"I didn't forget." He gets up on his knees and digs around in the pocket of his jeans, pulling something out. "Happy birthday, poss." I watch as he puts a little knot of bailing twine in her palm. "Made you a friendship bracelet," he sniffs. "Ma showed me how to make it. I told her you'd rather have a puppy, but she wouldn't let me give ya one."
Poppy smiles—bigger than she did at my present—and she nearly knocks him over when she hugs him. Now he's smelling her strawberry hair.
"I love it. Thank you, Brandon." She loops it around her wrists and he ties it in a knot. "I'll wear it forever."
He stares at the floor and shrugs. "Okay."
"So what do you want to do now?" I ask them.
Brandon smiles. "We could tell ghost stories."
"I don't like scary stories," Poppy says, creeping closer to me.
"Aw, come on, poss. Don't be a baby. It's just a story."
"Yeah," I say, spotting a chance and putting my arm around her, "it's just a story, Poppy."
Brandon rubs his palms together and grins. "So, there's this girl..." He glances at Poppy. "And she's left all alone at night. You know what? Now that I think of it, it was Blaire O'Brein, you know Connor, the girl that lived in Poppy's house before she moved in?"
I nod because Blaire O'Brian did live in Poppy's house.
"Anyway, she was all alone—and she told me this herself—she kept hearing this dripping noise. Drip. Drip." He leans in close to Poppy. "Drip. She got up and checked everywhere, but there was nothing. Every time she laid down she felt her dog, Spunky," he nods, "yeah, Spunky the dachshund, she felt him lick her hand. So she knew everything was okay. But it wasn't because that dripping kept going."
Poppy's clutching my arm now, so I kind of want Brandon to keep going even though I feel bad he's scaring her.
"She finally got up and looked in the wardrobe, and there was Spunky, hung." Brandon sticks his tongue out and makes a choking sound as he clutches his neck. "And that dripping was poor Spunky's blood falling on the floor." Poppy whimpers. "And there’s a note that says, 'Humans can lick, too'."
Poppy screams and Brandon laughs so hard he topples over.
"That's not true!" she says.
"Is too."
"Is not."
"I mean," I say. "I never heard that."
Brandon glares at me. "Blaire told me herself."
"Blaire was a liar," I say, and Brandon shrugs.
"Don't know, but I sure wouldn’t want to sleep in the room Spunky was hung in."
"I hate you, Brandon," she says, huddling against my side.
He laughs. "It's just a story, Poppy."
Something rustles in the bushes behind the tent and she jumps. "What was that?" she whispers.
"It's the crazy man from your wardrobe, he's gonna lick you, possum."
She screams and I hug her. "Stop it, Bran!"
He laughs so hard he falls back, clutching at his stomach.
"Oh, now I need to go pee." Poppy chews her lip, looking at the flap of the tent.
"I'll go with you," I offer.
She looks at me for a second and then over to Brandon. "Brandon, you take me because you'd punch the crazy man." She glances at me. "No, offense Con."
Brandon laughs. "Sure, possum. I'll come and fend off the crazy fella for ya."
I watch them crawl out of the tent, and here I sit, alone in my church clothes. I pull out a Milkybar from my pocket, unwrap it, shove it into my mouth, and tear off the first delicious bite. Why does Brandon get to scare her and then be the one that walks her inside? And why do I even care?
Brandon is mean to her, and my ma says he's trouble. I'm nice to Poppy. I like her, but she's really nice to Brandon. I don't know why. Ma says that sometimes you have to guide a lost soul and that she prays for him. I don't know why. Brandon doesn't even go to church. Well, he used to, but after he drank the water from the altar that one time, he got kicked out. Ma said he's like a wild dog because he's from the pikey camp.
I do love him. He's my best friend, and when the other kids at school all picked on me, he never did, because they picked on him, too. I just wish that Poppy liked me more. I throw my Milkybar wrapper on the ground and tug at my tie, pulling it off.
Maybe if I was more like Brandon...
7
Poppy
12 years old
The pikey dog comes running out from the overgrown field, barking. Hope jumps.
"It won't bite you," I say.
She looks nervously at it. "Why's it got that bailing twine wrapped 'round its fat neck?"
"It's pikey dog..."
"Pikey dog? That's its name?"
"He doesn't have a name. He just hangs out at the pikey camp, so we call him pikey dog."
She nods before pulling her red hair up into a high ponytail. "And the bailing twine?"
"Old Man McGinty had him tied to his caravan for a while."
Hope started at our school the week before summer break. I let her sit next to us at lunch on her first day, and we've been friends ever since. Although, she's not a fan of Brandon, but not many people are.
"So this is a gypo camp?" she asks. "Like where real gypsies live?"
I nod.
"And you hang out here by choice?"
I shrug. "Brandon lives here."
"Of course he does…Explains so much."
“Don’t be mean.”
“Sorry, I can’t help it sometimes.”
Hope's...a little stuck up. That's what Mrs. Blaine says anyway. Her daddy owns McGrath Whiskey and they have, according to Brandon, “butt-loads” of money. Brandon keeps trying to talk her into inviting us over to her house because he wants to nick stuff. He says it would make him like Robin Hood. Steal from the rich and give to the poor—himself being the poor.
Pikey dog follows us to the entrance of the camp even though Hope keeps trying to shoo him away. We weave through the caravans. Hope’s holding onto my arm, I think she’s afraid someone’s going to pick her pocket, even though I told her they wouldn’t. We stop in front of Brandon's little blue and white caravan with the bunting tied to the front.
"And, remind me, why are we here instead of your house or Connor's?" Hope asks.
"Because Brandon's parents are gone."
"Oh, right."
I knock on the metal door and the curtain pulls back. Brandon peeks out from the side before the lock clicks. The door swings open and a cloud of smoke pours out.
Brandon's gaze darts over my shoulder at Hope, and he tosses his head back on a groan. "Agh, what did you bring her for?" Brandon says she's a soulless ginger, basically, the hate each other.
"Shut up, Brandon." I shove him out of the way and walk inside. Connor's sitting on the bench seat, staring down at the smoldering cigarette in his hand.
"Hey Poppy." Connor glances at Hope. "Hey Hope."
Brandon shutd the door and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the table. He takes out three and passes them out. I look at it, rolling it between my fingertips. "I don't know. What's the point?"
"Because it's what grown-ups do," Brandon says, cupping his hand and lighting his cigarette. He passes the lighter to Hope. "It's just badass."
"Yeah, and Milkybar there looks like a real badass," Hope snickers as she points at Connor.
"Shut it, McGrath." Connor takes a puff of the cigarette and immediately coughs. His eyes water and his cheeks go all red.
Hope lights hers and takes a deep drag as she hands me the lighter. My heart pounds in my chest, my palms are sticky with sweat.
"You don't have to do it," Connor says.
"I know I don't have to," I say with a snip, and I light it, pulling the nasty smoke into my mouth and immediately blowing it out. That wasn't that bad. Hope's coughing. Brandon's coughing. Connor's coughing. And I'm not. I proudly pull another drag in and let it out. "Not that bad," I snicker.
Brandon glares at me through his watery eyes as I take another drag like a champ. Then, he starts laughing and coughing.
"What?" I ask.
"Poss, you ain't even inhaling."
"What? Am too!" I take another quick pull.
"Nope." Brandon steps over to me, placing his cigarette to his lips. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then opens his mouth, allowing the smoke to slowly seep out. "Act like you're about to go under water. Take a breath like that, poss."
And so I do. And I wish I hadn't. It burns and I end up bent over at the waist, violently coughing and certain I'm dying.
Brandon laughs and slaps his hand over his thigh.
I flick the ash into the paper cup and glare at him. "What are we doing? Other than sitting in your caravan and smoking?" I ask.
Brandon shrugs. "Video game?"
"No,” Hope groans, “let’s watch a movie or something."
Still puffing on his cigarette, Brandon walks to the side of the caravan, picks up a box, and dumps a mountain of DVDs onto the floor. Hope shakes her head and Connor leans over, sifting through the pile. "Die Hard...Monty Python...Titanic..." he says.
"Oh," I squeal. "Titanic."
"Yeah, I vote Titanic," Hope says.
Brandon snatches the DVD from Connor and hurls it across the room. "I'm not watching anything with Leonardo DiCaprio in it, even if he does die at the end."
Hope rolls her eyes. "He's a delight."
"Die Hard, it is." Brandon picks the movie up.
Me and Hope both groan and say no in unison.
"Deep Throat," Connor says holding up a DVD, "what's that?"
"Don't know. It's my dad's. He says not to touch it." Laughing, Brandon shrugs and grabs the DVD from Connor's hand. "Which means it's probably something we should watch."
"It's something from American history, I remember hearing about it,” I say. “Something about some water with a gate or something."
Brandon glares at me. "My dad wouldn't watch anything to do with American history." He shoves the disc into the DVD player and takes a seat next to Connor on the floor.
Hope leans in next to me. "Is it safe to sit on the carpet?" she whispers.
"Yes."
“It just seems…” her nose wrinkles, “unclean.”
The title rolls and, the next thing I know, a woman with a horrible perm is driving along in a blue car. She parks and gets out of the car, carrying a box with her. Boring. And then the camera pans to another girl sitting on the kitchen counter with a top on and nothing else and...
"What!" I cover my face with my hand.
"Dear God," Hope says, and I peek through the slit in my fingers just in time to see Brandon crawl closer to the TV.
"Is that...?" he whispers.
"Why does she have hair down there?" Hope sputters.
"You don't?" Brandon asks.
"No!"
"Stop it. Stop the movie!" I scream.
"I mean,” Brandon shrugs. “I thought that might be a girl thing or something."
"Why would you want to lick that?" Connor asks, pulling a Milkybar out of his pocket and peeling the wrapper back, his eyes still glued to the TV screen.
I stare ahead in shock. "This is gross. Turn it off." I say it because I feel like someone has to because this is wrong.
"No! Keep going," Hope says. "I wanna see."
"My ma’s gonna beat me," Connor manages with a mouthful of chocolate. "I'm gonna have to go to confession for this." He punches Brandon in the arm. "Thanks a lot."
"Shut up, Con. Your ma has hairy girl parts."
"Shut your mouth." Connor glares at him.
Brandon grins and inhales on his cigarette. "Make me."
“Don’t…” Connor smashes his smoke out on the table, “talk about my ma."
"What? And her hairy girly parts?"
Connor growls and leaps across the caravan so hard it rocks a little. He pins Brandon down.
"Get your fat arse off me." Brandon tries to shove him off.
"Tell me you're sorry."
"No."
The music seems to grow louder. It sounds like the music that would go with an awful toothpaste commercial.
Connor's face scrunches up. "I'll make you sorry."
Hope grabs my arm. "Poppy. Poppy!"
"I'll fart on your face, you turd," Connor says through a groan.
"Poppy!" Hope grabs my face and turns me toward the TV, and I'm not sure what I'm looking at. It's wrinkly and hairy and making some smacking sound. "What. Is. That?"
Brandon manages to turn his face toward the movie, his hands on Connor's butt as he's trying to get him off. "That's a ball bag."
"It's coming," Connor whispers. “I’m gonna fart on your face!”
"Don't do it!" Brandon punches him in the stomach. And then the loudest fart I've ever heard roars around the caravan. Brandon starts gagging and wildly punching at Connor. Connor falls off him, laughing so hard that he farts again.
"Gross," Hope shouts as she clamps her hand over her face. "Boys are so disgusting. And now this..." She points at the TV.
"It's a willy," Connor says.
"What is it doing?" I ask, watching as it disappears....somewhere.
"How should I know?" Brandon says looking at me. "They're touching...parts."
"We're going to hell." Connor shakes his head.
"I think she likes it," Brandon says, copying her face.
"You look like an idiot," Hope tells him.
"You would know," he says.
The door flies open, banging against the inside. All of us freeze. My heart stops beating the moment my eyes land on Mrs. O'Kieffe. Brandon's frantically fanning the air like that will make all the smoke disappear. Connor grabs the pack of smokes from the table and hides it behind his back. And…the movie is still playing.
Smiling, Hope waves and stands up. "Hi. I'm Hope."
His mum looks at all of us and then glares at Brandon. "Brandon Patrick O'Kieffe!"
Brandon winces. The music from the film is still playing in the background, and now the girl is licking his willy.
"Smoking and watching that...that filth.” Mrs. O’Keiffe closes her eyes and inhales. “I expect better from you Poppy Turner and Connor Blaine. Now, out with the lot of ya.”
"Please don't tell my ma," Connor begs.
She rolls her eyes. "What do ya take me for, lad? Now, off with ya." She opens the door and practically throws the three of us out.
"Well, that was...something," Hope says as we start toward the exit. "Who knew hanging out with a pikey could be so much fun?"
8
Brandon
12 years old
I follow Connor up the steps and pause outside the door. "I don't want to go in there," I whisper.
"Well,” Connor turns around and glares at me, “I have to go and save my immortal soul, so you are coming with me."
I roll my eyes. "Your, whatever is fine, Connor. Ya look grand."
"My ma says I'll go to hell if I don't get forgiven for my sins. And smoking is a sin."
My eyebrows shoot up. "It is?"
"Yeah, we have to confess, Bran, or we'll go to hell."
I shift on my feet and eye the doors of the church. "Fine."
I follow him in. The smell of old people and candles hits me. He walks to the front of the church and kneels before Jesus on the cross. I stand here, not really knowing what to do. My ma is Catholic, but my dad isn't, so she doesn't bring me to church often. Also, she says I behave badly and embarrass her in front of God. Con finishes whatever he’s doing in front of Jesus and then he walks inside a funny looking cupboard. He's in there for ages, and I’m getting bored, so I go over to the shelf covered in little candles and blow them out. An old lady glares at me before she leaves the church.
Connor finally gets out of the cupboard. "Can we go now?" I ask.
"No, you have to go in."
I groan and look up at the ceiling. "Fine." I stomp into the cupboard and sit on the little bench.
"Speak, my child. God is listening," a voice says, making me jump.
"Jesus?"<
br />
"How many days has it been since your last confession?"
"Um...I don't remember. But look, about the smokin'...I know it's a sin and all, but if you could not send me to hell, that'd be grand. Also, I did nick that Barbie, but it was for Poppy, and my ma says it's the thought that matters." There's nothing but silence. "Jesus? Where'd you go?"
"God forgives all sins, my child."
"Ah, grand.” I grin. “See, I knew you'd understand." I get up and leave the box just as an old fella gets out next to me. "Did you hear Jesus, too?"
The man smiles and shakes his head, placing his hand on my head. "Brandon O'Kieffe. Should have known."
I shrug and walk over to Connor. "Okay, me and Jesus are squared away. We're good."
He frowns and walks out. I follow him.
"Okay, so now we did your church thing, can we go home?"
"My house or the pikey camp?" he asks.
"Camp. There's a fight tonight and my dad said I can watch."
Connor takes a Milkybar from his pocket and bites off a chunk. "Why would you want to watch a fight?"
"Because my dad says next year I'll be doing it. He's been teaching me."
"I thought you didn't like your dad?" he asks.
"I don't, but I want to be able to fight." My dad is mean to my ma, and he's drunk most of the time. He always used to ignore me, but now he wants me to learn how to fight. He says I'm good and that I'll make him proud. He smiles at me when I land a punch and pats me on the back. I like it.
"Okay," Connor says. "But I'll have to be back before tea."
"You won't be back before tea, Connor.” I roll my eyes. “Tell your ma you're having tea at mine."
He groans. "She won't like it. She says you're a bad influence."
Bad influence? "Look, tell her I'm sorry I broke her vase. It was an accident."
"She says you're trouble and that you're raised with the dogs at that camp."
I frown. "Do you think that?"
He shakes his head and smiles, offering me the last bit of his Milkybar, and I take it. "Nah, I like the camp. It's fun. Besides, you're my best friend."
I smile. "Okay, well let’s go and get Poppy, and we'll go watch the fight."
Pre-war: A War Series Novella Page 3