by Caias Ward
‘Receiving and accepting appreciation from others is important for growth, Andrew. But how old are your parents? Fifty-five? They aren’t going to change much.’ He scribbled a few notes. ‘Like I said, the best thing you can do is handle how you react, and seek other sources of appreciation, other relationships. You have your friends, like Trevor, and Sara. Just work on giving other people a shot, like Caroline; try to expand friendships with co-workers and other people you might only know in passing.’
I nodded. This sounded all too familiar, but at least coming from him, it didn’t sound like someone was assuming they knew what was best for me. It seemed more like, ‘hey, you could do this, and it could be good for you’.
Dr Wright seemed happy with my response. ‘And then,’ he said, ‘you won’t have such a hole in your life where you feel that solid relationship with your family should have been. You’ll have connections to other people, and you’ll fill up that hole you think is there. It won’t be easy at first, but give it time. Think you can do that?’
‘Yeah, I can try that.’
And after all, I thought to myself, if something came of it, it would make for smoother times until I finally came to leave this place for good.
CHAPTER 6
The boys
‘This lady only had the dog outside the shop for, like, ten minutes, like,’ Trevor said, slamming the pool cue into the cue ball like thunder. The rest of the balls scattered over the pool table in his basement, two stripes rolling into two holes. Trevor’s mate Bobby, lanky and lean compared to Trevor’s thick wrists and bandy arms and legs, walked around the table, trying to spot any shots he would have in solids, through the bottom of his pint glass.
‘She comes out of the shop,’ Trevor lined up the three ball to a side pocket, ‘and she finds someone has drawn all over the thing. This little short-haired corgi with the silly short legs, all written over with, like, “slag”, “Sunderland Rules”, and anarchy symbols. Woman dead-out faints and a vicar ends up having to wake her up, like.’
I watched the three ball rattle into the side pocket from the table I’m sitting at, drinking my own beer.
Trevor has a nice setup here; his dad won some money in a workplace safety lawsuit so they’d moved here from Newcastle a few years ago. His dad spent a lot of his time on holiday, picking up women half his age, so Trevor ended up having the run of the house rent-free. Trevor worked as a mechanic and did odd jobs on the side when he wasn’t getting hassled by the police for ‘antisocial behaviour’.
‘I mean, I might be antisocial according to the law, like,’ Trevor pondered as he looked at me, ‘but this dog’s never done nothing to nobody except wait for that lady to come out of that shop.’
I nodded, sketching on my computer tablet. Even with Trevor distracting me with his uniquely Geordie wisdom, I still get more work done there than at home. And I’d shut my phone off a half-hour earlier, after the fifth call from home.
‘But no, like,’ Trevor spat out, ‘those alcopop-crazed, happy-slapping hoodies…’
‘Stupid chavs,’ Bobby added.
‘Right!’ Trevor yelled, cracking his pool cue down on the edge of his pool table. ‘Those stupid chavs have to mess with a damn dog that didn’t do a thing to them.’
Trevor finished his pint, the second one in the twenty minutes we’d been there. Say what the law might about Trevor, he really didn’t mess with anyone who didn’t deserve all they got.
‘Wish we could just go to the pub,’ Bobby muttered.
‘Well, we can’t go to the pub, Bobby,’ Trevor hissed. ‘Besides the fact that Andrew can’t get any work done at the pub, my solicitor said that if I violate my latest ASBO they are going to put my face on the back of a bus and might even lock me up…’
‘So what’s the ASBO for this time?’ I asked.
‘Cracked a few too many glasses with a pool cue,’ Trevor sank his shoulders. ‘So I’m not allowed to consume more than two glasses of alcohol in any establishment with a pool or billiards table.’
‘Don’t forget,’ Bobby chimed in as he pulled a pint from the keg tap in the basement bar, ‘you’re not allowed to transport a woman in the front seat of your car, either.’
‘Well, like, thank you Crown Court Judge Bobby,’ Trevor said, jabbing Bobby with the pool cue before lining up his next shot. He was off this time, the five ball bouncing around the corner.
‘Not my fault I’m popular,’ Trevor stepped away from the table and poured another beer. ‘If a lady friend of mine doesn’t want to wait to get where we are going…’ I waved away the beer Trevor offered me. ‘I can’t help that. I might not be all pretty like Andrew here, but some lasses consider me to be pretty exciting.’
I tried not to laugh too hard; one of Trevor’s first arrests was for having sex in his car while he was still driving. He made the local paper, along with a minging barmaid. I think it’s only the fact his dad has some money and because Trevor’s such a likeable bastard that he’s not in jail.
I met Trevor through his younger brother, Devon, in school; I don’t really spend time with Devon now though, but we get along well enough. It’s just more fun to be around Trevor; he doesn’t care who or what you are.
‘Trev,’ Bobby shook his head, ‘that girl was lucky she didn’t need a dog licence.’
‘Hey man, Sally is a nice girl with a sweet voice, like,’ Trevor said, tackling Bobby into the wall. They tumbled around, slapping each other in the face, laughing all the way. Happy they weren’t going to end up on top of my computer, I just watched the show while I put the finishing touches to a contest piece.
‘Trev!’ I yelled to Trevor, who had pulled his pants down and was pushing his arse into Bobby’s face.
‘What?’ he yelled back. Bobby pushed Trevor off and scrambled away, wiping his face even though there wasn’t anything on it.
‘I need you to sign my dad’s name on this entry form.’
Trevor yanked his jeans up and walked over to me.
‘I can’t believe your dad won’t sign these permission forms,’ Trevor said, taking the pen I offered him.
‘What are you doing?’ Bobby said, beer back in hand.
‘Well, Andrew here enters these design contests, like,’ Trevor said as he looked over the permission form in his hand. ‘Art stuff, graphics, like. There’s money involved, so if you aren’t legal yet you need to have a parent sign off on it. But Andrew’s dad is a tosser who thinks these contests and festivals are a waste of good money and won’t sign off on them.’
‘Waste of money?’ Bobby asked.
‘Yeah,’ Trevor said, ‘these things have entry fees so you don’t get yobs with markers thinking they are great artistes,’ Trevor threw up the hand with the pen in it, ‘flooding the judges, so that real artists don’t get noticed. Andrew’s already won a few of these, even making some money.’
‘But why won’t your dad sign the forms for you,’ Bobby asked, ‘if you’re making money with it?’
‘Because his dad’s got a stick up his bum,’ Trevor said as he signed a name with a flourish. ‘Charles A. Cooper,’ he announced.
I looked the signature over. It was spot on, including that stupid scribble that passed for an ‘r’. I nodded at Trevor, who smiled. If Trevor had an ambition, it was to become a forger. But then again, he didn’t need any more legal trouble.
‘And this,’ I said as I put a CD in an envelope, along with the form, ‘goes out in the post tomorrow.’
‘You can buy the next keg,’ Trevor said. ‘I figure if I keep on helping you out Andrew, you’ll eventually hit it big, and then I can be part of your entourage like in those rap videos.’
‘I hate that crap,’ Bobby chimed in. ‘Just people talking. Anyone can do it.’
‘Hell no,’ Trevor said, ‘They get paid to talk. Besides, I figure Andrew would have people playing violins 24/7 by the pool.’ He looked at me, a deliberate pause. ‘Hey Andrew, come with me; I need to get another keg out of the shed.’
> Trevor slapped me on the shoulder, pulled me out of my chair and pushed me along. Bobby took a step to follow, but Trevor waved him off.
The yard was pretty clean, only a few kid’s toys for the various nephews who visit, cluttering up the place. A shed and a row of rubbish bins sat in the back. Trevor opened the lock and rolled a keg over to me on a handcart.
‘I’m sorry,’ Trevor said.
‘Sorry about what?’ I said, wheeling the keg along. ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Trev?’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t show up at your brother’s funeral, like.’
Trevor’s eyes were downcast. Like I’ve mentioned before, Trevor didn’t show up at the funeral because he didn’t know my brother.
‘It’s OK.’ I backed up the back step with the handcart and slid it out to get another keg when Trevor motioned for a second one.
‘It’s not OK, like.’ Trevor raised his voice. ‘Mates don’t make excuses like that! I didn’t show when you needed me.’
OK, this is new. Trevor’s never been one to open up about – well, anything. He’s a friend, a mate, alright, but don’t expect hugs or crying, even if Newcastle lose to Sunderland.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘I should have been there,’ Trevor said. ‘Even if your olds would have flipped out, and even if I didn’t know your brother. That funeral wasn’t about him, like. At least it wouldn’t have been for me. It would have been about you, me mate, and making sure me mate was OK.’
Trevor hugged me tight, patting me on the back.
‘Um,’ is all I managed to say.
Sometimes, when you think you know your mates, you find out something you never expected. Sometimes, it’s bad: your best mate is dissing you behind your back or trying to steal your girl. Sometimes, it’s good, like your mate is showing you how ace he is and coming through when your life is swirling down the drain. And sometimes, your mate pulls a Trevor, just reminding you what he did wrong.
Friends, parents, girls – even the police sometimes – usually let Trevor coast. I wasn’t going to let him, now that he’d brought the subject up. It made me remember how pissed off I’d been that he hadn’t been there for me.
‘You’re right, you were a dick.’ I shoved him away. He shoved me back.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Trevor said. ‘Don’t mean you gotta remind me, like.’
He shoved me again.
‘You brought it up. No one turned up, you know! I figured you would have showed up just to tweak my dad!’
‘He’d have just taken it out on you.’ Trevor tumbled me into the side of the shed with a shove against my head. ‘Figured you didn’t need that, like.’
Looking back, this was all pretty silly. My mate apologises for screwing up and I start a fight with him? Not smart, especially since Trevor had a strict training regime of pub brawls and chav-bashing. If they gave A Levels out for Thuggery and Hoodluming, he’d have the grades to get into Oxford. Meanwhile, I’m a damn art student with a track record of lucky punches and hurting my hand.
‘You still should have shown up,’ I spat out.
I wrapped my hand around something nearby and swung it at Trevor. It broke over his head, glass flying everywhere. Trevor stumbled backwards, blood running from where I’d caught him. He fell over flat on his back, grasping his head.
I looked at my hand. I had grabbed a fluorescent bulb out of the bin next to the shed.
Trevor laughed, a chuckle at first but then howls of laughter.
‘Like, I deserved that one, man,’ Trevor said from the ground, still smiling, still bleeding. He pulled a bit of glass out of his scalp – not for the first time in his life.
I stepped towards him. Trevor held his hand up to ward me away.
‘I think that makes us even,’ he said, ‘right?’ He kept his hand up, ready to cover his head.
I still had the broken bulb in my hand. I tossed it back into the trash bin. Trevor relaxed, rising up from the ground. He started laughing again.
‘I normally get glassed with a pint mug, not a lamp.’ Trevor wiped the blood from his forehead. ‘We even?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘we’re even.’
And that’s a mate. He might do you wrong, and it might not come up for months and months, but when it does it gets resolved and it’s all water under the bridge. Even when your mate is a Geordie, a simple guy who likes to fight too much, drink too much and bust heads too much.
A friend is someone to connect with, right? Now that’s something I haven’t been able to do for a while – connect with people.
‘You got a scuff on you,’ Trevor said, thumbing a spot on the right of my forehead.
I yelped, grabbing at what was probably the start of a bruise. I slapped his hand away.
‘Now you ain’t so pretty,’ Trevor laughed. ‘And I’ll have a chance tonight.’
‘What the bloody hell’s going on out there?’ Bobby cursed, coming to the back door. ‘Andrew, what happened to your head?’
‘Just a mate fight,’ I shrugged. ‘What are you talking about,’ I said to Trevor, ‘a chance tonight?’
Trevor laughed again. ‘I mean, I’m throwing a party tonight, with lots of lasses, and you all scuffed up means I’ve got a shot.’ Trevor started to roll the kegs under the bar. ‘I mean if you start sketching girls, they get all dreamy over you. Even if you look prettier than they do.’
‘Not right now he doesn’t,’ Bobby pointed to the mirror above the bar.
Wow, I looked like hell. The bruise was only an inch or so, but my eyeliner dragged from my right eye to halfway down my cheek. I walked over to the sink at the bar and started to clean up.
‘You know,’ Bobby said, ‘If I hadn’t seen you snogging that girl Sara, I’d think you were a poof…’
Trevor slapped Bobby in the back of the skull and shoved him forward.
‘Eh, Andrew here ain’t no poof,’ Trevor announced as Bobby and he half-heartedly traded slaps and shoves. ‘Girls like them posh or pretty, like, and it goes with that artist thing.’
I smiled. Nice getting accepted for once. At least Trev didn’t see my look as being ‘fag make-up’.
‘Wasn’t saying he’s a poof,’ Bobby said as he threw plastic soda bottles at Trevor. ‘Just saying they might think he doesn’t fancy the lasses.’
‘Bollocks.’ Trevor fell over from the bottle hit, playing dead on the floor. ‘Don’t matter what they think. Live your life. My dad’s off on some island with a girl half his age. ‘Scandalous’, everyone says. They can all go toss. Just live your life, don’t hurt people that don’t deserve a beating, and watch out for your mates. Don’t worry about what the rest of the world thinks, they aren’t living your life for you.’
I stopped in mid-touchup. Trevor was right. Why the hell was I worrying about what the olds think? Or Hayden or his posh friends? Just do the stuff I do, and the people who want to stick around will stick around.
‘Genius, Trevor, genius…’
‘Damn right I am,’ Trevor said. ‘It’s why I hang around with you – I get smarter every day!’
Trevor hopped over the sofa and fumbled for the telly remote.
‘Bobby, get the food together. Footie’s on soon, and we got some people heading over.’
And I realise that people would want to be around me if I just let them. And all I had to do was be myself and not worry so much.
CHAPTER 7
Go with the flow
The great thing about Emma is that she’s very soft and cuddly. This I know because she was half on my lap on the sofa. Not like anything much was going to happen, but I wasn’t going to throw an attractive girl, pressing up against me, out the door. She also loved football and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, so she fitted in well with Trevor, Bobby and the rest of Trevor’s hoodlums and pals.
Trevor ignored the plastic bottle – thrown by Emma – banging into his head. He was too busy watching Ameobi blazing down the pitch to notice Emma’s gl
are.
‘Trev, how could you maim the boy like this?’ Emma brushed away a loose strand and hovered her fingers over the bruise, before she went back to stroking my hair.
‘Just a mate’s fight,’ Trevor said, not even looking back. ‘He’s still prettier than me.’
‘Yes,’ Emma said, ‘yes he is.’ And she continued her gentle stroking.
I could get used to this. And I keep on hearing Sara screaming in my head just jump her NOW!!! and I can barely stop laughing. Emma took this to be solely her work, which I had no problem with right then. I leaned in a bit and watched Newcastle’s Ameobi backpedal with the ball, keeping it out of Sunderland’s reach.
Melanie, Neil’s girl, handed the plastic bottle back to Emma. Emma hurled it, cap-end-first, once again catching Trevor square in the head. Trevor finally spun around.
‘Look, it’s over and everyone is OK with…’
Trevor suddenly snapped back to the telly. ‘Go go go go go go – YES!!!’ he roared as Ameobi rocketed the ball past the Sunderland keeper. Everyone joined him in cheering Newcastle’s second goal of the game.
Neil, a lanky salesman for an electronics store, immediately sent a text to taunt his brother, a die-hard Sunderland fan. Bobby and his younger brother George punched each other while singing the long version of ‘The Blaydon Races’ with extra curses.
And as always, I just took it all in. This time though, I was in the middle of it, rather than sitting outside. Part of the action instead of just watching it and wondering why I wasn’t included. I thought back, through the better filter I now had since talking to my doctor, and realised that part of it wasn’t just people ignoring me or hating me. Some of it was how I reacted, or overreacted a lot of the time. People didn’t want to deal with the drama, with the way I’d get angry when things didn’t pan out right.