Punk and Skinhead Novels Box Set

by Marcus Blakeston

  “Oh. Well keep the noise down, there are other guests you know. This is a respectable establishment.”

  “Yeah, yeah, will do. I was just going to sleep when you knocked anyway.”

  “And tidy this room up before you come down for breakfast, it looks like a bomb hit it.”

  The door slammed shut and Don sighed. “Fucking hell,” he whispered.

  Trog peeled back the bed covers and sat up, just in time to see Don pull something off his head and hide it behind his back. Trog motioned for Mandy and the others to come out from under the bed, and Annie opened the wardrobe door and climbed out.

  Don held one finger over his mouth, his other hand still held behind his back, and turned toward the door. Trog got a glimpse of something brown and furry in Don’s hand before it spun around to the front, out of sight again. Don placed his ear against the door.

  Mandy sat down on the edge of the bed. It creaked loudly beneath her. They all looked at Don, until they heard footsteps leading away from the door and clomping back down the stairs.

  Don relaxed and sighed. He edged toward a dressing table in the corner of the room and slid out a drawer. He was about to put something in the drawer when Trog ran up behind him and snatched it out of his hands.

  “What the fuck’s this?” Trog said, holding it out at arm’s length between two fingers, as if it was something disgusting or contagious that he didn’t want to touch.

  The others laughed when they saw the hairpiece, a mass of brown curls that wouldn’t look out of place perched on top of a young Shirley Temple’s head.

  Don snatched it back and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Yeah yeah, big fucking joke. Now shut the fuck up before that old biddy comes back.”

  “Stick it on then,” Trog said, grinning.

  “No fucking chance.”

  “Aw, go on,” Annie said.

  “Yeah, go on, Don,” Mandy said. “I bet it makes you look really cute.” Trog saw her wind on her camera’s film behind her back and flick the switch to turn the inbuilt flash on.

  Don hesitated, staring at their eager faces as they egged him on. He sighed, and pulled the wig from his back pocket. He perched it on his head at an angle and spun it around until it faced the right way. Before he knew what was happening, Mandy had the camera held out in front of her and clicked the button. The camera flashed, freezing Don’s horrified expression.

  “Too fucking late,” she laughed when Don ripped the wig from his head and threw it on the floor.

  Trog picked it up and wiggled his fingers inside it, making it appear alive, then threw it onto the ground with a cry of mock fear before stamping on it with his boot.

  “Oi you cunt,” Don cried, bending down to pick it up. “That cost me three fucking quid. You’ve got it all dirty now.”

  “Shhhhh,” Mandy hissed loudly, holding a finger over her mouth.

  “Fuck off,” Don said, throwing the wig at her. He reached out to a giggling Annie and pulled her toward the bed.

  “Off!” he said, jerking his thumb at Mandy. She stood up, looking around the sparse room. Apart from the bed and the dressing table there was only the armchair, and Stew had already claimed that, pulling Shaz onto his knee.

  “Where are we supposed to sleep?” Mandy asked.

  “Don’t care,” Don replied. He picked up the bed covers and spread them over himself and Annie. “My room, my bed.”

  “The floor’ll be fine,” Trog said. “I’m not that tired anyway.”

  8

  Trog was startled awake by the sound of someone banging on a metal gong downstairs, punctuated by a screeching voice announcing “Breakfast!” Mandy was curled up next to him with her head resting on his chest. She murmured in her sleep when Trog jumped at the sudden noise, but she didn’t wake. He stroked the stubble on the side of her head and she murmured again.

  “Mmmmmm. You’re up early,” she said, yawning.

  “What time is it?” Trog asked.

  Mandy glanced at her watch. “Just gone seven.”

  She sat up and stretched her arms out behind her. Trog stared at her naked breasts, grinning. She held the pose longer than she really needed to, and smiled down at him. Trog noticed his own chest was wet, where Mandy had drooled on him in her sleep, and he wiped it away with his hand.

  “Breakfast!” came the yell from downstairs again, followed by more frantic banging on the gong.

  Trog laughed. “Fucking hell, how can those cunts sleep through all this noise?”

  He sat up, stretched, and looked over at the bed where Don and Annie were both snoring away. Stew and Shaz were still entwined horizontally across the arms of the chair at what looked like an uncomfortable angle.

  Mandy started to get dressed, and Trog felt a mild pang of sorrow to see her covering herself up so soon. He had been hoping for a quick shag before the others woke up.

  He stood up, stretched again, and bent down to pick up his clothes. Struggling into them, he turned to Mandy, who was sitting on the edge of the bed lacing up her Doc Martens.

  “We’d best wake Don up before that old bag comes looking for him,” Trog said.

  Mandy stood up and smiled. “Put your boots on, we’ll do it together.”

  Trog grinned back. He slid his feet into his boots and walked toward her. “What have you got in mind?”

  Mandy took his hand and climbed onto the bed. She stepped daintily over Don’s snoring body and pulled Trog up after her. They stood in the gap between Don and Annie and started to jump, gently at first, then built up momentum until the entire bed was bouncing up and down with them, the springs groaning their complaint and the headboard banging against the wall.

  “Fuck off,” Annie mumbled. She shuffled herself to the very edge of the bed to escape the worst of the turbulence. Another bounce made her fall out of bed with a thump. She rubbed her head, then curled up on the floor and went back to sleep.

  Don moaned and rolled over in his sleep. His arm flailed across the bed, his fingers grasping at the undulating covers as Trog’s boots rose into the air once again to come crashing down on the back of his hand. He screamed and sat up with a start, looking around him in confusion.

  “You fucking cunts,” he yelled when he saw Trog and Mandy grinning down at him.

  “Your breakfast’s ready,” Trog said. “She’s been banging on a gong for fucking ages, I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”

  “Yeah well,” Don said. He swung his feet out of bed and reached for a pack of cigarettes. “Didn’t get much sleep last night did I?” Trog and Mandy started jumping again. Don looked around. “Where’s the bird?”

  “Down there,” Mandy pointed. “She’s gone back to sleep.”

  “I don’t fucking blame her,” Don said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and lit up a cigarette. He took a deep drag and sighed as he exhaled. “What the fuck time is it anyway?”

  “Quarter past seven.”

  “Fucking hell, who has breakfast that early?”

  Trog laughed. “Mate, I’m usually down the pit by six when I’m on days. Breakfast for me is at five. I’ve probably done half a day’s work and had me dinner before you get out of bed.”

  Don shrugged and looked around for his clothes. “Yeah well, you get paid fucking shed-loads for doing it though. All I get is dole money. Anyway, we’re on fucking holiday.”

  “You still need to go down for breakfast though. She’ll be up here looking for you if you don’t.”

  “Nah, fuck that. It’s too early for eating. Anyway, she’ll be wanting paying after breakfast and I’m fucking skint. Me giro doesn’t come until Monday and I spent most of me money on the train fare down here and that fucking wig.”

  Mandy laughed. “What, you’re doing a runner?”

  Don grinned around his cigarette as he pulled up his jeans and snapped his braces into place. “Got no fucking choice have I?”

  “We could all club together?” Mandy said, looking at Trog.

  Trog shook his head. �
��Nah, she had her chance to get money from me. Fuck her, I say we all leg it.”

  After they woke Stew and Shaz by tipping over the armchair they were sleeping on, Don slid open the window and looked out.

  “I reckon we can get out here okay,” he said.

  Trog squeezed in beside him and looked for himself. There was an old, corroded metal drainpipe running down the wall, and the unforgiving-looking concrete below looked impossibly far away.

  “No chance,” Trog declared. “You’d break your fucking neck if you jumped down there.”

  Don pointed to the corrugated metal roof of the extension. “Not if we got onto that first. I reckon if we hold onto the drainpipe we can make it across that ledge easy.”

  Trog shrugged. “Why make it harder than it needs to be? Just go downstairs and walk out the fucking door. It’s not as if anyone could stop us, especially that old biddy.”

  “Mate, where’s your sense of adventure? Anyway, if we get out without being seen she won’t be phoning the coppers just yet, will she? We’d be long gone before she even fucking noticed we were missing.”

  Trog nodded. “Yeah, I guess. What do you reckon, Mandy? You think you could make it onto that roof okay?” He stepped away from the window to make room for Mandy.

  Mandy looked out, taking in the condition of the drainpipe and the width of the ledge Don was proposing they walk across. It only jutted out a few inches from the wall, barely wide enough to fit your toes onto, and the drainpipe in the middle was the only handhold they would have the entire way.

  “I don’t know, maybe,” she said.

  “Right well that’s sorted then,” Don said, stepping out onto the narrow ledge. He held onto the edge of the window frame and stood upright, flattening himself against the wall. “Wish me luck.”

  Trog joined Mandy at the window and watched as Don reached out for the drainpipe with his right hand. He shuffled his toes along the ledge until he could clasp it firmly, then paused. One hand on the drainpipe, the other on the window ledge, he looked down, then closed his eyes and swore under his breath.

  “Go on Don, you can do it,” Trog said.

  Don opened his eyes and shuffled his feet closer to the drainpipe. He let go of the window ledge and inched closer until he could grip the drainpipe with both hands. He swung his right leg around the drainpipe and found his footing, then slowly inched his way across the ledge until he reached the opposite side. He continued at the same steady pace, clinging onto the drainpipe with his left hand. He looked down again and paused. There was still another two feet to go, and he would need to let go of the drainpipe to cover that distance because there were no other handholds available to him.

  Mandy covered her eyes with her hand. “I can’t watch this,” she said, and turned away.

  Don inched his right foot along the ledge, crouching down. He turned his boot sideways and swung himself forward, letting go of the drainpipe at the same time. He yelled out and jumped, both hands outstretched before him. His boots hit the corrugated roof with a loud clang and he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, crying out in pain. He righted himself, then turned to Trog.

  “Piece of fucking piss. You coming or what?”

  As Don clumped across the metal roofing, a door opened below the window.

  “What’s going on out there?” a woman yelled, running out into the yard. It was the owner of the bed and breakfast, holding a frying pan in her hand.

  Don jumped down from the roof and ran to the gate. He threw back the bolt as the woman ran at him screaming abuse. She raised the frying pan above her head and swiped at him, but Don was through the gate long before she could hit him.

  “Oi, come back here,” she yelled, running through the gate after him.

  Trog laughed. “Fucking hell, I hope Don’s got his running shoes on, that old bag means fucking business.”

  “Come on,” Mandy said. She headed to the bedroom door and unlocked it. “Now’s our chance to get out through the front door.”

  Stew and Shaz bolted through the door and down the stairs, closely followed by Annie. Mandy stood in the doorway, waiting for Trog.

  Trog shook his head and grinned at her. “This is fucking mental.”

  By the time they made their way down the stairs and out through the front door, Stew, Annie and Shaz were long gone so Trog and Mandy headed back to the alleyway running behind the guest houses in search of Don. Trog was half expecting to find Don being pummelled by the old woman with the frying pan, but there was no sign of either of them.

  “What do you fancy for breakfast?” Trog asked.

  “Not fussed really,” Mandy said with a shrug. “I could do with a change of clothes and a wash though. I must fucking reek.”

  “Nah, do you fuck,” Trog said, smiling. He pinned her against the wall and kissed her.

  9

  After a fry-up breakfast in a nearby café, Trog and Mandy walked along the sea front road, hand in hand, heading for the train station. While not as heavy as the previous night, there was still a visibly increased police presence within the town. Beat coppers walked in pairs up and down the main road, while police vans containing growling dogs and their scowling handlers were placed at strategic points along the sea front. A large prisoner transport van was parked outside the pier, its bored-looking driver ready to spring into action wherever needed.

  Trog and Mandy ignored the glares of contempt aimed at them from within the police van as they passed it by. They were lost within their own thoughts, cocooned within their own little world where nothing else really mattered.

  “You love it here, don’t you?” Trog said when Mandy stopped by the seafront to watch the waves crashing onto the beach. They left behind a scummy grey detergent-filled residue on the sand.

  “Yeah. I used to come here all the time when I was a kid, we had a little caravan.” She turned her head and smiled at Trog as he leaned over the railings and spat onto the beach below. “I’d wake up one day and Mum would be making sandwiches in the kitchen while Dad was outside hooking up the caravan to his car. They’d never tell me we were going until the day we went, they always left it as a surprise.” She sighed, and looked down at her boots for a few seconds before continuing. “It was the main thing I missed after Dad died. We never came here again after that.”

  “How come?”

  “Dunno. Couldn’t afford it, I guess. Mum sold the caravan first, then the car a few months later. Said we didn’t need them any more. After that she started drinking a lot, and didn’t go out much. Then I think she must have fallen behind with the rent or something because we moved into this really grotty flat on the other side of town. She’s been there ever since.”

  “Sounds like you had it fucking rough,” Trog said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  Mandy shrugged and turned to face him. “Yeah well, you can’t change the past. Anyway if we hadn’t moved there I wouldn’t have met the other skins and we wouldn’t be here now. I’d have probably ended up being a bank clerk like my Dad.”

  Trog laughed. “A bank clerk? Fucking hell, you had a narrow escape there.”

  Mandy smiled and punched him on the arm. “Oi, there’s nothing wrong with being a fucking bank clerk. I bet I would’ve been good at it too.”

  “If you say so,” Trog said, grinning. He darted back to avoid another swipe from Mandy’s fist.

  A police car drove by slowly. Its passenger-side window wound down, and an officer glared out at Trog. Trog locked eyes with the policeman and stared back until the car passed him by.

  “Are we going?” he asked Mandy, watching the police car pull into a side road.

  At the train station, Trog opened the luggage locker and handed Mandy the suitcase. She took it into the ladies’ toilet and emerged twenty minutes later wearing a new outfit.

  “What do you think?” she asked, spinning slowly before him.

  Trog was pleased to see she was back in a short denim skirt, and even more pleased by the green fishnet stoc
kings that sprouted from it. But all he could think of to say was “Yeah.”

  Mandy handed him the suitcase. “I put your stuff on top if you want to get changed?”

  Trog took the suitcase and smiled at her. “Are you coming in to help me?”

  Mandy laughed and shook her head. “I’m sure you’ll manage on your own.”

  “Spoilsport,” Trog said. He took the suitcase into the gents’ toilet and stripped down to the waist before a cracked mirror. He washed himself down with freezing cold water, wondering if Mandy had done the same thing. He imagined her standing there covered in goosebumps and wished he had thought of going in there and warming her up.

  He splashed water onto his face and shivered, shaking his head like a dog, then looked around for something to dry himself with. The paper towel dispenser was empty, and when he checked the toilet cubicles he found no toilet rolls either. With a frown, he rubbed himself down with the shirt he had been wearing and put on a clean one. He changed his pants in one of the cubicles, pulled his jeans and boots back on, and rejoined Mandy outside.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked. He put the suitcase back in the luggage locker and slammed the door.

  “Go on the beach? But don’t get me wet this time, I haven’t got anything else to change into.”

  * * *

  Sitting on the beach, Mandy sifted sand through her fingers while Trog read his book. Nearby, a group of skinheads were playing cricket with a tennis ball and a piece of driftwood, using an empty cigarette packet perched on top of a pile of sand for stumps. Mandy watched them, idly.

  As the morning progressed, they heard the heavy growl of motorcycles riding up and down the road above. Trog’s stomach started to rumble in sympathy with the bikes, and he put down the book.

  “I’m fucking starving, let’s go get some chips.”

  Mandy nodded and rose to her feet. “Yeah, okay.” She held out her hand to Trog and pulled him up.

  When they climbed up the stone steps back to road level they saw the motorcycles. They were huge, with extended front forks making them look even bigger. Their leather-clad riders were all in their thirties or early-forties, and sat at what looked to Trog like an extremely uncomfortable angle with their arms and legs stretched out at ninety degrees to their bodies. They tore up and down the road, some pulling wheelies to shouts of encouragement from other bikers standing by the roadside clutching bottles of beer.