Apples

by Milward, Richard

  We should set him up with little Nicole, I laughed, imagining the tiny tots dressed in wedding gear and I snorted. It was pretty obvious by now that babies were a total nightmare, but Claire grinned and kissed the thing’s teeny forehead. I wondered yet if the baby had been christened or confirmed or whatever you called it, but Claire probably wanted him blown up. She hadn’t even named him yet. I still had my heart set on Sydney for a boy or a girl, but I didn’t mention it to her because she’d only want it for the devil child. We bounced the kid up and down then switched off the telly – it was getting lateish, and he was starting to get excited and grouchy again. When he screwed his face up he was the ugliest piece of shit, but I didn’t say anything. We tucked him up in the Duck Tales cot, then started to get tired ourselves and began getting ready for bed. It was sort of a last-minute thing to have the sleep-over so I hadn’t brought any stuff with me; Claire lent me her toothbrush and a tiny Garfield vest, and I managed to change my tampon in the bathroom without embarrassing myself. It was only half-ten when we got in the top-and-tail position, both of us completely sober while the baby dropped off in the corner. Boy had the sleep-overs changed lately. We took a risk and chatted whispers in the dark; every now and then the Baby Boy wriggled about in his cot and we had to shut up, but you couldn’t just lay there in silence.

  So you really wanna get back with Fairhurst? Claire asked me, hogging the covers but I wasn’t fussed. That period was hotting me up.

  I dunno. I’ve just been with too many crap lads recently, I said, for example the sex with Ben the previous weekend was awkward and ever so slightly painful, him not quite being able to heat me up correctly. I mean, the more people you sleep with the more you realise how good you had it before. And Fairhurst only treated me bad that one time, fondling Rachel’s perfecto titty, and he phoned me all the time after it happened.

  Yeah, I know the feeling, Claire whispered. I wish Gaz would have me back.

  You don’t mean Shane? I said, raising an eyebrow her toes didn’t catch. I rolled over. I always thought Shane and Claire were good together – like me and Fairhurst, their two-year affair had loads of ups and downs but those boys taught us how to have a good time. I thought it was pretty weird her mentioning Gaz – there was a boy I hated right now.

  No, I mean Gary Clinton, Claire repeated. Don’t tell anyone – it’s his baby.

  I took some of the covers back, and I hid under them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Lightning

  Eve

  Fairhurst was at Rachel’s party, and I tried to get back with him. But it was hard work – perhaps if I was loved-up I could’ve slid up to him and said something nice, but in the end I got mortalled. Me and Jenni went halves on six litres of White Lightning, and there was total frost underfoot and we skidded about while we drank it. The cider was knacking my head by the time we got to Fremantle Crescent, a few motorbike gangs buzzing around as we stood by her front door. Rachel had on her red cheerleader jacket – it was bitter as well indoors, and me and Jen huddled in our coats while we finished the first bottle. Rachel said the pilot light had blown out so there were no radiators, and she had no idea how to fix it. We could see our breath like we were in the Exorcist and it was spooky. We made our way through the hall and said hellos to a few people. As I started getting pissed I felt quite high but it was more wobbly than ecstatic. Me, Debbie and Rach sat around nattering about Majorca – Jenni didn’t seem all that bitchy and jealous about the trip, and we swore we’d bring her back some tiny Smirnoffs and Baileys off the aeroplane. She sat on the carpet while I perched on the chair arm next to Debbie – the living room was pretty packed with faces, and that’s when I spotted Chris Fairhurst.

  I felt like I made a dick out of myself. He was laid quite bored-looking on the sofa, and I did my biggest grin but it seemed to go right through him. My head was swirling – I couldn’t decide if he’d seen me or not, so I got up and trudged over the people. There were loads of unfamiliar faces, tearaways, and scruffy girls I didn’t know too well. I touched their heads til I got to Fairhurst, and I plonked myself down. He just looked at me with pin-point pupils, and in my head I knew I had to be cool but the cider was a bit of a nightmare. I ended up talking to him about the Citroën he crashed, and straight away I could tell I was pissing him off. The last time I saw him was at the traffic lights with Jenni. Then I started fumbling my words, trying to explain the holiday, but he couldn’t tell what I was on about. He seemed so cold and lifeless, or he had a new girlfriend or something. I wished I wasn’t so drunk – I was aware of making a fool out of myself, but I didn’t know how to combat it. I staggered back to the girls, knocking glasses and people’s knees, and I sat back down all annoyed and fidgety. I hadn’t been this pissed for at least a week. I had the feeling I’d cry about it in the morning, but for the time being there was no reason to sit around worrying about stuff. Fairhurst could do what he wanted.

  Me and Jenni lounged around and quaffed more White Lightning – it was so sour and it always made me think of cat poo, but soon enough I was talking shite again and me and Jen floated around with light heads. I kept glancing over at Fairhurst, and I wondered why he was being such a robot. My head was in a muddle about how good looking he was, but there was no denying those cheekbones and green meadow eyes. In a little bit Brandon came in and sat with Debbie, and he blocked my view – those two were having a lover’s tiff, but I managed to change the subject. Brandon wasn’t so het up when we started discussing bikinis and sun lotion, and I steered clear of holiday romance. We weren’t exactly going to Majorca to shag every lad there, but it’d be good to unwind for a week. I was looking forward to coming home roasted.

  You alright for drink? Brandon asked me, offering a can of Tennents or whatever it was. I showed him the big bottle of cider and we laughed. I took a can anyway. Brandon was a hotty – at first it seemed weird for Debbie to be going out with a Paki, but he was one of those with nice bracelets and trendy lines shaved into his hair. I wriggled on the hard settee, and I started getting jealous of all the girls sitting around with their boyfriends. Opposite me Rachel and Dan were sloshing tongues, and even Debbie and Brandon necked now and then despite the arguing. Me and Jenni were just the sad cases getting drunker and drunker. I smiled at Dan, then spotted Gary Clinton squashed underneath them slurping up a bottle of Three Hammers. I didn’t want him to notice me; I was still cross about him battering Adam as well as putting a bun in Claire’s oven. He changed my mood – I bobbed my head back, and I could feel my eyes swimming out of their sockets.

  Eve you’re wrecked, Rachel went, cradling Dan’s hand and laughing. People who say that to you are boring knobs though. She hadn’t been drinking much, just sharing a cup of Spectra with Dan and that was that. She seemed pretty happy though – house parties tended to be disastrous, especially with the open-door policy. Sometimes you got people coming in off the street and stealing things, but at least all the thugs at Rachel’s were smiley thugs. To me they were all just a bunch of spinning faces. Me and Jenni polished off the rest of the White Lightning, looking really terrible but we didn’t give a hoot. Me and her at least wanted to have a good time. I was starting to wish Jenni could come with us to Majorca, but it’d be a kick in the teeth for my mam. And her tits looked really out of shape in her tight Nike top, and in a way I didn’t want to witness her in a bikini. Boys still went for her though, for example Ben getting off with her at Empire way before me and him did the squelch. The sex was nothing to scream about though – I think when you start getting laid you imagine boys to have really different styles and ornate techniques, but to be honest they’re all quite similar and it’s hard even to tell the difference between knobs sometimes. It’s safe to say Fairhurst was my best shag, lots of doggy style and licking out and kissing and cuddling afterwards. But now he didn’t want to go near me.

  Crossing my legs, I felt my tummy churn a bit of cider and I had to balance feeling drunk and feeling sick. My pulse was pumping a li
ttle bit harder, and I felt my cheeks drain. I didn’t want to sick up in front of Fairhurst so I made a sharp exit out of the room, sweating like mad to the sound of Street Fighter II someone had just put on. With the nasty cider swishing about, I darted up the steep staircase and locked myself in Rachel’s bathroom. I turned on the cold tap but the water was disgusting, my belly all tight and scrunched. I admitted to myself I’d feel better if I spewed, but the toilet cover was down so I had to quickly gag into the white sink. I felt ashamed. My puke was mostly liquid with a few yellowy lumps of Mam’s fish bake, and it filled half the bowl – you’d think by now I’d realise I couldn’t hold my drink. Wiping my mouth, I felt absolutely knackered all of a sudden, and slumped in a crumple on the bathroom floor. I was still drunk, and I felt dippy sticking my fingers down the plug to clear the lumps out. I watched the sick swirl away, and I was so used to the milky acid smell I felt sad. I wanted to go back downstairs like nothing had happened, but my guts were in a twist and I was white as an ice cream. Blinking heavily, I knocked my head off the towel-rail then put my back against the cold radiator. I tried to go to sleep. Eyes shutted, the room was still spinning and all I could think of was spew and cider, teasing myself. I had to push my hand into my waistband to get any kind of comfort, and I tried to focus on Majorca. My head was a whizz of coconuts and monkeys and sunshine. After a bit I managed to drop off, or rather completely pass out on the sticky lino. My brain went blank. Only two more sleeps til Majorca.

  Adam

  In the end I didn’t kill my dad. Instead he got hospitalised for a week, and it was a pain in the arse going with my mum to look at him in a coma. He was boring. Mum didn’t report me to the police or anything like that (after all the guitar accidentally fell off the top of my wardrobe), but she kept going on about disowning me and now and then in the house she had crying fits. I did what I could to get out of her way. Abi was still mothering me after the disco inferno, and we went out quite a lot though I didn’t tell her about smashing my dad’s face in. There was no good way to put it. Every so often we went to the Viking or the Grove with her mum and dad – they always bought us drinks and evenings are a lot funner when you’re getting tipsy topsy. Me and Abi could sit and talk about anything, and the nights and days always went by dead fast when she was around. I hadn’t been thinking about Eve so much recently, but there was always a little part of me that wished it was her and not Abi. I saw her again at Rachel Shannon’s party. In the evening I met Abi near the lane on Saltersgill field, and it was that dark sky with odd sun rays coming through like aliens trying to beam you up. Abi was shivering quite a bit in a turquoisey jumper with her arms across her boobs, and the first thing she said to me was, ‘Where you been? I felt like a pro standing there.’

  I smiled, but I would’ve felt shit if something happened to her. The lateness was on account of me getting my hair right – I knew there’d be mint lasses at Rachel’s party, and I had to look dashing. I think the trick is to scruff your hair in one single motion – the more you touch it, the shittier it gets. I came out with a head like a treetop. I stroked out a crease in my blue-stripe sweater, then me and Abi carved holes in the frost on our way through Gleneagles. After a bit the sun started to squadge across the council flats, glinting the shiny street and we had to walk with our hands over our eyes. We were well and truly deep in a dodgy estate. When we got to Fremantle Crescent the sky suddenly got darker and more sinisterish, and I had the willies – for all I knew Rachel was about to tell me to fuck off. Through school I’d never really talked to Rachel, but she was the sort of girl even if she slapped you in the head you’d thank her for it. We knocked, and it was actually Dan Williams who answered.

  ‘Now. Howay in,’ he said. Apparently he was shagging Rachel, and I imagined if I was in the same position I’d be twenty-four-hour smiles and heartbeat. He was just solemn though, and he passed me a can of Harp as we took off our shoes. It was nippy, and when we got in the front room I hardly recognised anyone. I figured the best medicine would be to neck the lager as quick as possible. Me and Abi plonked ourselves on the carpet but no one really acknowledged us. My feet were totally numb, and I held on to them between sips of Harp. Rachel’s house had the smell of stale cigs and there were loads of people sat about passing fags and probably joints, but I never wanted to smoke again. I woke up after the Royal Ex that night with grotty fingers, and it took about 150 washes to get the smell off. I forced a couple of smiles out of Debbie Forrester and Gracie as I rocked on the ground – there was some terrible house music playing, and the vibrations were getting to me. The noise was all bum-bum-bum. I couldn’t see Eve anywhere. All the way through Beechwood I was wondering what I’d say to her – probably something dead shy and daft, and she’d never talk to me again. She’d been acting weird since I saw her out, and I wondered how the hell I was going to redeem myself. I felt like every time I opened my mouth there was a shotgun in there and I triggered it off.

  ‘Hey you,’ Rachel said suddenly, coming into the room and hugging Abi’s neck off. She completely blanked me but I smiled up as the cousins kissed and got up to date – Rachel seemed pretty drunk, but I made sure not to gaze down her bra especially with all those lads around I didn’t know. She had on a red cheerleader-type coat, with the zip down, and all I could think of was her and Dan fucking each other’s faces off. She was like a Tinseltown goddess, although I never heard of anyone from Beechwood or Easterside getting famous.

  While Rachel and Abi talked, I decided to down the rest of the Harp and loosen up then look for more drinks. I had a few pounds spare from dinner that week, but in the kitchen there was a big stock of booze everyone was just helping themselves to. I found Debbie and Jenni Farrell and someone else in there – they were arguing about something or other. I stopped to have an eavesdrop.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked after a bit. I scratched my face but I didn’t really have scabs any more, just little pink blisters from my dad and Gary Clinton. Debbie looked, then did a screwy smile and said, ‘These two won’t come to the shop with me.’

  ‘It’s fucking freezing,’ Jenni went, though she had on a yellow Puffa jacket. She was a slice of toast. ‘She’s going to Palladium and all. She won’t go to Saltersgill cos these jealous girls want to boot her face in.’

  ‘I sprayed their car once,’ Debbie said, and she was smirking. She jumped up and down on the lino, then turned to me and asked, ‘You wanna come? I’m just going for more Coke and that, for the vodka. It’s a bit spicy on its own.’

  I pretended to mull it over, but who was I kidding really. I nodded, then followed Debbie out the back door as she smiled and stuck her tongue out at the others. We squeezed past loads of bags of rubbish, then went down the back alley and ended up in the dark on Woodville Avenue. The trees were all swishing like white candy-floss on big Twiglets. We crossed over Keith Road, and as we skidded forwards Debbie went to me, ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, watching Debbie’s head bob across the green boarded-up flats. ‘Abi just phoned us up.’

  ‘Are youse two going out together?’

  ‘Naw, just mates, you know. We sort of clicked after the disco and that.’

  ‘Aw yeah, I forgot about that. Gary’s a total prick – don’t worry about him,’ Debbie said, pushing her dimples out then touching my arm. It was always nice hearing people say that about Gaz – I still hated him, but in a weird way if he hadn’t pounced on me Abi might not have introduced me to all this wonder. All the girls were Roman candles splashing joy across the estate. Debbie peered up at me in her cream Ellesse jacket, and for once in my life walking through Grove Hill was total bliss.

  ‘So you got your eyes on a girl, then?’ she asked, as we made it to the cracked Palladium buildings. I wasn’t sure if she was coming on to me, but I’d seen her necking a half-caste earlier on and I said, ‘Not really. I mean, have you seen Eve tonight?’

  ‘I knew you liked her!’ Debbie laughed, nudging me as we w
ent through the newsagent door. All the kids were piled outside in technicolour tracksuits, laughing and pestering each other, but me and Debbie were completely invincible.

  ‘She doesn’t like me, though,’ I said bluntly, as we picked up the Cokes and Debbie couldn’t resist another one-ninety-nine Bellabrusco.

  ‘What makes you say that? She reckons you’re dead sweet,’ Debbie went, and we chased each other round the aisles, looking for a fag lighter for Jenni. It was like chiming bells hearing that come out of her mouth – I wanted to rush back to the party and see her, maybe express my total devotion to her or something like that. I seriously considered picking up some Durex, but she only said I was sweet not the statue of David.

  ‘So do you know where she is, then?’ I asked, blinking myself awake.

  ‘Yeah, it’s a secret though,’ Debbie said, smiling as we made our way to the counter. She held the side of my head, putting her lips on my ear and whispering, ‘She spewed in Rachel’s bathroom. She’s in bed now. She’s in a right state.’

  ‘Aww, god,’ I said, and because we were talking so much the shop assistant couldn’t be bothered IDing us. She bagged up the goods, then Debbie paid with a ten and I took the bottles into the biting wind. The streets out there were blue and grey and silver-blue, and we walked close together on the way back to Fremantle. The streetlights were whizzing cross-hairs and I squinted uncontrollably. Debbie talked a bit about her boyfriend as we scooted past the footprints we made on the way down, but I wasn’t that interested in niggers really. All I could think about was Eve. I always thought she was untouchable, but maybe everyone’s equal after all. I hoped she was okay.