Connor’s out of breath by the time we get to Poppy’s. Her dad’s car is gone. I guess he must still be at work. I knock on the door and Connor mumbles something about tea. Poppy answers the door. Her hair is braided. I like the yellow ribbon in it, it’s pretty…I guess. Her eyes shift from Connor to me. "Hey guys."
"Hey. Wanna come and watch a fight?" I ask.
She frowns and wrinkles her nose. "A fight?"
"It's a pikey thing," Connor chimes in.
"Oh, well then, yeah, sure. Hold on." She goes back inside her house and comes out with a jacket. I swear, we don't even get to the end of her road before she starts whining: "Slow down, Brandon. My legs hurt."
Connor is huffing and puffing next to her.
"That's because you're a midget." I laugh.
"Am not.” She glares at me. “You're just a giant."
Sighing, I drop onto one knee. She grins, runs around behind me, and hops onto my back. "Thanks," she says, squeezing my neck so tight I almost choke. "You're the best friend ever."
"Uh-huh." I start towards the camp with Poppy clinging to me like the little possum she is. "Come on, Con," I call back to him. "I'm not carrying your lard arse."
"Don't be mean to him." Poppy bops me on the head.
"Pair of you are bloody slow," I grumble.
9
Poppy
12 years old
The leaves crunch under our feet as we walk through the woods. I keep looking around worried a snake's going to slither out and bite me.
"Hissssssss." Brandon pinches my sides and I yelp.
"Stop it!"
He shrugs. I look at Connor, and on cue, he punches him in the shoulder without even glancing over at him.
"What do you have in that backpack?" Connor asks.
"Stuff."
"What kind of stuff."
Brandon picks up a stick and hurls it into the woods. "Just stuff. Leave it alone." He’s been in a bad mood ever since yesterday. He's got a nasty bruise on his face, and I don't want to ask him how it got it because I already know. He's dad is mean. I think he might be the devil.
"Ma's making breakfast for dinner. Want to come over?" Connor asks me, and I nod.
"Yeah."
"What about me?" Brandon says.
"Like I need to ask you. You're always there."
"You think she’d make biscuits and gravy?" I ask, smiling. Dad's not much of a breakfast person and I haven't had that since my mom passed away. The thought of it makes my mouth water.
Connor and Brandon both stop and stare at me. "Why would you put gravy on a biscuit?" Brandon asks with a snarl.
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Gravy doesn't go on biscuits. You have biscuits with warm milk. Gravy..." Connor fakes a gagging noise. "Yuck!"
"What?"
"And biscuits aren't for breakfast, poss." Brandon shakes his head. "They're for treat."
"No. No...biscuits and gravy, you know, fluffy sandwich like things. You put egg and sausage in them and gravy." They both look at me like they have no idea what I'm talking about.
"Most be some American thing," Connor says. He shrugs and we begin walking again.
As we walk, I think about my mom. I remember how she would smile every day when she picked me up from school and how good her hugs were. I think about her singing Elvis Presley when she was in the kitchen. And how she always smelled like that White Diamonds perfume Daddy would buy her for Christmas. Before I know it, I'm so sad I can't help but cry. I quickly wipe the tears away because I don't want to talk about it, but Connor's already seen me.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"You were crying."
"No, I wasn't."
Brandon stops walking and comes over to me, grabbing my cheeks and staring me in the eyes. "You were too." His eyes narrow and a sad frown sets on his face. "Did Davie Logan mess with you again?"
"No. I’m fine. I had a gnat in my eye." I jerk away from him and stomp on through the woods, snapping branches as I go and throwing the tiny limbs to the side. I don't want to talk about it with them. They wouldn't understand. They have moms.
"Alright," Brandon says, "this looks good enough."
We all stop and watch as Brandon marches into a clearing and sets his ratty old backpack down. He opens it, takes a load of magazines out, and throws them on the ground. The top one has a picture of a girl with her boobies hanging out, the word: Hustler in bright yellow lettering on the front.
"Brandon, why do you..."
He looks up at me. "They're my dad's. He smacked me one for looking at 'em the other day," he points to the bruise on his face, "so I figured, if I can't look at them, neither can he." He digs in his pocket and brings out a pack of matches.
"Bran," Connor says, "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Brandon strikes the match, holding up the little orange flame as he grins. "Just saving his immortal soul, Con." And then he tosses the match down on top of the magazines, but the fire just goes out.
"Ah, shit." He takes another match and strikes it.
"God's trying to tell you something, Bran," Connor says, grabbing my hand and taking a step back.
I hate his dad, so I want him to burn those dirty magazines. I watch as Brandon bends down and holds the flame to the edge of the pages. The fire catches and curls the cover back. Brandon rubs his hands together and walks over where the edge of the woods meet the stubble field. Rows of cut straw lay on the ground and he scoops some into his arms.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He smirks. "Making a fire."
Connor just shakes his head and drags me back another step. Brandon tosses the straw onto the fire and it goes up in a bright red burst.
"See, nothing to worry about, Con. You're just being paranoid." Brandon struts over to us and clasp Connor on the shoulder, and here we all stand, staring at the fire. A rush of wind blows through the trees, scattering the smoldering straw across the ground. Before we know it, the stubble field is going up in a blaze.
"Oh, my god," I gasp.
Connor crosses himself. "Now you've done it, Bran."
Brandon stands, watching the fire for a second before turning and staring at us with wide eyes.
"Now what?" Connor asks, panicking.
"Run!" Brandon grabs my arm and starts running, dragging me through the woods. I stumble, but he catches me. "Come on, Con! Keep up," he shouts.
I trip again and, this time, I fall, my knee hitting the ground. Pain shoots up my leg. I grab it and pull it to my chest as I hiss in a breath.
Brandon’s tugging on my arm in an attempt to make me stand. "Come on. Get up."
Connor catches up to us, bending over his knees to catch his breath. "Farmer McDowell is going to tell our ma’s."
Brandon shakes his head. "How's he gonna know who did it?"
I get to my feet and the three of us take off running again. We don't stop until we're right outside the pikey camp and Connor throws up in the bushes.
"Brandon, you butthole!" I shout.
He smiles and then bursts out laughing.
"This isn't funny," Connor says, gasping for air.
My leg is stinging I sit on the edge of his deck and inspect my bleeding knee. The wound is caked with dirt and grass, and even though it doesn’t hurt that bad, I feel tears prick my eyes. I sniff trying to keep myself from crying.
When Brandon finally stops laughing, he crouches down in front of me. "It was just a little fire, poss. Don't cry."
"My knee hurts."
He looks at it, his forehead wrinkling. "I think you got a stone in it. Want me to kiss it better?"
I smile, and my cheeks get hot. "Yeah."
Sighing, he rolls his eyes before kissing my knee. Brandon O'Kieffe kissed my knee. My whole face feels like it's on fire, and when he looks up at me, he grins. "Are you blushing, Poppy Turner?"
"No." I fold my arms over my chest.
"You so are. Come on." Laughing, he s
tands and pulls me to my feet. "I'll give you a possum ride." He turns around and squats, and I hop on his back, wrapping my arms around his neck.
When he spins me around, Connor's glaring at us. He takes a deep breath, turns his back to us, and storms off.
"Connor?" I shout.
"I'm going home."
"But…wait on us," I say.
"I'm fine."
Brandon sighs. "He's probably pissed he threw up his Milkybar."
I hope that's all it is. I don't like it when Connor's sad.
"Connor!" I shout. His shoulders fall before he turns around. Brandon walks over to him with me still clinging to his back and Connor frowns.
"Pinky promise we'll always be friends," I say, making a fist and sticking out my pinky finger.
Connor stares at my finger for a second before he smiles. "Yeah, I pinky promise." He hooks his little finger through mine.
"What about me?" Brandon asks.
"You too." I let go of Connor's finger and pinky swear with Brandon. Next, him and Connor do it.
"There. And now you can never, ever break it."
"Or what?" Brandon asks.
"Or you'll die."
He laughs and starts walking to my house. "Okay, poss. Whatever you say."
10
Connor
12 years old
I sit on the swing set, barely swinging. It's hot, and I'm sweaty. I reach in my pocket for my Milkybar. It's all melted so I chuck it across the playground.
"What did you do that for?" Brandon asks.
"It's melted."
"So?" He hops off the swing, runs over, picks it up, and dusts it off. "Put it in the fridge." But, instead of handing it back to me, he shoves it inside his pocket. I look over to the side of the playground. Hope and Poppy are by the picnic tables, talking and giggling. Hope gets on my nerves. I liked it when it was just me and Bran and Poppy.
"What's up your butt?" Brandon asks, his eyes following mine over to the girls. "Just tell her you like her."
"Do not."
He shrugs. "It's fine. My ma says it hormones." He leans down close to my ear. "You know what Davie Logan told Brad McGinty?"
"What?"
"That Suzie Brady will show you her girly bits for two quid."
I stare at Brandon for a second. I love him and all, but he's known to throw a fib around. "No way." I shouldn't care. Who wants to see Suzie's girly parts, anyhow?
"Yeah, and for a fiver she'll show you that and her boobies—and she's fourteen, Con, she's got real ones." Brandon smiles before he digs around in the pocket my Milkybar's not in. He pulls out five quid and shows it to me. "Fancy a walk over to ol' Suzie's house?"
I glance back over at Poppy and Hope, then back at Brandon. His hair's in disarray, his clothes tattered and covered in grass and dirt stains. And something inside of me snaps. I know I shouldn't go see Suzie's girly bits. I know it will send me straight to hell, but I want to be like Brandon. I want to be a rebel, a pikey…because that's what Poppy likes. I jump down from the swing and yank my nice, clean shirt out from the waist of my trousers. I rub my hand through my hair and make it all messy. "Let's go to Suzie's," I say, glaring over at the girls.
Brandon pats my back. "We're about to cross over into manhood, Con. Our lives are about to change."
"Right."
And we walk down the sidewalk. Brandon keeps kicking some old beer can, and my stomach's in knots. All I can think about is how sad I'm about to make Jesus, but I'll just go to confession and be forgiven. I think…
"Hey, guys!" Poppy calls from the playground. "Where are you going? Wait up."
I hold my hand up. "Not now, Poppy," I say. "We're going to become men."
Brandon glances over at me and smirks before placing his arm around my shoulder. "That's right, poss. You have to sit this one out. No girls allowed."
"What the..." Poppy skips up beside us. "You are acting weird."
"They're dumb boys, of course they are acting weird, Poppy," Hope says, running up beside her.
"I'm going to follow you," Poppy teases as she loops her arm through Brandon's. We stop walking.
"You can't go." Brandon narrows his eyes on her.
"I can go wherever I want."
"Aw, look it's the little pikey snot and his fat friend," a deep voice comes from behind me. We all turn around at the same time to see Darryn O'Sheehan and his two dumb friends, Matt and Jimmy, trotting alongside him.
"What do you want, Darryn?" Hope says, placing her hands on her hips.
"My brother says that ginger lasses have ginger pubes.” He laughs “That true?"
"Well, my sister says your brothers are prize twats, and my dad says your family's a joke." Hope says with a smug grin.
He steps closer to Hope, and Poppy shoves him in the chest. "You leave her alone, Darryn. You're a mean bully."
"If it isn't Measach." He laughs and his friends join in.
Brandon moves closer to Poppy. It annoys me. I want to help her. "You need to leave!" I shout.
He stares at me with a grin. "Did you say something, fatso?"
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Y...yeah. Leave."
"Or what? You'll sit on me with your fat arse?" He laughs, and Matt and Jimmy join in. "Or maybe you'll chase me? Can you run as far as the swing set with all that fat?" They laugh harder. I pretend like I don't care, but I want to run away. It hurts my feelings.
"Darryn O'Sheehan, you shut your stupid mouth, or I'm gonna punch it," Brandon says.
"Oh, shut up, pikey. I was talking to fatso."
"Ah, that's it. No one calls my best friend fat." Brandon punches Darryn right in the mouth, busting his lip. Matt and Jimmy hit Brandon, and I don't know what to do, so I just stand there. Hope knees Jimmy in the balls, and Brandon elbows Matt in the face. Poppy is screaming for everyone to stop.
Darryn glares at Brandon. "I'm gonna get you, pikey."
"You better run, or I'm gonna come burn your house down!" Brandon shouts.
They run off and Poppy throws her arms around Brandon's neck. "Oh, Brandon…are you okay?" she asks him.
"Yeah.”
"Thanks," I tell him.
He shrugs. "Come on, let’s go."
* * *
Poppy and Hope go to Poppy’s house, and I go back to the caravan with Bran. His cheek is bright red and swollen from where Darryn punched him. And as soon as we get inside the caravan, his ma swats him with her dishcloth.
"Brandon Patrick O'Kieffe, you been fighting again?"
Brandon sighs. "He hit me first, Ma."
"Doesn't matter." She grabs his face and inspects the bruise. "That boy’s mother called me. You told him you’d burn his house to the ground?What do ya think it makes me look like? Like you were raised by dogs." She shakes her head. "You're grounded for a week."
"That's so fecking unfair!"
"Boy!"
The flimsy door to the bedroom at the back of the caravan flings open. Brandon flinches and I cringe as his dad comes stumbling out. "Talk to your mother like that again, and you'll feel my belt on your arse."
"You do," Brandon mumbles.
His dad storms up to him. Brandon takes a step back, and his dad smacks him across the face so hard that Brandon falls to his knees, clutching his face.
"Des!" Brandon's mum grabs his dad’s arm. "Connor's here," she says quietly. His dad looks at me, and I scramble back towards the door.
His dad shoves his boot against Brandon’s side and my heart starts banging in my chest. "Get on out of here, boy," his dad says. Brandon stumbles to his feet, turns around, and leaves the caravan.
I follow him. I don't know what to do or say. I feel like it’s my fault his dad just smacked him. Brandon only got in the fight to stick up for me. He kicks a rock and it bounces of the side of Old Man McGinty's caravan, the sudden ping scaring Arnold. Brandon stomps around the back and sits down on an old, upturned wheelbarrow with the wheel missing.
"You okay?" I ask.
Si
ghing, he puts his head in his hands. "I hate my dad."
I nod. "He's horrible." We watch Arnold trot over to the ponies. I scrape my trainer over the edge of the wheelbarrow. "Look, I'm sorry you got in trouble for fighting. Thanks for sticking up for me."
He shrugs. "I'm not gonna let them say shit to you."
"Yeah, I wish I could punch them."
He looks at me. "You can."
"Nah,” I sigh. “I'm too scared, and they're right, I am fat."
Brandon stands and slaps a hand on my shoulder. "I'll always have you're back."
I don't want him to help me all the time though. I want to be like him. I want Poppy to hug me, and I want the bullies to stop picking on me. And besides, who's gonna have Brandon's back?
"Can you teach me how to punch?" I ask.
He grins. "Sure."
"And then we can have each other’s backs," I say.
He nods. "Friends forever, remember?"
"Always."
11
Poppy
14 years old
Me and Hope lie in the dark, in complete silence. My stomach's jittery with nerves.
"Is he asleep yet?" she whispers.
"Shhh."
"Fine. Fine."
I give it a few more minutes, then I climb out of bed and tiptoe to my door, opening it and peering down the hall. The lights are all out and I can hear dad snoring. I step back into my room and carefully close the door.
"He's out," I whisper.
Hope grins ear to ear and tosses the covers off. We quickly grab the dummy dolls we spent half the day making out of pillowcases and my old stuffed animals, and we shove them underneath the covers.
"The Barbie hair was a nice touch," Hope says. I look at the hodgepodge of hair we tacked to the top of the teddy bear heads and I nod.
There's a soft tap on the window and I hurry to it. Connor's face is smashed against the glass and I motion for him to back up. I open the window, step up on my dresser, and climb out, grabbing onto the trellis. Halfway down, I lose my footing and basically fall on top of Connor. He holds onto me, and I swear he’s breathing in my hair.
Pre-war: A War Series Novella Page 4