by David Louden
“You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head and watched as Jack stepped outside and threw his banjo over his shoulder. My mouth went dry, my tongue swelled.
“I’m sorry son.”
I nodded.
“It’s your birthday soon, do you know what you’d like yet?”
11
SATURDAY WAS aces. The sun shone like a September summer do-over. My mum and a few of her friends had catered the bash and everyone was there. I showed Fiona my brand new typewriter that Mum had raced out to buy when she realised the direction her son was heading. She had been stocking up on art supplies for weeks beforehand. Fiona seemed impressed that I was a writer now and more so when I promised to write something especially for her. Paulie had turned up with his mum in-tow and I did my best to keep her away from Fiona. Fiona was beautiful in my eyes, but Paulie’s mum was the perfect woman, curvy, sensual, a real Fuck Machine like Richard would say. I watched her longingly as her hips snaked up the steps to the backdoor and into the house. I wonder if it was too late to return the typer and get an evening with her instead. I watched that perfectly shaped ass bob around and cause a stirring down below.
“Happy birthday pig fucker!” Paulie handed me a crudely wrapped gift.
I went to open the present but was immediately shut down by his dirty hand coming down on top of mine.
“Not here,” he whispered “open it later, when you’re alone…and remember who your best friend is.”
“Cheers cock boy, have you seen my typewriter?”
“Sweet!” he exclaimed, immediately running to it and typing ball bag over and over again “What the fuck are you going to need this for? You getting a receptionist job or something?”
“Doug’s a writer Paulie.” added Fiona.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I am yeah, Paulie.”
“So you write stories about your cock right?”
“Immature!” Fiona announced before walking off towards those Maxwell twins who had somehow managed to shanghai an invite.
“So is she your girlfriend now then?” Paulie asked, still typing words like wanker and fuck-hole.
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“You fucked her yet?”
“I’m too busy trying to fuck your ma, would you like me to be your new da?”
“You’d need to learn how to drive, other than that I don’t care.”
I stirred again. I had never said it aloud before and now I did I wanted it more than anything.
“Let’s go get something to eat before Tara and her roller friends scoff it all.” I said dragging him away from my typer.
Ronan arrived with his two girls. I hadn’t ever really interacted with them but they were welcome because they were with him. He handed me a box wrapped in red paper with a gold bow on top.
“All we had in the house was Christmas wrapping paper for some reason.”
“That’s ok.”
I tore it and popped the box open with my little fingers. Three more books, all from the same author and all mine. I was fit to burst. It was turning out to be the best birthday ever. That evening I walked Fiona home even though Richard was with us. When I got back to the house Ronan was out on the porch fixing up the saddle on our newly restored Chopper. He’d retrieved the gold bow from the bin and stuck it on the handlebars, smiling as he saw me.
“Hope you don’t mind but I figured I’d get her up to riding for you coming back.”
“Sweet!” I yelled, sprinting at it.
“What do you think about the bow? Too much? Too girlie?”
“Maybe just the right amount of girlie,” I quipped “I’m sure I can pull it off.”
Ronan laughed, patting me on the back.
“I’m sure you can, you want to learn to ride this thing?”
I climbed on, throwing my right leg over and locking myself into position. We’d been working on the bike for yonks, I had almost forgotten that I would eventually have to tame the thing but I was confident I could do it. I turned my nose up at the idea of training wheels. Training wheels were for little girls, for inexperienced childer, I was a man. I had built a bike for Christ’s sake. I could do this. I’d seen people ride bikes, small children who didn’t know one end of a spoke from another. I could do this. I pushed off and wobbled across the street, my feet hovering just above the ground as I rolled from the momentum of my initial push. I turned her handlebars as I reached the other side of the cul-de-sac and turned back on myself. Ronan stood by the front door and was now joined by Mum and Tara.
I pushed off again and wobbled back towards the house.
“Use your feet this time buddy,” Ronan advised “you won’t wobble so much.”
“Do you want me to show him how to do it?” Tara asked.
“No darling, let him do his thing.” Mum stated before tossing me a wink.
I turned the bike again and sucked it up. My stomach was turning over, I didn’t want to make an idiot out of myself by falling over but I was in danger of doing it anyway by not learning right so I pulled my feet up on to the pedals pushed off and started peddling. I was wobbly at first but as I caught some speed I straightened out and soon I was flying. I shot out of Laurelbank like I had stolen something. I rode out of sight and in the wind could hear the cheers coming from home. I rode past Sixty-Six’s house, I rode past the shops, I rode around the school before cycling home. I hadn’t tried stopping yet, that was probably harder than it looked but it was something I’d deal with when I needed to. The sense of freedom was unlike anything ever. I felt great. I felt happy.
12
A NEW FAMILY moved into the neighbourhood. I didn’t know the ones who moved out so it didn’t bother me. The dad wore leather a lot and rode a motorcycle; he had legs like bodybuilder’s arms and was covered in ink. The son was maybe fifteen and already shaving daily; the daughter was a year older than me but had shot into womanhood like she was propelled from a god-damn cannon; hips and ass and a budding chest that caught my attention and made me wonder why all the other girls in the neighbourhood my age didn’t look like that. Her name was Karen, she had soft eyes and a beautiful neck and always smelt like flowers but she was tough; not so girly-girl.
Within a couple of weeks Karen was running with our little crew and even though Paulie liked to think himself the leader she’d tease our torques with hugs and heavy pets to get the results she wanted. There was no doubt about it, in the days post sexual awakening Karen Barlow was the Alpha of our group and there wasn’t a voice of dissention.
One afternoon I was sitting on the porch reading my book, Karen was sprawled out beside me; her vest top promising the slightest glimpse of sweater meat that I would intermittently check in on. The kids were out in force running in packs, teasing in swarms, a freckly little mop topped kid jumped on Teresa’s back while the rest of them yelled Teresa Dirty Ditties! I was about to smirk when Karen leapt to her feet and marched out into the middle of the street.
“You little fuck nuggets want to start some shit?! Leave her the fuck alone or I’ll bury my foot in your hole!”
I watched in awe. She was like a warrior, a beautiful but deadly animal. The kids scattered into the tried and tested dispersal pattern and she returned to the porch, face red with passion. As she lay down again I strained into my book desperately trying not to steal a peak or get caught which was more to the point.
Karen went to a different school but all the talk at mine was of her. Sixty-Six had witnessed her amazing-ness down by the brook when, after an afternoon of climbing trees and building outposts, she pawed through the antique jug mags with us. None of us knew why it was better when a girl was looking, it just was. Her presence in Laurelbank made Fiona make more of an effort. I caught her looking over at lunch and during class, she’d whisper to her little gang of polished pre-teens and they’d look my way and stare. The only problem with Karen was the fighting. For some reason she would end most weekends scrapping with Ronan’s two daughte
rs. It left me sandwiched in the middle of two warring families and led to many a day when I’d have to make myself Switzerland, not to mention invisible, in order to prevent being drawn into the matter and having to pick sides.
It was February and the ground was hard as hell. Ronan had arranged to take me camping at the end of the month whenever the temperature picked up and the terrain softened. I’d never been camping, the thought of pitching out under the night sky and heating your food in a tin on a fire you made was magical. It was the work of real men.
Mum had given me my pocket money early that week, as requested. I’d rode my Chopper up to the shop and bought a Valentine’s Day card which I would then spend nights staring at, willing the perfect sentiment on to its intimidating white interior. I practiced on some spare scraps of paper that hadn’t made the cut of my literary works. The internal turmoil was exhausting. I finally settled on something romantic but not committal…not soppy, strong. The following day in school I could feel the card burn white hot in my backpack, I looked for the opportunity to get Fiona alone but those identical spectres stuck to her side like dog shit to a shoe. I sat behind her after lunch intentionally. It wasn’t my usual spot but I needed access to her school bag without her knowing. Knocking my pen off the desk I went under, out of sight from the teacher and reached across thumbing the bag towards me. I eventually had it close enough to slip the card inside, I wanted to see her open it but I’d make due with her getting it away from the prying eyes of those two little bitches. I bumped my head as I returned to my seat but otherwise I was prepared to declare Mission Accomplished until I heard a voice, one of their voices, I wasn’t sure which.
“Miss! Miss! Doug just did something to Fiona’s bag Miss!” snitched a twin.
“No I didn’t!”
“Miss, check her bag Miss.” contributed the other one.
“How about you fuck up!” I suggested.
“Language Douglas!” yelled the teacher “Now Fiona, why don’t you open your bag?”
Fiona reached for her bag, giving me the filthiest, mistrustful stare I’d ever seen and I prayed for the zipper to stick, for the bag to refuse to open but it didn’t. It was more than happy to give me up. Fiona stood in the middle of the class, all eyes on her holding a white envelope while everyone cheered and laughed and the two of us grew redder and redder.
“Did you put a Valentine’s card in Fiona’s bag?” roared a twin.
“Screw you twin!”
“Ok, everyone quiet down.” instructed the teacher and the class returned to a degree of order but I could still hear them.
They were all chittering and gossiping and laughing and whispering and I could feel my face burn and the hatred beam from the back of her beautiful little head. On the way out of class she dumped the card into the bin and stormed towards the exit. Somehow the word had spread; it felt as though every kid in school knew about it. The younger ones laughed and pointed their stumpy little fingers at me, the older ones just shook their head like I was some stupid fucking cuckold. Even the fat kids, who all huddled together for safety laughed at me. A specky kid with nostril cake pasted round his top lip like a disgusting moustache stood before me pointing his dirty little finger and roared with laughter. I grabbed him and shoved him to the ground before filling his mouth with grass and mud from the school lawn, topping it all off by punching him in the face. What chance did I stand?
“That goes for the rest of you dickheads too.” I warned.
Fiona barged past me without even making eye contact; the twins began the staring – always fucking staring. The steam went out of me and I was glad it was almost the weekend.
Paulie would call to the house to attempt to cheer me up in his own particular way. I was stretched out on top of my bed reading, Jeff played with what was left of my Batman toys on the floor in front of the chest of drawer when Mum called up “Douglas! Your friend Paul is here!”
“Send him up!” I yelled and she did.
He came into the room all smiles; I didn’t want to hear it. I had listened to it all the way home from school and I could only imagine the amount of children who were telling their parents about it over dinner and laughing, laughing while they choked down their dry chicken suppers in their stupid little houses in the middle of their boring streets. He’d crash down on the bed next to me.
“Well, you really got your dick in a jam didn’t you?”
“It was just a fucking card is all.”
“So what you love her or something?”
“It was just a card Paulie.”
“I was talking to Richard.”
That got my attention, and I lowered the book.
“Oh yeah?”
“He says Fiona is really annoyed with you, he says she doesn’t want to see you again, he says…”
“Cheers Paulie I get it. You want to go play football?”
“I’m going to play a match with Richard.”
“Cool, let me get my boots.” I said, springing up.
“Fiona’s going too. You probably shouldn’t bother to be honest mate.”
“That’s awfully fucking cosy, have fun Paulie.”
“Don’t be like that Doug.”
“Fuck off to Richard and find out how I should be then.”
I’d camp out like a leper on the porch the following day after school. The Maxwell’s would call to Fiona’s door and I’d flip them the bird as they glared over and whispered. I wished the money house was still standing. I’d drag them both down there by the hair and give them over to the naked old hobo for him to do what he wanted to them. Fiona was ignoring me but I didn’t care anymore, I felt more embarrassed about my own behaviour than hurt by hers and decided there and then she could go and take a fucking jump off a bridge for all I cared. Paulie and Richard past too, they both nodded their “hellos” and were polite enough but neither of them asked after me or my availability that evening. Even Ronan was busy. He held the door open to the passenger seat of his car for his wife to climb in before firing me a wink and a smile. He was dressed up in a suit, she was in a dress and they both looked aces. I was about to call it a night and retire to an evening in front of the typer when Karen strolled across the street and pulled up next to me. I smelt flowers.
“So I hear that Fiona girl threw a Valentine’s card you gave her in the bin.” she could be blunt.
“Yeah.”
“That must be shitty right?”
“I guess.”
“Not as shitty as not getting one though.”
“I didn’t get one.”
“I was talking about me.” she said
“Oh.”
“So how come you send her one and not me? Do you not like me or something?”
“I didn’t think you’d like one. I didn’t know we sent cards to people we climbed trees with.”
“Well you can if you want.”
“Just don’t tell Paulie or Sixty. I don’t want them feeling hurt when they end up with nothing to open.”
She laughed and it made my heart swell.
“Well maybe you get me one and maybe you don’t, no worries either way,” she said “but just so you know I’ll be getting you one.”
She left on that note and I knew I needed to go upstairs but it wasn’t to thrash something out on the typer.
That night I watched it from Mum’s bedroom window. Ronan had come home to a crying set of daughters, they had been out playing in the street and Karen had taken this opportunity to fire the next shot in an escalating war between the two families. She’d tell me later that Ronan’s kids were laughing at me, at my Valentine’s screw-up and that she was defending my honour – be still my beating loins.
The two men stood in the street nose-to-nose spitting fury and snarling at one another in the way pit bulls in dog fights do before their asshole owners let them off the leash. Karen’s biker dad pushed Ronan back before firing a tsunami of insults about what he was going to do if he ever stuck his ginger fucking nose in his
business again. Ronan stood his ground swearing back as good as he got. When he upended Jack he had been cool, controlled but this was a different man. I hadn’t ever seen Ronan like this before, this angry, this familiar. The wives would enter the warzone and pour cold water on their threats, shepherding them both back to their corners and ultimately indoors. I spent a lot of evenings in my mum’s room. We didn’t have a lot of money and Tara’s after school hobbies, Jeff’s dental requirements and my general existence was eating away at what little we did have. I had half an idea to counterfeit the money we did have so Mum could have more of it. I sat on the edge of her bed one night for hours studying the details of the paper money. I figured between drawing, tracing and the typewriter I’d be able to come up with something that would help her out but it never worked.
February was easing early so Ronan appeared before expected with a tent under his arm. He was all smiles and it made me happy that he enjoyed spending so much time with a kid whose own dad didn’t.
“I’m going to lend you this, it looks like we could probably go camping next weekend so you’re going to need to know how to put it up. You ok for practicing in your backyard?”
“Absolutely!” I said eagerly “What about you?”
“Well I don’t need to practice, I know how to do it.”
“So why do I have to learn?”
“Because real men know how to camp, so work hard or you’ll be sleeping with the bears.”
I nodded and placed the tent in the downstairs toilet which sat by the back door. Ronan settled himself in for Alf, Mum brought us both sandwiches.
13
ALL WEEK that god-damn tent tested my patience but I got the little fucker up in the end and it was the sweetest of victories. Over dinner I plagued Mum to let me sleep in it that week so I could get used to the great outdoors.
“Christ Douglas, no means no.” she said between bites.
“Oh c’mon Mum it’s not like I’m sleeping far I’ll be right outside my own window, please.”
