by Ian Ayris
But I know Kenny ain't got a fuckin hope of gettin hold of nothing round his gaff. So Mum knocks up a dress for him, and cuts up another bit of sheet to stick on his head. She gets me to try my gear on and takes me in the front room to show Dad.
'Very nice, son,' he says. 'Very nice.' Then he pulls the telly paper in front of his face so I can't see him laughin.
Mum gives Dad one of her filthy looks, and I get me shepherd kit off right there and fuckin then.
***
Kenny's back at school next week. Don't look too bad. Nothing obvious, like. Wilkins can't wait.
'Oi, Fatty,' he says.
Kenny turns round in his seat.
'Find yourself a tea-towel, mate. You're gonna be a shepherd.'
Kenny looks at him blank.
'That's right, mate. Bloody good part, that is.'
What an horrible fucker.
I don't wanna tell Kenny he's Joseph. Turns out, I don't have to. Miss Felton comes over quick as you like, and gives him the play and all his lines coloured in. Kenny has a quick look, and his face goes white. Looks like he's gonna chuck his breakfast up over his shoes.
'Don't worry, Kenneth,' she says. 'I'll help you through it.'
Quick smile, and leaves him for dead. Not a fuckin clue.
'You'll be all right,' I says. 'You can practice round my house, if you want.'
And it's like he's lookin at me and through me and past me all at the same time, like he's a million fuckin miles away. And there's these tears in his eyes. Like glue. And tears like that, they don't never fall.
Wilkins pokes me in the back with his pencil.
'You turnin fuckin ginger or something, Sissons?'
I turn round quick, snap his pencil in half and tell him to fuck off.
'All right, Johnny, mate, all right. Only messin.'
Bastard.
***
Kenny never did come round to practice. But I walk home every day with him, and we do it then. I do his part and he says it back. He's really slow to start, like he can't hardly read, but he starts gettin it a little bit at a time. To be honest, he ain't got much. And with Miss Felton sittin with him most days, I'm startin to think he might fuckin be okay, you know.
But ever since the parts was dished out, Wilkins got it right in for Kenny. Rips the arse out of him every fuckin day. Kenny don't look like he's takin much notice. Don't even turn round most times. And I'm thinkin nutty old Miss Felton might have actually done the fuckin trick this time. But when the big day comes, Kenny's fuckin brickin it. He's sittin on a bale of hay at the back of the stage behind the curtain, shakin. Mumblin to himself, he is. All sorts of bollocks. Keeps gettin up and lookin round the curtain at all the empty seats. In the end, Miss Felton tells him to sit down and has a quiet word with him.
I look round the side of the stage just before we're about to kick off, and half the seats is empty. Mum and Dad's here, with Becky. Becky's got her own chair. Bet she's lovin that. Big smile on her face. Can't see Kenny's mum, not less she's late. Never thought the old man would turn up, but thought the old girl might make an effort. When I come back round the curtain, Kenny's lookin at me, you know, like he knows she ain't comin. Gets to a time when you're sort of expectin it, I suppose.
'Right then, children. Places, please.'
Here we go.
Miss Felton's in a worse state than the rest of us. Shakin all over she is. She's already snapped at Thommo a couple of times for pullin cotton wool balls off the sheep, and Jimmy Lawson for nudgin Rachel Johnson off a bale of hay.
'Miss? Miss?'
It's Rachel Johnson. Again.
'Yes, Rachel. What is it this time?'
Rachel's proper blubbin. In a right state, she is.
'Miss, someone took the baby Jesus, Miss.'
Miss Felton swears under her breath, and it's sort of funny to see. And while everyone's lookin for the Son of God, I see Jimmy Lawson put him back in the shoe-box manger thing and cover him up with straw.
'Here it is, Miss,' Jimmy says, all helpful, like.
'Well done, Jimmy. Now Rachel, calm down, dear. That's enough crying. Everything is going to be all right.'
It's like she's almost talkin to herself when she says that last bit.
Miss Felton claps her hands twice. 'Shepherds? Sheep? Places!' And she disappears on stage.
I hear a couple of people clappin, and she comes back. Looks like she needs a fuckin drink.
'Okay, children. Off you go.'
I lead the shepherds out, and the sheep come on behind us.
'Go on, son!'
It's Dad, standin up, wavin at me. He's got that big grin on his face, and just seein it makes me smile. Can't look at him long, though, cos I'll start laughin. Mum does one of her loud whispers in his ear that everyone can hear, and he does this pretend told off thing what he does, you know, like Droopy off the cartoons.
And you know what, it's all goin un-fuckin-believable. Everyone's spot on with their lines, there's no one fallin off the stage like little Charlie Hammond last year, and even Kenny's goin like a dream.
It's near the end, and we're all on stage now. Shepherds, kings, Mary and Joseph, farm animals. Everyone. I'm close to it all, right near the shoe-box manger thing. One of the perks of bein Head Shepherd, that is. Jimmy Lawson tips me a wink. Shit.
'Dear Mary,' Jimmy says, like he's Laurence fuckin Oliver. 'Please let us see the face of our Lord.'
Without thinkin, cos I mean, it ain't in the lines or nothing, but it's a fair fuckin request, you know, Rachel Johnson scrapes the straw off the face of the Son of God. And, fuck me, he's got two red Smarties in his eyes and a fag hangin out his mouth.
Rachel screams. The Three Kings are in fits, and the sheep are all over the place. Miss Felton runs on the stage, puts her arm round Rachel, and tries calmin her down.
Fuckin chaos.
And then there's Kenny. My mate, Kenny. Bein Joseph, he's been sat next to Rachel Johnson the whole time. He ain't moved a muscle. Never even flinched when she broke in half after seein what Lawson did to the baby Jesus. Just sat there, he did. And he's still sittin there, starin out at the crowd, sort of squintin, like he's tryin to see something, like there's something out there he just can't make out. I've stopped me laughin cos I can't take me eyes off him. And now he's standin up and he's movin towards the front of the stage, right through the middle of everything.
Stops right at the edge of the stage, he does. Right at the front. Thought he was gonna throw himself off for a second, you know, something really mad like that, but from the way the crowd's lookin at him it's like he's talkin to them or something. Can't hear proper what he's sayin cos of the shoutin and the cryin and World War fuckin Three goin off all round me, but whatever he's sayin, every fuckin head in the crowd's takin notice. Mum's dabbin away the tears off her face with a hanky, and Dad's like the rest, can't take his eyes off Kenny.
Back here, Rachel Johnson's finally stopped her cryin, the shepherds and the kings and the sheep have stopped laughin, and we're all just sittin quiet, listenin to Kenny. But we're too late to hear much of anything, cos he's just finished. I know he's finished cos Dad's stood up and started clappin. And he ain't the only one. Every fucker in the hall's gettin up. One, two at a time, the whole lot cheerin. The blokes are clappin like at football, you know, hands over your head, and the women have all got their tissues out. Miss Felton's gone up front with Kenny and she's cuddlin him to her. I get up on a bale of hay and start clappin meself. Lenny does the same. And before you know it, the whole class is givin it up for Kenny and whatever the fuck he's just done. Everyone other than Lawson, that is. He fucked off sharpish soon as Kenny stopped talkin.
Kenny's had his back to us the whole time he's up there, so I never see him proper. But Mum said the way he walked forward and told em the rest of the story of Jesus bein born and the star and the angels, and that, she said it was like it was happenin right in front of him. And when he finished, and everyone started clappin, she s
aid the smile he had on his face was one of the most beautiful things she ever see.
CHAPTER FIVE
Every Christmas I get a pillow case at the end of me bed, stuffed full. Nothing much, you know, bars of chocolate, colourin books, socks, 'Roy of the Rovers' annual. Things like that. This year I wake up – nothing. I check under the bed. I get out and feel in the corner of the room. I check under the bed again. Still fuckin nothing.
I try and get back to sleep but there's no way that's gonna happen. Can't believe it. Not even a fuckin orange. Dad hears me cryin. Must do, cos he comes in, big smile on his face, wearin a Santa hat. Silly bastard. Big kid, really, he is. A big fuckin kid.
'Happy Christmas, son,' he says, sort of slurrin.
He's a bit too loud, and Becky starts movin about. She's been waitin up all night, bless her. Wanted to hear Santa's bells. I stopped believin long time back, but I make an effort for Mum and Dad. Still pretend, you know. Like I always keep me eyes shut when Dad comes in ringin his little hand bell, the one he got off Brick Lane. Sounds just like Santa's bells, so it does the job. Just for a laugh, he sometimes rings it when he wants Mum to make him a cuppa and she gives him a look and tells him to make it his bloody self.
Dad bends down to pick Becky up out her cot, and his Santa hat falls on her head. They're both gigglin, Dad and Becky. Clear Dad's been drinkin already, just by the sound of him. Not just Santa's glass of milk neither, I should reckon. Never rough with the booze, though, my dad. Not like Kenny's bastard of an old man. A bit silly, that's all, like bein a bit braver with Mum, you know, takin the piss out her cookin and stuff, all jokin, like. Then he falls asleep in his chair and we have to wake him for tea. That's his usual performance.
I'm still gutted about the present thing, but seein Dad cheers me up. And I can smell bacon comin from downstairs. Fuck the smell of pine forests and all that shit on the adverts off the telly. Rip open your presents, then it's bacon sarnies and a cuppa. That's a proper fuckin Christmas, that is.
'Got something for you downstairs, son.'
With the bedroom door open, it's gettin bloody cold in here. I wrap me blankets round me, still tryin to work out what's goin on with me presents.
'Come on, son.'
***
Dad's carryin Becky over his shoulder now, on his way out the bedroom. Becky's smilin at me like she knows what's goin on. Littl'uns are funny like that. See the world, they do. The lights are off on the landin, so the stairs are all dark. And when we get in the front room, there's only the light comin under the kitchen door that shows anything. I can hear Mum shufflin about in there, and the bacon sizzlin on the stove.
'Bill, stoke the fire up, love. And get some jumpers for the kids.'
It's the same voice Mum shouts at me and Becky when she's tellin us something we gotta do. And she don't change it for Dad. Talks to him like that most of the time. Nothing in it, it's just the way they talk, I suppose. And when Dad's like this, you know, a bit tipsy, it's like she's got three fuckin kids anyway. Jokes about it with me two aunties, she does, when they're about, but sometimes she sounds so tired when she says it.
I squeeze past Dad at the bottom of the stairs and go straight in the front room. Can't see nothing cos the fire ain't givin out no light. Dad puts Becky down and she waddles over and wraps her arms round me legs, then Dad comes over and starts pokin round the grate a bit. When the fire starts catchin, he goes upstairs to get our jumpers. Stumbles up the first step, he does. Half pissed. Don't reckon Mum knows how much he's had. Comes out the kitchen, though, see what all the noise is about. The light from where she's opened the door makes it a bit easier to see, but fuck, I still don't see nothing like presents. Heart's beatin fast. Eyes fillin up.
Becky goes over to Mum, and Mum sits her on her knee. Dad's back. Stumbles down the last step and tries to cover it up by doin a little jump at the end.
'Bill! You'll wake up Mr Cartwright!'
'Sorry, dear.'
Dad winks at me when Mum's got her radar off him, and chucks our jumpers over. I put mine on then help Becky with hers. Then he turns on the light and there's two pillow cases, stuffed full, sittin on the settee. Thank fuck. It's Becky's first real Christmas. She knows one of em's hers, and tries draggin the nearest one off the settee.
'Bill, take that off her. That one's John's.'
Dad wrestles the pillow case off Becky. She ain't happy and goes runnin over to Mum. Mum cuddles her up and Dad chucks her pillow case over and she dives on it. I lump me pillow case on the floor, and get me presents out one at a time. Becky's already tearin the paper off hers.
There's more than normal this year. Mum's been takin in more ironin of late, and Dad's never come home till after seven from the factory last couple months. I stack me presents in a pile. I'll open em later, when no one's lookin. Always done it like that. First few years, Mum'd pester me to open em up in front of everyone, but longer it went on, I just sort of got left to it in the end.
Becky's got some bricks and a teddy bear, and her very first doll. As big as her, it is. Lovely seein her so happy. Fuckin lovely.
I'm watchin Becky open her last few things when I see Dad go behind the settee. And he pulls out this bike. This red fuckin Raleigh Chopper. Wheels it round to the middle of the front room, and I'm fuckin speechless. Dunno what to say, and I can feel the tears comin up again. Dad took me old bike down the dump ages ago when he cleared the garden out. Rusted to fuck, it was. Too small and rusted to fuck. Never thought I'd get another one. Fuckin never.
***
Me two aunts clubbed together and got me one of them roarin machines. You know the sort, stick em on your bike and they make it sound like a dragster. Everyone's got em. And Grandad's built a doll's house for Becky out of wood. Roof comes off, front comes open, bits of furniture, everything.
Clever old bastard, my grandad. Was our last Christmas with him. Keeled over Boxing Day right before Guns of Navarone. Fuckin hated that film, he did. Just couldn't bear to sit through it one more fuckin time, I reckon. Nan passed a few months later, and Dad weren't never the same after that. It's like he had his whole fuckin heart ripped out. But Christmas Day, with all of us there, Mum, Dad, Becky, me two aunties and Uncle Derek, Nan and Grandad, that was the best Christmas ever.
***
After we have our bacon sarnies, I pull up the curtains, see if it's snowin. Probably ain't even half-five yet. Pitch black outside, it is, but the street lamps are lightin up the whole world. And it ain't snowin, but it is rainin a bit, that soft sort of rain what seems to float down out the sky. Kenny ain't got no curtains up but his light's the only one on, so I see him straight off. I know he ain't seein me cos he's lookin right into the light of the street lamp outside his window. And he's got such a smile on his face. Such a fuckin smile.
Dunno why, but it's breakin me heart seein him like that. Breakin my fuckin heart. Mum tells me to shut the curtains cos it's lettin the cold in. Dad asks me if it's snowin. I tell him it's rainin and let the curtains drop back.
Can't believe I got a new bike, an that. Can't believe it. But I tell you what, after seein the way Kenny's smilin into that street lamp, that big, stupid grin all over his face, and that look in his eyes, I swear I'd swap everything I got for just one look at what he's seein in there.
***
They buried Grandad on the Wednesday before we went back to school. Mum sorted out Mrs Jessup next door to look after me and Becky while her and Dad was at the crematorium. She smells of cabbage, Mrs Jessup, and she's about three hundred years old. Always a bag of cough candy on the go. Mad as a box of fuckin frogs. Mum asks me if I want to see Grandad off, but I says no. Didn't see the point.
So, I'm upstairs helpin Becky with a bit of colourin, when the doorbell goes. I peek round the top of the bannisters to see who it is, but I can't see nothing cos Mrs Jessup's standin in the way. But I hear her all right.
'Come in, dear,' she says, sort of shaky, but all kind and sort of like my nan used to talk when one of us f
ell over and cut our knee or something. 'You'll catch your death out there,' she says.
She opens the door wider and moves to one side.
And there's Kenny. Standin in the rain, sort of starin blank, soaked to the fuckin skin, blood comin out the side of his mouth
CHAPTER SIX
It's like Kenny don't even fuckin hear. So Mrs Jessup grabs him by the hand and sort of drags him in. That's when I come down the stairs, actin like I ain't seen nothing. It's only when Kenny stumbles into the hall, I see he ain't got nothing on his feet.
I watch as Mrs Jessup sort of guides him in the front room and plonks him on the settee. And he's lookin at me. Straight at me. Ain't natural, the look he's got on his face. Even when Mrs Jessup drags him past me, he ain't takin his eyes off me, like he's tryin to tell me something but he ain't got the words.
I go in the front room after I shut the front door, but Mrs Jessup sends me straight upstairs for a towel. The old girl might be mad, well, I mean, there ain't no fuckin argument about that, but she's all right, you know. I run up the stairs three at a time and jump off five on the way down. Nearly break me bleedin neck. I give Mrs Jessup the towel and she dries Kenny's hair a bit, then she wraps it round his shoulders and gets this old tissue out her pocket and dabs the blood off his mouth. Kenny don't even wince.
'You'll be all right, dear,' she says to him. 'You'll be all right.'
She ain't got no fuckin idea what this is all about. Fuckin none. Gives him a little pat on the head, then goes in the kitchen. Sort of puts me in mind of Miss Felton, people like that. They mean well, but they don't wanna get too fuckin close, you know.
Mrs Jessup comes out the kitchen couple minutes later with a plate of biscuits. No way Kenny's knockin them back, no matter what fuckin state he's in, and he grabs two handfuls. Becky comes down and she's behind the settee playin with her doll. She's too young to notice anything goin on. Fuckin good job an all. Ain't right havin littl'uns seein shit like this.