The Bombs That Brought Us Together

by Brian Conaghan

  Erin F flicked her hair, a sure sign that she was all flattery and flirty. That’s what the so-called brain experts tell us anyway. I was rubbish at reading the signs – the good ones anyway.

  ‘Erm …’ she said, like she’d just been asked if she wanted another bout of root canal.

  ‘It’s a cracker! We’ve furniture and everything in it.’

  Time to raise the sail and bail.

  ‘OK,’ she said.

  ‘OK?’ I said.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘OK, you’ll come?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll come and see this stupid shed of yours,’ Erin F said.

  YA BEAUTY! Play it cool, son, play it cool.

  I ran my fingers through my hair.

  ‘Really? When? When?’ Way too much enthusiasm and very uncool-like behaviour.

  ‘Whenever you like.’

  Oh, the pressure. I’d have to go above Pav’s head and make an executive decision on this one.

  ‘What about one Saturday?’ I said.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You don’t have anything on?’

  ‘Not unless I drop dead or I decide to blow myself up.’

  ‘Erm … OK …’

  ‘I’m joking, Charlie. I’m doing nothing. There’s nothing to do here any more anyway,’ she said.

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Will she be OK without you?’

  ‘I think she’ll be fine for a few hours.’

  ‘Is she … ?’

  ‘She’s the same, Charlie, but thanks for your concern.’

  ‘Next Saturday then?’ I said.

  ‘Not this Saturday?’

  ‘Me and Pav are having a bit of a do next Saturday,’ I said.

  Erin F’s eyes slit up again.

  Stop saying his name in front of her.

  Stop NOT saying his name in front of her.

  ‘A do for what?’

  ‘It’s my birthday and Pav’s is a few days later.’

  ‘OK, next Saturday’s good,’ Erin F said.

  ‘Around two?’

  ‘Two’s good.’

  ‘You know where to go?’

  ‘I’ll find it, don’t worry.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘So, let me get this right, Charlie.’ Erin F’s face was confused. ‘You’re having a party in … your … shed?’

  ‘It’s not a party.’

  ‘Who else is going?’

  ‘Just me and Pav.’

  ‘You’re having an exclusive party with only two people?’

  ‘Three, now that you’re coming. But it’s not really a party as such.’

  ‘You’re very weird, Charlie Law, do you know that?’

  ‘But you’re still coming?’ I said with puppy-dog eyes. ‘Next Saturday at two?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for all the landmines in the world,’ she said.

  ‘Me neither, Erin F. Me neither.’

  22

  Loud Thunder

  On the second day back Max Fargo marched towards me as I was waiting to go into my geography class.

  ‘Is it true, Law?’

  Max Fargo wasn’t in any of my classes. I’d say he was probably the best in the school at wandering the corridors. Most teachers chucked him out after about ten minutes of having him in their lesson, quickly followed by his little lapdog, Bones. Let’s say that Max Fargo and Bones weren’t your typical pens-out-books-on-the-table-heads-up-teach-me-something students. If Old Country officials ever managed to get their claws into the school system, then clowns like Max and Bones would get their arses rattled big time.

  ‘Yeah, is it true, Law?’ Bones said.

  ‘Is what true?’ I said.

  ‘That your little girlfriend we met on the bus is from Old Country?’ Max said.

  For a split second I thought he meant Erin F when he said girlfriend. If only!

  ‘Yeah, that Old Country girlfriend,’ Bones said.

  Bones was a wonder of medical science! He never failed to impress.

  ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?’ I said.

  ‘We don’t need to ask him; we’ve been told,’ Max said.

  ‘Yeah, we’ve been told,’ Bones followed.

  ‘His mob is the reason why loads of our mates are still missing,’ Max said.

  ‘Yeah, loads of mates,’ Bones added.

  I held in a sarcastic laugh. Most of the missing people that I knew would have crossed the road to escape these tossers. Mates? That must have been a joke.

  ‘Who told you?’ I asked, because only Mercy and Erin F knew where Pav was from, and surely neither would contemplate sharing the same air with these two tosspots. Any conversation was out of the question.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know who told us, Flaw, eh?’ Bones took to occasionally calling me Flaw; he thought that the entire school would soon catch on to this piece of comedy genius. No one else ever called me it.

  ‘Norman told us,’ Max said.

  Bones looked offended.

  ‘What does Norman know about anything?’ I said.

  Norman, bloody mega mouth.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Flaw,’ Bones said.

  Max piped up.

  ‘He told us his name, where he was from and where he lives now. He told us loads of stuff.’

  Bones looked dejected.

  ‘So what,’ I said.

  ‘So what?’ Bones said.

  ‘Yeah, big deal,’ I said.

  ‘Big deal?’ Bones said.

  I’d lose the will to live if I had to hang with Bones all day.

  ‘Who cares? It’s no big deal where he’s from, Max,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I think it’s a big deal,’ Max said.

  ‘Big deal.’ By this time nobody was listening to or looking at Bones.

  ‘And I don’t like Old Country people anyway,’ Max stated.

  I hear they speak so highly of you though, Max.

  ‘Yeah … Old Country people.’

  ‘And neither should you like them, Law,’ Max said.

  ‘I don’t hate anybody,’ I said, which is a bit of a lie because I did hate the people who smithereened our town and school. But I didn’t hate just for the sake of hating. That’s nuts.

  ‘Well, we know that that little pussy’s Old Country,’ Max said.

  ‘Little pussy,’ Bones said, still floating around in his magical world.

  ‘So what if he is? What’s it got to do with me?’ I said.

  ‘He’s your mate, Law,’ Max said.

  ‘Yeah, your mate.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me from Old Country, does it?’ I said.

  ‘But hanging around with the enemy makes you the enemy too.’ Max stepped closer and put his finger on my chest. Jabbed me twice. I didn’t move my face muscles. Up until that point I was fine and dandy but now my knees trembled. I think Max had seen far too many violent war movies.

  ‘He’s the enemy,’ Bones said, taking a step closer as well.

  ‘Pav’s not the enemy,’ I said, taking a half step back.

  Bones guffawed. Max sniggered and shook his head.

  ‘What sort of twat name is that?’ Max said.

  ‘Twat name.’

  Max gave the eyes to Bones, who stepped back a tad.

  ‘That’s his name. I don’t see anything funny about it,’ I said.

  I’m not sure, but I think I might have done a tiny inside snigger myself when I first heard the name Pav.

  ‘Well, you tell Lav or Pav or whatever the hell his stupid name is that he better watch his back,’ Max said. ‘Or else.’

  ‘Watch his back, or else.’

  ‘What has Pav ever done to you two, eh?’

  Max wasn’t expecting this. Bones expects nothing from life. Max stared at me.

  ‘I’ll tell you what he’s done, Law.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ I said, puffing out my chest, feeling all high and mighty like I was some sort of top boy. But I wasn�
�t a top boy. I was only little Charlie Law who liked the simple things in life. Shedding, reading, eating and a bit of tomfoolery. Oh, and dreaming about cosy nights in/out with a certain young redhead. I unpuffed my chest and waited for Max’s answer.

  ‘He was born, that’s what he’s done,’ Max said. ‘He breathes my air, that’s what he’s done. Look around you: that’s what he and his mob have done.’

  ‘We’re all born, Max. And we all have to breathe in order to stay alive,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, Law, or I’ll break your pig snout.’ Max turned his hand into a fist and lifted it inches from my snout.

  Max put his snout closer to my snout. Our snouts were almost touching. Eskimo kissing. His breath reeked of fags and shit.

  ‘Just tell your pal and his skanky Old Country army that he’s not welcome here,’ Max said. ‘That’s enough for now.’

  Max took his snout and his rank breath back a stride.

  I went into geography. Late. Not my style. Sat for an hour bricking it, weighing up my options. I considered The Big Man’s guns and how much damage two bullets could do.

  23

  Bruise

  I had no experience of what going to school in a warish zone would be like. I do now. Everyone was edgy and aggressive, including the teachers. You’d be afraid to look at someone the wrong way in case you got an earful. Maybe worse. I lost count of the amount of scraps there were in those first few days.

  Because Pav couldn’t speak the lingo like a politician under interrogation he was put into some of the thicko classes. They said he’d catch up much quicker due to the pace being slower in thicko classes. Now, my brain isn’t blessed with the cells of the great thinkers, but this seemed to me like a contradiction, or like some smart-arse was having a laugh at the poor Old Country boy. This meant I didn’t see Pav for large chunks of the day, so I couldn’t keep an eye on him, protect him, make him laugh, help him with the trauma of a new school. I couldn’t be his surrogate teacher. I couldn’t plot out a way to Mercy Lewis’s heart. All my classes did proper learning. Basically I only saw Pav at break and at lunch, and sometimes I didn’t even see him then, as I was studying or doing homework. Keeping on top of it.

  It was Mercy Lewis who told me. It was day three. I had my nose in a story. She was out of breath. Her face was chalk, which then made my face go chalk. At first I thought it was due to the hunger; sometimes it made me disoriented and faint. I knew that I looked skinnier and paler. Sure, we all did. But this wasn’t hunger Mercy was oozing; sometimes the eyes can tell when something isn’t a piss-take. The heart knows right away, and so does the skin colour. Especially when it’s Mercy Lewis who’s telling the tale; she wasn’t exactly renowned for her monkey business and mickey-taking. Mercy had never seen anyone being punched full force in the face or headbutted on the crown before. And it was the first time she’d witnessed one human stamping on another human’s head. It left its mark on Mercy, so much so she was struggling to speak. That’s why when she tried to tell me what had happened she was shaking like a leaf.

  ‘It’s OK, Mercy,’ I said. ‘Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.’

  Mercy Lewis took a gulp of fresh air. My heart was bursting out of my shirt.

  ‘Charlie, it’s Pav.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Max and Bones.’

  ‘What have they done?’

  Mercy held her chest. Her oh-my-God moment.

  ‘Mercy, what have Max and Bones done?’

  ‘He was on the ground, Charlie. Blood everywhere. They stamped on him. On his head, again and again.’

  ‘Where is he, Mercy? Where is Pav now?’

  ‘He was lying there,’ she said.

  ‘Outside?’ I asked. ‘Who’s with him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Teachers?’

  ‘No, I think he’s alone.’

  As soon as she said the word alone I was on my heels. I dropped my book, legged it outside and immediately saw the small gathering. A growing circle had formed. Not one of them doing anything to help. I couldn’t hear a kind or sympathetic word being uttered. No warm hand. No words of comfort. What was wrong with these people? Little Town people. My people.

  ‘It’s your new mate,’ someone said to me as I fought my way through the circle.

  ‘He looks finished,’ said another.

  ‘Serves him right,’ the first voice said. I didn’t even see their faces. My eyes defaulted to tunnel vision mode, exactly the same eyes as when I was inside The Big Man’s mine.

  Then I saw him.

  Little Pav.

  My mate, Pav.

  Lying in the foetal position.

  In a ball.

  Tight.

  Huddled up.

  Trying to protect himself.

  Came to Little Town for a better life and here he was lying in a heap, blood trickling out of his ear, nose, mouth and head. Black-and-blue eyes. Swollen. His body shaking. Everyone watching but no one doing a thing. No fingers being lifted. Nothing. All watching the best movie in town. If ever there was a swear moment – not like previous swear moments – this WAS it. I didn’t, I couldn’t, hold it in.

  ‘Why are you all just fucking standing there? Get some fucking help!’ I screamed.

  The circle got wider. Less enclosed. People were doing what I’d said. Scared of my voice, my new voice. A voice that shocked even me.

  ‘Go, beat it!’ I shouted.

  Oh, how I wished The Big Man’s guns were tucked inside my trousers. I’d blow them all into next week.

  I wiped my eyes and nose and knelt down. I put my hands on his body. It shook. I picked him up a little, held him close to me.

  ‘Pav, it’s me. It’s Charlie.’

  My hands reached under his head, his blood-matted head. I couldn’t see a major cut or laceration. Still.

  ‘Pav, it’s Charlie.’

  Pav was all over the place: dazed and dizzy. I slid my jacket under his head and tried to keep him warm. I’ve seen people do that in films. Surely Mum couldn’t skelp me for bogging up my jacket in these circumstances?

  The circle was no more. Just Mercy standing. Watching. Still chalk-white. Still shaking. Face etched with worry. For Pav.

  ‘You’re going to be OK, Pav. Promise,’ Mercy said.

  ‘You’re going to be fine, mate,’ I said.

  His eyes had that rabbit stare about them. I looked into them, not in the staring-game way though. I wish. He blinked too much. His trousers were ripped at the knee. He coughed twice.

  ‘You’re going to be just fine,’ Mercy said.

  ‘Totally fine,’ I said.

  How did I know for sure? I was no medicine man; I had no qualifications. All I had was my gut. There’s no way I should’ve been telling anyone that they were going to be OK, especially when they were lying in a pile of cuts with a head injury. But I was his mate, his only mate, so it was my duty to tell him that he was going to be fine.

  ‘He’s going to be fine, isn’t he, Mercy?’ I heard my voice rattle.

  ‘You’re going to be totally fine, Pav,’ she said.

  I took out a hanky and wiped the blood from his nose and ear. The blood from his eyebrow had already clotted. Warm water required for that one. When I got him to sit up the colour returned and his eyes seemed to focus. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva on the ground. We sat there in the yard as if we were fishing. Pav muttered words in his own lingo, words that weren’t very nice I’d imagine. I didn’t speak. Just sitting with him was enough. I shared a look with Mercy. Pav spat again and tried to pull blood from his nose.

  ‘There you go, Pav,’ Mercy said, handing him one of her hankies. A real one that you’d need to wash afterwards. The letters ML embroidered in the corner. Somehow I don’t think Mercy wanted it back.

  ‘Thanking you,’ Pav said, handing the hanky back to Mercy.

  ‘No. No. You keep it, Pav. Hold on to it; you might need it again,’ Mercy said.
r />   ‘You OK, buddy?’ I said.

  ‘I OK. I OK,’ he said.

  ‘I can take you to the school nurse if you want?’ Mercy said.

  ‘I no need nurse,’ Pav said.

  ‘As a precaution,’ Mercy said. Pav looked confused. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘It might be a good idea, mate,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve got some cuts,’ Mercy pointed out.

  Pav put his hand up to his head.

  ‘Bastards,’ Pav muttered, then began to say something again in his lingo.

  More spitting on the ground; it wasn’t to get rid of the blood this time though.

  ‘We need to get you checked out and cleaned up,’ I said.

  ‘That would be my recommendation, Pav,’ Mercy said.

  ‘Where is nurse?’ Pav asked.

  ‘Just in there.’ Mercy pointed to the main doors of the school. We all looked. I had seen neither head nor tail of any nurse since we returned less than a week ago. The old nurse’s room had been flattened, but I assumed there would be someone who knew first aid.

  ‘You should really go, Pav,’ I said. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Mercy said. ‘If that’s OK with you, Charlie?’

  Why wouldn’t it have been?

  ‘Of course it’s OK,’ I said.

  ‘OK, I go,’ Pav said.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Mercy said.

  We helped him to his feet.

  I watched them walk towards the school building. Mercy guiding him. Her hand an inch away from Pav’s waist. They never touched, but they were almost clinging on to one another.

  I remained in the empty yard, looking at the splashes of blood on the ground. Where were the teachers? Where was the concern? Where was all this protecting the students crap?

  I needed a chat with Norman or The Big Man. Sort this mess out.

  24

  Psycho

  Pav hadn’t been back to school since the incident. That day I took him home from school on the bus and helped him to his door. His mum looked like thunder the moment she saw him. And me.

  ‘Thank you, Charlie, for to bring him home,’ she said coolly, her eyes flashing blue as Pav’s.

  She put her hand on his broken face and tenderly led him in, slamming the door in mine. To be fair, he looked like shit – even his baby blue blinders were red and bloodshot, and he might’ve cracked a rib or two – but I didn’t think there was any permanent damage. Through the door I heard his mum speaking in Old Country lingo. Even though I didn’t understand a word, her harsh throaty sounds made clear her feelings about Little Town people.