It's About Love

by Steven Camden

  “She’s my sister!” Simeon’s voice cracks. “You’re dead!”

  “Shut up, posh boy!” Tommy spits.

  “He hit me,” says Max from the floor, still processing whatever happened.

  “That’s what you get!” Megan says, jabbing her finger from behind Tommy. Her eyes are wide. She’s enjoying this.

  “Shut your mouth, you slut!” Simeon shouts. At his own sister.

  Hit him.

  “Yo, we’re leaving,” I say. I gesture to Zia. “Come on.”

  Zia nods and exchanges a look with Michelle. She can’t make herself smile.

  “Why we gotta leave? It’s his fault.” Tommy’s still charged. “You want more, you dickhead?”

  Simeon breaks free from Jono and rushes Tommy. I stop him with my right arm. He’s got some strength, but I’ve got him. Hit him.

  “Just me and you!” shouts Simeon. There’s drool on his chin as he reaches for Tommy. Then Tommy’s flashing something. Tommy’s flashing the knife.

  “Yeah? You want some of this, big man? Come on then! Let him go, Lukey, I’ll have him!” He holds it out in front of him like a torch.

  “What you doing, you idiot! Put it away!” I put my hand on Tommy’s chest, so I’m holding them both with one arm each. “What’s wrong with you?” I push Simeon back towards Jono, who catches him, then turn back to Tommy. “Tom! Look at me! Put the fucking knife away!”

  I push him out of the gate. His eyes are glazed and I see how wrong this could all go. Megan pulls on Tommy’s arm. “Stay! It’s their fault.”

  I cut her a look. She tries to deflect it, but when I step towards her, she lets go of Tommy and steps back. Zia follows us. “Jesus, Tom.” Tommy folds the knife back up and puts it into his pocket. We’re on the pavement.

  “Yeah, take your scabby friend and fuck off!” shouts Simeon.

  I turn back to him. He’s puffing his chest up, but Jono’s still holding him. My arms are tight. Do it.

  I shake my head. “Just go back inside and do some more balloons, yeah?”

  “Fuck you, Scarface!”

  And the word goes through my chest like a metal spike. Do it. You have to. And I want to. I feel it. For everything. For me. For his own good. For things that have absolutely nothing to do with him. For things not being fair.

  But I close my eyes and turn away. “We’re going.”

  Then I hear him break free of Jono. I feel him move towards me. I feel him mean it. My eyes open and he’s standing there, in my face, jaw clenched, pupils wide as fifty pees. Hit him. I don’t blink. Leia.

  Hit him! I could kill you, Simeon. I could end you right here. Do it. Leia. I don’t move. I don’t want her to see this. To see me. Leia. Do it! For what? What will it prove? You have to do it!

  She steps out on to the path and moves in between Simeon and me.

  “Move, Leia,” Simeon spits, and the blood in me rises.

  Leia holds her hand up. “Please, Luke. Don’t.” And her face. Her eyes.

  Simeon jabs his hand past her. “Should’ve told you, Waterboy, it’s a Chav-free party.” What?

  Leia turns to him. “Enough, Simeon, go inside.”

  Simeon leans into her. “Shut up, bitch. Another charity case for you to look after.” And he pushes her, hard.

  She falls to my left, hitting the floor, and something inside me snaps.

  Black.

  Shouts. A punch connects. Scream. Then another. A grunt.

  I’m on top of him, the collar of his jumpsuit twisted in my left fist. Again. My right swings and I feel his head rock to the side. Pain shoots through my knuckles up my arm. Good pain. Again.

  Jono tries to pull me off, but only manages to block my next punch. I can’t see. But I can feel. They can’t stop me. Nobody can.

  Somebody screams again. Blood. A voice. Luke. Her voice.

  “Luke!”

  I fall back. What are you doing?

  Jono’s cradling Simeon in his arms. Blood on his face and chest.

  Simeon coughs.

  Leia’s trying to reach past Michelle, who’s holding her back, in front of a crowd of everyone else, scared to step outside. Staring.

  I look at Leia, my chest heaving. She’s looking at me, into me and I know the look. It’s fear.

  “Come on.” Zia’s pulling at my collar. “Luke, enough.”

  I’m up on my feet. My eyes on Leia the whole time. I feel the bridge between us burning.

  “Lukey! Come on!” Zia’s pulling harder.

  I walk backwards, out of the scene, eyes on her, flames between us, watching her fear subside, and disappointment take over.

  INT. – NIGHT

  Black.

  The beep of a heart monitor.

  A sigh.

  Cut.

  INT. CAR – NIGHT

  Close-up: Fingertips trace the bloodied knuckles of a fist.

  YOUNG MAN fights to control his breathing.

  Cut to open dual carriageway through windscreen, carpet of amber light. Dark sky.

  “Stop the car.”

  Neither of them respond. None of us has spoken since we pulled off. The air thick with mistakes. The hot throb of my knuckles.

  “I said stop the car, Tom.” My gut’s churning. We’re not in town yet.

  Tommy pulls over in front of what looks like a care home. The forecourt security light clicks on as I open the passenger door, lean out and puke.

  “Jesus, Lukey!” says Tommy. “How much d’you drink?”

  I could tell him a lot. I could say I had more punch than I can remember. Maybe that’d make this better. Easier. But I’ve never felt this sober.

  “There’s a petrol station in a bit,” says Zia from the back seat. “We can get some water.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, wiping my mouth, staring at the puddle of chunky red on the pavement. That just happened. What are they doing now? Is Simeon OK? What about Leia?

  “That was so stupid,” I say, closing my eyes, squeezing my eyelids together until I see white. Then I can see her face.

  “We showed ’em, eh, Lukey?”

  “Shut up, Tom.” I sit back in my seat, the door still open. The tone of her voice.

  Tommy carries on. “Pricks. You see that ginger kid’s face?” He’s almost laughing. I think of Marc. Would he have gone so far if Donna had been there that night? If he’d heard her voice? Seen her face?

  “I said shut up, Tom.”

  “What?” He genuinely doesn’t get it. I look at him. My oldest friend.

  “You’re an idiot.” I make every syllable of the sentence clear and I know Zia’s watching from behind us. Don’t blame Tommy.

  Tommy frowns. “What you talking ’bout? He started on me, Luke. He was gonna hit her.”

  “No he wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, he was. He was off his face.” He takes out his cigarettes. “You sorted him anyways, eh?” He goes to pat my knee.

  I block him. “They’re twins. He was just looking out for her.”

  I can taste sick.

  “Whose side you on?” Tommy says, sparking up. “She was fit though. I swear we were gonna do it, right in the car.”

  I get out.

  “Where you going?”

  I start walking. Dual carriageway stretches out. Oncoming headlights.

  “Lukey?” Tommy’s opening his door. “What you doing?” He leans between the door and the roof. I stop, but don’t turn round.

  “You pulled a knife, Tom.”

  I can hear him exhaling smoke. I turn round. He laughs it off. “Shut up. I wasn’t gonna use it, was I? Just wanted to shit him up.”

  “You shouldn’t have pulled the knife.”

  “He’s right.” Zia gets out through the passenger side. The three of us are a triangle with the car in the middle, lit by the stark floodlight.

  “Calm down, will ya? Both of ya. Nothing happened!” says Tommy.

  “Is that what you think?” I step towards him. “Nothing happened?”

&
nbsp; I’m picturing Leia’s face. I think I might throw up again.

  “Look,” says Tommy, “we had a laugh, it went a bit funny and we sorted it out. End of. Now, can we go please, it’s cold.” He folds his torn T-shirt to cover his bare chest.

  “Why d’you have to ruin everything?” I stare straight at him.

  Tommy’s confused. “Me?”

  “You couldn’t just leave it, could ya? You couldn’t just take it easy and not cause some kinda fuckin’ scene.”

  Tommy looks at Zia, then me. “Don’t blame me, Lukey. It’s not my fault if your new mates are all dickheads.”

  “I knew you’d mess it up.”

  Why you blaming him?

  “Shut up, Luke. You sticking up for them over me?”

  “I’m sticking up for anyone over a dickhead.”

  “What d’you call me?”

  “You heard, Thomas.”

  “Easy, man.” Zia’s arms are out. “Let’s just get back in the car, yeah? Go get some food or something. Who’s hungry? I’m starving.”

  “Nah, Zia, let him speak. Let him get his little speech off his chest. You’ve got a little speech coming, right, Lukey? Sitting there planning it in your head, were ya? Something tragic?”

  My shoulders tense. He knows what he’s doing.

  “Leave it, Tom.” Zia’s shaking his head.

  “You leave it.” Tommy’s blood’s up. “You said it yourself, he’s not fussed about us any more. Blanking calls and that.”

  I look at Zia. Zia shrugs. “That’s not what I said, Luke, I just … we haven’t seen you much. Shut up, Tom!”

  “You shut up! Ooh, big Lukey, running with the posh kids, doesn’t wanna be seen with his proper mates any more. Thinking he’s the leader. ‘Just stay cool, boys. Don’t embarrass me in front of the Princess’.”

  I step towards the car bonnet. Tommy closes the driver door.

  “What? You want it with me now, Lukey? Finally got some balls off slapping a rich kid and now you want it with somebody real?”

  Closer.

  “Fuck you, Tom.”

  Closer.

  “No, Luke, fuck you!”

  We’re toe to toe. I’m bigger. I’m stronger. He knows it. He doesn’t care. Tommy doesn’t care. Tommy’s real.

  “Stop being pricks!” Zia’s trying to break us up, crow barring his arms in between us. My hands are fists. I wanna hurt him. I really wanna hurt him. It’s all gone wrong.

  Tommy’s shark eyes don’t leave me. “Why don’t you run back to your new mates? Snuggle up and watch a film?”

  Then I say it.

  “You’re nothing, Tom.”

  Three words that cut to the heart. That slice through the bravado and the anger and the hype, just like they did from the teachers at school. His eyes soften, and something in my gut snaps. I look at Zia. Confusion. Why would you say that?

  And I walk away.

  Not looking back, as everything behind me blurs out of focus.

  Nan said: It’s hard to hate what you know well.

  Nan said a lot of things. Growing up, everybody did. All the time. Spewing pearls of wisdom.

  Pretending to listen.

  I don’t know what happened. Things got out of control.

  Send.

  It wasn’t my fault. I was trying to stop them

  Send. Re-read. Regret.

  It was my fault. I don’t know. I’m sorry x

  Send. Wait.

  Please say something

  Send.

  By the time I reach the high road, it’s just after one.

  No reply from Leia.

  I’ve spun the same ideas in the roundabout of my head the whole walk back and now I’m dizzy. I turn down towards the petrol station. He pushed her. I had to do something. Exactly. I couldn’t just stand there. Course not. I went too far. No, you didn’t. Yeah, I did. I messed up. She thinks I’m a thug. I hurt Tommy. He’s an idiot. I’m an idiot. She called Marc stupid. No, she said violence was stupid. I am violence. I am stupid. I should call. Don’t you dare call. It’s burned. I burned it. She burned it. My hand hurts. Her face. Shit.

  I look right. Empty road. I look left. And I see the car.

  It’s turning in from the high road, slowly.

  It’s him. It’s Craig Miller.

  If he’s come to me again he wants something. This is bad.

  I feel my stomach trying to climb up into my chest.

  And I run.

  The engine growls behind me and I reach the other side of the road and dart straight on to the petrol station concourse. Dad’s coat is heavy and I get a flash of a broad figure in the glass, as I dart past the kiosk and jump up on to the fence, hearing the car mount the kerb and the screech of a skid.

  I pull myself up, swing my legs over and drop down into a garden. A knife of pain stabs through my foot as I look up at the dark house. I hear car doors opening and slamming as I hobble to the front gate.

  “Luuukeeeeey!”

  He’s shouting after me, his voice snaking round corners into my ears. My whole body has a pulse as I’m up and over the locked gate, trying to lower myself but still feeling like my foot is broken. The car screeches. They must be driving round to head me off.

  I cut across the road almost dragging my leg, looking for people, anyone, but it’s empty. Then the car headlights are on me and the engine growls again and I’m in front of the flats and panting. The coat feels like I’m carrying someone. I look back across the road and see Craig climbing over the gate. He lands and just stares at me, smiling that smile.

  Focus. Just get home. Get to Marc.

  I try to sprint down the alley, but my foot’s killing, and I’m not fast enough. I can feel him behind me. I look back and he’s there, not running, just walking, like he knows he’s got me. I need to get on to the road, but then the growl, and the car’s there, blocking me off. I’m reaching for my phone. My hand’s shaking as I try to push buttons and scroll through, and it’s like my fingers are asleep and then I drop it. I watch it hit the floor, but don’t hear any sound, just the thump of my heart against my ribs and the throbbing in my foot and they’re getting out of the car.

  There’s three of them and I don’t recognise any of their faces. My jaw’s clenched. I picture Marc, sitting in the dark, staring out of the window. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Shut up. Focus.

  And the three men are walking towards me and it’s like my feet are sinking into the concrete. Focus, Luke! Craig Miller’s getting closer. Keep your chin down, and punch from the middle. You hear me? I try to move, but I’m stuck. No, you’re not!

  Then his voice curls round my neck. “Why you running for?”

  I’m sorry, Marc.

  Craig circles round so he’s in front of me. The other three stand spitting distance behind him. The cold sweat on the back of my neck. I look down at my hands. Remember the blood. My blood. I can’t move.

  “That’s better.”

  He’s kind of swaying from side to side, even more like a snake, a cobra. He’s not bigger than me, but there’s four of them. I ball my hands into fists and pain shoots up the back of my hand into my wrist.

  “Been scrapping, have ya?”

  He’s pointing at my hands, smiling. I look at the others behind him. None of them look familiar. Have they been following me? Have I not noticed? Breathe, big man. Set yourself, and if it’s on, you make sure you take him with you.

  So I do. I lift my chest and my chin and I look him in the eye and I breathe. If this is where I get a kicking, then so be it. I deserve it. I don’t care. Right now, I honestly don’t give a shit.

  Then he’s shaking his head, grinning and blinking slowly.

  “No no no, big man. We’re not fighting.”

  He shakes his finger and smiles at the others. I don’t get it.

  “So what do you want?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t crack.

  Craig calmly folds his arms.

  “Nothing.”

  EXT. – NIGHT />
  Late night aerial shot. Smethwick. Mostly sleeping. Scattered lights across a grid of dark houses. Some kind of song. Something slow. One guitar.

  I stand in the hall with my head in my hands.

  I’m exhausted. No sounds, and I can smell the kofte Marc cooked earlier.

  Craig’s face. His boys behind him. Me just standing there confused.

  Then they left. No threats. Just messing with me.

  Me bending down to pick up my phone. The headlight beams cutting across as they reversed away.

  What do I do? Somebody tell me what to do.

  My phone beeps and I almost fall over. I sit on the second stair and open the message.

  Is that what you are?

  Read it again. Imagine her face as she sent it. Slump forward. Re-read it. Again. Again. Feel the question digging between my ribs. Is that what I am? No. I don’t know.

  My foot throbs as I creep upstairs. Mum’s at work and the landing’s dark, but there’s a crack of light cutting through at the bottom of Marc’s door. He’s still up.

  I have to tell him.

  I walk to his door. Seven steps. It used to be thirteen. I hear the sound. Maybe the same sound from the other night. Is he crying again? Should I leave him? No. Now’s the right time. I tap the door. No response, so I push it open.

  He’s not crying.

  He’s doing press-ups, with his feet up on his bed to increase the angle, make it harder. Breathing deep, arms pumping up and down, like pistons on a machine.

  “Marc.”

  He stops.

  “Lukey.” He’s up on his feet in one controlled movement, like a gymnast. “You OK? Good night?”

  I look round the room. It feels lived in. No more museum. There’s a new printer still in its box.

  “What’s that for?”

  He follows my eyes. “Printing. Recipes and applications and that.”

  “Applications?”

  He starts stretching out, rolling his shoulders. “How’d the costume go down?”

  I shrug. Is that what you are?

  He sits on his bed and motions for me to join him. So I do, a flicker book of the whole night playing in my head.

  “Yo! What happened to your hand?” He reaches for me. I pull my hand back and slide it into the jacket pocket.

  “Did you fight? Who was it? You hurt?”