"Not in the house, ma'll have my arse."
"Worried she'll think you're smokin',” I lift a brow, “golden balls?"
"Fuck off."
I laugh and fall back against the cushions. "Seriously though, you're my best friend, she's my best friend. Ask her. Anyway, if you go out with her then I won't have to keep beating the shit out of lads behind the gym. It's getting out of hand."
"What if she says no?" He shakes his head. "I'm not a whore like you. I don't know how to do this stuff."
I slap him on the shoulder. "You say whore, I say master." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, all you gotta do is kiss her."
"That's all you do?"
"Yep, just..." I clap my hands together. "In with it."
He stares at me with this glazed over look in his eyes. "In with…what?"
I cough, covering a laugh. "Okay, easy lad. Not that. Just, kiss her, okay?"
He sighs. "I've tried and it's just...I don't know. "
"Fuckin' hell. Come on." I grab his arm and drag him off the couch.
"Where..."
"We're going to see Slutty Suzie."
"Bran. Come on." He starts pulling away and I just tighten my grip.
"No. We're going. She showed me her pussy last year and changed my whole fucking world. Look, you took me to confession when we were kids, now it's time for me to help you sin." He blows the smoke from his lips as he laughs. "You're fourteen, boy. And you won't even kiss a girl because you're so hung up on Poppy." I shake my head. "It's getting sad now."
"I heard she's got herpes..." He pulls against me again.
"Nah, a spot of the clap, but they got pills for that shit. And you'd have to, you know....give it to her, for that."
"I'm a good Catholic boy."
"Look, I'll take ya to confession right after." I grin.
"No thanks, the entire cathedral would go up in smoke the second your arse walked through the doors." He sighs. "I guess it's better to have a shit kiss with Slutty Suzie than with Poppy, huh? And no one's going to find out, right?"
"I happen to be baptized, thank you very much. But yes, get the rough patch out the way with Suzie, I won't tell."
"I swear to God, Bran." He shoves me. "You tell anyone about this and I will let everyone know about that time we were having that farting contest and you strained so hard you shit yourself and threw your underwear in the bin at school, stunk up the entire locker room."
"You'd never prove it."
"Might would..."
I glare at him. "Fine. I won't tell." I spit on my palm and hold my hand out to him. He does the same and we shake. "I swear if you ask me to pinky swear..."
He sighs. "Come on, let’s get this over with."
* * *
Slutty Suzie lives about twenty minutes away on the better side of town. I knock on the door and wait. Connor fidgets nervously behind me before the door opens. Suzie smiles wide, propping her hand on her hip. She's wearing a cropped top and a pair of jeans that are riding low on her hips.
"Brandon, and..." she glances at Connor.
"This is my friend Connor."
She eyes him up and down before looking at me again. "What do you want?"
"I need you to kiss him," I say.
"What? No.” She flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Do you think I'm a slut or something?"
Connors chokes and then coughs, and I try not to smile. "Noooo, of course not. Look, he's got a girl he needs to impress. I'll give you a tenner."
Folding her arms over her chest, she stares at Connor. "Fine." She jerks her head toward the house and we follow her inside.
When she heads for the stairs, I pause. "I'll just, uh....I'll wait here."
"No." Connor grabs my arm and drags me towards the stairs with him. "Don't leave me alone with her," he hisses.
"Con, she's not gonna rape ya," I whisper, grinning. I love the boy like my own brother but shit, he did not pick up any of my charm when it comes to the ladies.
She leads us into her room and closes the door behind her, taking a seat on the bed and immediately holding out her hand. "So..."
I roll my eyes and dig a tenner out of my pocket, slapping it down on her waiting palm. "Okay, so you kissed a girl before?"
Connor fidgets. "No."
"Sit down." She points at the spot in front of her, and he sits, perching on the edge of the mattress like he's about to make a run for it. "You're kind of cute." She smiles and he turns so red. I think he's going to catch fire. "Okay, so you have to look at her," Suzie says, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. "Then look at her lips, then back at her eyes." She points from her lips to her eye. "Then just lean in, slowly, and kiss her."
"Uh, how?" he asks.
She huffs and grabs the back of his neck, wrenching him towards her and crushing her lips to his. I want to air punch because my boy finally got his first kiss. After a couple of seconds, she pulls back. Connor just looks at the bed, his face beet red.
"Okay, less stiff. And open your mouth this time. Use your tongue." Fuck, I wish I could take a photo of his face right now. I'm glad I came up here, because this shit is gold.
She grabs him again, and this time, there's tongue. One of his hands lands on her boob and he jumps away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
Suzie rolls her eyes and Connor jumps straight up, running his hand over the back of his head. "Uh, well, thanks for...that, uh," he shrugs, "you know."
"Kiss?" Suzie says with a laugh.
"Yeah, that."
Dear God, he's something...before I can say a thing, Con's already out of her bedroom and halfway down the stairs. I glance at her and shrug, following him out of the house. Just as I close the front door, I hear Hope’s annoying voice off in the distance: "Tell him I said he's a cunt."
She’s two doors down, talking on her cell phone as she walks this way. I glance at Connor and his face washes white. He jumps from the porch, crouching between the house and the bushes.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He holds a finger over his lip, shushing me, and there comes Hope, strutting through Slutty Suzie's front gate. "Well, Brandon O'Kieffe. I can only imagine what a cunt like you is doing over here at Suzy's house." She arches a brow as she steps onto the first step.
"Well, they don't call her Slutty Suzie for nothing."
She rolls her eyes and goes to shove past me, but stops and peers over into the bushes. "Oh. My. God. What the hell is he doing down there?" Hope points to Con. His hands are plastered to his face. "I can see you, Milkybar,” she laughs.
Connor groans and slinks out from behind the bushes, his cheeks already bright pink. "Hey, Hope," he says, miserably.
Her eyes go wide and she stifles a laugh. "You came to see Slutty Suzie, aw bless it." She ruffles his hair. "Get your wee willy wet, did you?"
He shrugs away from her, blushing even more. "No.”
"Well, as lovely as it is to see you, ginge, we gotta go." I grab Connor and shove him towards the gate.
Hope shows me her middle finger, and I blow her a kiss before we leave.
15
Connor
14 years old
I knock on Brandon's caravan. “It’s open,” he calls from inside.
I open the door and Brandon's sat on the floor, smoking a cigarette. His eyes are puffy and red.
"Where's your ma?" I ask.
"At the hospital."
"What?"
"She got real ill last night. Throwing up and bad pains in her stomach. Dad thought it was bad meat." Brandon pauses, taking a heavy drag as he stares off into the nothing.
"She alright?" I shift nervously on my feet.
He shakes his head. "Cancer."
"Shit. But she's gonna get better, right?"
Tears fill his eyes and he swipes at them, shaking his head. "Dad's bringing her home tomorrow. He had me run by the store to get some herbs, but that shit ain't going to work." He hangs his head and stares at the floor.
I r
un my hand through my hair. I don't know what to say. He loves his ma. I love his ma..."Might work..."
Groaning, he stands up, walks to the door, and storms out of the caravan, slamming the door behind him. I chase after him, and by the time I stumble out, he's all the way over at Old Man McGinty's, repeatedly slamming his fist against the side of the beat-up caravan.
"Bran..." I don't know what to say to him. "Want to come to my house for tea? Mum's making Macaroni." It's his favourite. I hope it's enough to cheer him up a little bit.
"Nah, I'm just..."
"Come on." I grab his arm and tow him towards the edge of the field and out onto the street. We walk in silence and it’s scaring me a bit. Maybe I should call Poppy? Her mum died. She might know what to say. We get to my house and Bran goes into the living room. He just sits there on the sofa.
"Connor, that you?" My ma shouts.
"Yeah!" I go into the kitchen and the smell of cheese hits me. "I brought Brandon for tea." She frowns. Brandon doesn't come over here as much as he used to. He's busy fighting and getting in trouble for nicking shit. She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. I know she thinks he's trouble. "His ma's sick," I say, glancing over my shoulder to check he's not there.
"Sick how?"
"Cancer." I swallow around the lump in my throat.
Her face falls and she pulls me into a hug. "Oh, the poor lad."
"He's really sad, ma. I think...I think she's gonna die."
She squeezes me tighter. "He's welcome here anytime. And...I'll pay his ma a visit at the hospital."
"She's coming home tomorrow."
I step back and she wipes her hands over her apron. "I'll take her a casserole." My ma tries to fix everything with food. "And make Brandon up a bed on your floor, lad."
Nodding, I go back to the living room. Brandon hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. His hands are clasped together in his lap and he frowns down at them. "My ma says you can stay here tonight,” I say.
"Do you think Jesus hears your prayers, Con?"
I sigh. "God hears everything."
He nods. "Can we...can we go to the church?"
Brandon isn't religious. He lies, steals, fights...God only forgives so many sins, surely? But Mrs. O'Kieffe is nice. She's good. He wouldn't let her die, would he?
"Sure. We can go to church."
I tell my ma we're going and she says she's put tea in the oven to keep warm for when we get back. Brandon stays quiet the whole way there, and when we step inside the cathedral, he heads straight for the statue of the Virgin Mary. I try not to cry when he gets on his knees in front of it and clasps his hands together.
"I never asked you for anything." His voice breaks on a sob. "But please, please don't take my ma from me. Please. I'll do anything."
I've never seen Brandon beg, I've never seen him cry, and I've never seen him pray. Now I'm really scared.
16
Poppy
14 years old
I'm sitting in the middle of my bed, staring at the picture Connor gave me a few years ago for my birthday. I place it back on my bed stand and tighten the knot on my friendship bracelet, fighting back the tears. Brandon's mom was buried two days ago, and none of us have seen him since he ran out from the funeral. Connor tried chasing him, but Brandon's fast.
I'm worried about him. Scared about where he is and if he'll ever come back. I wonder, if I'd been this old when my mom died, would I have run off, too. I can't really blame him, sometimes I think it may be the best thing to do. Just run away from the things you can't change, take on a new identity.
I flop back on the mattress and stare up at the Justin Timberlake poster hung above my bed. Brandon gave me such crap for hanging that up there, even though he has pictures of Britney Spears tacked up all over his room. I get up and go downstairs to get my book from the living room and when I step back in the room, I nearly have a heart attack.
Brandon's lying on top of my comforter, his hands behind his head, staring up at that poster.
"Brandon..."
"Hey, possum," he whispers.
Tears sting my eyes. Adrenaline shoots through my veins as I step beside the bed. "I'm glad you're back." I want to say so much more, but what do I say?
"Nowhere else to go," he says quietly.
I half-smile at him as I climb onto my bed and lean against the wooden headboard. I want to tell him how sorry I am, I want to tell him it will be okay, but I know better than that. I've been where he is and there are no words that make it better. Sighing, he rolls over, lays his head in my lap, and closes his eyes. He grabs my hand and places it in his unruly hair. "Make it go away," he whispers.
I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to keep the tears from coming out, and I do the only thing I can think to do. I scratch my fingers through his hair and hold him, hoping he realizes I love him and always will, and that, if I could, I would take his hurt away. "I wish I could," I say. He grabs onto my leg and squeezes so hard it hurts, but I don't brush his hand away. I just grit my teeth and bear it because I know he needs something to hold onto right now, and I'm glad it's me.
***break***
"Why are we going to the pikey camp?" Hope groans.
"Because it's Brandon's birthday," I say, holding up the present.
"Well, why don't we go do something then?"
Pikey dog comes scampering out from the field, barking. Connor tosses him a bone he brought with him. "He didn't want to go out."
"Well, did he invite us over here?" she asks.
"No." We don't see Brandon as much as we used to. I sometimes don't see him for days, and then he'll come through my bedroom window, his face all smashed up from a fight. He hasn't been the same since his mom died. He's angry all the time, and he hangs out with girls that are older than us. It makes me sad. I miss him. I miss him and Connor and me hanging out all the time.
"What if he's shacking it up with some girl and we are just gonna ruin his fun?" Hope laughs.
Me and Connor both glare at her.
"Fine. Fine. Let's go hang out at the pikey camp."
We walk through the entrance and weave our way through the run-down caravans. I stop when we reach Brandon's. I haven't been here since his ma passed away, and even from out here...it just doesn't seem right. Connor walks up to the door and knocks, but no one answers. He knocks again and still nothing.
"See," Hope sighs, "off shagging some nitwit."
Suddenly, there's a boom of cheering and clapping from the back of the camp. "Ah," Connor says as he turns around, "I bet his fighting again.”
Connor starts off toward the noise with me and Hope tagging along behind him.
We round Old Man McGinty's trailer and, behind it, there's a ring of men all shouting and drinking. In the middle stands Brandon and another boy, both in nothing but their tracksuit bottoms. Brandon's lip is already bleeding and the other boy's left eye is swelling shut. Brandon snarls angrily and punches the boy three times. He looks...he looks bad and angry. He doesn't look like my Brandon. The other boy falls on his back and Brandon jumps on top of him, hitting him again and again until someone finally pulls him off.
I watch his dad walk up to him and clap him on the shoulder with a grin. Brandon frowns and shrugs away from him, pushing between the gathered men and walking straight toward us.
He stops dead in his tracks and glares at us when he sees us. "What are you doing here?"
"It's your birthday," Connor says.
Brandon squeezes his eyes shut and he clenches his hands into fists. He looks so angry. "I can't hang out tonight."
"We just...we brought you presents," I say, holding up the bag. He opens his eyes and our eyes lock. There's something different. Something about him is different and sad, and I don't think it's just because of his mom.
"Thanks, possum." He smiles as he takes the present, but that smile seems fake.
"You going to invite us in, pikey?" Hope blurts.
He frowns and shakes his head. "Not her
e. My dad's around. I'll get changed and meet you at the gate." He nods toward the entrance into the pikey camp. He never used to be like this. We used to wait in the caravan for him. He didn’t used to hide things from us…
We walk to the gate and wait. Brandon joins us a few minutes later, and we start toward Connor's house. I smile when he stops and crouches down in front of me, letting me hop onto his back.
"I've missed my piggybacks," I whisper in his ear.
“They’re not piggybacks, they’re possumbacks, and, you know, Connor could give you piggybacks now. He's not fat anymore."
"But I'm your possum," I say, adjusting myself on his back and kicking him with my heels. "Now, go!"
17
Brandon
16 years old
I chuck the two empty bottles of whiskey in the bin and wash up the pile of dirty dishes that are cluttering the tiny kitchen in the caravan.
"Keep it down, boy." My dad shouts from his chair in front of the TV.
I drop a plate in the sink with a loud clatter. "You know what, you could wash your own dishes."
"What did you just say to me?" He gets up, heaving himself out of the chair and walking towards me.
"You know,” I turn to face him, “you were a piece of shit when ma was alive, but now..."
"I put food on the table, a roof over your head..."
I laugh. "The only money you make is betting on my fights. And a roof?" I gesture around the caravan. "You call this a roof?"
"You think you're the big lad now, eh?" He takes a threatening step towards me and I brace. I know what's coming. I know I should just leave this shit-hole and never come back, but my ma would turn in her grave, and that's the only thing that has me stopping in every few days to stock the fridge and clean up.
"Ma would be disgusted," I sneer.
Pre-war: A War Series Novella Page 6