her. We talked for a bit about shit stuff like Saltersgill Avenue and pints of lagers, and since my hands were full of glasses I wasn’t doing all that nervous body-language like scratching my face and crossing my arms and biting my nails. I actually thought I was getting somewhere until she snapped, ‘Anyways, gotta go. I’m meeting me boyfriend at Aruba.’

  Back at the table, Burny and Donna were dead embarrassing and asking about the girl but I wasn’t a wanker so I kept my mouth shut. For some reason it was a macho thing in Boro to say, ‘Would’ve nailed her, fucking dirty slag.’ But I’d be lucky. The girls I went for all had blonde hair and blue eyes, not that I was Hitler; it was probably the purity and innocence that got me going. Having said that, lasses with those attributes like Eve or Rachel or Claire Blame were always going out and getting into mischief while a normal night for me was getting tucked up in bed by half-ten. So I necked the next pint a bit quicker, not really enjoying it, and I got the kick to get up and wander around again. There were quite a few pretty faces, but I didn’t know how to act and when an Aryan bombshell brushed past me I had a cheeky little feel of her sides. God knows what I would’ve done if she turned around. I had no chat-up lines or come-hither expressions. In actual fact I got clocked by her boyfriend, who was trailing behind with arms the size of beer barrels. Straight away I shit myself, and he sort of barged into me and snarled, ‘Watch out then you fucking prick.’ All I could think about was Pablo Picasso – everything about her boyfriend was dead square and cubist. Hideous.

  So from then on I
decided not to be so forward and sleazy, although if a square cunt like him could get a beauty then so could anyone. I chose a spot at the bar next to these two brunettes, one of them much better-looking than the other but they both had on nice summery dresses and they shone out on such a frosty night. While I waited to get served I eavesdropped, and when Summer Girl 1 asked Summer Girl 2 for the time I took a stab in the dark and went, ‘About nineish,’ and smiled. They looked at me doss-eyed and I figured they were both sloshed, so I pouted all stupid and asked, ‘What are you drinking, ladies?’ They just laughed though.

  Burny and Donna were still watching me from the corner, and I felt daft staggering back to the chairs but who gives a fuck – the beer and a half had kicked in, and I was having a good time I think. I plonked back down on the seat, but we still couldn’t really say anything to each other and I figured they wouldn’t ask me out again. The Grove was beginning to empty and these other girls came over to sit at the table next to us, and as I slurped the new Carlsberg the confidence wobbled back again. I sat with my legs slightly open on the off-chance one of them moved up against me, but there was no joy. They yapped on like puppy dogs, all sorts of things like how men are total pigs and dickheads and I decided to take my leg back. After a bit we had to finish those drinks and we dragged ourselves outdoors, and I’d almost forgotten the shit estate was out there. We tackled it together.

  Donna was the last girl standing in the swirling night. She was pissing herself between me and Burny but it was sweet, and I held her sides and she felt like toasted marshmallow. She brightened me up with a cherry on top. I asked if there was any chance I could come back and sleep at theirs, but I knew they’d want to make babies and stuff and I had to go back home sooner or later. My parents would be in bed, and hopefully I could creep in without having to shut the door too many times. I dreaded bumping into them though, now they knew I was a complete wanker. After a firm no from the lovebirds, I sighed the goodbyes and started charging home as the cold set in. Donna at least sent me off with a peck on the cheek, but as soon as they disappeared I was left with the same crap feeling and I wondered to myself how was I ever going to avoid another beating.

  Chapter Eight

  Outside Is OK

  Eve

  I bought the yellow Hello Kitty beanie for five pound, but I knew I wouldn’t wear it and in the end I gave it to Mam when her hair started falling out. Me, Debbie and Rachel swung our shopping bags as we flounced out of the Hill Street Centre, all of us really jolly compared to the dour grey faces trundling round Boro that afternoon. The town seemed to be a beautiful playground, all the silver factories and pipes and flares sticking up over the little strawberry rooftops, and we bounced around like three-year-olds on Prozac. The weather was good, and we got our holiday booked. Claire was at home with flu or something, but the four of us were jet-setting to Majorca the following March – it was only some off-season resort, but we figured it was worth it what with GCSEs coming up and also the crap spring wind and rain. As we stepped onto Linthorpe Road and saw everyone going about in their drab outfits and sour expressions, we stuck our eyes on the sun and imagined what it would be like.

  Where next? Debbie asked us, squinting a little. We weren’t ones to float around in posh sunglasses, but then again I believed all the stuff about getting crow’s feet. Rachel pushed up her sexy sixties shades while me and Debbie screwed our faces up, and even though she was seeing everything in black and brown she was the first to say, Look, there’s Gary.

  Gary Clinton was the biggest gangster in Brackenhoe school. We’d scored a few love-heart pills from him the night before, and we were wandering around with that dreamy Happy Monday feeling in our heads except it was Saturday. Everything seemed funny and beautiful. Gary was also the type of boy to go round smacking kids from other schools, and trying to shag girls who didn’t know any better. I was pretty sure he hadn’t nailed any of my gang – I personally wouldn’t go anywhere near him, even though he was charming when he was trying to get into you. He had on an eighties-looking black and green shellsuit, and did the upward nod when he spotted us coming over. He thought he was the king of cool, and me and Rachel had a tiny smirk about it with linked arms.

  Alright? he asked once we reached him. What youse up to?

  Nowt; we just booked our hol to Majorca, I explained. I breathed in when he looked at my tits.

  Mint. Any decent clubs out there like, or what?

  Well yeah, it’s got Pacha and everything, Rachel replied, but Gary didn’t have a clue. All he knew about was nutting and glassing people in Time and Bongo. He had a silly life.

  So what you doing? I asked him, but I wasn’t as interested as that.

  Gaz blinked up and down the rainbow-dotted street, then went, Tried to get some money off this lad. I dunno now. I was gonna nick some bottles or something. Youse need owt getting?

  God did he know what women wanted. Rachel and me just laughed, but you could see the cogs ticking in Debbie’s head and she went, Some spraypaint?

  It was fair enough not wanting to spend three or four pound on a can of paint, but it meant Gaz had to hang around with us the rest of the day and you couldn’t talk about the stuff you wanted to with him around. Gary shrugged black/green sheeny shoulders, then those two went off to find a car shop. Me and Rachel waited out in the sun while they scooted in and stole plum, lime green and raspberry red, and later on we spotted them getting off on the benches near Virgin. I guessed it was payback for the paint – a kiss from Debbie had a street-value of about twenty-five pound. Even back then Deb was seeing darkie Brandon from North Ormesby – Gary didn’t have any colour to him whatsoever. Me and Rachel got a couple of pasties out of Greggs, but we could hardly stomach anything having been on the love-hearts the previous evening. We just stood and played about with the pastry – in a way ecstasy was a good way to keep your figure. If you gave E to completely fat people not only would they be buzzing all the time, the weight would topple off them. Debbie was jiggling her knees while Gaz felt her up – they were getting into it, but you could hardly watch. Me and Rach laughed but they were a nuisance – once they prised themselves off each other, Debbie and Gary lagged behind the rest of the day and in a weird way you hoped Brandon would appear round the corner with a bomby-knocker.

  Gary had a foil-lined carrier out with him – I seriously wondered if he was for real, spending Saturday afternoons stealing things and putting fingers up girls’ rude bits. In broad daylight as well. It was a gorgeous day – I tried not to worry too much but he was mental, and I strode forwards chatting with Rach. We got loads of looks off boys as we rocketed up the pavement, but we were in the mood for just staring straight ahead like stuck-up supermodels. Every now and then we had to say hello to people we were associated with. On the corner of Vaughan Street, Gary wanted to browse in JD Sports, and yet again me and Rachel giggled about his class although we had been known to wear Fila and Adidas and Kappa and Ellesse back in the day. Actually I woke up in trackie bottoms that morning but let’s keep that one to ourselves. Rach came back to mine after a night down the Viking, and we changed into comfy clothes and watched the last of the Friday telly. The love-hearts especially tended to give you that speedy up-all-night effect, so we were there on the settee til about five or six in the morning, wired to it.

  It’s boiling, Rachel said, taking off her shades as we pushed through everyone in the tight shop. It was the perfect scenario for swiping sportswear, but you just could not look. Me and Rach dragged Debbie over to the swimwear and stroked a few bikinis, trying not to be seen with Gaz. Debbie was neither here nor there, but all the talk of holidays got her in the mood again and we nattered a while about beaches and Sex On The Beaches. There was better fun to come than hanging around with scallywags. We watched Gary smuggle away a pair of sky blue Kappa trackies, and after a bit it was obvious the security guard was going to get involved. I had a hold on a red Adidas bikini top when the hunky guy in black marched over, but Gaz spotted him pretty fa
st and burst his way out. The trackies were hanging out the foil bag when he crossed the alarm but it didn’t go off, and Debbie shoved her bum in the security man’s side and he had no choice but to manhandle her.

  Watch out then! What the fuck you doing, Debbie said, and for a second she fazed him with her bedtime eyes and pneumatic breasts. I almost laughed, but Rachel was staring the opposite way and instead we decided to watch Gaz sprint off. The guard got all flustered, made a charge for the door then changed his mind and said to us, Do you know that lad?

  Naw but I’d like to get to know you, Deb said, and we left it at that. The security guard was sort of cute, and obviously he was too hot and bothered to put up a chase. Instead we spotted him talking to his walkie-talkie as we walked the other way, and I wondered who was on the other end. To be honest with you I didn’t care if Gaz got caught or not – it was a relief to get rid of him the rest of the afternoon. I touched the Lunn Polly papers in my jeans then smoothed out my yellow cotton top, and me and the girls started waltzing off.