Something Wicked

by Sherry Ashworth

  We were alone. That fact transformed this grotty room. What you might think was sordid, seemed exciting to me, full of possibilities. Ritch and I were in our own, private place. And it wasn’t too bad, not really. I reckoned that, given a mop and a bucket of soapy water, I could make something of it. I walked over to the blind and peeked between the slats down at the main road. It was like spying. No one knew we were there.

  “Let’s have a look at what we’ve got,” Ritch said.

  I turned and saw him swing the sports bag on to the table. We took out some of the toys and talked about what we’d done, reminiscing. I confessed how scared I was in Bromley’s – Ritchie made light of it.

  “That bloke won’t check up on us – they’re not his toys he’s given us. Look – we got this plasticine set from Bromley’s, didn’t we? See this sticker on the back? Reduced to half-price. They only gave us the stuff they didn’t want.”

  “I’ll find out from my mum where that woman lives and we’ll give her kids some of this. And if you know any kids, Ritchie …”

  He seemed to have lost interest in the toys and just stared into space. Then he snapped out of his reverie and fished in his pocket for his ciggies.

  “Shit,” he said. “There aren’t any left. I’ll pop out and get some.”

  “OK,” I said.

  So then I was by myself. First I went over to the toys and tried to imagine how excited those kids would be when they got them. Then I looked round the room. Already it seemed to have absorbed Ritchie and me and it belonged to us. It was our HQ, I thought, and smiled. But I wished Ritchie would get back quickly. I was just a little jumpy, all by myself, and besides, I wanted him.

  And it was at that point, when I was still coming down from our last exploit, when I was alone above the minicab office, waiting for Ritchie, that the truth hit me. I wanted him – and not just as a mate for getting kicks with. I admitted to myself that part of the glue that held us together was that I was a girl and he was a boy. I did fancy him. And what I wanted now was something to happen, but I didn’t know what. You might think I was very naïve for a sixteen year old, and in some ways you’d be right. Only the reason I’d had little experience with lads is because I’d been waiting for the right one to come along – and now he had. Excitement tightened my throat and made my mouth dry. It was hard for me to swallow. Did he think in the same way about me? I wondered how I could find out.

  I heard loud footsteps coming up the uncarpeted stairs. The door opened and there he was, with a white plastic carrier bag.

  “Got us some provisions,” he grinned.

  He pulled out from the bag a party-size bag of crisps, a two-litre bottle of Coke and a bottle of vodka, along with some polystyrene cups.

  “Where did you get the money from?” I asked him. But as my mouth formed the question, I knew the answer. People had been handing us money this evening right, left and centre. I watched Ritchie counting out notes.

  “… fifty-five, sixty. Seventy, eighty, eighty-five … Yeah, eighty-five, and the rest of the change from the shop.”

  I swallowed hard. “What are we going to do with it?” I asked.

  Ritchie shrugged. “We’ll talk about it later. I’m parched.” He opened the Coke and took a slug out of the bottle, then passed it to me. I drank some too. Ritch settled down on the floor, opened the crisps, lit up a cig and closed his eyes as he inhaled.

  “I’ll give up one day,” he said.

  I sat down by him, tearing the polythene cover off the tower of cups. I poured some Coke into each, but Ritch pointed to the vodka. I understood, opened that, and poured a shot into his Coke. Then I looked at my cup, and thought, what the hell, and put some in there too.

  “This is good,” Ritchie said.

  His back was resting against the wall, his feet were on the floor, his knees bent. I was sitting by his side, my body echoing his. I knew I shouldn’t have drunk that vodka. I wasn’t used to it and it had made me flushed and headachy. Worse than that, I felt my control was slipping. But Ritchie seemed more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. And more talkative, too.

  “Loz’s brother is gonna open this place up again, when he’s got some money together. What he’s going to do, right, is sell old records – vinyl forty-fives and that. Collectors’ items. You can make a bomb, going round car-boot sales, buying up things the owners don’t know the value of. Like those early punk records. Car-boot sales are good places to unload whatever you’ve ended up with. Once me and Woodsy and Loz sold off a load of razors we’d nicked from the chemist. You get a good price for them.”

  “Razors?”

  “Yeah, razors. There are mugs who’ll buy anything. Go on, Anna, come up with a plan for getting us a load of stuff to flog at a car-boot sale.”

  He nudged me. I smiled.

  “Not now,” I said. My brain wasn’t engaged. I was just trying to savour every minute of being here with Ritchie, making sure I imprinted each detail on my memory so I could think about it all later.

  “You’re good at making plans,” he said. “And you’ve got nerve, too. I like that. You were cool as fuck in Bromley’s.”

  “You too,” I said. “When you came out with that business about having phoned the papers.”

  “It kills me,” Ritchie said, “the way people fall over themselves to give to charity, but if you were really hard up and went to someone in the street to ask for money for yourself, they’d call you a beggar and spit at you.”

  I sort of edged closer to him. Our bodies were touching now but we were both looking straight ahead, not at each other. There was no way I was going to make the first move but I didn’t know how to get him to do something. He was still talking, his voice becoming more emphatic. He was going on about the police now.

  “They’re just as bad, worse, in a way. It’s all a game to them. They spend half their time chasing us when there are real villains out there. I mean, real villains. The ones that pay off the pigs, give them a bung. I know that happens, I know it for a fact. It all stinks.”

  “Hey, chill, Ritchie.”

  He stopped then, turned his face to me, and smiled. “You’re not like them, Anna. You’re the first decent person I’ve met.”

  My pulse was racing. My instinct told me not to say anything but just to look at him, keeping my gaze steady. It worked. With his finger he traced the outline of my face. His touch on my skin was electric. I was trembling all over, and tried to hide it. His finger rested for a moment on my lips. I saw a look of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he put his hand back by his side again.

  “Ritchie,” I said. My voice quivered. “It’s OK. I want—”

  And I stopped. Because there was someone downstairs, banging repeatedly on the wooden door. I was paralysed with fear. It was the police – it was the man from Bromley’s – it was all of the toy-shop staff, who’d compared notes and were after us.

  Swift as an arrow, Ritchie was out of the room and flying down the stairs. I found it impossible to get up – my legs wouldn’t carry me. I knew they would find me there and I couldn’t begin to think what I would say.

  Then I heard Ritch shouting, swearing, but it was good natured swearing, and the other voices I heard were young, and I became pretty certain it was Loz, Tanner and Woodsy. My relief was mixed with annoyance. We weren’t going to be alone any more. I noticed also I was completely sober again. The shock had brought me to my senses. But I knew something had changed permanently for me, and that something was how I felt about Ritchie.

  They all came in, laughing, jostling each other, smelling a bit of cheap cider. Loz made straight for the toys and was trying to get a rise out of Ritchie, asking him what the hell he was doing stealing toys, for chrissake?

  “That’s not all we got,” Ritch said, and took the wad of notes from his pocket. Tanner and Loz looked on, impressed. Meanwhile Woodsy saw the vodka. In a moment he’d unscrewed the top and downed a shot. He passed the bottle round. Ritchie was explaining what we’d been up to. I noticed
he gave me a lot of credit, which was good.

  “So Anna wrote this letter and printed it out, and got us these cards. And she goes in the shops with me, with her posh voice, and everyone’s handing us money!”

  The boys looked at me approvingly.

  “You’re all right for a bitch,” Loz said.

  That word shocked me, but only for a moment. I realised it was just street talk, and a backhanded compliment, at that. Anyhow, I got my own back.

  “You’re pretty pathetic for a lad.”

  Woodsy laughed.

  “And you’re no better,” I said.

  Then Tanner explained to Loz and Woodsy how he’d helped us in the bookshop.

  “Why didn’t you let us in on that?” Loz asked Ritch.

  “Because I didn’t need you then. But we might be needing you all now.” He shot a look at me, seeking my permission.

  For a moment I was outraged. He should have consulted me first! But then I remembered we had kind of talked about a gang, and maybe Ritch was right – we could achieve even more if we had more people. I’d just make sure Ritch and I could still work together. So I nodded.

  There was a change in the atmosphere at that point. Ritchie hoisted himself up on to the table and sat there, legs dangling. Tanner and Woodsy took the vodka and sat on the packing crates. Loz picked up a chair, turned it round and sat on it back to front, with his legs on either side of the chair back. I settled myself on the floor. Ritchie started talking, and we all listened.

  “What’s different about what we’re doing – me and Anna – is that we think it all through. And we don’t do over old ladies or people like us, cos that isn’t fair. We’ve even given them what we’ve nicked – we’re going to give those toys away. We don’t just smash shop windows and that – we work out our plans in detail. Cause, like, the mugs who get caught, they’re stupid. They make stupid mistakes. We don’t.”

  “What you gonna do next?” Woodsy asked.

  Ritchie looked at me. I really didn’t know. It was too early to say. I just wanted to get shot of those toys and then I would think. It was a matter of coming up with someone who needed help, and someone who could afford to help them. I just said, “I’m working on it.” I liked the way all the lads looked at me – the brains behind the outfit. But I felt the pressure to come up with something good.

  “So what I wanna know,” Tanner said, “is, do we give everything we nick to other people?” He sounded doubtful.

  “Not everything,” Ritchie said. “Obviously. So you can say now if there’s anyone you wanna get, anyone who’s got it coming to them.”

  I thought, that was the wrong way round, but I could see that Ritch didn’t want to seem soft in front of his mates. It was funny, the closer I felt to him, the more I could understand things from his point of view, and see why he did things. From where he was sitting, right and wrong didn’t count for much – it was more a matter of survival. His mates mattered to him, their opinion counted in a big way. And he needed to be in charge, because he felt safer that way. Like me. Which was why I was desperately trying to come up with a new scheme, even before we’d distributed our gains from the previous one. In the end it was Woodsy who started the ball rolling.

  “My old man got the sack,” he said. We all looked at him. “He had this job in a garage but the boss didn’t need him any more, so he gave him the boot. He turned up for work a bit late on Monday and he told him to leg it. He didn’t do nothing wrong, my dad.”

  Ritchie interrupted. “Yeah – and I bet his boss is loaded.”

  “Too right. He’s got three garages and he drives a Merc. So I was thinking, like …” Woodsy looked at me.

  I said, “Who would we give the money to?”

  “Poor people,” Loz interjected. “Oxfam. Whatever.”

  “Go on, Anna,” Tanner said. “Think of something.”

  “I don’t know enough about this guy,” I said, floundering.

  Woodsy carried on. “His name’s Singh, Mr Singh.” I saw Loz eye Ritchie – I wasn’t sure why. “He’s a real big shot. He’s always going off to meetings.”

  “What sort of meetings?” I asked.

  Woodsy looked blank, then grinned at me. “I remember my dad saying he belonged to some golf club in Redvale.”

  The golf club in Redvale. This was too much of a coincidence. Two nights ago Julia had rung my mother and asked if I’d be interested in a night’s waitressing for the Redvale golf club’s annual dinner dance. Despite the fact it was her, I’d agreed – I thought the money would come in useful. If ever there was proof we were right to do what we were doing, it was this coincidence. My mind zoomed into overdrive. If it was the annual dinner dance, this Mr Singh would probably be there. And if I was inside …

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m going to be waitressing at the golf club this weekend. I’ll be inside – I can let you in. There’s bound to be a cloakroom there, with coats and bags, and I could keep a lookout—”

  “That’s phat!” Woodsy said.

  I glanced at Ritchie and our eyes met. It was brilliant – for a moment there was only me and him in that room. He was proud of me – I knew it. I was excited then and I started babbling. “It should be dead easy – I could have my mobile with me and text Ritchie. You’d have to be hanging around outside so you could get in quickly – but not together in case anyone suspected anything. We’d need a system of signals.”

  “We’ll have another meeting,” Ritchie said.

  “Got any weed?” Woodsy asked.

  It made me laugh, the way his attention had drifted. Woodsy struck me as the dimmest of the three of them. Tanner was nice – I liked Tanner. Loz – well, even then, he frightened me a bit, to tell you the truth. Not because he looked evil or anything, but there was a blankness about him. I can’t put it better than that.

  Anyhow, the meeting sort of broke up. The vodka was passed around again, and Loz took a packet of something out of his pocket. I was hoping to ask Ritchie about arrangements for the morning – we still had to get rid of those toys. An uneasy thought passed through my mind. The shops might check that the hospitals and hospices had received the toys, and when they’d say they hadn’t, they’d be on the look out for us. I went a bit cold at the thought, but it was just at that moment Ritchie’s phone rang. He looked surprised, and answered it.

  “Yeah … yeah. Yeah, I can. Outside Netto. OK.”

  He switched off his phone. “Sorry – gotta go.” He threw Loz the key. And vanished.

  The boys weren’t bothered. They made themselves comfortable and didn’t seem to mind that I was there. Tanner was quite drunk by now and passed me the vodka. But I wasn’t going to stay. I asked if I could leave the toys overnight and said I was expected back home. Loz said, “No problem,” and they all went, “See you around,” in a friendly way, like I was one of them.

  But I was troubled. Troubled about Ritchie. Why did he have to leave so quickly? Again I was reminded of the fact that there was so much about him I didn’t know, or that he wasn’t telling me. Yet something had happened between us tonight, I was sure of it. It would only be a matter of time before he opened up. If he would talk to anyone, it would be me. I recalled the feel of his finger on my skin. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

  So I went down the stairs and out into the street. My bus stop was at the crossroads, and the street was deserted. I felt a bit nervous being alone – you don’t know the sort of characters who could be out at night. The crossroads was a pretty major junction. There was a big DIY emporium on one corner, and Netto on the other. Both were closed.

  Ritchie had mentioned Netto, so my gaze roved over there – it was on the other side of the road to me. And there he was. I saw a girl – a blonde girl in a short, black-leather coat approach him, and kiss him on the cheek. She linked arms with him, and they walked off.

  First I was numb. Then sick with betrayal. The funny thing was, the thing that really got to me, was that he’d given her his number, which w
as on the phone that I’d nicked for him. A wave of nausea hit me. But I had my pride. I wasn’t going to follow him. Instead I made my way to my bus stop like there was nothing wrong, pretending – I was good at pretending, remember – and stood there, waiting for the ninety-seven, like a zombie. The walking dead. Other girls would have cried, but I don’t do tears. I burn up inside instead, until only ashes are left.

  I told myself I didn’t care. I gave myself orders to carry on with my life. I got up in the morning, showered, had breakfast. Went to school, sat in my lessons, did the work, came home. Watched TV, had a bath, did some homework. I wouldn’t let myself think. If you do – if you think about stuff – then it activates your emotions, and once they get going, you’re lost.

  The next day was just the same. I wasn’t going to text Ritchie because I had my pride. I knew he wasn’t going to text me. I wasn’t going to go back to the room above the office to get the toys – the memories were too painful. They would stay there and I’d think about getting them another time. I wanted to get over Ritchie’s betrayal first. I did allow myself to think that he hadn’t betrayed me and maybe I’d betrayed myself by getting too involved with him. Either way, it was a mess.

  I came back from school on Friday. I went upstairs, took off my school uniform and decided to have a shower. Mum was back at work part-time now and not doing too badly. I heard her come in just before I switched the shower on.

  I shivered as the hot water made contact with my back and tensed myself as it cooled on contact with my body. I let the water run all over me, over all of my body, my hair, everywhere. Then I put some shower gel in my hands and rubbed it into a thick lather. It was one of Mum’s – lavender for rest and relaxation with tea-tree oil for healing. I rubbed it in as hard as I could, getting rid of every possible speck of dirt or sweat or dead skin – who knows what accumulates during the day? I balanced one leg on the side of the bath tub and washed it vigorously. I reached to wash in between my toes – you perspire there, and the bacteria can smell. But the problem is, you put your shoes back on, and the bacteria are there, in your shoes, waiting to reinfect your toes. Which is why it’s important to keep your feet clean. And there are other parts of you which keep producing sweat and stickiness.