Pig Iron

by Benjamin Myers

  I knew some gyppos at school. They were dead hard.

  Were they.

  Aye. They never had no glass eyes in their pockets though.

  I stand there, then I say what were they called then.

  What do you mean like, says this Olivia one.

  What was their family name?

  I dunno, they were just called the gyppos and nee-one ever messed with them. Are all travellers hard and that?

  I wouldn’t know, I’ve not met them all.

  What about the ones you have met, she says with this little smirk playing around the corner of her mouth like mebbe she’s been taking the piss all along.

  Come on – interrupts Maria. We’ve got to get going Liv, remember?

  Oh, aye. We’ve got to nash.

  Where to like? I ask.

  We’re meeting some of me mates.

  Aye?

  Aye.

  There’s another awkward pause while I wonder if they’re going to invite us and it’s like Maria can read me mind again because then she says, I would invite you along for the crack John-John but it’s a girly night out and that, you know how it is. Lasses only.

  Right, I nod.

  You’ve probably got work stuff to do and that anyway?

  Aye, I say, even though I haven’t.

  Olivia has her phone out and is pressing the buttons on it. As she does this it rings, then she answers it – What? – and sucks on her straw at the same time.

  So, I say.

  So, says Maria.

  I’ll buy you a hot dog with the trimmings if you like?

  I cannot, John-John. Not now.

  Or I can gan and get youse some ice creams and pop from the van if you like. On the house, like.

  No, not tonight John-John.

  How are you keeping, I say, trying to keep the chat rolling along. I mean, I was hoping I’d see you.

  Good. But we’ve got to get gannin though. Mebbes I’ll see you on the round?

  What about the morrow?

  Aye, mebbe tomorrow.

  Cos I was just thinking, like.

  What am I thinking exactly, I wonder.

  I mean, I say. I mean, can I take you out? The morrow?

  As the words come out, I surprise even mesel. I’ve never asked a lass out before.

  Olivia is half listening to her phone conversation and half listening to us and still sucking on her straw, but when I look at her, she looks away smirking that smirk.

  Where to?

  I dinnar. Somewhere dead nice.

  What – like the Metro Centre?

  Nor man. Somewhere in the countryside.

  Are you not working, like?

  Nor. The boss has given us the day off.

  I’m not sure about the countryside though.

  Why not? It’s mint.

  It’s muddy and that.

  Well, I say. If it is I’ll give you a piggy back.

  I’m only joking but she doesn’t even crack a smile, instead she just sort of looks away again, like her eyes are trying to pick someone out in the swollen crowd of the fair, then she mumbles into her straw, through her teeth, can you pick us up?

  Aye, of course.

  Not at home though. In town.

  Aye, I divvent know where you live anyway.

  Oh aye, she says, looking round again. If you can pick us up in the market place mebbes I’ll meet you.

  What time?

  I’ll text you.

  You’ve not got me number.

  Give us it then.

  I’ve not gorra phone.

  Oh aye.

  So….

  Say twelve-ish then, she says I’ll probably be hungover, mind. I’m already pissed and I’m planning on getting mortal.

  That’s alreet.

  Look, I’ve really got to get gannin, John-John.

  So, aye. Well. Enjoy the fair.

  I will.

  Tomorrow?

  Aye. Tomorrow.

  *

  The money was gone within a fortnight. He put a down-payment on a new van. A second hand nineteen foot long Vickers Lunedale sold at a bargain price by a traveller boy down in Darlington who was stopping his wanderings to settle down into a council house with his old dear.

  It were only five years old and in prime condition. Palatial. It was one of them flash stainless steel and chrome ones. Twin axle, double bumpers. The works.

  And the inside.

  The inside was all two-tone, polished oak and formica. It had camber-fronted storage drawers, glass fronted-cupboards with mother-of-pearl insets in the handles and hand-engraved insignias in the glass. The carpet was patterned Axminster all the way through. Even the light fittings were sunken and chrome-set. The centre piece though was an over-sized wood-burning stove range made by Smith & Welstood of Scotland. It was the very best of the best.

  He got us a new china tea-set as well, some clothes for the bairn and the rest him and the lads drank.

  *

  It might be summer but there’s nee cloud cover and being stood around has made us proper cold, so I decide to do one. Little Coughdrop’ll need a walk yet an all.

  I’ve just walked away from the dodgems into the shadows round the back of the side shows and am heading away up the bit of hill to where the van is parked when suddenly he’s there in my face. That twat from the other day on the Nook. That Banny. Banny and three of his sackless marrers.

  They’re crowded into a little huddle in the shadows.

  Wahey! It’s Mr. Whippy.

  They look up from their huddle and I see that they’re all dipping into a little plastic bag and rubbing shit onto their gums and sniffing it up their snecks. Whizz probably. They’ve got that look about them. It’s there in their eyes; like there’s nee reasoning with them. Lads used to get on it all the time inside. They’d take a load of billy then sit twitching in their cells all night. I never saw the point, me.

  Lads, I say and make to give them the big body swerve.

  I’m in the shadows of this git big artic and there’s a generator next to it that’s chugging away and pumping out petrol fumes. It’s making a right auld noise. Out front is the fair with its lights and bustle but round here there’s nee one else about. Behind us the darkness creeps off across the stretch of open grass they call the old racecourse, down to the river. I can just see flashes of torn silver moonlight on its back.

  Here Bannon, says one of the boys. He looks like he’s in the army or summat. Look at them threads.

  He doesn’t look like much of a soldier to me.

  That’s cos he’s a woofter. They divvent let cream puffs in the army do they, Bender?

  I turn to go back the way I came.

  Whoah. Where do you reckon you’re gannin, like? What’s the hurry?

  Bannon’s blocking the way. He puts his hand on my chest, dead lightly like. It’s the lightness of touch that unnerves us actually. And I can see his eyes are wide and blank and his smile is the same. Whizz face.

  I’ve got to be off.

  Howay. It’s still early, Bender.

  Me name’s not Bender.

  Well what is it then.

  I shrug.

  Why, I say.

  I’m only asking you your name man, you fucking flid.

  It’s John-John.

  John-John?

  Aye.

  Fucking John-John what like?

  John-John Wisdom.

  Fucking John-John Wisdom? That’s your name? John-John Wisdom?

  Aye.

  Banny turns to his marrers, who are all facing us now. I recognise one of them from the other day. Mebbe two of them. I recognise the look an all. Pinned eyes and crooked smiles. Trouble, basically. They’ll not let up until they’ve had a taste of it. That much is obvious. I can smell it.

  Fucking John-John Wisdom, he says again, in a voice that’s too loud. Sounds like a cartoon character or summat don’t he?

  Aye, honks one of the lads. Bloody looks like one an all. Fucking spacker.
>
  I’m sure I know that name me, one of them says. Where ye from, marrer?

  I keep me head down and grit me teeth. I try to side-step Bannon again.

  Hang on a minute, he says. My mate’s talking to you. He asked you a question.

  Suddenly the lights and noises of the fair seem a long way away.

  I’ve got to get going.

  Aye. You said. But me mate here is talking to you. Or mebbes you’re too good to talk to us, are you?

  Nor.

  Aye he is, says another of the povs as he takes a swig from a can of beer. He’s a stuck up little poofter.

  I’m not, I say quietly. And I’m nee poof either.

  Here, you should see this daft cunt, says Bannon ower his shoulder, his eyes still on us. Drives round the estate all day in his army clothes selling bloody sweets to little kids. That’s his job. Selling sweets to kids. What a fucking knobber. Can you imagine deeing that all day?

  They laugh.

  I push past Banny and head off into the darkness. The generator is still ticking ower and the petrol fumes are stronger than ever. I hear a scream from one of the rides, a snatch of a song from the waltzer; the sound of synthesizers stretched and distorted. A relentless drum beat burrows its way into the soil.

  A hand grabs me shoulder and swings us round. We’re right in the shadows of the lorry now.

  Divvent fucking walk away from me you smelly little twat.

  Banny says this.

  Look at him – he’s shitting himsel. Pikey cunt.

  I gan to walk away again.

  Reckon you’re hard do you?

  Bannon spits this at us. There’s bits of hockle round his mouth, his hand is scrunched into my chest and his face is all twisted up. He’s taller than us and his cheekbones are sharp. He looks like a skinny monkey. There’s a crescent-shaped scar above one of his eyes. It looks like a tiny moon. A quarter crescent planted by a sovereign ring.

  Nor.

  You want to fucking gan do you?

  He’s fuming now. He’s working himself up into a rage ready to fight us. I’ve seen it before. He’s trying his best to summon the red mist, but it’s not summat you can just turn on and off. Still. No way I’m sticking around to fight four of them.

  Nor, I say.

  Have him Banny, says one of the lads.

  Aye, knock the cunt out Banny.

  Here hold this.

  Banny passes his can to one of the povvy gets, lets go of me coat and pulls back. All his movements are geared towards throwing a punch but he’s slow and easy to read and in that second I drop to the ground and roll under the artic lorry. It’s even darker under there but it’s dry. I scramble out the other side.

  I’m back in the fair, and on my toes.

  I don’t get far though. There’s too many of them and they’re too quick. It’s probably the whizz. They can smell blood an all. Whatever has been started now needs to reach a conclusion that satisfies the group. This is how things go. They snowball.

  They come at us from both sides of the lorry shouting, then Bannon is steaming into us. He puts the nut on me but I step back and he only catches me brow, just above me left eye. And his body follows through with him so he’s off balance and I’ve used me hips to keep upright while I backpedal and circle away.

  What’s all this, like?

  A voice comes down from above.

  I look up and there’s some auld gadgie climbing down from the cab of the lorry that I rolled under. He’s got a hat on and has a tab hanging from his mouth. He’s a showman. A traveller. An auld timer. Looks about a hundred and four years old.

  Nowt, says Banny. Nowt to do with you anyway.

  Aye, fuck off, says one of the lads.

  Fuck off? says the gadgie. Who ye talking to like?

  You, you eggy auld fart.

  They laugh. All of them. Like seals at feeding time. All of them except Banny who is smarting from making an arse of himsel trying to chin us like that.

  Inside I’m wincing and looking around for my exit route.

  The auld gadge slowly climbs down from the lorry and tips his hat back, scratches his pate, then moves his hat down again. His slow, considered movements are enough to distract Banny from putting another one on us.

  Having a scrap are youse?

  What’s it look like? says Banny. And it’s nowt to do with you.

  Aye, well. That’s true. Not really a scrap though is it? Four of you on one, like.

  It’s not four, says Banny. It’s me and him.

  Aye, and when you lose the rest of youse’ll stomp him is that right?

  As he says this, someone else appears from round the other side of the artic. All of a sudden he’s just there, a proper big lad in a thick jumper. He’s holding a wrench in a greasy hand. The wrench looks like it’s part of him. Part of his body. An extension.

  Alreet Da?

  Aye, I was saying to these lads – four on one. Not much of a square go is it?

  Oh aye. Not fair at all that, no matter who’s fighting. Two can worry a bull and all that. Mind you, they look like a bunch of jellies to me. Proper softies.

  Fuck off are we, says Bannon.

  That’s twice you’ve telt us to fuck off now son says the auld gadgie, and I divvent even know your name.

  He’s Bannon, says one of the lads.

  Sherrup Shotter, Banny snaps back. Dickhead.

  And what about you?

  The auld timer’s talking to me now. I say nowt. I just want to get home to little Coughdrop who’ll have been sat in his pen with only his turds and some butcher’s scraps for company all day.

  Not much of a fair fight, he says again. Eh son?

  The big lunk, who I reckon to be the gadgie’s son, shakes his napper.

  It’s always the way isn’t it, he says. It’s always the bully boy lads who need their marrers behind em.

  What about you, the gadgie says to us again. I don’t suppose you’re up for fighting four lads at once are you?

  I just sort of look down and shoe the ground and say nowt.

  Well here’s one more question for you – do you reckon ye deserve the tanning they’re about to give you?

  No, I say quietly. I’ve not done owt. I’m just trying to get home.

  Well then, says the git big lunk with the wrench. Like I say, that’s not a square go is it? Sounds like bullying to me.

  His accent is thick with travel. Both of them are. There’s all sorts of regional flavours in there. It’s an accent bent out of all shape; warm and deep, but with a sharp edge to it, like every question is a statement or a challenge. It sounds like nails being driven into a piece of four-be-two.

  What’s it to youse says Bannon, but his voice isn’t as loud this time. There’s confusion in it. He’s seen the wrench, sized up the lunk and heard the strange showfolk accents. He’s rattled.

  Nowt, says the lunk. We just don’t like to see bullying, that’s all. Can’t stand it. Eh Da?

  ’Sright, son.

  And this is our bloody patch and our bloody lorry and we don’t want nee blood on our bloody gear neither. Eh Da?

  Aye. It’s a bloody bugger to scrub off. What’s your name son?

  He’s talking to me again.

  Me?

  Aye.

  It’s John-John.

  The gadge glances at his son and raises an eyebrow, draws on his tab then back to me.

  John-John, is it?

  Aye.

  Town lad are you?

  Roundabouts.

  Thought so. And are these lads mates of yours?

  I shrug. Nor.

  And has he done owt to piss you off the lunk says to the lads, who are quiet now.

  Aye, says Bannon. Being born.

  They laugh at this, but they’re less sure. The odds have changed. They’re high. They’re confused.

  So you’re a bunch of cowards then aren’t you. Takes four of you and that. Yellow bellies, the lot of you. Little pissants.

  Na, snaps
Bannon. I could panel this little paedo on me own, nee bother.

  He points his finger at us as he says this.

  What do you think, son? says the gadgie, to me. Reckon ye could have this charver?

  I shrug. I touch the glass eye in me pocket.

  Cos I’ve got a hunnerd snoots here that says you can.

  Eh?

  If you muller this cocky little bastard – what’s your name again, son?

  Bannon.

  I’m saying if you can muller this Bannon without him being mob-handed, there’s a hundred snoots for you.

  And what about when I knack him, says Banny. His voice cracks as he says this, like it’s breaking for the first time.

  Then you take the ton. But if you lose you all empty your pockets into mine. All four of you. Every single penny. And it’s a square go, mind. Fists only.

  What if that bender loses, says Bannon. What does he have to do?

  Nowt, says the lunk. The hiding will be enough.

  That’s not fair, says one of the lads.

  Neither is four on one you little cock-snot.

  Watch it Banny, I hear one of the lads whisper. They’re fucking pikeys, these two.

  They’re what, says the auld gadgie.

  Nowt.

  Funny, cos I might be getting auld but I’m sure you just called us pikeys.

  Aye that’s what I heard too Da, says the lunk. Remember the last fellas who called us that?

  Oh aye, chuckles the gadge. As I say, blood’s a bugger to scrub out.

  While they’re all talking I’m just stood there, thinking how the hell has this happened? One minute I’m on me way home for a shower and a cuppa and a wrestle with little Coughdrop and the next I’ve been pulled into all this shite. It’s like the world’ll not just let us be. Bloody hell. The last thing I want to do is to have a scrap. But at least this way I’ll not get gang stomped. And this Banny doesn’t look like much.

  So, the lunk says to Banny, are you on or what.

  For a hundred quid, says Banny. Too fucking right.

  What about you kidder?

  Everyone looks at me.

  What if I divvent want to, like?

  Nowt. We’ll leave you lads to it.

  I’m not a fighter.

  Aye. You’re a fucking chickenshit bender who bums bairns, says Banny.

  I take a deep breath.

  Alreet, I say. Let’s go.

  *

  He wanted a boy but when the bairn was born at the tail end of winter out comes a girl. A lass with black hair, matching wide coal black eyes and a strong fist that gripped her father’s big fingers.