Nicholas Dane

by Melvin Burgess

  ‘You went off like a bloody rocket, man,’ exclaimed Davey. They both started laughing. ‘Jesus! You must have a jet-propelled arse to take off like that. Did you see his face? Oh, man, I loved the face.’

  Nick giggled and snorted as he unwrapped the chips. Then his face was hit by the damp smell of hot salty chips and vinegar fumes, and they both shut up and started eating. It was gorgeous. It was delicious - it was the first decent tasting meal they’d had since they got sent inside.

  ‘Chips,’ groaned Nick. He’d forgotten how delicious they were.

  ‘Heaven, innit?’ They ate and ate and licked the paper, and then the little burst of Heaven was over.

  ‘God, they're good,’ Nick moaned, licking the last traces of grease from his fingers.

  ‘Right,’ said Davey when they’d done. ‘Now let’s go and do it again.'

  On the way home that day they had runaway chips twice, run away chocolate, runaway milk and runaway Battenburg cake. In the last one, a security guard from the Spar actually took the trouble to chase them down the road, but they soon lost him. They drank the milk out of the carton and ate the cake like a chocolate bar, big bites from the end. In that way, over a couple of miles along the Wilmslow Road, they ended up stuffed. It was fun, but it wound up your nerves like elastic every time. All Nick wanted to do was lie down and sleep it off...

  Already, it had been a long day.

  By the time they went through Rusholme, the curry mile, the smells of all that delicious Indian food hardly touched them, although Davey wanted to do a runaway curry just on principle, but Nick talked him out of it. They marched on, past the universities and on to the Oxford Road. As they got close, one thing started to fill their minds: home.

  Few people in care have a happy home, but happy or unhappy, it’s theirs. Davey was thinking anxiously about his as they walked the last few miles into the town centre. He was hoping - maybe this time it would work. Maybe this time he’d be welcomed. Maybe he’d be able to behave himself so well that his parents would love him enough to let him stay. Maybe this time there’d be enough money, or his mum off the booze, or his dad in work and earning enough money to keep him.

  Fat chance - he knew it in his heart. But you can always hope.

  What had Nick to hope for?

  Perhaps Jenny would take him in? But probably not. He was the kid who’d made a mess at her place, that was all, and she was his mum’s friend, not his. He hadn’t heard from her in all the time he’d been inside - that said it all, as far as he was concerned. If only he’d known it, she had been nagging like a fury to get him back. No doubt she’d have done it, too, if Creal hadn’t plotted against it. But Nick didn’t know that and whenever he thought about Jenny, he felt a bitter anger well up in his throat. As soon as his mum was gone, Jenny had dropped him, that’s how it seemed to him. So why should anything be different now? She’d hand him back over as soon as look at him, and he wasn’t going to risk that happening.

  But then where? Where was his new home? Now that he had left, it was dawning on him for the first time - he had nothing to go to.

  ‘No one’s going to tell me what to do ever again,’ he boasted hollowly. ‘It’s the street for me.’ He nodded as if he had the better deal.

  ‘Which bit of the street are you on tonight then?’ asked Davey, cruelly.

  Nick shrugged. ‘Stay at a few friends for a while, till I get on me feet,’ he replied. Davey looked at him, regretting his jibe.

  ‘We’ll meet up,’ he said. ‘I’ll introduce yer to Sunshine.’ He nodded. ‘You'll see. ’E’ll help us out, mate.’

  ‘You don’t need it, you’ve got a home to go to,’ said Nick.

  ‘Maybe I have,’ said Davey. ‘But then again, maybe I don't.' Nick shrugged. ‘You’ll be OK,’ said Davey encouragingly. ‘I’ve been on me own before, it’s fun. Sleep at your mates for a few nights. I’ll be doin’ it meself once me dad gets sick of the sight of me. It’s better than being at home, really,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘At least you get to keep what you steal for yourself.’

  ‘Yeah and at least there’s no one to knock you about if you say anything out of line.’

  ‘And at least your mates are on your side. You know where you are with yer mates,’ finished Davey

  Nick nodded. ‘I’ll be OK,’ he said. ‘We’ll meet up, yeah? Let each other know how we got on, right?’ Davey nodded. Up ahead of them, just down the road, they could see the tower of the Refuge Insurance Building, with the word ‘Refuge’ written on it in giant red letters. Manchester town centre. Home! Just for a moment, it felt like it. Now they knew where they were.

  They walked together into Piccadilly Gardens and on up Oldham Street into Ancoats. They got to the parting of the ways.

  ‘Look up a few mates,’ said Davey. ‘Mates are the thing, mate.’ He clapped Nick on the back one more time, and turned left up the road towards his own street, leaving Nick on his own.

  Nick walked a little further until he got to some old lock-ups and garages a few streets away from where he lived. As usual, a number of them were empty, doors half ripped off, and in one that he knew there was an old sofa, fairly dry, tucked away at the back.

  Nicholas Dane laid himself out on the sofa and closed his eyes. He reflected that it was the first time he had been on his own since he got taken into care. Then he fell fast asleep.

  22

  Homecoming

  He woke with a start in the dark. He’d been dreaming, he couldn't remember what, but he was left feeling scared. It was a moment before he gathered his senses together. Then he thought, ‘I’m out!’ He didn’t know whether to feel full of triumph or terrified. He truly was on his own now, with every hand in authority against him.

  He was back home. He had no home. He stood up, went to the door to look over the houses of the estate. Night had fallen. The dark felt safe. He went out to see what was what.

  First thing, Nick went to see his old house. He hung around by the car park at the end of his road looking down towards it. The curtains were still up. Maybe it was empty, but it didn't feel like his anymore and he was worried about going to have a closer look. Maybe it was full of ghosts. He stood and watched for a while, but no one came in or out and he left after a few minutes.

  Nick had no idea what time it was but it couldn’t have been all that late because there were still people about on the street and the corner shops were still open. Next off, he went round to see his friend Simon, his best friend from the time before. He knocked anxiously - what would they think? He was dressed like a divvy apart from anything else.

  But to his huge relief it wasn’t just OK - it was great. The door was opened by Simon’s mum. Her face was a picture.

  ‘Nick! Oh my God! How are you? You got taken into care. Your poor mum! What a disaster. I couldn’t believe it, and we never even got to see you, just whoosh, gone, where is he?’ She turned over her shoulder and bellowed: ‘Simon!’ and carried on, hardly drawing a breath. ‘Look - you’ve changed. What are you wearing? Aren’t they feeding you enough?’

  Nick grinned and shrugged. She hauled him inside and ushered him through. Mrs Simon was a big woman, wearing her work suit still. Nick had to squeeze carefully past her enormous breasts to get into the hall. The sound of the telly blaring out came from the front room.

  ‘Simon’s doing his homework - I mean, watching the TV. Eh? Same old Simon.’

  Simon was lying on the sofa in front of the blaring TV, his school work in a heap on the floor. He scrambled to his feet when he saw Nick and then stood awkwardly in front of him, grinning. He punched him on the shoulder; Nick punched him back. He punched Nick back. Nick wanted to grab him in a headlock but his mum was standing watching them, grinning like a crocodile and he was embarrassed.

  ‘Well!’ she exclaimed, flapping her arms like a fat old panda. ‘Here we are again. So what was the Home like Nick? Any good?’

  Nick had to look at her twice to realise she wasn’t joking. He had to remember -
no one knew. She was looking at him all eager, hoping things were OK and never guessing just how bad they could be.

  What could he say?

  ‘OK. Bit rough. Food’s crap,’ he said brightly.

  Mrs Simon nodded. It was as if none of it had ever happened.

  ‘The things you hear about those places you wouldn’t believe, but I suppose a half decent lad like you is taken care of all right.’ She laughed, obviously relieved. ‘You must have fallen on your feet, eh? Nick Dane, eh, Simon? Always falls on his feel, dun't he. Si?’

  Simon nodded and stared at his friend as if he was some sort of a magic trick. He had huge eyes with long brown lashes cow’s eyes, Nick used to tease. He blinked and smiled in delight. Nick smiled weakly. He spread his hands.

  ‘Abracadabra,’ he said.

  Mrs Simon suddenly leant forward and gave him a big hug that almost smothered him. ‘Good to have you back, Nick, good to have you back,' she said. She was getting slightly tearful. She stood back and looked at him. ‘Why've you been such a stranger? First time I’ve seen you since.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘They don’t let you have many visits out,’ he said.

  Mrs Simon bulged in outrage. ‘Not many visits? Bastards? Are they? Are they bastards, Nick?’

  Nick paused, unsure if he wanted to give her any reason to start snooping. In the end, he only knew one thing; no one was ever going to believe him, so he wasn’t going to bother telling them.

  Mrs Simon helped him out. ‘The usual, is it? Some bastards and some not, eh?’

  Nick agreed with that rather vague version of how things were at Meadow Hill.

  ‘And you’re out now, are you?’

  Nick had his lie ready. ‘Staying with me mum’s friend in Middleton. Got a few days off.’

  ‘Right.’ Mrs Simon nodded. It was a Thursday. He could see what she was thinking ... Odd kind of day to have off...

  ‘Well, Nick, you’re always welcome round here, you know that. Always room for one more. Now then,’ she said, looking for some treat for him. ‘I bet they don’t feed you enough, I know they don’t, they never feed kids enough at these places. So what can I get you? Celebration fry-up? Sausage and beans? I’ve got some crumble left, you can have that for afters. Go on, Nick, say yes. It’s what mums do... ’ She got flustered again, talking about what mums do to a boy who’d lost his. But Nick’s mouth was watering already.

  ‘I’ll eat anything you can give me, Mrs Simon,’ he said. He always called her Mrs Simon, after her son. She giggled at his nerve; she didn’t know that he called all his friends’ parents by their sons’ names - it saved having to remember who they were.

  Mrs Simon rushed into the kitchen to cook his food, and he and Simon flopped down on the sofa together.

  ‘Sorry about your mum,’ said Simon. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Crap.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And they took you out of school and everything.’

  ‘Never went back after she died.’

  Simon blushed and looked away at the terrible word, died. What do you say to someone who’s lost their mother, their home, their school, their mates,everything.

  ‘We went to the funeral,’ said Simon.

  Nick stared at him in amazement. ‘Funeral?’ he said stupidly. Of course there would have been a funeral. No one had said a word to him about it. Despite himself, he felt his eyes filling with tears, but he fought them back. Simon was watching him curiously.

  ‘What happened?’ Simon asked.

  Nick forced a grin. ‘I was in the cooler,’ he said.

  ‘Wow. They locked you up so you couldn’t go to your mum's funeral?' said Simon, his eyes goggling.

  ‘It was a fight.'

  ‘Wow. Who was it?'

  ‘One of the staff.' Nick nodded. ‘They treat you like shit, so I treated them like shit straight back.’ He paused, unsure how to go on. ‘They beat you up like a man,' he said.

  Simon didn’t reply. He just stared.

  ‘We had to escape, over the fence,’ said Nick, groping to get into his role as desperado. ‘They hunt you down with dogs.’

  ‘What sort of dogs?’

  ‘Alsatians and Dobermans,’ said Nick immediately. ‘I’m on the run, mate. Don’t tell yer mum, all right?’ ‘No way. Amazing,’ said Simon. His big eyes opened wider than ever. He literally goggled. Star struck.

  Nick proceeded to tell his friend a lorry load of truths, half truths, lies, and exaggerations in which he was the hero of everything. Dogs, tunnels under the wire, midnight chases, cheeking the staff, getting tricks over on them. Revenge, leadership, double and dare. Well, what was he supposed to say? ‘Nah, mate, I got beaten up over and over again, gang raped by a bunch of middle-aged men in smelly suits and tortured in a bath of cold water for running away until I cried like a baby.’

  Nick had no money, no parents, no school, no home, nothing. But he wasn’t going to be a victim in the eyes of his friends. So he made it up. He was on the run - an outlaw. He was so full of glamour, it was coming out of his ears. As he told his tall tales, Nick was suddenly certain that everything was going to be all right. He’d been scared that while he’d been in care he’d been turned into some sort of freak. But no. Instead, he was a desperado. It was like prisoners of war. He’d been tortured, he’d escaped. He was on the run. Same old Nick! It was an adventure.

  The food came in and it was glorious. Two eggs, beans, three fat sausages, a heap of bacon, bread and butter. There was even a couple of mushrooms leaking juice onto his plate. Nick began to eat, steadily but so quickly it just evaporated. Mrs Simon gawped, took the plate away and came back in with a huge plate load of apple crumble and cold custard. Afterwards, Nick felt like a python that had just eaten a buffalo - he just wanted to curl up, lie down and sleep for the next three months.

  Simon wanted to go out and hear some more stories and look up a few more mates, but it was getting late.

  ‘Nick’ll need to be getting back, won’t you, Nick?’ said Mrs Simon.

  ‘Yeah .. .The buses run quite late.’

  ‘But you could stay here it you like,’ she suggested.

  Nick looked sideways at Simon and grinned. ‘That’d be great.’

  Any time, Nick there's always room for you here. You better ring your mum's friend, though,’ she added, and nodded to the phone in the corner.

  Nick didn't even flicker. He hadn’t spent four months in Meadow Hill without learning how to lie like an angel. He went to the phone, dialled a number at random ... by sheer chance it began to ring, and then someone picked it up.

  ‘Hi, Jenny.' he said.

  ‘I think you got the wrong number, mate.’

  ‘Is it all right if I stay over at Simon’s?’

  ‘Who's that?’

  ‘Yeah, I'll be back tomorrow sometime. OK ... ’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Great, no problem. See you then.’

  He put the phone down and gave Mrs Simon the thumbs up. Sorted. He had a bed for the night. He felt like he’d just struck gold.

  He and Simon watched TV while she made a bed for him on Simon’s floor, then they went up to bed. Nick told his stories of adventure on the high road, runaway chips, the cane, the prefects and being on the run, and Simon brought him up to date on school, friends, boys and girls. He’d have been willing to go on till all hours, but suddenly, in mid-sentence almost, Nick fell asleep.

  ‘Nick? Nick? You awake?’ Simon didn’t call him all that loudly, though. He leaned across and looked into his friend’s face. Nick had changed, but he had no idea how. It was so strange seeing him lying there. He looked down into his friend’s sleeping face as if he could see the past there. But he couldn’t, so he turned the light off and went to sleep.

  In the morning, it all happened quickly. Nick was stumbling downstairs trying to keep up with Simon, but Mrs Simon was wise to that and got Simon out of the house while Nick was still eating - no chance of any sc
hool if they went out of the door together. She fed him a huge bowl of cereal, stuffed a tenner in his hand, made him promise to stay in touch and pushed him out of the door ahead of her on her way to catch the bus to work.

  ‘’Bye, Nick,’ she yelled, trotting up the street at high speed on her trotty little legs in her fat black suit.

  ‘’Bye!’ yodelled Nick back. She turned the corner and there he was, alone on the pavement. He looked up the road, he looked down the road. There was nothing there. So - what next?

  Jenny? He shook his head. Jenny was all right, but even so. Look what had happened last time. Nah, not her. Davey. Davey was going to introduce him to his mate, Sunshine, who was going to help out in some way Nick didn’t yet know. They’d agreed to meet in a few days, but the O’Brian house was just around the corner, it wouldn’t hurt to go and have a nose.

  At the house he found various O’Brians hanging around on the street and asked if any of them had seen Davey.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ one of them asked aggressively.

  ‘I’m a friend of his.’

  They shrugged. ‘Ain’t seen him today,’ was all he could get out of them. Nick could see he wasn’t being told everything, but there was nothing to do about that, so he left it.

  On the road again. He had all day and no one to do it with. That’s glamour for you.

  The day crawled by - nowhere to go, no one to go there with. He spent most of the tenner at lunch time just from sheer boredom after having failed to get a runaway at the local chippy. Then, more being bored, lonely and scared. Eventually, somehow, it got to three o’clock and he went to hang around the school gates to pick up his mates and to see if he could sort out food and somewhere to sleep. Simon had spread the word - everyone wanted to meet him and to help him out, but he was alarmed to see how many people knew about him being back on the scene - all the police would have to do was ask and he’d be nabbed.