by RR Haywood
‘The others?’
I nod slowly, ‘we don’t know for sure and to be honest we haven’t even had time to discuss it…but I’ve noticed Nick is the same but then he’s a good fighter and doesn't get hurt that much. Clarence is Clarence and as for Dave…’
‘Nothing touches Dave,’ she finishes my sentence.
‘Exactly. Maddox turned up and we sort of joined forces. He took over the fort while we went out and got what we needed.’
‘Can I come in?’
I twist round to see Paula in the doorway brushing her still damp hair.
‘Course.’
‘You look better,’ Marcy says with a smile.
She walks in wearing jeans and a black t shirt but still barefoot, ‘I feel human again,’ she smiles, ‘and I have two hairbands…two hairbands…a bloody luxury. And I hate not wearing a bra,’ she scowls.
‘Oh I know,’ Marcy says with a shake of her head, ‘bloody things bouncing about.’
‘Just feels better,’ Paula says earnestly, ‘you know? Like all back together…’
‘No fun being busty sometimes,’ Marcy says.
‘Poor lads,’ Paula chuckles softly, ‘one of my nipples kept poking out…they didn’t know where to look bless ‘em.’
‘I saw,’ Marcy laughs, ‘and them all looking everywhere else…still, that’s nice that they were decent about it.’
‘Oh they’re lovely,’ Paula replies, ‘I am gagging for a cuppa, mind if I make one?’
‘Sorry,’ Marcy turns towards the sideboard and the camping grill attached to a gas bottle.
‘I’m getting split ends,’ Paula sighs while holding a few strands of hair in front of her face.
‘Conditioner upstairs,’ Marcy says, ‘help yourself.’
‘Sod it, I’d rather have the cuppa.’
I shake my head slowly and marvel at the way of the woman. They chat like women chat. About hair and bras and split ends. They roll eyes and make tutting sounds while moving deftly round each other to get cups and teaspoons. I guess they must be the same age and I can’t help my eyes keep drifting back to Marcy.
‘I’ll go find clothes,’ I head towards the door. They both mutter goodbyes and resume the conversation about the difference of washing your hair in hot water compared to cold.
Feeling somewhat dejected I head outside to see the lads walking back carrying bundles in their arms and shoes hanging from laces.
‘Everything okay?’ Clarence asks at the sight of me standing outside.
‘Talking about split ends,’ I motion towards the house with a tilt of my head, ‘and hairbands and bras and…’
‘Oh,’ Clarence stops and nods slowly, ‘so we getting changed here or inside?’
‘Here will do,’ I shrug and watch as they unceremoniously dump the clothes on the ground for a free for all dive into the piles. Jeans are pulled free, tops are held up to see if they will fit. Odd socks and we press shoes against the soles of our feet. Five minutes and we’re all dressed in a range of dark clothes.
‘Nice shirt,’ I nod at Clarence tugging on a smart black dress shirt.
‘All I could find,’ he says and rolls the sleeves up, ‘it’ll do.’
‘Any smokes?’
‘Oh yes,’ Nick nods and produces a sealed packet, ‘they got a light in there?’
‘Gas stove, they’re brewing up now.’
‘Blowers, you don’t wear socks with deck shoes,’ Cookey says staring down at Blowers’ ankles.
‘Who gives a fuck?’
‘You look like a twat.’
‘So?’
‘They’re odd socks…in jeans with deck shoes.’
‘And I say it again, so?’
‘Fine,’ Cookey holds his hand up showing the palm to Blowers, ‘but when the other children laugh at you don’t say you weren’t told.’
‘Dick,’ Blowers says but stares down at his feet.
We head back into the house and the pleasant aroma of coffee filling the room and the sight of Paula and Marcy deep in discussion with much nodding of heads, rolling of eyes and tutting. Lots of tutting.
‘Can I use the stove to light up?’ Nick asks with a cigarette already hanging from his mouth.
‘Carry on,’ Marcy says, ‘coffees on the side, help yourself. None of them are sugared and we don’t have any milk.’
‘Cheers,’ Nick bends and holds the end close to the blue flame. Once lit he hands it over to Blowers and repeats the action with Cookey then me.
‘Christ,’ Paula tuts again and opens the back door, ‘stand over here you lot.’
This is too normal. Far too normal. The way the lads interact with Marcy is like she’s one of us. Even Reginald bustles about chatting amiably with Clarence and I remember how well they got on when we got drunk that night. She smiles warmly at them, passing mugs over and teaspoons so they can put sugar in. She and Paula comment on the clothes now being worn and both remark how smart Clarence looks in a proper button up shirt.
‘Seen Blowers shoes?’ Cookey says as Blowers rolls his eyes with a groan.
‘Why?’ Marcy leans round to look down, ‘oh…oh right…’
‘What?’ Blowers says defensively, ‘does it matter?’
‘Socks and deck shoes don’t go,’ she says apologetically.
‘Ha! Told you,’ Cookey nods in victory.
‘Really? I mean fucking really? They’ll rub my feet without socks.’
‘Couldn’t you find normal shoes?’ Paula asks.
‘No I bloody couldn’t,’ Blowers exclaims, ‘fuck off, Cookey.’
‘Funny as fuck, mate.’
‘And you can fuck off too, Nick.’
‘What? You’re the one wearing socks with deck shoes.’
‘Oh for…’ Blowers puts his mug and lifts a leg to pull the shoe off, ‘fine…’
‘No, keep them on,’ Paula says quickly, ‘they’re fine, really.’
‘No…too late now, God forbid we don’t look right,’ he tugs the sock off which gets launched at Cookey pissing himself against the kitchen side, ‘better?’ He asks with both naked feet shoved back in the deck shoes.
‘Right,’ I announce, ‘where were we?’
‘Paula has got me up to speed,’ Marcy replies.
‘Oh,’ I say and blink quickly, ‘right…so…’
‘Sorry,’ Paula says quickly, ‘did you want to tell her?’
‘No no, no it er…doesn't matter. As long as you’re up to speed on everything…I mean…so you know about the doctors?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great…and the er…the munitions factory?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, and er…did Paula mention anything about my er…’
‘Yes. She said you flipped out.’
‘Right, yes well I can see you’re fully briefed on the er…the current situation at er…at hand and….what the bloody hell are you lot looking at?’
‘Nothing, boss.’
‘Sorry, Mr Howie.’
‘So we’ve got to get Lani out?’ Marcy asks.
‘We?’ Clarence asks.
‘I say, I am sorry to interrupt the slightly awkward proceedings and the obvious piqued annoyance of Mr Howie but is this dog okay?’
‘She’s fine,’ Nick says.
‘She keeps staring at me.’
‘She’s probably hungry,’ Nick says.
‘Hungry?’
‘They’re teasing you,’ Marcy says, ‘just ignore her.’
‘Ignore her? Have you seen how big she is?’
‘I wasn’t annoyed,’ I say quickly to another awkward silence in the room, ‘fuck’s sake,’ I sigh, ‘right…anyway…Lani, yes we’ve got to get her out.’
‘Paula said you had a plan.’
‘Yes,’ I feel a sense of pleasure that at least Paula couldn’t tell her what the plan was, ‘er…’ I freeze and remember what the plan was which suddenly doesn't seem such a good plan.
‘Well, what is it?’ Paula asks.
‘Um…Dave said a distraction has to be both visual and audible but…if the visual is strong enough then it will work on its own.’
‘Okay,’ Marcy prompts me, ‘what is it?’
Hesitantly, and feeling like an idiot I outline the plan to a stunned silence and a smirk plastered across the face of Cookey who I knew would love it.
‘You are joking, right?’ Paula glares at me.
‘Um…not really?’
‘Great plan,’ Cookey nods admiringly.
‘Fucking awesome plan,’ Nick says.
‘Best one yet,’ Blowers says.
‘You are joking, right?’ Paula glares round the room, ‘Roy? Did you hear this?’
‘I did,’ he says from the back, ‘and er…yes, yes it sounds good.’
Seventeen
Voices of teenage boys drift on the warm thermals of air. Voices of boys in the full throws of puberty. Voices that are trying to sound deeper than they really are. The scratchy tones of inner city accents, clipped, curt and constantly bordering from passive aggressive to confrontational.
I glance and watch the others all staring through the bottom of the five bar gate and through gaps in the hedge. The beach is just across the road. Close enough for them to hear if one of us so much as farts or coughs.
Nick keeps Meredith close to him and she seems to sense there is action afoot as she stays quietly by his side but her ears are pricked and her eyes are constantly flicking side to side as the snatches of conversation come at us.
The idea suddenly seems full of folly. Ridiculous and doomed to fail. My initial instinct was strong but it’s waning fast and a part of me wants to rush back to stop them proceeding.
Too late and we all tense as the sound of laughter drifts over from the far side of the bay.
‘You hear that?’ A teenage voice asks the others and I watch as first one boy gets to his feet and stares about. He turns to look and scans the area within which we lie waiting but he completes the turn, ‘wassat?’ He takes a step away from the others at the next sound of laughing.
‘Dunno, someone pissin’ about innit,’ another boy says lumbering to his feet with the oversized weapon hanging from a strap across his back.
‘You look…so…so…silly!’ Paula’s voice, shrill and excited yet slurred, she bursts out laughing with a sound that has every youth on the beach getting to his feet, ‘it’s night time!’
‘I know,’ Marcy says back, slurred and full of righteous dignity, ‘but I wanna look good.’
‘For who?’ Paula laughs, ‘they’ve…’ she hiccups and they both laugh, ‘oops…I mean for who? No…no men now.’
It sounds too fake, too forced. Contrived and weird. Paula acting drunk and giggly, Marcy being drunk and mock serious. The lads on the beach glance at each other but remain silent as they bring weapons up and make ready. The crew chief, a bigger boy, waves his hand at them to stay still and quiet.
‘GONE!’ Marcy shouts so loud it makes everyone jump, not just me but the others with me and every lad on the beach too, ‘ALL GONE.’
‘Sssshhhhh,’ Paula giggles.
‘Don’t care,’ Marcy says petulantly, ‘fuck ‘em…’
‘You wish!’
They both cackle and I cringe at the awful noise. I cast a glance at Clarence who shakes his head in resignation. It won’t work.
‘Too much,’ he whispers softly, ‘they’ll never buy it.’
I shrug and tense my body, ready to leap up.
‘Nice idea,’ Roy says from the other side.
Fuck it. Stupid. Bloody stupid and I’ve ruined any element of surprise.
‘Call it off,’ Clarence urges.
‘No.’
We all twist to stare at Dave who doesn't turn or take his eyes from the lads on the beach, ‘wait.’
Dave is without doubt, the most amazing human being I have ever met. But to rely on his inability to hear a contrived and obviously forced pretend drunken play act is too great a risk.
I go to speak as everyone makes ready to lift and run forward but he simply holds one hand up and looks down the line at me, ‘wait,’ he says, ‘wait for the visual.’
Jaws clenched, eyes wide and hearts hammering we force ourselves to hold position despite every instinct urging us to react.
The drunken laughter gets closer. Slurred female voices and suddenly the visual element of the surprise comes into view. Executed to perfection and a perfect spot chosen as they both stumble into a patch of beach bathed in the bright light of the moon.
‘Holy fuck,’ someone says. I don’t know who. It might have been me. The sight renders my ability to focus on anything else completely redundant.
Paula and Marcy. Both of them holding a wine bottle that they keep lifting to their mouths. Both of them dressed in skin tight flimsy dresses. Hair immaculate. Make up perfect. Toned, fresh. Heaving cleavages, legs and thighs that seem to go on for ever and ever. Clearly drunk as they stagger and collide into each other. Giggling, stopping to swig, laughing and spraying the wine out when they do.
Not girls but women. Real women with figures to make a sculptor weep. Marcy in apt black and Paula in white. The contrast between them is incredible and with the moonlight just so and the setting of the beach just so they capture every eye and hold every head transfixed.
‘Where is it?’ Marcy spins round dramatically.
‘What?’ Paula slurs.
‘Fort…the bloody fort,’ Marcy turns round in a slow circle, ‘this famous fort full of men…where…I mean…can’t see it…oops,’ she crashes into Paula and they go down in a heap of bare legs and tight dresses.
We crane our heads up, completely disregarding the lads on the beach but desperate to see the two women sprawling out.
Cackling, laughing and giggling they paw and shove playfully at each other and end up both crashing backwards with legs in the air.
‘Ah…comfy,’ Paula says as she wriggles into the soft sand.
‘Come on,’ Marcy gets onto her hands and knees and grabs the neck of the wine bottle, ‘get up,’ she crawls towards Paula knowing full well her cleavage is presented perfectly to the crew staring with open mouths, ‘come on you…’ she tugs playfully at Paula’s arm, ‘gotta get up…fort the find…I mean…’
‘Fort the find?’ Paula bursts out laughing, ‘you’re soooo drunk.’
‘So are you.’
‘Am not.’
‘Are so.’
‘Did you call me an arsehole?’
‘What? I said are so…get up.’
‘Staying here,’ Paula sighs, ‘it’s soft and warm.’ She pulls Marcy down with another giggle as Marcy sprawls out in a tangle of limbs.
‘S’warm,’ Marcy shuffles over until her head rests on Paula’s chest, ‘men are right.’
‘About what?’
‘Boobs,’ Marcy sighs, ‘they are like cushions,’ she wriggles her head into Paula’s chest, ‘I’m so drunk!’
‘Me too,’ Paula giggles again, ‘I…I don’t think the fort place is here…’
‘No,’ Marcy sighs drunkenly, ‘I might sleep now.’
‘No no no,’ Paula bucks her off, ‘I’m staying here to get eaten.’
‘You wish,’ Marcy laughs and flops over before starting to clamber unsteadily to her feet, ‘oh shit,’ she says as her sunglasses drop onto the sand, ‘my glasses.’
‘Daft cow,’ Paula reels back as she gets to her feet, ‘it’s night…’
‘They’re Prada!’ Marcy wails, plucking them off the sand she makes a meal of getting them back onto her face.
Paula turns and goes to move off then stops and sways on the spot. She blinks and shakes her head before staring again in a perfect act of trying to focus.
‘Here,’ she says suspiciously.
‘What?’ Marcy gets to her feet and starts tugging her dress as though to get it back in order.
‘Look,’ Paula says dreamily, ‘s’men…’
‘S’what?’
‘S’men.’<
br />
‘S’what’s men?’
‘Here.’
Marcy frowns, tugging her dress down too much as her cleavage threatens to spill out. She looks up and over at the crew, ‘oh…’
‘S’men.’
‘Is,’ Marcy sways, ‘men.’
‘Are you men?’ Paula asks with a swaying arm pointing at the crew, ‘are they men?’ She looks over at Marcy.
‘What the fuck?’ The crew chief says dumbly.
‘Oh…my…god…’ Marcy claps her hands excitedly.
‘Hello,’ Paula makes an effort to stand up straight and walks falteringly towards the crew chief, ‘hello man? I’m woman…’
Marcy bursts out laughing and staggers forward, ‘you can’t say that!’
‘Sorry,’ Paula slurs, ‘we had…we had a glass of wine.’
‘Ooh,’ Marcy sashays past the chief staring at Paula and heads deeper into the gaggle of youths, ‘you’ve all got such big guns….’ Hips swinging and cleavage bulging.
‘We,’ Paula tries to say politely, ‘are trying to find the fort. May you know where this place may be young Sir? Do you? Do you know?’
‘S’here, innit,’ the older lad stammers.
‘But where?’ Paula exclaims, ‘where is this fort?’
‘Oh…like…over there, gotta get a boat, you get me?’
‘I’d like to get you,’ Paula giggles, ‘is there a fee for crossing?’
‘Fee?’
‘Do you…say…need payment to get over there?’
‘I know’ Marcy says quickly, ‘we can swim there.’
‘Swim?’ Paula goes to walk past the lad but bumps into him slowly, ‘oh I’m so sorry,’ she beams, ‘oh you’re big,’ she blinks and stays close for a second.
‘I know,’ Marcy repeats, ‘we can swim there.’
‘You just said that,’ Paula turns and heads down the beach towards Marcy.
‘Did I?’ Marcy frowns and locks eyes on a young lad, ‘did I really?’
The lad nods quickly and goes to say something high pitched and inaudible, he clears his throat as Marcy reaches out to stroke his face, ‘you’re a cutie.’
‘Can’t,’ Paula announces, ‘got no swim suit.’
‘Pah!’ Marcy says, ‘don’t need our costumes…is the water warm?’ She asks the boy closest to her.