Bone Idol

by David Louden

“Me too kid. How about me and you start watching Alf together. My kids don’t like Alf… you know, cos of them being girls and stuff.”

  “I’ll watch Alf with you.”

  “Cool, very cool Doug. So I’ll drop in this Saturday and we can watch Alf and plan out our bike trek like men, sound good?”

  I nodded. I was fit to bust with the amount of Bromance that was taking place, even with Jeff sitting on his bed watching like a little blonde gooseberry.

  “That’s aces Doug. You got to do one thing for me though.”

  “Name it!”

  “You’ve got to go downstairs and say sorry to your mum. That joke isn’t the kind of thing you tell ladies and now there’s bits of cup and tea everywhere and that ain’t cool.”

  8

  WE LAY ON the couch after a hard day’s work, like those men who built the skyline of New York City – me with my banana milkshake, Ronan draining down a cold beer with his feet outstretched in front of him. We’d spent a hot morning and afternoon in front of the house sanding off the rust on a neglected Chopper. Paulie had come by and tried to tempt me off on an adventure into the forest.

  “Some hobo has stashed a load of old coins in a bean can supposedly.” he offered.

  But it didn’t work and after a few minutes he was off to track down Sixty-Six.

  The handlebars were looking buff now. Clean, shining, you could clutch them in your hands with a real sense of pride. It was just the rest of the bike that needed a fixing.

  “You’ll sleep tonight Doug, right?” toasted Ronan.

  “My arms are wrecked.”

  “That’s a good day’s work on them, that’s what that is.”

  Alf had reached the end credit roll and I hoped Ronan hadn’t noticed. I liked his company.

  “My dad says that’s a proper job, working with your hands.”

  “What does he do?” he asked before he’d grab it back “That’s right, he’s in movies. You interested in going into movies when you stretch up Doug?”

  “Nah, I like drawing and I like books but Dad says it’s all artsy-fartsy shite and to leave it to the puffters.”

  “And what do you think?”

  He’d stumped me. I hadn’t considered the old man’s mantra to be flawed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well what would you rather do, would you prefer to work in a shop and get paid for it or would you prefer to be a writer or an artist and make money doing that?”

  “You can make money writing?”

  “Not everyone, but some people. Sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you’re just good but even if you don’t if it’s something you love doing then where’s the harm?”

  “What would I write about?”

  “What does anyone write about?” Ronan drained off his beer and disappeared to get another. He came back with a tattered old book and dropped it in my lap.

  “You read that, you take your time with it and when you’re done you tell me if writing is artsy-fartsy shite that should be left to anybody.”

  My chest pounded, I had never been given such a wonderful present. I read the cover over and over. I wanted to take it home and place it on a shelf and look at it, imagine what it contained, imagine the change it would trigger within me. I nodded and thanked Ronan before supping down my milkshake and heading home.

  After dinner I went to my room while Mum, Tara and Jeff sat in the living room watching TV. I climbed into bed and pulled out Ronan’s book and began to read:

  Chapter One

  One night I was sitting on the bed in my hotel room on Bunker Hill…

  9

  THAT SUNDAY the police came calling on every house in the district. A lot of the husbands were taken away in vans and our house was tossed. Soldiers in steel-toe capped boots ripped every hanger from every closet, tossed every soft furnishing, smashed every piece of crockery. Mum sat on the couch boiling over, muttering “bastards” under her breath every time they sullied our home. A blonde soldier kicked Bosco in the ribs making him yelp; enough was e-fuckin-nough for the old lady. She sprang from the floral three seater and straight into action marching right up into the face of the British squaddy. She would have stared harmless into his chest but he stooped to eyeball here.

  “You’re a filthy heartless bastard do you know that?” she had that tone that didn’t wait for the answer. “How would you fucking like it if I kicked you, you cunt!”

  He looked around him and smirked before replying “Sit the fuck down love, before you regret it.”

  “Oh I won’t regret anything.” she said throwing a boot into the soldier’s happy sack.

  He went to ground like any other bloke, his body armour a little too north to be of any use. The others were on her in a flash and she was dragged away by the hair while Jeff cried, Tara screamed her name and I spat at them and yelled for them to get the fuck out of my house. We all had to go sleep at Beth’s house that night and the following day we were sent to school with a dirty uniform.

  My relationship with Fiona was complex. Outside of school she had begun to speak to me on some matters but within those gates she was a stranger. I’d pass in the corridor and her name would taste bitter on my tongue as I knew any utterance of it would fall on deaf ears echoed in the giggles of her sisterhood that never seemed to be away from her side.

  Sixty-Six and Richard were playing football with the older kids as I sat by the side of the pitch reading my book. I could see a lot of Fiona in it and it only served to drive me wild for her. Three boys from my year had just been taught how to masturbate and were sitting side-by-side smacking out their inaugural cream chuck while watching the girls play with their skipping ropes. The main character of my book smoked, I was giving serious consideration to taking the habit up. The smell of it had sickened me and it still made me think of Copperfield’s more often than not but those issues aside I was giving it some real consideration. My ninth birthday was around the corner, it would bring the obligatory presents and a serious awakening. I would know for sure why I wanted Fiona and what I desperately wanted to do with her when I got her. I was becoming a man and in becoming a man was saying goodbye to reason and informed decision making. They should ring a large brass bell to signal the last clear thought created by the brain before all conscious reasoning and planning migrates below the leather equator.

  The Maxwell twins pulled up on both sides of me; their grey skirts riding up. The smooth white silk of thigh pressing against the cheaply made, school recommended, trouser. They itched like a bastard but the school preferred to keep their choices cheap so all families could afford to dress their kids. Cathy and Chrissie Maxwell were part of Fiona’s girl-herd. They always stared at me whether I attempted to say hello or not.

  “I hear you’re having a birthday.” I think it was Cathy that said this but who can tell with fucking twins?

  “So.” I said, my nose firmly planted in my book.

  “So are we invited?” Chrissie asked.

  “Why would you want to come to my birthday?”

  “You invited Fiona, do you like her or something?”

  “What’s it to you Maxwell?”

  “Do you not like us or something?” asked the other one.

  “I don’t know. Do you want to come?”

  “Fiona said she wasn’t going to go to your party anyway because your mum’s a jailbird and she didn’t want the army coming to her door.”

  It stung. I couldn’t bring myself to look up at their faces but I could tell they were smiling.

  “Fiona doesn’t like you anyway, she says things about you. We were just surprised that you’d invite her and not us.”

  “What stuff does she say?”

  “Does it annoy you?”

  “Are you going to cry?”

  “Wise the fuck up would you.” I said slamming my book shut and getting to my feet.

  I marched across the middle of the playground, the football rushed into my path and I hoofed it towards the tree line with a
ll the power I could swing through my left pin and continued on. Fiona saw me coming, rolled her eyes and turned to walk away but I started running and caught up with her.

  “What have you been saying about me?”

  “Seriously Doug, not now, go away you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Hey dickhead go get our ball!” came a voice from behind me.

  “Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch all the time?”

  “Don’t you talk to my sister like that!” now Richard was getting involved.

  A human log jam was building up around me.

  “Take it back!” demanded Richard.

  “Doug just go, do you see what you’ve started?”

  “Dickhead, go get our fucking ball!”

  Richard shoved me knocking my book from my hands, I dug deep and came up with a resounding swing and caught his nose before turning round to the kid that stood behind me.

  “Who the fuck are you calling dickhead you wanker?!” he was much bigger than he sounded and he beat me where I stood.

  Soon Richard was laying in a boot or two too. The commotion had attracted the attention of several teachers who raced over and clawed the two boys off my back. As I got to my feet I threw a punch to the tall kid’s beanbag putting him on the ground and leading to me being dragged away by my shirt collar with my book covered in blood.

  Beth got covered in sick as Jeff blew his stack on a bumpy road between North and West Belfast. When we pulled up outside the house Mum was there waiting on us. Tara had gotten into a similar scrap with a girl in her class which resulted in two of the Morgan kids sitting in the principle’s office waiting for their aunt to bail them out. We both thought Mum would be pissed at us but she smiled through the bruises and kissed all three of us on the heads before directing her sister to a change of clothes in her closet.

  We phoned take-out for dinner that night and ate like we were on the run camped out on the floor in front of the TV. Mum sat us down after dinner, she held her ribs like they belonged to a sick bird.

  “I appreciate you two sticking up for me, family should stand up for one another but that’s the end of it ok?” she had us both nodding with her then she stared through us.

  “Why were those men here?” Tara asked.

  “They were searching the whole neighbourhood, but they had no right to do what they did to our home, and they had no right to kick our dog, and I probably shouldn’t have hit that soldier. If anyone says anything to either of you from now on I want you to tell a teacher, let them sort it out. Don’t be getting yourself into trouble, you only get one name and there’s no point shaming it for a mouthy little piss-ant.”

  She’d kiss us on the head, say how she ate already and gingerly climb the stairs to her bedroom.

  That night Ronan came calling, he had black ink smudged all over his fingers and a fat lip. I was out front reading the book he had given me but hide it quickly when I saw him so he wouldn’t see the blood from my nose that had dashed across it.

  “How’re you finding it?”

  I nodded “I’ve only just started really.”

  “But you like it enough?”

  “Yeah. I really like it, I like the way he sees things.”

  “Yeah he’s definitely a distinct look on life. You want to work on the bike?”

  I tucked the book into my back pocket as I got to my feet, my ribs were sore too, my back hurt and my eyes had blackened up but other than that I felt pretty good about myself though I’d ruin another school photograph.

  The night grew dark in colour so we worked under torchlight and supped tea to keep the air at bay. Ronan ran the gears through once as we replaced the rusted brown chain with a newer one and oiled it up to get her running smooth.

  “So have you changed your mind on art?”

  “What?” I wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about.

  “When you said it was artsy-fartsy shite have you changed your mind on it?”

  “I like art. I like books too, that was my dad’s idea is all. Did that guy make a lot of money from his writing?”

  “I don’t know. I guess he did ok, I mean you’re reading his book over fifty years after he wrote it so someone’s doing ok by it right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well if you like that one I’ve more of his so let me know when you’re finished.”

  I felt sick. Ronan would be expecting his book back and though it was far from a presentable condition when he had given it to me in a few days of being in my possession it had been kicked about St. Kieran’s Primary School and caked in my nose blood. What chance did it stand making it through the entire read? I didn’t want to tell him, I didn’t want him thinking less of me but I didn’t want to lie to him. Dad had made us lie to Mum about our weekend trips into town and it made me feel like this, exactly like this.

  “Ronan.” I said tentatively.

  “That’s the name Doug.”

  “Say something happened to your book, would that piss you off much?”

  “It’s not my book anymore son, I gave it to you.”

  I caught the smile just as it was about to explode all over my face and bit down on my lower lip. I liked Ronan, the man had style, he called me son, he was aces. We flipped the bike back up on to its wheels, the tires were almost bare but that was the next step, after that all we’d have to do was tidy up the saddle and everything would be ready. Ronan hopped on and spun round in a circle peddling fast then slowing down and snaking left, then right, then left, then right. He seemed happy with the work done. The bike was looking beautiful; she was a real classy ride. Hopping off he wheeled it round the back of the house and locked it up in his garden shed.

  “How’s your mum?” he asked, sparking up a cigarette.

  “She’s ok, she’s gone to bed. Her side seems sore.”

  “She had any dinner yet?”

  “She said she ate earlier.”

  He seemed to consider this. “Come in with me, I want you to bring something home with you.”

  Ronan’s wife was all smiles, she was pretty, though not a patch on Paulie’s mum. His kids watched me awkwardly as though I would lay down roots and force their father to divide his love three ways. I tried not to notice as I stood by the island in the middle of their kitchen. Ronan gathered up a little something from the oven, a little something from the fridge and pulled it all together on to a plate and stuck it in some Tupperware.

  “Take this over to your mum, if she’s resting up she’ll appreciate you bringing her dinner in bed and she might not hurt so bad in the morning.”

  I walked home carefully. I had looked into the Tupperware and there was some chicken and mash floating in a small pool of gravy. I tried to make sure it stayed in the middle of the fine China. I laid everything out on a tray with a can of Coca-Cola and a knife and fork. Tara tried to manage the project but I pushed her away.

  “I want to help.” she insisted.

  “Then shut the fuck up and open the door.”

  “I’m telling Mum you swore.”

  “Just fuck up and open it.”

  Tara held open the kitchen door for me and I climbed the stairs towards Mum’s bedroom. Soon I had my own entourage as first Tara shadowed me and then Jeff clambered up after, both of them trying to shoehorn themselves into the scene for a third of the credit of something they had nothing to do with; bloody typical. As I set the tray down on the empty side of the double bed Mum opened her green eyes and pointed them at us, a sly smile escaping.

  “And what’s all this then?” she asked.

  “Your dinner’s ready, eat up or no dessert.” I mimicked.

  Tara had put our uniforms in the wash while Mum was upstairs resting so by the time she came down there was nothing she could do about the fact that my white shirt was now a Prince Adam shade of pink and three sizes too small for me.

  “I can’t wear this!” I yelled “I’ll look like a princess!”

  Tara raged in the background at how badly
received her helping hand was. The following morning Mum packed us off to school in our own clothes and a note for our teachers. They’d nod their heads understandingly and everyone in class would be visibly shocked at the idea of not being in uniform but little else changed. Fiona still ignored me, only this time I was ignoring her too. I hadn’t seen her outside of school the previous day because of the fight with her brother.

  I sat in the canteen eating what passed for food in the Belfast Educational and Library Board’s understanding of dietary requirements and read my book. He had started frequenting a diner and was chasing a Mexican girl who waitressed there but he was treating her badly. I wondered if this was how it was done, how you’re supposed to go about getting a girl interested in you. I was too young to have that talk with Jack and didn’t feel my relationship with Ronan was quite there yet. I worked around the chopped carrots, they never got them right. Suddenly there was a shadow over me and then I took a slap to the face that stung and brought my attention out of Bunker Hill long enough to see the older kid who I had smacked in the junk the day before.

  “When you’re done with your lunch dickhead I’m going to trash you.” he growled.

  “Piss off, or at least take a step back, your breath smells like pigeon shit.”

  He went for me but a teacher intervened. I went back to eating what the school called lunch and I considered torture and reading my book. It was my book now. Then Richard appeared. He sat down across from me and I was waiting for the same sort of threat. His would hurt more, I liked Richard and I didn’t want to fight him. I didn’t want him to beat me up and I certainly didn’t want to beat him because that would lead to his sister hating more than she sometimes already did.

  “You need any help with that ball bag Doug?” he said, his voice soft and warm.

  I looked at him shocked, it took a few moments for my mind to be sure I had heard the words in the order I did.

  “Help? With him?”

  “I’m sorry I pushed you yesterday, and I’m sorry I hit you too but you hit me first and you were being a dick to my sister but she said to me I should come over and make friends again and stop that cock jockey from ass stomping you so if you need help just say and we’ll fuck his shit up together.”