Gypsy Boy

by Mikey Walsh

  He didn’t even turn around. My aunt Minnie did though, raising a curious eyebrow at my enthusiasm, before looking back at the departing vehicles.

  I didn’t care. I turned and ran, through the gap in the hedge and across the field to get to the fence at the end of the road for one last glimpse. Water sprayed up from the field, soaking me, and the long grass tangled around my feet, winding its tentacles around my shins. I ripped myself free of the grass and leaped to the fence, just in time to catch Kenny’s car as it rattled by.

  I waved again and saw him notice me. He turned to unwind his window and I felt wildly happy. He was going to say something, after all.

  He drove by, without even looking at me. My only friend.

  My world tumbled and crashed and burned.

  The following night I sat in the back of the transit van as we set off for Newark. Through the tin wall separating us I could hear my mother’s favourite tape begin. Barbra Streisand, singing ‘Memories’.

  The floor beneath me rumbled and I wrapped myself up in a quilt to lock in what I could of my body heat. The van stank of tar. I leaned close to the rumbling tin wall, now warming from the heaters in the front and I felt, as I used to in the stable, in the company of a friend. I had asked to ride in the back, preferring to be alone among the luggage, where I felt safe from my father’s tongue and fist.

  We travelled at dead of night, so there was nothing to see. I lay, curled on the floor, and wondered what the future held for me. My father was a pureblood, a great man, a champion bare-knuckle fighter, a Black Knight of raging firepower.

  And me? I was no knight. My growing fear and mistrust of people was trapping me in a lonely inner world. I lived in fear of angering my father with my ‘effeminate’ traits. I frequently locked myself into confined spaces to find sanctuary and be myself without a disapproving world ripping me to shreds. Despite my efforts, I had become everything Gypsies despise. I was gay. I had caught a disease that could only be found in the world outside, and everyone could see it. They knew. And that’s why I was a slave to my father.

  I lit a stolen cigarette and sat in the darkness. My whole body chanted the same thing over and over; run, run, run. Go far away and never come back.

  But I was still not quite thirteen years old and couldn’t imagine ever being away from my culture and my people. So I clung, with quiet desperation, to the alternative. Newark could be my chance for a new start. No one there would know about me. Our new home could mark my new life, where I would finally pummel the feelings that made me this way. I would work harder, and make my father proud of his heir. I had to. Despite the crushing rules, I was proud of being a Gypsy. It was who I was.

  Somehow, this time, I would make it work.

  18

  A New Start

  As the van’s brakes slammed on and we lurched over a ramp in the road, I woke and scrambled towards the back window. The sky was red with the breaking dawn, and outside I could see a field full of black and white cows, a chain-link fence and rows of neat, gleaming trailers lined up along a stretch of glistening, black tarmac. Next to each trailer was a brand-new four-by-four heavy-duty car.

  Our convoy must have looked monstrous in comparison.

  Aunt Minnie and the girls waved at me from the car behind, their cigarettes glowing like sparklers. Frankie’s old brown and cream fright was looking more like a rotten tooth than a passable caravan amongst that lot.

  I laughed and waved back. At least we were colourful.

  We passed by the owner’s redbrick house and came into a large clearing filled with trailers, cars, outhouses and children’s toys.

  We stopped, and I waved for Romaine to come and release me. She slid open the door and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, my god, this is so cushti, come and have a look.’

  I walked round to the front of the van. Henry-Joe and Jimmy scrambled over our mother’s lap, sprinting off toward the grassy island at the camp’s centre. Leaping around it were several other children, all dressed like little china dolls, with perfect ringlets, bell-shaped dresses and little-old-man suits. The boys, scruffy and unconcerned, dived over to join them.

  A grit lane circled the grassy island, and beyond it stood a ring of concrete plots, each with its own tap, electric box and space for two good-sized trailers. Towards the entrance to the clearing was a large redbrick toilet block with two saloon-door entrances marked male and female. Beyond them we could hear the reassuring sound of a working flush.

  Frankie and Aunt Minnie emerged, and lit up fresh cigarettes.

  ‘I’ve warmed a seat up for you, Bettie,’ Aunt Minnie shouted, nudging Frankie and laughing.

  My mother rolled her eyes and laughed.

  ‘Just look at these two tramps will you. The owner’s gonna take one look at those two fools and chuck us straight off.’

  To the side of the camp stood a twenty-foot steel net and barbed-wire wall, and on the other side there was an army barrack. We could see, inside a giant shed, heavy machinery and camouflaged vehicles, with soldiers moving around them.

  The men of the convoy went over to the house to meet the owner. Most places were filled, but thanks to Rayleen’s family, we were expected and there were four good-sized plots waiting for us.

  As crowds of people started to pour from the other trailers, I headed in the direction of the wood at the back end of the camp, hoping to avoid the meet-and-greet gathering. I planned to have a sly smoke there. I didn’t want to give my father any reason to start on me again, so, unlike Frankie, I kept my smoking a secret.

  As I walked away, Aunt Rayleen called me. ‘Hey, Mikey, come and meet the boys.’

  Shit.

  I accelerated into a trot, and dived into the first entrance into the wood that I could see, then waited in silence like a hunted hare as Rayleen called again. After several moments of tensed-up fear, I relaxed, safe for the moment.

  I pulled out my cigarette box and lighter.

  Looking around I realised that it wasn’t actually a real wood. The trees were just a screen to the field behind, which was overgrown and full of battered lorries and scrap.

  Just behind the trees was a row of dog kennels, each one housing the favourite dog of the Gypsies – a Lurcher. As I stood, smoking and looking out over the field, I could hear the laughter and chatter from the growing crowd around the convoy. Suddenly I felt like a fool for running away. This was supposed to be my new start and here I was, cowering behind the trees. One of the dogs began to bark at me and, with my cover blown, I headed back into the clearing.

  My mother and Rayleen waved as I walked slowly back to join them.

  They were standing with three rather odd-looking boys, each with a dramatically different hair colour and build. I guessed that I was about to come face to face with Rayleen’s infamous brothers. My first thought was that she had oversold them in the looks department by a long shot. Despite their different colouring and build, they all looked exactly like her, and she was no oil painting. All four of them had extremely close-set eyes and noses like closed fists. ‘Hello there, mate, good to meet you,’ they chorused, each shaking my hand.

  My father beckoned me over to help, as he pulled Frankie’s trailer free from Aunt Minnie’s car. Two of the brothers disappeared, but the youngest, Alex, offered to help. My father, purple in the face, heaved at the front of the trailer as we pushed from behind. Once it was settled onto the plot my mother had chosen for us, my father moved on to help Uncle Jaybus and the others before returning to work on the bigger trailer. Alex and I were left winding down the legs of the trailer, and he chatted cheerfully away about the site and the people there.

  ‘I’ve heard loads about you,’ he panted, spinning the trailer jack.

  Obviously not, was all I could think, otherwise he wouldn’t even be talking to me. I struggled to overcome my shyness.

  ‘Yeah, me too you.’

  For the rest of the evening we didn’t part company, He even offered to take me for a drive around Newark in his car.
It seemed I might make a real friend after all.

  As he went off to fetch it, I leaned into the big trailer, where my mother was shooing Henry-Joe and Jimmy out of the toy cupboard.

  ‘I’m going with Alex to the shop, is that all right?’

  My mother’s face lit up. ‘He’s a nice boy, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, he is.’

  She smiled and reached for her handbag. She pulled out a twenty-pound note and, after looking both ways and whispering ‘Shhhhh’, she put it in my hand. ‘Don’t tell your dad, otherwise he’ll keep you here to help him set up.’

  As we ploughed through the back lanes in Alex’s bright red pick-up, we talked about the feud between him and his brothers and the Walsh boys.

  Apparently it all stemmed from a row over a girl the year before at the Cambridge Fair; a huge Gypsy convention held every July, where Gypsies from all over the country came together to eat, drink, show off their well-earned motorcars and, of course, fight.

  I made it clear to Alex that the feud is nothing to do with me.

  ‘Me neither,’ he said, slapping his hand down on the steering wheel.

  During the drive around Newark, I learned that Alex was three years older than me, had two different girlfriends who knew nothing of one another, and regularly enjoyed going out on the town to score with Gorgia women.

  ‘Have you had any sorts yet, Mikey?’

  I cringed, twitched and muttered a story about a girl in Doncaster.

  ‘What was she like, then?’

  I spent the next ten minutes describing what I thought would be a typical sexy yet believable girl, and the ten after that trying to make her sound slightly less of a dog. The look on Alex’s face told me that he had guessed I was a virgin. But he politely went along with the story I struggled so hard to come up with.

  As we pulled back into the camp, we saw Frankie and Romaine propped up against the wooden gate with a group of other teenagers. As we got closer, I saw Alex eyeing a girl with long blonde hair and legs about as long as my dumpy sister was tall.

  ‘Now that is a sort,’ he said.

  As we pulled up to the grass verge, the girl turned and stared at us. Alex wound down the window.

  ‘Hello,’ she chirped.

  Frankie and Romaine squeezed in either side.

  ‘You all right, shit-heads? I’m his sister Frankie by the way.’

  The giant girl giggled. ‘I’m Kayla-Jayne.’

  Two other boys and a girl appeared at the window on my side.

  The girl ignored me, and began talking over my shoulder, focusing on the more important, driving teen. She asked Alex about his relationship status and car.

  ‘I’m single, but looking to settle down,’ he said, smiling sweetly.

  I nearly choked on my can of Coke.

  As the girl chatted on I looked at the two boys. They seemed friendly; unlike the usual aggressive boys I had met before. I realised that this was the longest I had ever been in the company of other young people without being challenged to fight. And it felt good.

  A little later Alex dropped me back at our trailer and said he would call by later. The big trailer was now settled, with its legs wound down and, just for good measure, my mother was giving it another good scrub to get rid of the dirt from the journey.

  All that was left to do was to attach the awning to the front of it and I had come back just in time to help. Many of the trailers had awnings attached to the sides, but my mother, who couldn’t help but bring her Elton John decor taste into everything, had had an awning made especially to fit the whole front of the trailer, like a passion-pink circus tent; frills and all. Even though the night air had already begun to draw in, my father was determined to get the job over and done with. The great pink lump, along with its one hundred-plus attachment poles had been pulled from its sack and spread across the concrete to let the creases fall out. This monstrosity of a contraption was my least favourite part of the set up, mainly because it always caused my father to blow his fuse. Not once had it been attached without me or one of my brothers being whacked with the one pole that never fitted.

  For several of our moves we had made do without it, since it was such a nightmare to assemble, but now we were planning to stay a while, and my mother wanted it up.

  A group of teenagers had assembled in Frankie’s trailer, and they watched as my father wrestled with the awning, shouted, sulked and swore for the next couple of hours. What seemed like an eternity later, it was done. My father managed to crack me a smile as we stood back to admire our handiwork.

  ‘Come and have a look, Bettie.’

  My mother descended from the trailer and out through the zip door of her creation to join us.

  ‘You happy?’ my father said proudly, pulling her to him with a kiss.

  She leaned into his chest and looked over at the finished object, tilting her head. She gave a half-pleased hum, and that was good enough for me. I made a dash for it and joined Frankie and the others in her trailer.

  For the first time, I began to feel confident around others my age. Alex soon joined us, and we all sat around, talking and smoking.

  The two teenage boys who’d hung around the car earlier were there, and Alex began to taunt them. ‘What are your names then, Little and Large?’

  It was cruel, but accurate. They got up and made polite excuses to leave.

  ‘Wanna come and play pool, Mikey?’ asked the thinner boy.

  ‘Not with you he don’t,’ laughed Alex.

  As the boys left I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. They reminded me of myself.

  I went outside to say goodbye to them. The three of us stood awkwardly, listening to Alex and Frankie back in the trailer, firing off insults about them and screaming with laughter.

  ‘I’ll see you later, thanks for coming up.’ I spoke loudly, trying to drown out the noise behind me.

  The two boys looked up to the window, as Alex waved like the Queen.

  ‘Ignore him.’

  The large boy walked off, rubbing his face in a temper.

  The smaller one shook my hand. ‘I’m Adam. Your cousin.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, my dad and your dad are first cousins. That makes us second.’

  ‘I never knew that.’

  He smiled, then set off after the other boy.

  ‘See you later, cousin,’ I called.

  ‘See you later!’

  ‘That wasn’t very nice, Alex,’ I said, when I was back inside the trailer.

  ‘No it wasn’t,’ said Romaine. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing, Frankie.’

  ‘Oh, they were arseholes,’ Frankie retorted, laughing her head off.

  It was clear that Alex was my stubby little sister’s type. I knew she would never act that way if she didn’t fancy him.

  ‘Why are you laughing like that?’ I said. ‘We’ve been here two minutes and you’re acting like a bitch.’

  She paused. ‘Oh shut up, Joseph, who are you to tell me off like a child?’

  ‘What did you call me?’

  She snickered, wiping the mascara that had run down her cheeks and pulling herself up from Alex’s shoulder.

  ‘Joseph … Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, Joseph!’

  I put my outstretched arm behind her music system.

  She screamed. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  I launched the thing off the table, sending it exploding into a wall before it crashed to the carpet and splattered across the floor. Then I got up and walked out.

  The trailer door flew open and Frankie’s shrill voice echoed throughout the camp. ‘Fucking poof! Fucking poofy boy! Beat rotten by every, fucking low-life man that’s ever faced you! Hey, everybody, my brother is a big poof! A big, man-loving poof ! And now you all know!’

  She slammed the trailer door so hard it sent a shockwave across the camp.

  As the echoes faded, so did my hope for change.

  19

  The Wrath of Fra
nkie

  In the days that followed my father found a local quarry where we could get tar and grit, and an abundance of unsuspecting victims. He and I would leave the camp for the quarry every morning at 6 a.m. and only after shifting the majority of our cargo onto the drives of local pensioners for ridiculous amounts of money, or when it had become too dark to work, did we head back home.

  I was glad, because every time I stepped back into Frankie’s trailer, I revisited her humiliating outburst. The other teenagers would be gathered there, but although I was included, things were not the same. Frankie’s bellow across the camp had truly stuck, and the brief moment in which I had felt what it was like to be a normal, popular kid was gone.

  Frankie was too stubborn a girl to admit to anyone, including me, that she had been wrong, and it drove yet another wedge between us, because I found it hard to forgive her.

  Alex was still friendly with me, but I suspected that it was because I was his excuse to come over to the trailer every evening. Frankie had made our trailer the new teenage girl hangout, and there was no better place for any red-blooded teenage Gypsy boy to be. Sitting with Frankie would be Romaine, now a giggly twelve-year-old, Kayla-Jayne, the chatty girl who’d stuck her head in at the car window, and her buck-toothed sister Charlene.

  The two boys who had been mocked that first evening – our second cousins Adam and Levoy – often hung around, and through their sheer persistence, were gradually accepted by Alex and became part of the group.

  The two of them looked a bit like Laurel and Hardy. Adam was rake thin, with bow legs and the slight look of a chimpanzee around the ears. Levoy was double the size of little Adam, and the perfect comic relief. Although he had slightly more of a darker side to his personality than Adam it didn’t often surface until suddenly he’d hit you with a quip that would tear you apart. Levoy adored Adam, the two of them were inseparable, and secretly I shared his admiration; I thought Adam was amazing.

  Once the girls had finished their daily cleaning chores, they would all come in and Frankie would pull the blinds. There they would sit for hours, smoking sneaky cigarettes, talking ‘women’s troubles’ and gossiping about boys. Or so we boys assumed. Sometimes the four of us – me, Alex, Adam and Levoy – tried to listen outside the window, to find out what they talked about. We were shocked, one evening, to hear one of the girls screaming in panic over having accidentally lost her virginity to a tampon. The girls all screeched and fussed as the four of us rolled about in the grass in stitches. I learned that night yet another secret rule of the dos and don’ts of the Gypsy girls’ code: they were not supposed to use tampons in case they broke the hymen before their wedding night.