Jamie and Mike and I agree on this, in fewer words than I’ve used here, before we get to Ash’s. We’re all in a shit mood now, so, and against my better judgment, we smoke up before Rainbow and the others arrive. The last thing I want is to be on edge all evening and a prick to Rainbow, who, we decided the other day, is now my official girlfriend. Woohoo!
She arrives and the evening gets much better. We cuddle and chat to Ash and the others, who now actually like Rainbow, though not enough to stop propositioning me, and then we put on The Enemy and dance about singing, and we dream and talk together about Rainbow selling her art, and me being a politician, or maybe working for a JFK-esque president on the campaign trail. It’s about midnight and precisely at the moment when Jamie whips his cock out for no reason but to show off, and Ash is pulling a pair of scissors out a pencil case and winking at him, and the room is singing in chorus, when a giant box of laced baked goods (chocolate no less), having been covertly passed around the room, lands on my lap. They look too good to resist, and like a fat kid after a cupcake, my beady little eyes are fixed on a fix. I’m just coughing up cash for a few, however, when Rainbow puts her lips to my ear and says: “I think I have to go.”
“Really? Are you okay?” I light a fag while Danny, of Danny and Dildo fame, bags up three for me.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says unconvincingly.
I put my arm around her and kiss her head, worried about her but still smug with my couple status. It’s a novelty to actually take care of someone, and for the things you do to be really relevant to how happy they are. I’m glad to be able to make Rainbow feel good. Ha, thinks my stoned and tiny brain, I’m closer to Rainbow than anyone here . . . so fuck all you cunts. “You sure you’re okay, darlin’?”
“I’m just tired, I’m gonna go.” She pulls away from me and stands up and I follow suit.
“It’s cool.” I blow smoke out the side of my mouth, knowing she doesn’t like it. “I’ll walk you home. Have you ever tried these? They’re not too powerful or anything. It’s not like a joint, it’s just a little high. We can eat them on the way.”
Rainbow picks up her coat and, without looking at me, says, “I’m not hungry.”
I laugh. “That’s not really the point.”
She turns to me as if about to say something again, then shakes her head and looks down at my hand. My fingernails are yellow and grubby, my fingers clumsy and misshapen. She strokes them with her own long, elegant hands. “Stay, it’s fine. I’m not in the mood.”
“Have you never had space cakes before? They’re not dangerous, they just make everything funnier.”
She shrugs and looks away. She seems about to say something but she stops, or maybe I interrupt her, perhaps with a little fear about what might come out of her mouth. Coward. “All right.” I cuddle her and kiss her hair. “We don’t have to, babe. Come on, let’s go.”
She smiles and hugs me. “Thanks. I just don’t like the idea of it, that’s all.”
I get my college backpack and wait for her to go to Ashley’s skanky toilet. I look across at Danny, who stands poised, subtly waving my prepacked bag in his hand. He’s done this before. He winks at me covertly, conspiratorially, and I shake my head, pause and then stride quickly over to him, grin widely and open my backpack. He throws two fluffy little chocolate cakes with Barbie icing inside.
“Something for the road, mate.” He claps me on the shoulder.
I zip the bag up and hand over what’s left of my cash. I suddenly realize what I’m doing, what the deception could cost me. So far our relationship has been so innocent, and I’ve never lied to Rainbow, I think, guiltily. But then I think of all the crap that blows through here, like Gav’s face and knifings and suicides and Jamie, Mike and me getting jumped that summer when we were kids and I know that life isn’t like that. Life isn’t innocent and me doing two fluffy little cakes won’t change shit about it. But it might make me feel better, for the moment at least. So I shrug, feeling myself becoming my cold, stoned alter ego, and thinking, Fuck it, I’ve done them before. And I’m drunk. I turn to see her coming out of the bathroom. She smiles at me and takes my hand. My brain rattles around like a pinball, coming to the decisive point, that she doesn’t know and won’t, and if she finds out, she’ll just have to love me for who, or what, I am. I smile back, kiss her lips, and lead her out of the party and into the night.
I occasionally wonder about these little deceptions, which I’ve had to do before with Mam and Tommo, usually when I’m too stoned and dreamy to think straight, or muster up much of a conscience. They often seem the most regrettable part of being a little bit of a stoner, but sometimes I think it’s all to do with your point of view. In the end, Rainbow just doesn’t come from the same place as I do. She doesn’t have a handle on things, she wouldn’t know when to stop, so of course she has a right to be scared. She just doesn’t get it, and wouldn’t, so there’s no point in arguing. Eventually I’ll want to get off everything, but right now there’s not much else to do of a weekend. Ways can be changed later, I think. It won’t hurt tonight.
CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE DICKHEAD
The next morning I wake up, now sober, and racked with Irish Catholic guilt (and the closest I’ve ever been to Irish Catholicism before I was wanking at B*Witched). Rainbow is sleeping beside me, curled in a tight ball and tucked into my right armpit. I’m facing her, feeling like the lowest shit on earth. I ate the cakes last night around four a.m. when she went to pee, and lay spacing out, staring at the ceiling, feeling warm and good while she slept. That was after I went down on her. Again. My tongue and face in her hot, wet little pussy and Rainbow, legs apart, sat over me, her beautiful tits outlined in the glow from the streetlights . . . Ohhh god . . .
A big grin stretches my face, my dick takes over control of my body from my brain and I instinctively reach down my tummy to stroke it . . . Wait . . . I drop my dick . . . Back to the subject . . . Guilt.
I’m feeling ashamed, scummy and worried. Ashamed that I lied, ashamed that I kept it from her, ashamed I’m such a coward. Scummy because I stuffed them in my face like a binge-eating fat chick, scummy because I couldn’t go for one night without getting stoned, scummy because I went behind my girlfriend’s back. Worried ’cause I don’t know what she’ll say when I tell her, worried I really am that scummy, worried that I’ll wake her up with my dick, which is now at least a semi and is growing by the second as I think of the night before. I look down at it, poking her thigh, angry and petulant like a demanding fucking child. I glare at it.
“Fuck off!”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing, not you, angel.” I arch my hips back so she doesn’t think I’ve woken her up just to have sex. “Go back to sleep.”
She murmurs a small, sexy groan and nuzzles herself tighter into my chest. I have never felt more protective or caring of another human being than the times when Rainbow is sleeping beside me and I wonder how I could do what I did last night to someone I care about. I wonder what that says about me as a person. I close my eyes tightly, wrap my arms around her and touch her forehead softly with my nose. She feels like heaven. The word that comes to mind and seems to define exactly what she means to me is “precious.” I want to hold her like St. fucking Christopher and carry her across the river. I want to walk beside her like Jesus and those footprints in the sand and watch her do all the amazing things I know she’s going to do. The only connection I’ve ever felt to a higher state of being is Rainbow. Fuck drugs. Fuck religion. Religion is a drug! I start back on my rant. It’s worse than any of the ones we down on a Friday night too—religion even claims your fucking afterlife! Yeah! Girl Power! Etc. Again. Sleepy thoughts drift in no logical order through my head. My next one is: Look at her pretty ears. They’re so tiny and pointy and sweet . . . she’s like a pixie.
“Flick?”
“Yeah, babe?” Babe. Why do I always sound so gay?
“You’re hard.”
There’s a short p
ause while I um and ah over what to say.
“. . . Yeah.” Another pause. “I’m sorry, I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
She laughs and I take it to mean look-at-this-kid-he-can’t-even-control-himself, which clearly makes me even more nervous.
“Sorry. I get, y’know, hard, most mornings.”
“I know, I’m sure you do, Flick.” She pokes her little pink tongue out at me from between perfect pursed lips. She’s lying with her right arm hooked back over her head, showing a bare white strip of armpit, with tiny dots of dark stubble just scattering the glowing surface. I imagine licking it, and am inescapably overwhelmed with the sheer porn of the thought. I look slightly to the left of it and feel my eyes moisten and blur.
“What d’you usually do about it?”
I look back at her, uncertainly. Now, you have to be careful sometimes because girls ask you things not because they don’t know the answer, but because they think they do and they’re checking for confirmation of what a dickhead you are. I should know because, being the emotionally intelligent Homo sapiens (apparently the singular form still comes with “s” attached) that I am, I do it to Jamie and Mike all the time. Women and I should really learn to use their/our powers for good. Anyway. I’m back in the room.
“Erm . . . ,” I eloquently banter. My eyes search from left to right for an answer. Armpit—breast—armpit—breast.
“Honestly, Flick.”
I jump in immediately with a giant expulsion of breath. “Okay, I wank.” The three words seem to go down in pitch, like notes in a scale, and my eyes correspondingly lower until I’m staring, unfortunately, at her crotch. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” She sounds like she’s smiling . . . I look up . . . yep, she’s smiling. “So how do you do that?”
I swallow. “Pardon?” Keep your cool, Flick.
“ ’Cause I do it . . . like this.” She sucks one delicate finger and trails it down her tummy. Rainbow looks up at me with those whirlpool-blue eyes that would drown any man or woman who looked into them and grins at me sexily. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. “See?”
“Erm . . . Not quite. I think I might need to catch that again.”
She giggles and we lick each other’s faces and throw off the covers. Ha! My girlfriend’s so cool.
An hour later we’re spooning and I’ve completely forgotten about the space cakes, when she says, “Flick . . . did you take those little brownie things last night?”
I could avoid the question. I could lie. I could tell her yes and act like I thought she wouldn’t mind. But for some reason I can’t do that to Rainbow. I want us to be pure and honest and I want to stop lying and feeling so shit and it might be the absolute worst thing to say but now I’ve left a minute-long pause there’s nothing else I could say anyway. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.”
There’s a really long silence. I can feel sick rising like panic in my throat. Really chunky sick.
“Don’t lie to me again, okay?” Her voice is really quiet, soft and sincere, spoken into the bare mattress, the sheets tangled around us.
“Okay, I promise,” I mumble through the metaphorical sick. Another minute passes. “Rainbow?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry.”
She turns round to face me and puts her arms around my head, which I bury into her chest. I can’t look her in the eye and I don’t want her to see me silently, motionlessly choking with salty cheeks. Bit of an overreaction maybe, but that’s the thing about Rainbow. She believes me when I say I’ll be honest, that I’ll take care of her, that I’ll do my best to be there on time, or find her that movie she’ll like or remember to text her. And I know, though I am a dickhead at times, I know I’ve let down the one person who doesn’t expect it of me. And I really am sorry.
“I know, baby,” she whispers into my hair as I wet her breasts. “I know.”
PART III
* * *
COCKSNOZZ
The next week the shit hits the fan. It is mid-May, just coming up to the first exams, and in typical Clyde County style, or perhaps just according to Sod’s Law, the shit hits the fan hard. The rumors have been circulating about what happened to Gav and now we’ve heard they can’t pin any dealing charges on him but he’s got community service for possession and the police have Fez under surveillance, quite possibly because Gav traded information for freedom. Which means that Gav’s friends are now Fez’s enemies. Fez can’t deal himself and when we get word of a “shipment” passing through Langrick it puts the fear in all of us, and “security” amongst our ranks tightens up (meaning we never go anywhere alone, and hang out in larger groups). So I should have been with someone, had a friend meet me, to walk back through the estates of Osford after spending the night with Rainbow. I should have thought about it and not been cocky and careless. I should have also predicted that the amazing lifesaving force that was Rainbow would need an equal and opposing force to counter it (particularly since I’m supposed to be taking a GCSE in physics), but I did not. I failed to see that my girl and my happiness were, in fact, the calm before the storm. A storm delivered with a certain amount of dark glee, by Fez.
I’m walking away from Rainbow’s place along the ocean road when I feel a heavy arm on my back.
“Hello, Flicker.” Fez. Twatted, comme d’habitude. That’s right, I’m taking French.
“Hey, Fezzer,” I say, unimpressed but cautious. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. I fucked your sister.” This might even be true but I roll my eyes, knowing he’s trying to wind me up, to scare me. If we were five he would be using the BOO tactic.
“Yeah?”
“Proper hard in the ass.”
“Oh right.” I nod casually, looking out to sea.
“Yeah, she sucked my dick after and I came all down her face, dirty bitch.”
This is typical Fez talk. He thinks he’s hard but he’s actually just a big twat. What his claim vaguely translates to is, “I’m not getting any and I want to fantasize about someone who looks like you but I’m frightened of admitting I’m gay.” That’s my theory anyway.
“That’s nice, Fez.”
“Yeah, it was.” He drapes his arm over my shoulders. “So what’s happening with you these days?”
“Um, actually I—”
“Yeah, I don’t really give a shit.”
“Okay.” I shut up and we walk in silence until it begins to irritate me, testing my semi-faux nonchalance. “What d’you want then?”
“I need you to pick something up for me.”
I hesitate. “What?” Fez smiles gently at me. I knew it might come to this. But I didn’t think it would be me, I thought it would be someone like Danny or Dildo. We were all on the lookout. We all knew Fez was being “careful,” which just means he gets other people to do his dirty work. Fuck.
“A little package, that’s all.”
I screw up my face and shake my head with disgust. “No way, Fez!”
“What?” Fez turns and stops me walking, his hand gripping my shoulder hard. He leans in and lowers his voice, speaking softly into my ear. “It’s just a nice little one, a nice little earner, to keep old Fez going through the summer, pay back the debt that Gav owes, the stupid fucker. You’re his mate, Flick, don’t you wanna smooth over old wounds, make everything better for Gav, make things a bit better for yourself even? There’s a fuckload of money in my job, mate. I’ve seen you. You’ve got balls, you’re built, you’re smart, and you fucking use enough. If you work for me, and you need a fix, you want something, you could come to me. Everyone else who could do this for me is being watched over by the police so I need a new face. I think you’ve got what it takes. Just one package. It’s going for cheap and I want to be the one to make some cash off it. You get a dealer, who I’ll approve, to pick it up, then you get it off him quickly, you split it up and you sell it on, when I call an’ tell you the coast’s clear, no one’s watchin’ and the timing’s right, okay? It’s a nice little
earner. Plenty of the white stuff, and maybe a little methcathinone.”
I look around to see if there’s anyone who can save me, then whisper in disbelief, as much to myself as to him, “Fuck me, Fez!”
His voice gets sharper. “Is there a problem, Flick?”
I shrug helplessly, hands tied. “I haven’t even fucking heard of it. You’re in deep, man.”
His hand moves up to my collar and grips the fabric. He pulls me close so I can smell the mix of kebab and pot on his breath and he spits at me. “You’ll do what I say, Flicker.”
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