Born Free

by Laura Hird

  ‘Maybe we should just go. We’re being dead obvious. Ian Dawson saw us th’now.’

  Raymond scans the room for Ian.

  ‘Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em all. Fuck him and his mail-order fanny. I dinnae care what the fuckers think any more.’ Stress forces the glass to my lips. ‘… ah mean t’say, have you any idea how much fucking dosh we make these bastards?’ He tries to stand up to address the gathering. I grip onto the back of his shirt. He’s too drunk to work out why he can’t get to his feet.

  ‘Look at them, fucking celebrating. What about poor fucking Pashto? What ’bout the poor bastard that’s been training Do Rightly for the last nine months? For what? Fucking dog meat.’

  ‘Well maybe we should …’

  ‘… aye, maybe that fucking bimbo was right this afternoon. Do they fucking care? Do they fuck.’

  Shit, Ian Dawson’s approaching, with a concerned, official look.

  ‘You all right there? A bit worse for the wear?’

  Raymond grins at me.

  ‘I’ll show you what I mean. Right, Ian, tell uz, how much d’you earn, y’know, all perks included, in a month, eh? Ow much?’

  ‘It’s how little I’ve got left that’s the problem,’ Ian smiles, trying to make light of it.

  ‘Naw, seriously though … no bullshit … I’m trying to prove a point here. I’m no trynabe funny … just … roughly, how much? C’moan.’

  An Area Manager comes over with Raymond’s neglected jacket. I take it, thank him, apologise to Ian and start pushing Raymond towards the exit.

  ‘I’ll see him into a taxi.’

  A band start tuning up on the other side of the room. Raymond lunges, out of my grasp, towards them. I’m left standing with Ian, the Area Manager, and the jacket. By the time I get over, Raymond’s trying to wrestle the guitarist’s instrument off him.

  ‘C’mon, I was in a band. I’ll show you fuckers a thing or two. ERIG CLABTON EEDYAR FACKING HARD AHT!’

  The band try to humour him but Raymond’s adamant he’s going to have a shot. People are gathering round to watch the proceedings, like it’s a cabaret. Eventually, Ian has to intervene, but not before Raymond’s given the singer his phone number and insisted he call him for an audition. The band help escort us to the door. By Monday, this will be a piece of bookie legend.

  We wait till everyone goes back in before collapsing into the car. Someone’s probably already phoned the registration number in to the nearest police station, but fuck it. I’m damned if I’ll let these back-stabbing bastards deprive me of a shag.

  Pulling hesitantly away from the pub, we revert to Plan A – Colinton Dell. We pass a police car on Slateford Road, but luckily they’re too engrossed in their chips to notice our rather wavy progress. Unnerved, none-the-less, I suggest we take a sharp left and drive up the back of Meggetland. A perfect dark little spot behind the hut.

  ‘Howji know about this place, you dirdy bitch?’

  I pretend it was just a lucky guess, but really I was fingered here in my youth more times than I care to remember.

  Raymond stares at his crotch, disconsolately.

  ‘I donno if I’m up t’much, to tell the truth. Wine fucks me.’

  Cupping his trousered balls in my hand, I kiss his chest.

  ‘… honest, id’ll just be embarr’sing. Lemme suck on your cunt or something.’

  Although it’s the first time he’s offered such a thing, I’m aching to be fucked. Unbuttoning his trousers, I slide down the zip. He feels semi-hard through the material. Gently liberating his cock from his blue, shapeless Y-fronts, I begin licking the tip. It’s faintly stiff but floppy. He stops protesting. Pulling back his foreskin, I suck, lick, try to kiss some life into it, as his middle finger strains for his arsehole. The racket he’s making encourages me to keep going, to take it right down my throat.

  ‘Oh, you fucker, you fucker …’

  He grabs my hair and forces in as far as it’ll go. I let him fuck my windpipe till I’ve no breath left, then start bobbing and sucking again. My jaw is starting to ache and my glands are throbbing. Seeming to sense this, he puts his hand over mine and starts wanking pneumatically. As he screams, I hold my tongue out, for him to splash onto, but it merely dribbles, pus-like, down the shaft.

  ‘Yer zome woman, know that? Ah love you.’

  I don’t say it back, although I think I do. I’ll scare him off if I respond too quickly. The moment passes and he starts to drive me home. I hate this. It’s really intense and wonderful, but I just miss him so much in between times.

  We stop at the lights at the top of Robertson Avenue. He seems to read my mind.

  ‘We can’t fucking go on like this, Ange. Lez jus’ do it, eh?’

  ‘What?’

  The lights change.

  ‘You know, lez just fuck off zomewhere.’

  If only life were that simple. Perhaps it is and I just don’t realise any more.

  ‘Where’d we go?’

  ‘Fucking anywhere, anywhere y’like. Zomewhere hot were the booze’s cheap. Zomewhere we can lie and fuck in a wee shack aw day then get slaughtered it night for the price ova Mars bar. Any-vucking-were.’

  Pulling into my street, he parks a few doors down from the stair.

  ‘… j’no think? Go get yer pazzport. Tell’m you’re goin for chips.’

  ‘Stop it, Raymond. You’d get a shock if I said yes.’

  ‘Try me. Go on, juz fuckin try me.’

  A tear disappears down his cheek. I can’t help myself.

  ‘I love you too, Raymond. I didnae say before ’cause I thought it was ridiculous, but I do.’

  I open the car door. He grabs my hand.

  ‘Come on, zweedheart. Lez continue this conversation in Mexico.’

  I kiss him goodnight and get out, hoping he’ll suggest meeting up on our day off tomorrow. He doesn’t.

  ‘Kizz the kids for me,’ he says, sarcastically.

  I unlock the stair door as he does a clumsy U-turn and beeps goodnight. Kiss them? Kick them more like.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  JONI

  EVERYONE’S OUT, SO Rosie and me have the flat to ourselves. We were going to go to the Venue, but we’re both too hung-over. She’s been going on about her and John for hours. It suddenly seems like nothing else is worth talking about any more. Even when we were listening to CDs earlier, I realised for the first time that every song ever written’s about being in love with your best pal’s lover.

  She’s telling me how sexually frustrated she is for about the twentieth time, when Mum comes crashing in. Jesus, it looks like her hair’s exploded. It’s sort of pulled up in two straggly peaks on top of her head. God knows who she’s trying to look like – Björk? The Prodigy? The Devil? – but it’s fucking priceless. Noticing her runny make-up, I decide it is definitely the Prodigy.

  ‘Are you doing that for charity, Mum?’

  Looking bewildered, she checks the mirror. I think even she gets a fright.

  ‘Oh, Christ.’

  ‘So is it Children in Need or what? Careful you dinnae scare the dog.’

  I’m only having a laugh. After all, it’s not every day your mum comes in looking like Ken Dodd’s stalker, but she throws herself onto the settee and bursts into tears. Rosie doesn’t know where to look.

  ‘Mum, what are you playing at?’

  ‘I don’t know … that’s the problem, I don’t fucking know.’

  It seems like a good time to go to my room. Rosie escapes, but I get grabbed on the way out.

  ‘Why do you hate me so much, eh? You don’t even want me here, do you?’

  ‘What you on about? Stop it, you’re hurting me.’

  She tightens her grip on my wrist.

  ‘Just admit it. You can’t wait to see the back of me, can you?’

  Oh fuck, she’s stinking of booze. Oh, no.

  ‘… CAN YOU?’ she yells, shaking my arm like it’s a tin of hair mousse. Her drinky breath’s making me boak.

&nbs
p; As I manage to wrench myself free, she throws herself onto the carpet in a performance worthy of Gillian Anderson.

  ‘Just fuck off, Mum. Dinnae make a fool of me, just ’cause you’re pissed.’

  Springing back to life, she wallops me across the jaw. I get a rush of adrenaline but I’m too stunned to move. Turning her attention to the lamp-shade, she starts sobbing at it, ‘Why am I here? What am I doing here?’

  It’s like she’s been possessed by spirits. It certainly smells like she has. I make for the door again, while she chats to the light, but she lunges at me. As I duck, she falls, arse over tit, onto the settee and starts bubbling again. What a fucking mess.

  Rosie’s holding a hairbrush in front of her like a dagger when I go through.

  ‘She fucking belted me a beauty.’

  Standing up, she scans my face for wounds.

  ‘I better go. Is she having a breakdown or something?’

  It’d be better if she was. Less embarrassing. They could just take her away and give us her back when she was better, or not. My breathing’s going like the clappers.

  ‘She’s fucking pissed. It’s like something out of Alien when she’s on the vodka.’

  Rosie pulls her jacket on.

  ‘Aw, please, dinnae leave me with her. Dad’ll give you a lift. He winnae be long, please.’

  She reluctantly agrees but keeps her jacket on.

  ‘I came here to get away from my mum, as well.’

  Right on cue, there’s a faint knocking at the door.

  ‘Joni, Joni, I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry. Don’t tell Dad, please …’

  ‘Just go to your fucking bed, eh?’

  There’s a whimper, then I hear her staggering back through to the living room.

  ‘My mum’s a cow, but she’d never do that to me. That’s terrible, that. You should tell someone.’

  Why is life so unfair? People you want to see, you can’t see. People you don’t like you have to live with. John’s maybe going to jail for doing nothing, yet Mum can act like that and it’s perfectly OK. The world’s fucked up.

  ‘So is she an alkie, or what? I’ve never seen her like that,’ whispers Rosie.

  ‘She supposedly stopped when we moved here. That’s how we had to move in the first place. She turned the whole fucking street against us.’

  I’m dying for a pee but I’m scared to unlock the door. If Rosie wasn’t here, I’d just do it in the milk jug I keep behind the telly for emergencies. Sitting on the hard chair, I squeeze my legs together but it just makes it worse. I’m going to piss myself.

  Quietly unlocking the door, I look up the hall. The house is burring with the awful sound of Mum’s snoring. She’s still in a heap, lying in her coat with her gob wide open and that fucking awful noise pouring out of it. How could Dad have ever have shagged something so grotesque?

  The joint relief of the pee and her being out for the count is good while it lasts. When I dry myself though, I realise I’m bleeding. My last period only stopped three days ago. How am I going to lose my virginity by Friday if I’ve got constant fucking periods? It says in the magazines you can still do it, but I don’t want to be smelling like an abattoir the first time. It’s not very romantic.

  Rosie looks dead concerned when I go back through.

  ‘Fuck, Jo, you were ages. I couldnae hear any noise. I thought she’d killed you and I was next.’

  ‘Nah, she’s unconscious. Listen to the snoring. Did you think it was a chainsaw?’

  She starts thumbing through last week’s Radio Times, bored now the excitement’s over.

  ‘Where’s Jake? Is he coming back tonight? I think he’s quite nice, actually.’

  She’s pulling my pisser.

  ‘Don’t be revolting, he’s my brother.’

  ‘So, I wusnae suggesting you should shag him,’ she says in all seriousness. God, she’s so thick sometimes.

  ‘He’s a wee poof. I think he’s shagging the guy downstairs, he’s never away from the place. I dunno though, he might be desperate.’

  She thumps my sore arm.

  ‘Piss off. You can talk. What about that speccy guy in Fibber McGee’s last night? I thought his tongue was going to get lodged down your throat.’

  ‘He was OK. I thought he was a bit of a Jarvis Cocker.’

  ‘Cocker Spaniel, more like. Honestly, Jo, you’ll neck anyone.’

  He was actually quite a good kisser, a bit snobby but a good kisser. I was just pretending it was John, but he seemed to like me. I’d never go out with someone posh like that, though. It wouldn’t bother me, but I’d just get slagged.

  Rosie’s looking thoughtful.

  ‘Jo, see when we’re pissed. You don’t think we’re as bad as your mum, d’you?’

  ‘I’m trying to block it out of my mind.’

  The front door slams. Rosie and I jump off the bed. Hopefully, it’s Mum gone up the canal to try and drown herself, like she used to. Dad used to have to go and rescue her. They’d both come back soaking.

  Nervously tiptoeing into the hall, I nearly give Jake a heart attack.

  ‘Fuck, Jo, what’s wi the creeping about?’

  Yanking him into my room, I shut the door. Rosie and him get matching beamers. It’s so touching … not. He’s a bit deflated when I tell him about Mum. He was probably expecting a threesome.

  ‘Sure it wasnae your own breath you could smell? You were pretty steaming last night.’

  ‘Fuck off, Jake. I’m no joking. She fucking punched me … and look, I’m getting a bruise on my arm where she grabbed me. Rosie’ll tell you.’

  He glances at Rosie, then at his lap.

  ‘… go and look if you dinnae believe me.’

  But he’s starting to look so upset I know he already does.

  ‘She better no start spoiling everything for us. I couldnae go through all that again. Where did she hit you?’

  ‘Right in the face. I had to push her over or she’d probably’ve killed me.’

  He shakes his head and gets up.

  ‘Fuck it, I’m going to bed, I’m knackered. I’ve been playing five-a-side all day.’ He glances at Rosie, then looks anxious. ‘… dinnae mention it to Dad.’

  ‘But we have to.’

  ‘No that, about the five-a-side. He’ll want to play with us. He’s too old.’

  As I lock the door, Rosie lets out a little purr.

  ‘He is definitely cute. How old is he again?’

  ‘Fourteen, ya dirty paedophile.’

  ‘You’re joking. I thought he was older than you. He seems dead mature.’

  She quizzes me about Jake for the next hour. Revolting as the whole idea of someone fancying my brat of a brother is, it at least keeps my mind off Mum. How can Rosie possibly like that wee nyaff when she’s got John, though? Mind you, it would be better for me if she did.

  Dad comes in at quarter to one. Replaying the whole story again, I show him the bruise on my arm. It’s starting to go yellow. He seems to erupt. I’ve never seen him like this before. He goes all angry and protective. It’s sort of nice.

  ‘Where is she? I’ll bloody kill her if she lays a finger on you.’

  I grab his hand.

  ‘No, Dad, please. Leave it till morning. She’ll just start up again if you wake her. You’ve got to take Rosie home.’

  ‘Is Jake in? You pair come with me.’

  ‘I’ll lock the door.’

  He sucks on his knuckles, trying to calm down. His eyes look all heart-broken.

  ‘Chuck her out. It’s your house. You won’t let them put us into care, will you?’

  ‘Dinnae be so daft. I’ll be with you no matter what.’

  He looks like he’s reading the air in front of him for an immediate solution.

  ‘Will you, though?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give Rosie a lift home? She stayed with me and everything …’

  ‘Oh, aye, of course. Are you ready to go now, Rosie?’

  As soon as they leave
, I want him to come back. He should be with me, not Rosie. I suddenly don’t feel safe any more when he’s not here. Not that he stands up to Mum or anything. She’s just less likely to hit us when she’s got him to batter.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  VIC

  DRIVING ROSIE HOME, I blether some rubbish about exams, ask if she’s going away for the holidays, then dry up. I know what’s on both our minds and it’s not Easter. She probably views me as some sort of ogre who’s driven his poor wife to drink. It’s always the same when a woman’s an alkie. People assume her man must be responsible.

  Rosie’s also at that dangerous age. She’s younger than Joni, but she has a worldly air that makes her seem much older. Added to which, she’s jaw-droppingly stunning. I’d be scared to let her out the house if she was mine. I keep my eyes on the road till we get to her street.

  ‘Ta for staying on tonight. Jo’s lucky to have you. Sorry about all the … y’know … with …’ God man, spit it out. Rosie flashes her very white teeth at me.

  ‘No sweat, Victor. My mum’s mad as well. My uncle says all women are.’

  Opening the door, she wriggles out. I get a flash of red knickers as her micro-skirt rides up her thighs. The door slams and she blows me a kiss through the open window. I’d generally wait to check she got in her stair, but I take off, feeling uncomfortably old.

  Angie’s snoring is audible before I even reach our landing. I go straight through to Joni’s room. She won’t unlock the door till I say who it is. Her face is the same greyish-white shade as her night-shirt.

  ‘What did Rosie say? Aw, dad, it was so embarrassing. I dinnae want everyone knowing Mum’s an old lush. Talk to her, tell her she’ll have to leave.’