‘You farting walrus,’ I said.
He crushed another one. The time had come to stop being clever.
‘Wanker,’ I said.
He cracked.
‘Right! That’s it,’ he shouted. ‘You asked for it.’ Then he went berserk. He started stamping on all the snails he could find. ‘Bang bang bang squelch bang bang!’ he screamed, stamping and pulling faces like some kind of overweight Maori on the warpath. He was slithering around on the crushed snails – you could see it was all going to end in disaster. I didn’t have to do anything. He looked so ludicrous even his brother hid his face in his hands.
‘No, Rob, don’t, don’t,’ he groaned.
And then – the snails got him. All that slimy snail goo. It was bound to happen. His feet shot out one way, his arms another, his fat belly another, his bag yet another. He hung in mid-air for a minute like a elevating hippo … then SPLAT! Right down on the pavement. Right in the dog shit and the snail corpses, where he belonged.
‘Uroerugh,’ groaned the fat one.
‘The revenge of the snail people is complete,’ I said.
And then the bus came along. Perfect! Sometimes, the universe just hands it to you on a plate.
The fat one hauled himself upright just in time to see the bus roll off, with us on it.
‘Tosser,’ yelled Alex to him, now that it was safe. The fat one didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just drew his finger across his throat.
We pushed our way upstairs. ‘Why’d you do that?’ moaned Alex.
‘I was saving the snails,’ I pointed out.
‘I didn’t notice many snails getting saved,’ said Alex. ‘That kid is a psychopath. Did you see the size of him? If him and his family want to squash snails for a hobby, that’s fine by me.’
‘You’re such a chicken,’ I said.
Alex scowled. ‘It’s not being chicken, it’s looking after myself,’ he said. ‘You could have got punched and you could have got me punched too. It’s stupid.’
I shook my head. I mean, we go way back, me and Alex, but … Don’t get me wrong, I like him. He’s OK. But it’s like … all he ever thinks about is Alex.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ he asked.
‘I was just wondering why we’re friends,’ I told him.
‘We share a similar sense of humour,’ he said.
‘Oh, yeah, I forgot.’
Alex shook his head. ‘Fat lip at twelve o’clock,’ he added, changing the subject. This couple got on the bus, a boy and a girl, and the girl had blood on her mouth. He was slouching in front of her, like he was embarrassed to be seen with someone who was bleeding, and she was creeping along behind him, trying not to cry.
Even girls get beaten up at Statside.
They sat down a few seats away. She was trying to mop up with bits of old tissue, the sort of stuff you find rolled up into little twists in your pockets, while he sat there scowling away. I dug out a little packet of tissues I had in my pocket ever since I had a cold a while ago, and I got up to give it to them.
‘Here, do you want to use these?’ I said. The lad glared at me.
‘What’s it to you?’ he said.
I shook the tissues. ‘Do you want them or not?’
He stared at me as if I’d just told him to get stuffed, but the girl reached across and took them.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and she tossed her head at the bloke like he was being a dick. Which he was.
‘No worries,’ I said, and I went back to my seat. The lad twisted round to stare at me. What for? Helping his girlfriend? You tell me.
Alex was furious. ‘What did you do that for?’ he hissed as soon as the lad looked away. ‘It’s none of your business. What is it with you and violence?’
‘Shut up, Alex,’ I said.
I looked across at the girl. She’d looked ugly with her bleeding lips, but behind the tissues there was a pretty face, I reckon.
‘I wonder what happened to her,’ I said.
‘Got in a fight with Billie Trevors,’ someone said behind us.
I thought, She’s not going to be a looker for long if she gets into trouble with people like that.
Billie
I was planning on going to see my mum after school but I was so fed up after getting into that fight I was starting to think I might go and see Cookie instead. He’s not exactly my boyfriend, but he’s the nearest thing I have right now. He works at a burger bar. He’s a freak – all he wants is to get pissed and have a grope. I can cope with that; at least you know what you’re getting.
But … it was Mum’s birthday a few days ago. I wanted to see her. I’d got her a present, a nice one. So I thought, Sod Cookie. I’ve got more important things to do today.
I hadn’t seen her for ages. She gets depressed. That’s what Hannah reckons anyway. Untreated depression, that’s what it sounds like to me, she said. I call it untreated being pissed. I didn’t even know it was that for a long time. She’s a private drinker, my mum. By the time I was ten she was so depressed I couldn’t remember what she was like sober.
It crept up gradually with Mum. I was doing more and more about the house. Cleaning, cooking. Doing the shopping on the way home from school. If I didn’t do it, we’d all come home and there’d be nothing to eat; she’d’ve spent it all on booze. By the time I was ten I was getting them up, getting them ready for school, feeding them, doing the washing, keeping the house in order. I was the oldest, see. And then I’d go to school and do a full day there, get the shopping on the way home and feed the kids and all that. Proper little housewife, I was. I used to go with her to cash her cheque once a fortnight, and give her her drinks money. I had to hide the housekeeping or she’d nick it.
You wouldn’t believe it now, eh? But if it wasn’t for me the whole family would have fallen to pieces.
I didn’t mind. It made school hard, that was the only thing. I’d been doing OK at school up till then, but with all the work at home it was hard to keep up. I was up at six most mornings. I’d have done half a day’s work before I even left the house. Then as soon as I walked into school they’d be treating me like a kid. Do this, do that, jump to it. You lazy girl, how stupid are you, you can’t even do this little bit of homework. I wanted to shout – I could do it, easy, if I wasn’t falling asleep at home next to my baby brother after I’d sung him his lullaby. If I hadn’t two kids at home to look after, and food to buy and bills to pay and shopping and cooking and washing and Mum to look after as well. But I couldn’t say a word. If anyone outside found out about it, it’d be the Social in and that’d be the end of our family.
That’s all I wanted. To keep the family together. It’s what Mum always said. We have to keep the family together.
In the end they found out anyway. One of the neighbours, maybe, or maybe I took too many days off school. If I’d been able to keep school together as well as the housework and all that, maybe our family’d still be together today.
I don’t think Mum’s ever forgiven me for that.
The Social really did us over. Mum got whisked away to detox. We all got taken into care. Our family was broken to bits. I should have worked harder. I could have worked harder, if I’m honest. I was lazy. Sam and Katie were taken together, but the family that looked after them didn’t want me. I was too big, too bloody ugly or something. Too much of a problem.
I still don’t get it. One day I was holding everything together for everyone, and the next I’m this problem. How does that happen? For ages I was waiting for it to dawn on everyone that I was the only reason the family kept going, but they never did.
I hadn’t seen Mum for nearly a year. Or Katie or Sam. I’d missed their birthdays. I wasn’t going to miss Mum’s. She was still my mum, wasn’t she? She could let me give her a bloody present. She could let me do that much.
They lived in Armly these days, miles away from where we used to b
e. I was there in twenty minutes. It was so weird. Like they’re living on another planet and then you just jump on the bus – and there they are.
I’d got her a really nice present. Mum loves candles. She used to collect them. Sometimes, she’d light loads of them in the front room when we had a takeaway or something, a couple of dozen or more, and we’d sit around and talk about stuff and eat our food. So I got her some coloured candles in pairs, joined together with their long wicks. When you hung them from your finger, they looked really pretty. I’d saved up for her. And some nice pretty paper to wrap them up in and everything.
When I got there, I lost my nerve and wandered up and down for ages before I finally got it together to go and peer over the wall into the yard. The back door was open; there was someone in. But I still couldn’t do it, so I went away and walked around some more, and when I went back there was Katie in the yard, hanging out the washing. I watched her through the crack in the gate for a bit, then I hissed out her name. She came over, and when she saw it was me she slipped out, came to stand with me, out of sight of the house, together in the ginnel, me and her.
She’s twelve, Katie – two years older than I was when the Social stepped in. Growing up. Getting her boobs. She was going to have a nice figure, I reckon. She’d grown so much. I thought, Yeah. It’s been months since I’ve seen any of them.
‘Katie, how are you? It’s great to see you,’ I said.
‘Hello, Billie. What are you doing here?’
‘Come to see you, haven’t I? It’s Mum’s birthday, isn’t it?’
‘Last week, that was.’ She glanced back at the house behind her. ‘You’re late.’
‘Ah, give us a break. Is she in?’ I asked.
Katie nodded. ‘Upstairs.’
‘Is she … ?’ I asked. I meant, drunk.
‘No.’ Katie pouted and looked at me. ‘It’s you as drinks now, Billie, not her.’
That was really annoying. She only said that because I came round here when I was drunk once or twice.
‘Not like her, not like she used to.’
‘She never drinks any more, not now,’ said Katie.
‘Don’t she? That’s good, then. I’m glad about that.’ And I thought, Maybe, maybe not. Either way Katie’s not going to tell me about it.
‘How’s Sam?’ I asked.
‘He’s OK.’
‘How’s that ear? Are you still getting those infections?’
‘Not any more. I haven’t had one for years. They said I’ve grown out of it.’
‘Good. That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘I know.’
We stood and looked at each other a while longer.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Billie,’ she said.
‘I’ve got her a present, haven’t I? I can give my mum a present, can’t I?’
‘I know, but you said you wouldn’t come.’
‘She’s my mum and all, you know.’
Katie looked sulky at me. ‘It’s no good, though, is it, you seeing her,’ she said. ‘Not for anyone. Not for the family.’
I hated the way she said that – ‘the family’ – as if I was some kind of enemy from outside – me, who held the whole lot together for all those years.
‘Katie, I’m allowed to give my sodding mum a present on her birthday, aren’t I?’
She just stood there, didn’t say anything.
‘Ask her,’ I said.
‘Billie …’
‘Just … ask her for me, will you?’
Katie scowled at me, but she went inside. I was steaming. Having to ask permission to see your mum. I wasn’t surprised, though. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m not a good thing for the family. Things go wrong when I turn up, apparently.
Katie came back, looking dead sulky.
‘It’s not a good time,’ she said.
‘She’s pissed, isn’t she?’
‘No!’
I glared at her. I could help her if she wanted me to, but no. She has to do it all on her own.
I nodded down at the basket full of laundry.
‘Doing the washing?’ I asked.
‘I get my pocket money for it,’ said Katie.
I thought, Yeah, I’ll bet.
Behind her there was a murmur of voices. She glanced over her shoulder into the house and back at me quickly. A man.
I smiled grimly. ‘Got a feller, has she?’
‘Not really. Just a friend,’ she said. She looked at the ground. ‘She wouldn’t want me telling you,’ she said. ‘It’s none of your business.’
I laughed. I just laughed at her.
‘You better go now,’ she said.
‘I want to see her,’ I said.
Katie looked up at me, angry now. ‘It’s nice to see you, Billie. We all miss you. Mum said thanks for coming to see her. She’s talking to the Social about seeing you again when she’s … when she’s better, but she doesn’t feel like she can cope right now. It’s best you go now. You know? You best go now,’ she said. She turned and put her hand on the latch to the gate and waited.
So – sod it, eh? I thought. Sod this.
I threw the present down at the ground at her feet and I just went and left her to it. I wasn’t about to make life any harder for her than it already was, but I’d been more of a mother to her than that cow in there ever was.
I walked away up the ginnel. I glanced back quick after a few metres, in time to see the curtains on the upstairs window fall. And, yes, I caught a glimpse of her face before she hid it away from me behind the curtains. Then I went away. I sat on the bus and I didn’t cry. I made a promise a while ago that she’d never make me cry again, and I’ve stuck to it. It was hard that day, though.
I don’t get it. I looked after us all, and I did it all for her, all for her. So how come, when she came out of detox, when she got herself straight, I was the only one she didn’t want back?
Rob
You know what winds me up? What winds me up is when you have a brother so stupid he thinks stamping on snails is clever. And then some poncy grammar-school kid comes along and has a go at him, and you have to defend the little git because he’s your brother. Result? Total humiliation. You end up on your arse skidding about in snail juice. And your idiot brother – that’s the one you were trying to rescue in the first place – he’s laughing at you along with all the rest.
I don’t do bullies, but sometimes you can see the attraction. It would be so nice, just once, to hold Davey down in the dirt, sit on his face and fart. A good long wet one. The release of tension … bliss.
It looked like it was going to be a good day too. That was the day I made my first friend at Statside. And not just any friend, either. If I told you I’d been rescued by a girl, you’d probably think I was an even bigger wimp than you first thought. But when I tell you that that girl was Billie Trevors, and that she beat up the entire Riley gang to save me, you’d shut your trap. Wouldn’t you? You would. If you had any sense you would, anyhow.
I know – it sounds too good to be true. Who would have thought that me, Roly Poly Rob, would be mates with the hardest person in the school? In the world for all I know, because no known human has ever met anyone tougher than Billie Trevors. She’s hard, but underneath she’s really nice. We have loads in common. We like the same music. We laugh at the same things. We’ve only had a couple of conversations, but I really think she likes me. She’s not like the rest of them here. She doesn’t go along with things just because everyone else does. She’s the sort of person who’ll decide if she likes you or not just on how you get on together.
I wish …
This is such a hard school. They’re all chavs _ it’s like the style police. If you’re not like them, they think you’re some sort of pervert. Kids get beat up for listening to the wrong music or wearing the wrong clothes. Just not being them is, like, an insult. At my old school in
Manchester, girls used to like me. Girls like big fellas. But here, if any girl even looked at me, she’d get beat up by the girl chavs for being a pervert! What’s that about? Martin Riley had his girlfriend Jess slap me around the other day. He didn’t even need to hold me down. I just stood there while she slapped the side of my face until it turned red. Then she spat on my jersey and I had to say, Thank you, Jess.
Well, not any more. Billie Trevors is my mate. See Jess slap me now. If that Snailboy had known the kind of people I hang out with, he’d have been on the floor licking up snail juice with his dirty, snaily little tongue. And he’d have been happy to do it too.
Another thing that winds me up is when you miss the bus – because Snailboy got on your bus with his snail friend and you were too slow to hop on after them. And so you have to walk home on your own with snail juice all over your trousers. And then it rains. And you get soaking wet and cold and miserable and you arrive at the front door feeling like a complete idiot because that’s what you are.
And there’s shouting coming from inside the house.
A lot of it, a lot of life, you can’t do much about, but I’d found a great way of coping with the shouting. I didn’t even have to think about it any more. I turned up my iPod as high as it goes, so that the awesome sound of Metallica filled me up, top to toe, pouring out of me, like shining beams of light, out of my ears, my mouth and out of my eyes, for all I know. Then I opened the door and walked into the house on a wave of sound.
Metallica solves most problems. You don’t have to be angry when Metallica is playing. You don’t have to be scared. You don’t have to worry. They do all that for you. When I listen to Metallica, I am God.
I waded through the music, past the living room and I arrived at the fridge. The fridge is my friend. You need friends in this world. It wasn’t being all that friendly today. I have this dream where I open up the fridge and it’s full of cake and Coke and snacks and trifle and chocolate and blocks of cheese. You name it. In the dream I’m thin and that shit Philip is at the bottom of a deep hole. I’m going out with Billie. We’re making out in the fridge. And Metallica is beamed directly through into my brain.