Lazy Blood: a powerful page-turning thriller

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘No room to fight in there Will and there was four of them. I may like a fight but I’m not looking for a beating and that boy is twisted. I will be ready one day and he will hurt.’

  Will had been in the toilet still battling with his side parting that day when Darren had come in to stop his nose and lip bleeding. Darren always seemed to be covered in cuts and bruises, yet Will had never seen him lose a fight bar the Kostas altercation on their first day. He remembered looking at his calm face as he expertly wiped the blood away as though it was an occupational hazard of being Darren Connor. He wondered not for the first time what he got up to when he wasn’t with him.

  Rudd had an owlish face, with permanently narrowed eyes. He had a scar running down from the centre of his nostrils to a thin top lip which was unable to cover the four top incisors, giving him the impression of a permanently angry rabbit. He had the beginnings of a wispy moustache which he would no doubt use to cover that lip as he grew older. It should have been a comical face, but instead it looked wrong and evil.

  Flanagan didn’t look like he wanted to be there. Will had heard of him through his brother who was in the same year as these two. He had a nickname; Flick Knife Flanny, as he had apparently bought one on a French trip once. A poor nickname, Will considered, which he didn’t look like he would be living up to. He watched Flanny trying to look cool whilst casually eating a Milky Way but his furtive eyes betrayed his nervousness. Darren and Rudd didn’t look nervous. Will hoped it would go without saying that he would be fighting Flanny. Rudd spat on the floor and said, ‘Gonna run away again pussy?’

  He had a slight swagger about him and stood rolling his shoulders. Clearly not his first fight and he looked used to winning. Darren looked up from one to the other and then before anyone else involved reacted, stepped sideways and slammed a shockingly fast fist directly into Flanny’s face. To be fair to Flanny he didn’t hit the deck, he just sank to his knees with a stunned look on his face.

  As blood poured from his chocolate covered nose, he just perched there with a shocked look on his face. His contribution to proceedings was over.

  By now there was quite a crowd gathered and Will heard a few shouts of ‘Go on Darren’. Rudd had made few friends with his violence and intimidation over the years, but no-one had had the guts or strength to challenge him, until now. Rudd assumed a boxers stance, seemingly not bothered by his companion’s demise, his jab hand poised to strike out.

  As the two combatants squared up to each other a female voice froze them with a high pitched ‘Stop’.

  It was Freja, who had joined the crowd which now numbered around forty. She walked forward on unsteady legs and stood between them with her back to Rudd.

  ‘Don’t do this Darren,’ she loudly said. ‘You have been involved in too much fighting. Don’t give him what he wants.’ She paused and searching Darren’s eyes she quietly said, ‘If you want to be my boyfriend Darren, it all stops here.’

  Will suspected only he heard the last bit, but he imagined everyone could hear the gears crunching in Darren’s brain; a ‘Does not compute’ sign flashing red and blaring alarms. Suddenly she was jolted forward, almost falling until Darren steadied her in his arms. He pulled her to one side and looked at Rudd’s grinning face.

  ‘Out of the way please. Let me sort this piece of shit out and then I’ll sort you out, if you get my drift.’ He laughed, winking at a stunned Freja.

  Darren leaned into Freja, and whispered in her ear.

  ‘Just this last one, please?’

  Freja stared at the distance for a moment and simply nodded. Will expected her to leave but she came and stood next to him, chin held high.

  They squared up again, Rudd edging forward until he came in range and shot off a rapid jab. He was so quick that Darren only half evaded it and he staggered back under the stinging blow. Encouraged by his success Rudd stepped it up a gear, punches peppering towards Darren’s face. Darren ducked most with ease and blocked some with his forearms, until Rudd missed with one and followed through with his elbow.

  Darren went down on one knee and looked up as gasps came from the circled spectators. Shaking his head slowly, his hand rubbing the side of his already flaming head, he got to his feet. This time he went forward, but as Rudd’s strike came in, he shifted to the side and caught the extended hand at the wrist and yanked it towards him.

  Twisting it away from himself, he pulled down and driving his elbow into Rudd’s shoulder, bore him to his knees. Using the straight arm as a lever he pushed him down again so his forehead was touching the concrete. Rudd strained in frustration as he was held there, stuck, until he dropped to the floor from a winding punch to his unprotected ribs.

  All gathered expected this to precede a brutal pounding, but instead Rudd was allowed to get to his feet. His eyes were now mere slits, teeth bared as he let out a slow growl, his face frozen in anger. Sore but unbroken, like a snarling bear, starving but wary of its dangerous prey.

  They began to circle each other, causing Flanny to shuffle out of the way. He crawled toward the mass of watchers, who parted for him, then reformed as though swallowing a tasty morsel, eager for more action.

  The two combatants began to trade blows, both blocking and dodging, but it soon became clear Darren had the edge as Rudd’s face snapped back every few seconds, his face rapidly reddening. As it went on Will realised Darren could have finished it a long time ago. Instead, as a last hurrah, this lad was going to suffer and suffer he did.

  No-one moved or uttered a sound as his nose split, blood pouring down and turning his white shirt into a dark red bib. His cheek split open and his right eye began to shut. Rudd’s blocking arms now flailed around like a wobbling, loose windmill in a weak breeze. Darren finally stood back to admire his handiwork before punting Rudd straight in the groin. As Rudd’s head shot down and forward, with expert timing, Darren crunched his knee up into the falling face.

  This straightened Rudd up but his eyes had rolled back into his head, his hands lolling at his side. Will would remember the moment for a long time after. It was quiet and peaceful. The only sound except for Rudd’s laboured shallow breathing was a car revving in the distance. Then he heard the solid impact as Darren slammed an open hand into Rudd’s chest. Rudd cannoned backwards and clattered on and into a line of bikes hung in their racks.

  Freja took Darren’s hand and they walked off into school. Will watched the crowd quickly disperse in silence, many ashen faced after their first and probably last experience of extreme violence, until it was just him and Rudd, who dangled there like an exhausted desperate butterfly in an unyielding web.

  As he stood there he felt things spiralling out of control. The wind whistled the withered autumn leaves around him. Now the only other sound was gentle sobbing from Rudd. Will grimaced as he realised that his new academic trouble free start to the year had not even lasted until the first bell.

  He couldn’t blame Darren though, he hadn’t looked for trouble, he had just found it waiting for him. What Will didn’t know was todays meet had been planned since Carl’s beating. What Will also didn’t know was how seriously Darren would take Freja’s threat. Today’s fight had been a foregone conclusion, but it would also be Darren’s last scrap at school.

  Shrugging he turned and followed the others, feeling a sense of doom as life happened to him and it seemed he was powerless to exert any influence over it. Thinking on this the first bell rang for registration. He paused under the clock tower entrance, then walked back to Rudd.

  Taking a deep breath and trying to avoid the blood, he hauled Rudd out of the bike shed. He half dragged and half carried him into school through the empty corridors. Encouraging him like you would a tired toddler he got him into the nurse’s room and gently dropped him into a chair and propped him against an arm.

  He shouted, ‘You ok?’ at him and received an imperceptible nod of the head in reply.

  He heard footsteps coming so he whispered loudly in Rudd’s ear.

>   ‘It’s probably best for all concerned, you included, if you say you fell off your bike.’ He gave him what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and slipped out the door.

  When he arrived at his home room everyone was in their seats. Their form tutor this year luckily was the games teacher Mr Wheeler. He slapped Will on the back as he walked in, saying, ‘I think we can let the top try scorer turn up a few minutes late.’

  They had won the rugby league every season but it was always tight. Teams had wised up to their threats very quickly. Darren was a gifted player but easy to provoke and they had spent many games a man down after he had been sent off. Aiden was still amazing, but like a herd of cavemen pulling down a magnificent woolly mammoth, they realised numbers mattered and he could be stopped.

  The classroom was set up into rows of two seated table and chairs. Seated at the front and far side were Aiden and Carl. They both waved wildly at him, like a pair of happy meerkats. Darren was seated behind them, gesturing to the empty space next to him.

  Will explained what he had done with Rudd, whilst examining Darren’s multi coloured face and head. None of the teachers seemed to mention his bruises much, almost as if they couldn’t see them. Darren was in good form and said he had some exciting news.

  ‘We are going somewhere cool Friday night.’ Will imagined a party, but was a little surprised to hear the destination.

  ‘Army Cadets. It will be awesome. You get given a free uniform, all you have to buy are boots. You get to shoot stuff.’

  ‘Like what?’ Aiden asked.

  ‘Terrorists,’ Darren said laughing and tussled Aiden’s still dome-like hairdo. As Will contemplated and then accepted that shooting stuff would be pretty awesome, he noticed that both Darren and Carl’s hairstyles were basically identical now. Shaved at the sides, a parting and a quiff, like two smaller Morrissey’s from the band ‘The Smiths’. Following a pause of disquiet, he put his hand to his head and realised his was the same. Will couldn’t remember whether it had been a rational choice or if they had just steadily morphed into copycats.

  As they agreed to meet at Aiden’s on Friday night at six-thirty, Will wondered whether they did everything Darren wanted because he told them too, or they did it because Darren had the best ideas.

  Will was last to leave the room as the next lesson bell rang. Wheeler stopped him and asked if he was up for the season ahead. Will nodded and they both shared a moment as they watched Aiden dip his head to get under the door.

  ‘You know,’ Wheeler said. ‘If I could take half of Darren’s aggression and give it to Aiden and half your sense and give it to Darren, we would be awesome.’

  Will pondered this for a minute. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But then you wouldn’t need me.’

  9

  2nd September 1988

  Will pushed his bike down the alleyway to Aiden’s back garden and rapped on the back door. Aiden’s mum answered and chastised him as usual, but he doubted he would ever just let himself in. The house, as was the norm, was full of life. Aiden’s parents had been slow dancing to The Hollies latest song which was emanating around the house. His dad pointed to the lounge rolling his eyes.

  When he got there he found Aiden laughing in Moffa’s chair, with Darren and Freja crooning ‘He is heavy, he’s my brother’ as the chorus came along. It was weird seeing them hold hands, but he guessed he would get used to it.

  ‘Come on you two spoon heads, we don’t want to be late and doing press ups in the rain on our first night,’ Will joked.

  They wandered up the road to Carl’s, whose house was round the corner from the cadet hall. Will thought he would be nervous but he didn’t feel that way. He had his best friends with him and he was excited. His mum had been upset about him quitting scouts almost overnight, saying not to rush into things and he had even had to sit through an uncomfortable meeting after an impromptu drop-in from the scout master on Wednesday evening. Afterwards he had contemplated how casually he had thrown in the towel on something he had been doing for years, for something he had not even been to yet, but had shrugged and thought ‘What the hell’.

  When they got to Carl’s house they were surprised to see him answer the doorbell without his coat and shoes on. Carl was usually itching to get going. He whispered, ‘My mum and dad are discussing whether I can go.’

  His dad came into view and loomed over him at the door and with a distinct lack of eye contact stated, ‘His mother and I have discussed it and have decided Carl won’t be going, he needs to concentrate on his school work.’

  Carl looked shocked and confused, like a dog that had just felt the heat of his owner’s newspaper for the first time. Without further ado, the door was closed.

  A little stunned, the trio walked on.

  ‘That was pretty weird,’ Will said. ‘Especially considering he is perhaps the only person in the school who doesn’t need to concentrate on his school work.’

  ‘My dad would never stop me trying something,’ Aiden contributed.

  ‘Hell,’ Darren laughed. ‘It was my dad’s idea!’

  The cadet hut was a single storey building at the bottom of a car park at the edge of Westwood Industrial Estate. It looked more like a warehouse than a meeting place. There were about twenty-five kids hanging around outside, aged between twelve and seventeen. All had army uniforms on, berets included and nearly all of them seemed to be smoking. Will would never give Scouts another thought.

  As they waited outside they stood on the edge of the group, but before they felt uneasy a few of the older boys came over.

  ‘First night lads?’ a gangly lad of about sixteen asked. He had a crew cut, bad skin and the shiniest pair of boots Will had ever seen.

  ‘Yes Corporal,’ Darren barked back.

  Will and Aiden stole a glance at each other a little taken aback, wondering how the hell he knew that. Will also noticed for the first time that Darren had a pair of what seemed to be army boots on under his jeans.

  The other cadet took a glance at Darren and said, ‘I know you, don’t I?’ He was of similar stock to the Corporal. Lean and wiry, beret tugged down tight over really short hair.

  Darren at least had the grace to look sheepish as the boy continued.

  ‘Yes, we went to the same junior school, All Saints. You had a scrap with my younger brother. Beat the shit out of him.’ Will gulped as he continued. ‘Well don’t worry, he doesn’t come here. He’s a gobby little twat anyway, probably did him some good.’ He smiled, ‘I’m Smith, and this is Corporal Cockhead.’ He roared with laughter and peeled away to the door shouting, ‘Fall in,’ at the top of his voice.

  They were the last to get in the building and the cadets had all lined up on parade. Three rows of eight, all neatly spaced. They all stood with legs comfortably apart, hands joined behind each back. Corporal Cockhead turned out to be Corporal Cockburn. He told them to join the back of the others and just copy them. ‘Don’t worry,’ he winked. ‘You will soon pick it up.’

  A thin immaculately uniformed man in his mid-forties with a bright ruddy face came out of an office and marched to the front of the group. His bearing was so crisp it was almost robotic. As he got towards the centre, Smith and Cockburn, who were now at the front, came to attention and saluted him. Smith shouting, ‘Officer on parade, at-ten-shun!’ With a stamping of feet the parade all stood tall.

  ‘I’m Sergeant-Major Lander. Welcome detachment.’ The man marched up and down, looking at uniforms and barking comments out.

  ‘Is your iron broken private?’

  ‘Bull those boots son.’

  ‘Push those shoulders back.’

  ‘New recruits, excellent. The army needs big strong men. You will do,’ he blared in front of Aiden.

  ‘Get some boots, you will be marching here, not running,’ he ordered Will. Will looked at his trainers and then at the footwear of the man in front of him, realising Cockburn now had the second pair of shiniest footwear he had ever seen.

  When the
officer stopped in front of Darren he paused. Darren was staring straight ahead, no eye contact. When he talked to Darren he had dropped his voice several octaves and spoke rather than commanded.

  ‘I knew your dad son. He was the best soldier I ever knew. I was with him when it happened, it was a terrible shame. He saved a lot of lives that day. A great man.’

  Will looked over with a confused look on his face. Darren had never mentioned his parents in any detail before. He turned to his other side and looked at Aiden, who shrugged. Darren just stared forward. Rigid at attention, but Will could see his eyes watering.

  * * *

  The moment was forgotten quickly enough as they were engulfed in an evening of army life. They did map reading and learnt how to strip down weapons. The guns were ancient Lee Enfield 303 rifles with the firing mechanism removed but it was still brilliant fun. They drilled in the car park, the three friends all getting told off for laughing their heads off as they marched. Aiden was useless and Will kept getting out of sync with some of the other newer cadets, whilst Darren kept singing under his breath ‘Heh heh, we’re the Monkees’.

  Darren, Will noted, was not out of step though. They had something called NAAFI at break which was like a tuck shop. The first night was free much to their delight so Will spent the fifty pence his dad had given him to pay dues on a Twix and some black jacks.

  They were exhausted afterwards as they walked back to Aiden’s, but buzzing. Everyone had been really friendly and they had learnt loads in one short night. As Will fondly remembered the feel of the gun he remembered the comment about Darren’s father.

  ‘Was your dad in the army then?’ he asked.

  Yes, the para’s,’ he quickly and proudly replied. ‘He gave me his boots.’ His eyes seemed to glaze over a bit and he ruefully added, ‘He doesn’t need them now.’ He stopped and put a hand on each boy’s shoulders and quietly said, ‘It’s complicated, I’ll tell you all about it one day.’ He never would.