The Bombs That Brought Us Together

by Brian Conaghan

  ‘Christ, Duda, you need to brush up on the lingo if we’re going to be seeing more of each other.

  ‘There is nothing I can’t get in Little Town, Duda. Even with those dirty, rotten Old Country bastards thinking that they now run the place. I can still get my paws on anything I want.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news for our stomachs,’ I said with a chuckle. Nobody else chuckled. The Big Man certainly didn’t chuckle; he shot me a look which sent shivers up my spine. He took two steps closer. I smelt stale fags, booze and fried food.

  ‘I have a bone to pick with you, Law.’ My nose hardly reached his chest. My heart sped up.

  ‘What … have I … erm … done?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what you’ve done, fannyman. Shall I?’

  ‘Erm … please.’

  ‘It’s come to my attention that you have been pilfering stuff that belongs to me.’

  Pav looked at me as if I’d let him down. How did he know what pilfering meant?

  ‘Pilfering? You … erm, mean …’

  ‘Apples, Law. You’ve been blagging bloody apples. My apples.’

  ‘Your apples?’

  ‘If you nick anything from Little Town shops you’re nicking stuff from me, clear?’

  ‘I didn’t … erm … know that the apples were yours.’

  ‘Well, you know now.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Everything you see, Law, belongs to The Big Man. Everything. This Old Country invasion changes nothing.’

  ‘It won’t happen again, Big Man, promise it won’t,’ I said.

  The Big Man stepped back, scanning us both.

  ‘So, you’re a thief, Law,’ he said to me. ‘And you, Duda, you’re from Old Country, which makes you all sorts of things.’ He then grinned from ear to ear. ‘You know what I call that, chaps?’

  ‘No, what?’ I said.

  ‘It’s an asset, that’s what it is,’ The Big Man said.

  ‘What is asset?’ Pav asked.

  ‘Something that will benefit The Big Man, Pav,’ I told him.

  ‘Like talent?’ he asked.

  ‘Exactly, Duda. You and Law here are a uniquely talented pair of eejits who can help me. No. You can help the people of Little Town.’

  ‘Help how?’ Pav asked.

  ‘A few odds and ends now and again. Think of it as doing a civic duty.’

  ‘That’s all?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I’ll need to think about that, but the way I see it, you owe me for the kind gesture of providing the furniture for your doll’s house and for being good-hearted enough not to break Law’s sticky little fingers for tea-leafing my stuff in my town.’ That’s when my sphincter opened and closed again and again like a camera shutter. ‘I’d say you two owe me big time, but to show that I’m actually a humanitarian deep down, the burgers are on the house.’

  I wanted to swear out loud. Shout obscenities at Norman. Skelp myself in the chops. Burn down the shed. Get the flock out of Little Town.

  We stood there, feet nailed to the bogging carpet. Two numb numpties. The Big Man flopped back down on his chair. Folded his arms.

  Soon after the door flew open and one of the columns thrust greasy big burgers into our hands. Piping hot, they smelt like a trip to paradise. The Big Man gestured for us to sit and enjoy. The burgers eased the fear.

  The thought came to me as I chewed my burger in silence. If The Big Man was right, if there was nothing he couldn’t get in Little Town, then maybe, just maybe, he could help Mum get her hands on some inhaler medicine. I was about to jump up and ask him there and then if he could. Lay it on thick. Tell him that Mum’s life depended on it, that her fight for breath was a constant battle. That me and Dad were at our wits’ end with worry. But I didn’t want Pav to hear. He shouldn’t be involved in this request. This was purely a private matter.

  A beep beep sound came from one of the column’s pockets. He took out his mobile phone, looked at the message before showing it to The Big Man.

  ‘Right, there’s a van waiting downstairs for you.’

  Pav, still ploughing through his burger, stopped munching and raised his eyes towards me. It was his you’d-better-say-something-fast look.

  ‘To take us where?’ I said. The fear kicked in again.

  ‘Home, Law. Home.’ The Big Man noticed my chest heaving with relief. The penny dropped. ‘Where else would you be going. Eh?’ Then the penny dropped again. Much harder this time. ‘What do you think I am, Law? What do you take me for, some Old Country barbarian?’ He looked at Pav. Pav poked the remaining bit of his burger into his mouth. ‘Do you think I’d ever lay a finger on two nothings like you?’

  ‘No, I just thought –’

  ‘Never mind what you thought. Just get your arses downstairs to that van or else you’ll be walking home.’

  ‘OK, Big Man,’ I said. ‘Come on, Pav. We’d better go.’

  ‘We leave?’ Pav said.

  ‘Go! Get the hell out of my sight,’ The Big Man said.

  ‘Thank for burger,’ Pav said.

  ‘Get your arses out of here.’ With a nod The Big Man asked one of the columns to escort us down the stairs to the van. I pretended to be getting my jacket on and sorting myself out; I waited until Pav was through the door.

  ‘Are you deaf, Law?’ The Big Man said.

  ‘I just wanted to ask you a favour, Big Man.’

  ‘What? Another one?’

  ‘I’ll be quick.’

  ‘Make it.’

  ‘Well, you know the chemist has been bombed.’

  ‘Right. So?’

  ‘So, the thing is …’

  ‘Get to the damn point, Law.’

  ‘My mum used to get her inhaler medicine from there and now she … erm … It’s serious, Big Man. She’s really struggling. She needs it.’ The Big Man’s palm stopped me.

  ‘You want me to get her medicine, Law. Is that it?’

  ‘Erm … I suppose so … yes.’

  The Big Man glared. Stared. Flared his nostrils. ‘OK, give me the details. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘You will?’ I said, wanting to hug him.

  I wrote down the details on a piece of paper, which he looked hard at.

  ‘Inhaler medicine for Mrs Maggie Law?’

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘OK, now get the hell out of here.’

  Mum would go off her nut if she knew The Big Man had her vitals. Maybe I should have said the inhaler was for me. Kept Mum out of this mess.

  *

  We didn’t speak too much on the quick trip back from The Big Man’s place. The taste of succulent burger still coated my mouth. Most importantly, my belly was full, as was my mind. A part of me wanted to run into my house and tell Mum that I’d soon get her medicine, that she’d be OK from now on, that I’d look after her. But hearing The Big Man’s voice saying my mum’s name made my stomach clench. As the van trundled towards our block we looked out at the deserted streets. I could tell that Pav was going over what had happened; his face had that scrunched-up appearance. Confusion. Intrigue. Fear. Excitement.

  As the van hit a particularly dark spot I saw my own reflection in the glass; my face looked the same as Pav’s. One part of the brain was delighted that The Big Man had come up trumps with our goodies, meaning Erin F would definitely be getting invited to our luxury shed. The other part of the brain was wondering what we’d agreed to do for The Big Man. What we’d agreed to become. Had we agreed to be his lackeys? His errand boys? His new young bucks? Vital cogs in his inner circle? I just didn’t have a clue. All I knew was that The Big Man had gone out of his way to scratch our backs and now he was feeling the itch himself.

  When the driver got out of the van, he was acting as if he was an international spy; this was a man who clearly didn’t want to be seen outside his zone, especially with two boys handling some second-hand furniture. He gave us a hand carrying the stuff to the shed, before bolting. Me and Pav flopped on a chair each and released the air that was trapp
ed in our lungs.

  ‘God, I’m glad that’s over,’ I said.

  Pav shook his head, despairing of me.

  ‘It no over, Charlie. This is the begin.’

  ‘Yes, the beginning of our independence in here,’ I said, gesturing around the shed, changing the subject. ‘Think about it: we could create a library and other cool things in here.’

  ‘No, Charlie, this the begin of you and me being danger men.’

  ‘In danger, you mean?’ I said.

  ‘Exact.’

  I knew he was right, of course; I knew he was. I was trying to block everything out but that bloody cheeseburger kept repeating on me, transporting me back to The Big Man’s. Back to his clutches. To his new-found control over us. I wished I’d refused that bloody cheeseburger. I wished I’d left those bloody apples alone.

  ‘It’ll be OK, Pav. You’ll see,’ I said, but I think I was trying to convince myself more than Pav.

  ‘What we do, Charlie, eh? What we do?’

  ‘We enjoy our new shed, that’s what we do. We invite some people around and maybe have a shed opening. Erin F can be our first visitor.’ Pav sat shaking his head. ‘We do nothing, Pav. Just keep our heads down and do nothing. There’s too much going on in Little Town for him to worry about us two.’

  But what would happen to Mum if The Big Man did forget about us? Sitting there in my comfy chair, I imagined her in the house, wheezing, famished, trying to ration her inhaler puffs, limiting herself to short bursts of breaths. If I’d sold our souls to The Big Man for the sake of a couple of chairs, I might as well make sure something good came out of it. My family badly needed inhalers. The Big Man had Mum’s last breath in his hands.

  ‘The Big Man will probably forget all about us anyway,’ I said.

  ‘He not forget, Charlie. He like huge elephant.’ Pav pointed to his temple.

  ‘Look, if the worst comes to the worst, the most he’ll want us to do is run a few errands for him. Go to the shops. Keep an ear to the ground. Stuff like that. Nothing we can’t handle.’

  ‘I not believe,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t believe what?’

  ‘That Big Man only want small thing from us.’

  ‘Of course he does, Pav. What else would he want us for? I mean, we have nothing to offer.’

  ‘That what I worry. Why he give stuff, eh? You OK, Charlie. Me? I refugee. No one want here. Big Man very powerful. He do big damage to Dad work. They do the bad thing to Mum. Me? I no get choose; I must do what Big Man say.’

  ‘I’m not OK either, Pav. You see, I asked him to get medication for my mum. If she doesn’t get it,’ I said, feeling my throat vibrate. ‘If she doesn’t get it, who knows what’ll happen to her. She might … she could …’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘I guess what I’m saying, Pav, is that The Big Man’s got us both by the short and curlies.’

  Pav’s chin was practically on the floor. Not the grand comfy shed opening I’d imagined. ‘Look, I’m sure everything will be OK,’ I added.

  ‘I no want to be bitch of Big Man, Charlie.’

  ‘I no want to be bitch of Big Man either, Pav.’

  ‘I no want to be bitch like Norman, Charlie.’

  ‘I no want to be bitch like Norman either, Pav.’

  It seemed that Pav’s lingo ability was improving a tad, while mine was being ripped to shreds. His influence was strong.

  ‘Little Town no good for me if I caught with stealing. They send me back to Old Country or put me in jail with men who want to do the sexy with me.’

  ‘Listen, I’ll go back and speak to The Big Man and ask him what exactly he wants from us. OK?’

  ‘When you go?’

  ‘I’ll leave it for a week or so, to see what happens, and then I’ll go see him. Deal?’

  The very thought of going to see The Big Man alone sent shivers up my legs. I was afraid that he’d eat me alive for going to him without an appointment. Or one of his muscle men would. That image of The Big Man sitting on his huge leather chair in that dingy room was still very much alive in my mind. If I was going to get through this with my sanity intact, I’d need to buck up my ideas.

  ‘OK,’ Pav said. ‘You speak to Big Man.’

  We used the sturdy lock to secure our shed from thieves. But not bombs though.

  ‘Charlie?’ Pav said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What short and curlies mean?’

  ‘Hair around your willy area, Pav.’

  18

  Good Tidings

  It was Sunday afternoon. Three weeks since the bombs came, ten weeks since Pavel Duda arrived in Little Town, a few days after I traded my freedom for some chairs and a cheeseburger. We were due to start school the following week. The Old Country invaders seemed keen to get things back to normal. Fortunately for me our school had survived the bombing. Pav wasn’t exactly cock-a-hoop about the notion of educating himself. His face was thunder at the very thought of going to a new school. A fresh group of jokers ready to welcome him with open mouths; a brand new set of Old Country refugee haters waiting to pounce.

  I had a feeling that Pav wasn’t your typical A-grade learner. No, Pav would be your up-the-back-of-the-class-head-on-desk sprawler type of guy peeking up at the clock every two minutes because he believed all this learning guff was the most excruciatingly painful experience of his entire life.

  Mum had managed to get her hands on some spanking trousers for my first day back. Cheap and nasty. Electric shock numbers. But new. She’d bleached some of my shirts from last year so that the yellow sweat marks and bogging collar stains were only a memory. My three shirts were pressed, hanging up and raring to go. I’d been busy swotting up. A complete nerd? A weedy geek freak? Whatever people wanted to call it. I’d read three books for our English course, two plays for Classics and two biographies for history. I tried to go through some of it with Pav as well, but he was having none of it. Pav told me that he’d be wearing the same school clothes he wore last year in Old Country. Neither of us would have new bags.

  Since the transmitters were thankfully back up and running I’d sent Erin F a text inviting her to our newly furnished shed. No reply. Perhaps the network was still scrappy.

  That Sunday I was busy rearranging and rejigging the shed furniture. I did it so many times that I couldn’t tell what the best position for things was. I read a book once about this mad oriental technique of furniture organising that was supposed to help soothe the soul and make your life all harmonising and groovy, but when I tried it out in the shed it didn’t work for me; instead it seemed to have the opposite effect: muddling my head and sending me into a wind tunnel of confusion. I asked Pav if it would be better to have one chair near the door, one below the window and one in the corner? What didn’t help was that Pav’s answers to my questions seemed to take the shape of:

  ‘It bloody chair. I no mind.’

  or

  ‘Put there. I no shitting care.’

  A career in interior design was definitely not Pav’s future bag.

  ‘Forget chair, Charlie. When you go to see Big Man?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘You promise, Charlie.’

  ‘I know I did, Pav, but I’ve had stuff on my mind and I just haven’t got round to it yet.’

  ‘You make huge promise to me.’

  ‘And I’ll keep it, Pav. I will.’

  ‘If you no speak to Big Man, Charlie, it mean he has our short and curlies. You know this.’

  ‘I know, Pav.’

  ‘I no want my short and curlies in Big Man’s hands.’

  I sat down, not knowing what to say. The truth was I was scared to death of going to see The Big Man again. The very thought of it knotted my tummy. We sat in silence for a moment. Then something weird happened: a tear fell from Pav’s eye and landed on his cheek. I watched it trickle down, until his hand came up to wipe it away. I looked closer in case it was a tear mirage. It wasn’t. I saw the trickle from my own tearless eyes.

  ‘Are you OK, Pav?
’ I asked.

  He said nothing.

  Sniffed up the snot that fell on to his top lip.

  ‘Pav?’

  I began to worry.

  He ran his sleeve across his mouth, cleaning that hard-to-shift snot.

  ‘Pav, speak to me.’

  He looked up; another tear dropped on to his cheek. Smaller this time.

  ‘What’s up, Pav?’

  More sleeve-wiping.

  ‘Pav, what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  No answer, which told me that something had happened.

  ‘Hey.’ I reached out and touched his elbow. He didn’t flinch. I gripped harder. ‘Speak to me, buddy.’ I gave his arm a soft pal rub. ‘I’ll go see The Big Man, promise.’

  ‘That not problem, Charlie,’ Pav said.

  I released my grip on his elbow.

  ‘Is it the thought of going to school? Are you scared?’

  ‘I handle school.’

  ‘Look, if you’d rather not talk about it that’s OK with me.’

  ‘No, I want.’

  ‘Listen, take your time. My ears are yours.’

  ‘I no want take ears from you, Charlie.’

  ‘No, it’s just an express– … oh, it doesn’t matter. If there’s anything I can do, just say.’

  ‘It is Mum,’ he said, wiping more tears. ‘My poor mum.’ I wanted to hug him. I thought about Erin F’s mum and wondered if Pav was going to have to care for his in the same way she cared for hers. A sentence for both of them.

  ‘She’s not ill, is she?’

  ‘No, but she cry all time.’

  ‘Your mum? Why?’

  ‘She thinking too much about my sister.’

  ‘Your sister back in Old Country?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s understandable, Pav. Natural.’

  ‘There is mass problem.’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘My sister not in Old Country no more, Charlie.’

  ‘She’s not?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes, here.’

  ‘Here? Like in Little Town here?’