Bitter Sixteen

by Stefan Mohamed

  Don’t you want to be an actual hero, though?

  Maybe I’m re-defining the concept.

  Or maybe I just have some facial hair.

  It definitely seemed as though I had less control over my thought processes these days.

  When I returned to the kitchen there was a full caffetière waiting next to some untoasted bagels, a tub of butter and a jar of jam. Eddie had taken the paper through to the living room and was sitting cross-legged on the floor, as Daryl was still asleep on the sofa. I toasted, buttered and jammed some bagels, took them through and patted the dog gently awake. He yawned and licked his lips, and looked as if he were about to speak. I shook my head slightly and said, ‘Hungry?’ in a voice that I hoped sounded like I was talking to a regular dumb dog.

  Daryl shook his head, which would have been something of a giveaway had Eddie been watching, and settled back down. I shrugged and started to eat. ‘Any good news?’

  ‘Not particularly. Kids still missing. Did you hear about that?’

  ‘Bits and pieces,’ I said. ‘Kids gone, parents murdered, no forensic stuff?’

  ‘Yeah. Police got in trouble for letting that info slip.’

  ‘Any theories?’

  ‘A few,’ said Eddie. ‘None of them nice.’ He folded the paper and looked at me. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?’

  ‘No. I will. Soon . . . I have to figure out some stuff. You said I could come here if I needed somewhere and I do . . . but . . .’ I broke off and sipped my coffee. ‘Honestly? I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how long I’m staying, what I’m going to . . .’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Eddie, ‘you can stick around for as long as you need to.’

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ All of my confidence was slipping away. I had been running on pure adrenaline last night, but right now I didn’t feel in a fit state to go around the corner for a pint of milk, let alone drive a stolen car several hundred miles across an unfamiliar country to an even more unfamiliar city. I felt plaintive and very young, and also pissed-off with myself for feeling like that – after all, I had some pretty special advantages, which was more than most teen runaways had.

  Yeah. ’Cos they’ve been a great help.

  Ooh, the burden of specialness. Better shave off that anti-hero stubble.

  Shut up, brain.

  ‘Like I said,’ said Eddie, ‘I’m not sure it’s a great idea for you to stay here, but I have some friends who live nearby. Well . . . nearby by London standards, I suppose. Connor and Sharon. They’re . . . like you. They have abilities.’

  ‘Do you?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He didn’t sound like he wanted to talk about it, but I did. ‘What kind?’ I asked.

  ‘Physical stuff,’ said Eddie. ‘Speed, strength, endurance. Stuff that should have left me years ago.’

  ‘Did it appear when you turned sixteen?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, around then. I almost managed to convince myself it was normal at the time . . . but it’s not.’

  ‘Do you mean, like, super strength?’

  ‘Let’s just say I can take quite a beating.’ Eddie smiled grimly. ‘And dish one out, if needs be.’

  ‘Super strength, then.’

  ‘If you want. Definitely abormal. You could even say otherworldly. Plus, if it was just regular fitness I’d have lost it by now, without a doubt.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I realised I was bombarding him with questions, but the dude had been Mr Cryptic every time we’d spoken on the phone, so I felt pretty justified in digging for a few specifics now that we were speaking face to face.

  Eddie sighed. ‘OK. Guess it’s all coming out now . . . look, when I first came to London I spent years in various dives and shitholes with various unsavoury people, doing far too many bad drugs, pretending I’d never had parents and fighting my way in and out of as many stupid situations as possible. Then I met Connor and Sharon, and now I have a pretty good job and a decent life, and I only do good drugs. You know. Paracetamol. Various strong anti-depressants. All the essential ingredients of twenty-first century life.’ He winked. ‘But yeah. Connor, Sharon and I are . . . freaks together, I suppose. You’ll be among friends, I can promise you that.’

  ‘I was among friends,’ I said. ‘Finally. I finally had friends and I finally had a life and I almost had a girl, and then that twat came along and screwed it all up. I screwed it all up.’ My empty plate flew into the air and smashed against the wall. Eddie looked from it to me and back again, one eyebrow raised. ‘Sorry,’ I said, moving to clean the mess up.

  ‘No worries. Rubbish plate anyway.’

  There was another long silence. My life was violence, weirdness, elation and misery interspersed with long silences. Finally I thought of something. ‘Eddie. You’re . . . pretty open-minded when it comes to weird shit, right?’

  ‘I like to think so,’ said Eddie. ‘Why?’

  I looked meaningfully at Daryl. He blinked sleepily and said, ‘Hi.’

  ‘Uh,’ said Eddie. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I can talk,’ said Daryl. ‘I’m a talking dog. A dog who talks.’

  Eddie nodded slowly. ‘OK. Nice to meet you. How’s it going?’

  ‘Not bad. Been better. Been worse.’

  ‘Cool.’ Eddie smiled and turned to me. ‘I’m going to go and see Sharon and Connor. I’ll explain about you and I’ll be back ASAP. Are you OK here alone?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘I’m not alone, anyway. Thanks.’

  My cousin nodded and went out into the hall, returning a minute later wearing a dark jacket over his vest and jeans. ‘There are spare keys hanging in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Just in case. I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Bye.’ He disappeared, the door opened and shut, and I was alone with my dog. After yet another long silence, Daryl said, ‘Well, I am starving. Where’s the food then, butt?’

  I spent nearly an hour sitting by the phone debating whether I should phone someone or not. I wanted to call Mark and tell him I was all right. I wanted to call Miss Stevenson and say how beyond sorry I was that her show had been ruined. I wanted to call Ben King and tell him what a world-class bell-end he was and that if I ever saw him again I would eviscerate him with my brain. I wanted to call Kloe and spout melodramatic sentimental drivel. I wanted to tell her to come down, that we could start a new life here with Eddie and his friends. I didn’t actually have her number with me but I was sure —

  ‘What the hell are we doing here?’ asked Daryl.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why are we here?’ he asked. ‘What’s going to happen? What are we doing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Eddie’s gone to talk to his friends —’

  ‘How do we know we can trust Eddie and his friends?’ asked Daryl. ‘What if Connor and Sharon are made up? What if Eddie has gone to some secret branch of the government who round up people with powers and brainwash them and turn them into sleeper agents? What if you go to see Connor and Sharon and end up in a laboratory? And me? What if they dissect me to see what makes me talk? And then they’ll give you a trigger and they’ll make you do their evil deeds for them. One minute you’ll be walking down the street, the next minute you’ll hear ‘Where Is the Love’ by the Black Eyed Peas and you’ll turn into a single-minded monster of doom, annihilating people left, right and centre with your mind powers! What if —’

  ‘You’re babbling,’ I said. ‘We talked about this conspiracy stuff. Stop it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Daryl. ‘But you still have to be careful. Always be on your guard.’

  ‘Don’t you trust Eddie?’

  Daryl looked puzzled. ‘Actually – my soliloquy notwithstanding – yes. I do. Although it does seem odd that he’s gone to talk to his friends in person rather than just phone them up.’

 
‘He said they live nearby,’ I said. ‘And . . . I dunno. Sometimes it’s better to talk about things face to face. Things like, “please can my runaway superpowered misfit cousin please come and live at your house, possibly indefinitely”.’

  ‘Fair point,’ said Daryl. ‘At any rate, you still have to be careful.’

  ‘I will,’ I said. ‘I’ll be careful. We’ll be fine.’

  Daryl nodded. ‘Are you going to call her?’ he asked, after a pause.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know who.’

  I didn’t say anything. Daryl came and sat next to me and I stroked him, and time passed. One o’clock came, followed by half past one, and I picked up a copy of Time Out, trying to take my mind off Kloe’s face, the salt of her tears burning in my brain. There were plenty of films on. An independent cinema in the city was having a Golden Oldies season. They were showing The Maltese Falcon. Bogie goodness.

  The front door opened and closed, and Eddie walked through to the kitchen with two bags of shopping. I followed him. ‘News?’

  He nodded, and began to unload groceries.

  ‘Good news?’

  He nodded again. ‘We’re going to see them. Grab your stuff and I’ll finish putting this away.’

  ‘Dog’s coming too?’

  ‘Dog’s coming too.’

  ‘Dog has a name, human,’ said Daryl.

  ‘Daryl,’ said Eddie. ‘Sorry. Shall we go?’

  Chapter Twelve

  IF COMING INTO London had felt like being swallowed, heading down into its hot, stale-smelling bowels, a maze of clanking echoes and indistinct announcements over crackly tannoys, was like the final stage of digestion. I’d been on the Underground once when I was little, but I’d forgotten how strange it was, and how many people there were. How many people there were everywhere. Daryl and I stuck close together, and I distracted myself by thinking about zombies and wondering if I looked cool wandering around with an electric guitar. Eddie had tried to insist on carrying some of my stuff, but this time I’d refused. It made me feel a smidge more independent in this vortex of unfamiliar sounds and smells.

  Get used to it, kid.

  It’s home now.

  Off the train, up a hundred steps, and down more streets. The pavements were shiny with the rain and the sky was unsettled, and I could smell a particular scent of wet concrete that I always associated with cities. Endless cars, sirens, people talking and shouting, trains rattling, and the faraway thundering rumble that signalled a storm. An unfinished skyscraper stabbed its way to the sky, looking like a spaceship midway through construction. For some reason, that thought made me feel a bit better. Good old spaceships. ‘Are we nearly there?’ I asked. If Connor and Sharon lived ‘nearby’, it certainly wasn’t by any definition of the word that I’d ever encountered.

  ‘Yep,’ said Eddie. We had reached a cul-de-sac. It was substantially more upmarket-looking than Eddie’s road, and he led us to a small house about halfway down the street and up a path lined with tidy flowers. Eddie rang the bell, and we were met by a smiling young man about his age. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘You must be Stanly.’ Using my legendary powers of observation, I decided that this was Connor. He was just over six feet tall by my estimate, with short black hair and cobalt eyes, and his natural expression seemed to be humorous and welcoming. He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt with a cartoon zombie on it, which made me warm to him even more, and his feet were buried inside big furry werewolf slippers. I nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah. I’m Stanly.’

  ‘Connor.’ He held out his hand and we shook. He had an Irish accent, smooth and reassuring, and I liked him immediately. ‘And this is . . .?’ he asked, looking down at Daryl.

  ‘Daryl,’ said Daryl.

  Connor laughed. ‘Eddie told me about you, but part of me thought maybe he was spinning yarns. Obviously not. You really do talk.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Daryl.

  Connor shrugged. ‘OK, then. One more special exhibition for our weird little museum. Come on in. And then Eddie can explain again why he trekked all the way here, then trekked all the way back to get you, so you could then trek all the way back here together.’

  ‘I prefer to do things face-to-face,’ said Eddie, defensively.

  ‘You prefer to take the long way round,’ said Connor.

  ‘And I had shopping to do.’

  ‘Sure you did.’ I sensed that this kind of exhange was fairly typical. Connor winked at me and we followed him inside, down an uncarpeted hall and into a big kitchen. Everything in there looked old but sturdy: the oven, the cupboards, the furniture, the lights, the walls. And I got a definite Seventies vibe from the décor. Seated at the table reading a magazine was a girl. Or a woman. I’m never sure how old a female has to be before she graduates from girl to woman, or if it’s up to the girl (or woman) herself. She was Connor and Eddie’s age, at any rate, and she wore blue and had bright blonde hair with darker streaks in it, and laughing blue eyes, and was just this side of stunning. She smiled. ‘Ah. You’d be Stanly.’

  I nodded, slightly embarrassed now. ‘Mm.’

  Connor laughed. ‘He doesn’t say much.’

  The woman – young woman? Woman girl? Oh God, whatever – stood up and gave me a hug, which was nice. ‘I’m Sharon.’ She knelt down and patted Daryl. ‘He’s cute.’

  ‘She’s not wrong,’ said Daryl. Sharon didn’t stop patting him.

  ‘Eddie wasn’t bullshitting,’ said Connor. ‘The dog really does talk.’

  ‘So he does,’ said Sharon, as though it were the best thing she’d heard all day. She finished petting Daryl, then stood up and looked me up and down for a minute. ‘Would you like to see where you’ll be sleeping?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Connor had poured himself a cup of coffee and was leaning against the counter. Eddie was hovering, and the Irishman laughed. ‘Ed? Take a chill pill, yeah? There’s nothing wrong. You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘Just . . . making sure Stanly’s all right,’ said Eddie, in the voice of someone hurriedly making up an excuse. It was interesting how he suddenly seemed a lot less cool now we were with his friends.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Connor. ‘I scoured the wardrobes for ninja assassins before you arrived.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Connor laughed. ‘Seriously, old man, chill. Don’t have a cow, or whatever animal stressed-out people had in the Fifties.’

  Sharon put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s leave the boys to their banter. Sometimes it goes on for hours. Your room’s upstairs.’

  There were pictures all the way along the wall leading up to the landing, framed photographs of the same rain-swept lighthouse from different angles. The landing had three doors and light blue walls, and Sharon nodded to the only unpainted door. It swung open. I frowned. ‘Did you do that?’

  She smiled. ‘Just to prove you’re among like-minded people.’

  It was a small room, but very cosy. There was a sofa bed against the wall, a desk underneath the window and lots of shelves stuffed with books. I liked that Eddie and his friends had so many books. The window offered a view of wet streets and some tall, nondescript buildings, mostly obscured by the gathering mist. I put my stuff on the bed and turned back to Sharon. ‘Will it do?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s great. Thanks.’ I was still feeling slightly awkward.

  ‘Good. Are you hungry?’

  ‘I had breakfast a little while ago . . . but I could probably eat again, to be honest.’

  ‘OK. Well, do you want to come back downstairs or stay up here?’

  ‘I’ll come down.’

  As she was about to go down the stairs she turned around and pointed at the white door. ‘Bathroom.’ Then she pointed to the red door. ‘Mine and Connor’s room.’ She carried on down the stairs and I followed, Daryl at m
y heels.

  Eddie and Connor were talking in the kitchen. Eddie still seemed agitated, but Connor seemed to have managed to become even more laid-back, nodding and answering calmly, his tone soft and placatory.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Sharon.

  ‘Ed’s a bit rattled,’ said Connor. ‘Worried about his little cousin.’

  I’m not little.

  You’re kind of little.

  OK, fair point.

  ‘I’m just . . . concerned,’ said Eddie, trying to keep his voice level. ‘Are you two going to be all right looking after him? I mean you both have to work . . .’

  ‘I’ve been doing double shifts at the hospital lately,’ said Sharon. ‘I can do some swaps.’

  ‘To be honest, he can probably come to work with me,’ said Connor. ‘It’s no bother. I’ll bet Skank would even give him a job.’

  ‘Skank?’ I asked, trying to keep my incredulity at a polite level.

  ‘Sylvester,’ said Connor. ‘Everyone calls him Skank. I . . . really don’t know why. He’s my boss.’

  ‘Where do you work?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s called 110th Street,’ said Connor. ‘Sort of comic book and general geek shop tucked away in a back street in Camden. Pretty well respected, does a lot of business. I’m sure Skank would give you a job, if you wanted one.’

  This felt like a bandwagon I’d be keen to jump on. ‘That’d be great!’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ began Eddie. ‘It —’

  Sharon interrupted him. ‘Eddie, he’ll be fine. What are you worried about?’

  ‘The police?’ asked Eddie. ‘Truant officers or something? Or your run-of-the-mill criminals? I don’t know why I even said he should come here. On a scale of one to ten, this city is not the safest place to be —’’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. I was starting to get a little irritated. ‘And I don’t need to be . . . coddled.’

  ‘I’m just trying to look out for you,’ said Eddie. ‘If anything . . .’

  ‘Nothing will happen,’ said Sharon, soothingly. ‘The police aren’t going to notice him, they’ve got plenty of other things to worry about.’