by Nigel Bird
“Thanks,” Jesse said, wiping his feet on the mat a bit more thoroughly than he probably should have. He looked through into the lounge and saw a huge Christmas tree with long pale-green needles, tasteful glass balls hanging from it and a home-made star perched at the top. The lights flashed pink, illuminating the whole room.
“Bonnie,” Mrs Bird called up the stairs. “There’s a handsome young man here for you.” Jesse’s ears warmed up at the words and he could practically feel them glowing.
There came the flurry of footsteps on the floorboards above him and Bonnie appeared at the top of the stairs. She was pretty as a sonnet in her green dress and with her hair sparkling in the light. “Hi, Jesse.” He couldn’t tell whether the pink in her cheeks was from shyness or her makeup.
“Here,” he said. “I brought you these.” From behind his back he produced a dozen of Tesco’s finest red carnations. She looked at him as if he’d just performed an amazing feat of close magic.
She came down, thanked him and ran back upstairs with the flowers. When she appeared again she was empty-handed.
“I need her to be back by ten, Jesse. Don’t let me down on that, either of you.”
“Mum!” Bonnie barked as she hurriedly put on her flat blue shoes and coat.
“I’ll make sure of that, Mrs B. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Bonnie kissed her mum on the cheek, put her arm through his and hauled him outside.
*
As it turned out, the disco went better than Jesse had expected.
There was the usual slot of Scottish dancing where ungainly boys pretended to be unhappy about stripping the willow and there were plenty of sniggers when they were called up for the Gay Gordons. Thing was, as soon as they got moving, it was about as much fun as anything on the planet. Like speed-dating on ice, everyone taking a turn with everyone else. Levelled the playing field. Even helped Archie blend in.
They had Irn Bru and pizza slices for supper. Dessert was as many slices of shortbread as could be consumed and a delicious Costco cake that kept the mood high.
When it got to the disco proper, it took a slight turn for the worse. Not a rock’n’roll number to be heard. Even so, having Archie and Bonnie to spend his time bopping with made it all bearable somehow. A string of Christmas hits that everyone chanted along to steered the evening towards its end. Pretty much sent the entire contingent hoarse with singing.
It was the last dance of the night that Jesse was never going to forget. The DJs might have created the moment just for him. Like he was appearing in some cheesy movie of his own life. Soon as he heard the opening notes on the keyboard he knew the song. “Unchained Melody”. Written by Alex North and Hy Zaret. The Righteous Brothers version. 1965. Colour of the label: black and white.
The best thing of all was that he didn’t have to do anything.
Bonnie stepped over and moved in close, putting one arm around his waist and holding his hand with the other. They came together like they were newly born kittens snuggling for warmth.
He looked up at her and saw the smile in the blue of her eyes. His heart bounced and his knees almost buckled. This, he knew, was the most wonderful moment of his life thus far. He was going to cherish it. Remember the sounds and the sensations until his final breath. This was the happiest he’d ever been and he wasn’t going to let anything spoil it. Not anything. Not ever.
(You’re The) Devil In Disguise
There had been a moment the night before when Ray remembered why he didn’t drink Special Brew any more. Truth was, he avoided strong beers like he did Elvis impersonators. They just didn’t agree with him. Left him with the worst hangovers and black-outs that rivalled the holes they found in outer space.
That moment had been and gone.
At least they’d let him on the plane. And drinking the beer had definitely calmed his nerves.
Thank goodness it hadn’t been a long flight. His bladder had managed to cope and he’d not had to pull out any hair as a replacement for nicotine. He’d only been back on the ciggies for a day and he already felt them nagging at him when he didn’t have one in his hand.
He smoked a couple before getting on the airport bus and that had been just enough to keep him going until he alighted at Waverley Station.
It was good to be home.
He looked along Princes Street, the white lights sparkling in the leafless trees and drawing his eye to the Castle. It looked imposing at the top of the cliff, its dark silhouette filling the horizon. Beneath its quiet watchfulness, the city went about being festive. Kids were being flung up into the air in elasticated pods. Onlookers chewed on the enormous Wurst sausages they’d picked up from the German market, spilled fried onions onto the floor every time they took a bite and clung on to their bags of last minute stocking-fillers. The Scott monument glistened in the cold. Above the shops on the other side of the road, Ray watched the young and the crazy of the city swinging around on one of the new rides in St Andrew Square. The thought of being that high up reminded Ray of flying. Made him sick up a little Brew into his mouth. He spat it into the road, right between the tram tracks.
He took a smoke on his ciggy to get rid of the taste and took his mobile out. Pressed the screen and waited for an answer.
“Sorry, I’m not in.” Paula laughed at her joke. “But if you want to leave a message.”
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I...” He should have prepared. It would have helped him to know exactly what it was he wanted from her.
“Spit it out, man.” That was exactly what it was. Direction.
“We should meet.”
There was a pause. Ray heard the music – Jerry And The Pacemakers, “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. Made him want to wave his arms in the air. “Now what would I want to go and do that for?” She said it like she meant it.
“To talk. About Jesse.”
“What’s to say, Ray? You need to look after that boy. Set him a good example of how to be a man.” She sniggered. The image it conjured up wasn’t attractive.
“Please. Just five minutes. That’s all I need.” He could hear the begging tone in his voice and hated himself for it.
“How grateful will you be?”
“What do you want?” There was always a price.
“I’m hungry, Ray. I fancy an Indian.”
Ray thought about Ali behind the counter in his shop. Didn’t think he was the Indian Paula had in mind. But if that’s what it was going to take...
Run Rudolph Run
It was the last Saturday before Christmas and the streets were mobbed.
Thankfully, Jesse had been going against the flow and was soon into the relative calm of the stretch he knew as Charity Shop Walk. Maybe it would get its own sign one day. He popped into all of his favourites, flicking through the records and CDs and taking a quick look at the clothes and the DVDs.
Nothing jumped out at him, but he didn’t mind. Truth was he still felt like he was floating. Like an astronaut looking down on the world and only able to see that everything was good.
He skipped along to Homebase and spent a good while eying up the trees that were out on display. Four pounds a foot they were charging, but that wasn’t going to be a problem. All he wanted was something small. Something to make his flat as cheerful as he felt.
His mum and dad always got out the fake tree they’d had since before Jesse was born. They were always going on about how nice it was and how much better it was that they didn’t have to spend all their time hoovering up the needles. And they didn’t have to drag it down for the bin-men at the end of the month either. Jesse wanted a real tree, just like Bonnie’s. It would make the whole flat seem much cosier.
When Jesse had taken the artificial tree from the back of the wardrobe that morning, it had seemed more pathetic than ever, as if it had caught some disease since its last outing. No way was he going to put it up in that state. Especially if he was going to have
Bonnie round. He needed to set a mood. A romantic tone that would take them to the next level, whatever that meant.
Just the thought of Bonnie made his scalp tingle and made his tummy feel like a small electric charge had pulsed through it. He allowed the memory of the night before to wash around inside his head. The way they’d danced like they were made for each other. The way she smelled ever so slightly of strawberries. Walking her home and holding hands as soon as they were out of the sight of the rest of the gang. Stopping at the hedge outside her house and her pushing him gently back into the leaves and branches and then leaning forward to kiss him fully on the lips. It hadn’t made any sense at first and he’d been clumsy, but she let her mouth move in an easy rhythm and he just let his own reply in kind. His first time and it had been just like the movies. Better, maybe. They’d have kept going for longer if the door hadn’t opened and lit up the garden. Might even have used their tongues, but they’d get there soon enough. Just the idea of a Frenchie made his insides wobble.
Ten o’clock on the button it was when Mrs Bird called their names. She seemed to like it that they’d got back on time. Invited Jesse in for a hot chocolate and even put on the squirty cream and marshmallows.
When he’d got home and saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he noticed he had a tiny milk moustache. He’d been about to rub it off when he realised he wanted it there for as long as he could keep it and hadn’t washed since.
He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips as he looked at the temporary pine forest that had sprung up in the Homebase car park. Thought he could still taste the sweetness of her lips. Course, it could have been hot chocolate, but the details weren’t that important.
The trees all seemed huge. Way too big for a lad of his size to manage carting all the way home and the fatter ones would barely have fitted in his flat anyway.
Just as he was about to give up, he noticed the pile of small trees round the back. They looked like the reject pile, or maybe they were just the titches that were difficult to sell. What mattered to Jesse was that they smelled of pine. He picked a tree that seemed to have the right proportions – short, but full of body and nicely shaped – and took it over to the guy who was pushing them through a tube and netting them up. He was dressed in thin orange overalls, a bobble hat and wore a pair of thick gloves.
“Twelve pounds mate,” the guy said.
Jesse passed over a brown and a blue and swung the tree over his shoulder. “Keep the change.” It made the purchase seem like even more of a luxury, but Jesse didn’t mind. For now he felt like it was his mission to pass on goodwill to all men, women, children and animals.
“Happy Christmas, sir,” the guy said, and Jesse wandered home under a gathering storm feeling like he’d grown up overnight.
*
There was something about the door to his flat that made Jesse stop and think before putting his key into the lock. On the chrome handle were greasy finger marks and they’d definitely not been there when he’d left. His first thought was that the postman might have called and tried the handle, but that didn’t explain the new smell. The aroma of stale sweat, alcohol and cigarette smoke bore more resemblance to the doorway of the Southie than to his stairwell.
The smell only got stronger inside.
Instinctively Jesse dropped the tree, went straight into the kitchen and took the big chopping knife from the block. He gripped the handle tightly in his fist then he remembered the way James Dean used his blade in Rebel Without A Cause, directed by Nicholas Ray back in 1955 for Warner Brothers – First National Pictures. He relaxed his grip to see how that felt.
It was all about being able to manipulate the knife rather than just stab with it. His dad had told him that. Taught him how to prod and flick so that an assailant would never know where he was coming from next.
The big knife didn’t allow for that. He put it back in the block and swapped it for one of the smaller ones. That one felt just fine.
He went into the living room. The fairy lights were flashing, just like before he’d gone out for the tree and the laptop was still on the coffee table. He stepped back out and tried his room. Nothing more than a neatly made bed, his posters and books.
The bathroom was as immaculate as he’d left it, the glint of the mirror a testament to the polishing of the day before.
Only place he still needed to check was the main bedroom. The door was open a crack, but there was no light coming from it.
Jesse tiptoed over and listened. When he took his final steps, he heard a noise. It was the snuffling of an animal and a pretty big one by the sound of it.
A shudder of revulsion passed through him, followed by the pimpling of his skin. Depending on the creature, one knife might not be enough.
He went back to the kitchen. From the cupboard he took out the rubber gloves he used when he was cleaning in case he had to handle something ugly. After he’d put them on, he rummaged around in the drawer until he found the apron his mum wore when she baked. Last time he could remember her making a cake was a few birthdays ago and it looked like there was still some of the mix on the front of it when he put it on. It was one of those comedy tabards that was supposed to make the wearer look like a fat old lady in the nude, the boobs sagging down to the tummy button and a wooden spoon carefully positioned to block out the V of her pubic hair. Sad thing was, when his mum wore it the joke wasn’t at all funny, just made it look like she’d popped out of the bath. To finish off, he took another chopping knife from the block.
Double-handed, he went back to the bedroom and listened. The snuffling noises were still there and nothing seemed to be moving.
If it were a sleeping dog, Jesse decided it would be better to let it lie. He gently pushed his way in using his shoulder so that his weapons were ready for action.
First thing he noticed were the records tossed around on the floor. He thought immediately of Tony Fish, breaking in and robbing him. The guy had his address, after all, as well as the inside track on the kind of vinyl gems that were in the flat. “The sneaky bastard,” Jesse muttered under his breath.
Which was just the moment when he realised it wasn’t Fish after all.
Sprawled there on the bed was the large, twisted figure of his dad.
Jesse felt his head fill with steam, the pressure building until he wanted to let it out either as a scream or as tears. His body temperature escalated until it came close to matching his heart-rate, about two-hundred per, he reckoned. It might have been joy that he was feeling, but it might equally have been fury. Most likely a mixture of the two, a cocktail of emotions that always seemed ready to combust when they came together.
His dad lay still, his angular body on the crumpled duvet, his boots still on his feet and getting things all grubby. His snuffling was filling the air with the unpleasant stench of stale booze. When Jesse got closer, he noticed the marks on his father’s face. First off there was the dried blood that had crusted around the base of his nostrils. Next there was the swelling on the side of his mouth, blue and lumpy, as though he’d walked into a wrecking ball. To cap off the look, there were three scratches down his cheek. The wounds were red and sore-looking and were deep enough to make Jesse wince at the sight. They made a strange collection, those cuts and bruises. The scratches had a feminine aura, mainly because he didn’t think that blokes did that kind of thing to each other. The lumps, on the other hand, seemed full of the wrath of testosterone. If his dad had been attacked by a couple, things might be explained away. Or if he’d been attacking a woman and a hero stepped in to save the day, it would also make sense. If it was just the single assailant, though, there was only woman he knew who could punch like a heavyweight.
The image of his mother shook him back to the situation at hand. He looked at the way his dad’s head was lolling down by his record collection, as if he’d been looking through it for something. Elvis most likely. “That’s All Right”, which of course it wasn’t any more.
Jesse knew immediat
ely that whatever he was feeling, identifying the emotion would have to wait. What mattered most was that he got the records back from Tony Fish before his father woke up. By the looks of things, the only saving grace was that he had time on his side.
Danny Boy
When he got to the door of the pawnbroker’s Jesse pulled up his buff and made sure his hood was tied tight at the bottom. It was going to be a quick in-and-out job as far as he was concerned, but there was no point making things difficult by getting himself recognised.
He checked his bag to make sure he had everything. He had the two knives from the flat, as well as a hammer, just in case the shop was closed and he had to go through the glass.
Happy it was all going to be a breeze, Jesse pushed open the door and walked quickly to the counter.
It was the kind of thing he saw planned on the TV all the time. Go straight in, look at no one, do the job in hand and leave as quickly as possible. The only difference to watching things happen on the box was the buzz that was coursing through his veins as if his blood cells had suddenly mutated and become radio-active.
The adrenaline was doing its job well, keeping Jesse focussed. He saw the record on the shelf behind the counter through the gap between buff and hood and went straight to it. His eyes were focussed on the sunbursts of the cover and nothing else. He saw his hands reach out and grab the disk. Felt the reassuring cold of the card and the rim of the hard vinyl underneath.
Taking it away with him was a piece of piss.