I didn’t speak to me bastard mother all the way home in the taxi. Nor in the lift up to our flat. And I think she was a bit ashamed as well, cos she didn’t say anything either.
When we got back, he was sitting watching the telly like he hadn’t got a care in the world. She just went and sat down next to him, and I was left standing, staring at the both of them.
After a bit, she looked up at me. She said, “We had to babes. You understand, don’t yer? We’ve both got previous, you know that. It would have been a spell inside if they’d pinned it on us, even just for possession. Yer know we wouldn’t have done it if we hadn’t had to. Don’t yer? And yer got off lucky, didn’t yer? Just a possession charge. You’ll only get a slap on the wrist for that.” And she smiled. And that’s when I spat right in her face. And he turned to say something but I raised my hand and he thought better of it. And I would have killed him, I fucking know I would.
Instead, I just stormed off to me room and slammed the door. Of all the dirty low-down lousy tricks. I wanted to scream and I wanted to cry. I’d never been done for anything and now I was going to have a drugs charge against me name. Of all the things I’d done wrong, like nicking stuff and that, I hadn’t ever even been caught, but if I had, I’d have had to accept it, I suppose. But to get a drugs charge against me, when I had never ever touched so much as a spliff and hated the stuff cos of having to live with them and seeing what it did to them, well that was more than I could bear. And right then I hated being me, and I hated my life more than I’d ever done before. And lying on me bed, feeling all this anger, that’s when I remembered that I should have gone over to Carrie’s that night and hung out with Lindsay and them. And it was way too late now. And that’s when I started crying. That’s what the bastards had done to me. They’d taken away me dream of going on the mechanic course, and now they’d taken away the new life I was making for meself with me new friends. What would they think of me now?
I wanted to be somebody else. I just wished I could be somebody else right then. Anybody. And I wiped away the tears and pushed back the sobs. And I sat at the dressing table. And it wasn’t my Goth make up that I put on. It was the pink and red girlie stuff. And I went through me sister’s clothes. And I got dressed up in her underwear and stockings and a silk top I found and this short skirt that I could remember her buying and dressed like that, and looking at meself in the mirror, I didn’t feel guilty or dirty; I just felt contented. Cos it wasn’t me anymore. I had become somebody else. That was a girl looking back at me in the mirror. Where I had gone I couldn’t tell you. Down to hell, for all it mattered.
CHAPTER 12
I went to school the next day, and of course I saw them all and of course they were all asking why I hadn’t turned up the night before. I told them the truth about what had happened and they were all dead sympathetic. They knew what kind of bastards my olds were and they knew I wasn’t lying when I said that gear wasn’t mine cos they knew I wouldn’t even touch a spliff or anything, let alone deal anything. Even Dave seemed to think I’d had a rough deal. But he did go quiet when Lindsay said I should go over to her place that night and we could sit in her room and smoke fags and listen to music and just hang out. She said it would be better for me than staying in the flat with the bastards.
And actually, for the next week, everything went OK. I was hanging around with me new friends and I was becoming accepted and everything, and despite the fact that I had this charge hanging over me, I was starting to feel pretty good. It was an unusual feeling for me. I’d got more black clothing and this purple waistcoat from another charity shop, and I was starting to fit in more, especially as I was getting good with the make up as well. It was only at home in the flat, whether the bastards were in or not, that I felt like there was a big weight on me. And that’s when I would sit at the dressing table and turn meself into the girl that was not me but somebody else. And I was growing to love the way it felt, dressed as her, with her make up on. So that I took to becoming her more and more. And I found myself wanting more and different clothes for her than I could find in me sister’s drawers.
But then it all had to go wrong didn’t it, like it always does for me. I took the day off school on the Tuesday just gone. I just didn’t feel like going in. On the Monday, I’d got a letter telling me that a date had been set for the magistrate’s hearing about the drug shit that the bastards had pinned on me. That made me feel really down and on the Tuesday, when I woke up, I just didn’t feel like facing up to anyone. So I stayed home and in me room, I sat in front of the dressing table mirror for ages becoming that girl. Just the feel of slipping into those stockings and me sister’s undies and wearing a skirt and a nice top, and taking me time putting on the make up, was enough to make me feel better. And then I spent hours just looking at meself, and standing up and walking around and that. And I wished that I could go out like that, just be this girl whenever I wanted to. But I knew that that could never be.
That afternoon, Lindsay called me after school. She was just checking up on me. I told her about the court hearing and how I just hadn’t felt like coming in, and she said I should go round to her place that night. Well I did and we smoked and we drank some vodka and black – the blood of the prince – cos she had a bottle of vodka hidden under her bed. And we got to talking about that first Friday night we’d got together, when we went to Letisha’s place. And Lindsay started saying about what a laugh it had been seeing how stiff and tense I’d been when she’d been putting make up on me for the first time. And what a laugh it had been when we’d swapped undies and everyone had piled in and seen us and laughed and then they’d all done it too. And Lindsay said it was amazing how good I was at putting me own make up on now.
I can’t remember exactly how it happened, but it must have been because we were a bit pissed, like, but I ended up telling Lindsay about the girl. About how I’d been using girlie make up and dressing in me sister’s clothes. Right away I wished I hadn’t told her and I was waiting for her to piss herself laughing and all kinds of thoughts were racing through me head about how she’d tell everybody and what that would mean. But actually, she was amazing. She just kept saying how she’d love to see me dressed as a girl, and how I had the features and the bone structure for it and how she reckoned I’d be dead pretty. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Anyway, bit by bit, I found myself talking about it, and saying how when I was this girl, it was like being a different person, like I was someone without a care. I told her I’d like to get more clothes though – clothes that would be me own. It’s funny, it just became very easy talking to Lindsay about it all. She just thought it was dead natural somehow. And she said we should bunk off school the next day and go shopping and that she’d help me pick stuff out. And I said OK. I probably shouldn’t have, but I doubt that things would have turned out any different, even if I hadn’t. It was all bound to happen sooner or later. Like I’ve said before, it’s shit being me. It always has been.
CHAPTER 13
God this is itching around me neck. It’s nylon and it should be smooth, but there are bits of it sticking out and it itches like hell. And I can feel it every time I move, cos it’s anchored to the top of the bunk bed. Still, it is only an old tow rope. I suppose I could tuck me chiffon scarf under it. Hold on a minute.
There, that’s a bit better. Anyway, we went shopping, and one thing I found out right away was that Lindsay wasn’t like me; she’d never nicked anything in her life. She seemed a bit shocked when I suggested it and that. I should have left it at that and we should have just bought stuff that we could afford. But I had to start acting the big shot didn’t I? And I suppose after she’d taught me about make up and that, I felt I had to show her something that I was good at. Well I won’t bore you to death with telling you what a good day we were having. I’ll just tell you this bit quick, cos I’m ashamed of it. I taught Lindsay how to rob things from shops. Little stuff like accessories. And even this scarf I’m wearing now. I showed her how to
palm them and slip them into her bag. And you could see she was getting excited about it, even though she felt a bit guilty and that. But in this one shop, I saw stuff that I liked but there was this woman who I recognised. I knew she was a store detective and she’d always kept a close eye on me whenever I’d been into this shop. But I really wanted this top. And when I got a chance, when Lindsay wasn’t looking and when this woman was hidden from us by people, I stuffed it into Lindsay’s bag without her noticing. I figured that if we got stopped going out of the shop, it would be me they would be after. But of course it didn’t work like that. They stopped us both and they searched us both and they found that top in Lindsay’s bag. I tried to tell them. I pleaded with them. Even though nobody believes that, I did. I fucking did! But they called the police in and Lindsay was taken to the police station. She was carrying all the other stuff we’d nicked that day as well, so it looked worse and worse. And worse than anything was, they just let me go.
Well I didn’t go into school next day either. How could I? I just sat here in me room, dressed as the girl. The girl wasn’t in any trouble and the girl was gorgeous. The world could be anything for her. So I sat there for hours, getting the make up and me hair just right, and putting on the stockings and the flimsy underwear and a black satin miniskirt and a white silk top. And I tried not to think of anything but being this girl until I must have been in something of a trance in front of that mirror. Cos I hadn’t heard the front door of the flat being opened so the first I knew was when me bedroom door was opened. I jumped up and turned round dead shocked. And it was all dead quiet for a second, cos the two people standing just inside the door were just staring at me. It was me sister. And Kyle. They’d come around to pick up me sister’s stuff.
It wasn’t quiet for long. They both started pissing themselves laughing. And I didn’t know where to hide. I tried to push past them but Kyle kept blocking me way. And then me sister stopped laughing and she was screaming at me and calling me a fucking pervert and trying to pull her clothes off me and that. And in the end, she just stormed out and said she didn’t want any of that stuff now and how it would make her sick just to look at it. I was lying on the floor and Kyle was standing in the doorway looking down at me.
He said, “You fucking queer bastard,” and I didn’t say anything. I knew it wasn’t worth telling him that I wasn’t queer and that I only became this girl to take me away from me own horrible life.
I lay on the floor crying for quite a while after they’d gone. And that’s when it hit me that everyone on the estate would know pretty soon. And worse than that, I wouldn’t be working on cars with any of the boys again. They wouldn’t want me around for sure. And even if they did, they would just be taking the piss all the time.
Later, I took the clothes off and washed off all the make up. There was no food in the house as usual, and no sign of the bastards either. They’d gone off somewhere, to somebody’s to do the crap that they do. They didn’t dare keep anything in the flat at the moment, what with the police charge hanging over me and everything. Anyway, I was hungry so I decided to go to the chippie and get something to eat. And that’s when I found that word had definitely got out quick. The kids who saw me started calling me a queer and a sissy and stuff like that, throwing bricks at me, and following me and calling me names like only kids can. And you could tell that everyone else was watching and listening.
In the end, I just turned and ran back to the flat. When I got back, I just lay on me bed and started crying again. I’d never felt as down as this, even through all the shit I’d had to put up with in my life. What was I going to do? I was never going to be a mechanic now. I’d screwed up things with me new friends. And worse, I’d screwed up things for Lindsay, real bad. If it had just been that top, they might have believed that it was me to blame and that she was innocent. But it was all the other stuff in her bag as well. They’d never let it go with just a warning. My life was just shit and I wondered why I’d ever even been born.
Last night, I went out again. I was hoping that in the dark I wouldn’t be noticed and there wouldn’t be too many people about. I just had to get out, cos it was really getting to me just sitting in the flat. But going out was a big mistake. I saw Josh and Danny and Carrie. And Dave. They said that Lindsay’s dad wasn’t letting her out. Lindsay hadn’t been back to school since she’d been out shopping with me. She was really messed up, Danny said. And then they all started having a go at me, saying why had I got Lindsay dragged into it, and that people from our estate were all the same and that they should have known better than to let me hang out with them. And they had heard about how I liked dressing as a girl as well. Dave said he’d always thought I was a freak. I thought that was rich, coming from them, but I didn’t say anything. Then Dave just turned on me. He just started hitting me and kicking me. Carrie was screaming for him to stop, but he beat me to the ground and he jumped on top of me and just kept punching and kicking me. Josh and Danny pulled him off in the end, and I was left lying in some mud, and bleeding and crying.
Dave said, “Don’t let me fucking see you again. I’ll fucking kill you.” And he was still shouting stuff out at me while they were walking him away.
I ran back to the flat. And the bastards were there. Fucking typical.
“What’s happened, babes?” she said, but I ignored her and ran for the bathroom. I heard her saying, “Are people getting at you now they know you’re different? Never mind babes, I’ll always be here for you.” Shit like that anyway; I wasn’t really paying attention.
I lay in the bath for ages. I could wash the mud away, but me face was aching where Dave had been punching me. There was going to be bruises for sure. And there are bruises. You can still see em on me face. Or you would if I wasn’t wearing this make up.
So I lay in that bath thinking that me life was over. That it wasn’t worth living. And the more I thought that, the more I felt that it was true. What was there to live for now? Loads of kids were topping themselves these days. The papers said it was like an epidemic. There was even this girl from our school last year who’d taken a whole bottle of pills and killed herself. They said she had been the victim of bullying, but none of us could ever remember her being bullied particularly. Anyway, right then, it seemed like that might be a good option for me. But I couldn’t take pills. I’d have to do something else. And why not? What did I have to live for? No friends, no future, no job prospects. And I was a boy who liked dressing as a girl, and that’s how everybody would always see me from now on. If you live in a place like this, you’ll know that labels like pervert and kiddie-fiddler will always stick. They never go away. Not that I am a kiddie-fiddler, but that’s one of the things the kids were shouting at me, and that will definitely stick. My life isn’t going to be worth shit anyway. So why not end it? Thinking like that, it did sound an attractive option. So here I am, dressed the way I feel most comfortable, as her, as the girl. And I’m standing on this wobbly computer chair in my room, looking down on the estate through the night time mist. There’s a blue nylon towing rope around me neck and it’s attached to the top of the bunk bed. All I have to do is step off. And I’ll have the nerve to do it soon enough. I want to die. It’s all I want. There’s nothing left for me. I don’t have a life.
I’m looking at me reflection in the window and it seems like the girl’s face is hanging in mid air out there, hanging in the mist, looking back at me. You can see the bruises through the make up, but you can still see that she’s pretty. Do I really want to kill her? But what choice do I have? There’s no life here for her or me.
But hey. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it doesn’t have to be here. Why do I have to stay here? And why can’t I still be a mechanic like I’d always dreamed? There’s one way I might be able to do it. What about joining the army? They have great training in the army. They might take me on. And I could start a new life. Yeah. That might be a plan. I should just have a fag and think about this. Why haven’t I thought about this before?
Now where are me fags? Oh yeah, on the bed there. I can just stretch over and – whoah … SH-I-I-I-T! …
If you liked Hanging in the Mist, you might like other titles in the Cutting Edge series.
The following is an extract from another Cutting Edge title. It’s the first chapter of Bone Song by Sherryl Clark.
CHAPTER 1
Probably my whole class is laughing at me right now. Goody-goody Melissa McCardle in detention for three whole days after school. I bet they’re dying to find out what I did to get here too, but I’m not telling.
This room is the pits. And it stinks. I mean, it really stinks. It’s like two basketball teams have left all their sweaty runners in here to go mouldy, then thrown in a few banana peels and apple cores for good measure. There’s one tiny window high up, and the room only fits a dozen desks.
God, I’m sitting in the front row again. Why do I do that? I thought I’d cured myself of the habit. Footsteps echo along the corridor. Two sets. There’s just enough time to throw myself towards the back of the room, school bag first, and reach for a chair. I miss. Of course. When the door opens, I’m lying flat on my face on the floor.
‘Miss McCardle, I presume?’
I recognise the voice straight away. It’s Mr Feibler, the PE teacher. As I hurry to get up, banging my elbow on a desk so hard I think my arm is going to fall off, all I see is his tanned, hairy legs and his tight, white shorts.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ I mumble.
‘Here’s your cellmate. Deborah Lessing.’
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