Apples

by Milward, Richard

  ‘I dunno, a couple of days I suppose. I’ll be out in time for school, anyway.’

  ‘Aw, good. Bless you, chuck.’

  I swallowed more grapes and I felt happyish. My parents wouldn’t be keen on letting me out the house again, but I was starting not to give a shit about them. If I wasn’t getting beaten up outdoors I was only getting beaten up indoors, and I had to make my own mistakes not stay wrapped in cotton wool all my life. Plus they’d started my pocket money again, probably out of sympathy for being a total failure, so it wasn’t all bad.

  Me and Abi polished off the grapes, and she didn’t know how brilliant she was, taking me under her wing. I peeled back the covers, and I risked smiling even though it split my lips up. All of a sudden I didn’t have any stitches or cracked bones or dog muck for blood. The bed felt comfy and the mattress relaxed. Viva the señorita.

  Eve

  Get another one down your neck, Jenni said. She’d brought in loads of her sweeties from Christmas, and we sat scoffing them with the boys that breaktime. There was always that dull feeling being back at school after a good holiday, but it was great to see everyone again. Mam got me and my sisters a haircut at Toni+Guy for Christmas, and I came to school that day with gold blonde layers and super sculpting. I was straddling Matty Tyler and the bench, and I looked good. I wasn’t upset about Gary getting excluded – you hardly noticed as we all crowded in the circle shape. I took another piece of Dairy Milk and licked the heck out of it. I got laid a couple of times over Crimbo – me and Matty got busy on New Year’s Eve, but there’s always that slightly nervous feeling when you start doing it with someone new. I wasn’t sure if the butterflies were because I wanted to be with him, or because I didn’t want to be with him. I liked Rachel’s style – she still reckoned she wanted to be single, although she was quite wrapped up in Dan as we laid about the bench. Ever since the disco they’d been knocking around together loads, but the other night on the phone she said they were just mates. Perhaps they were just squeaking the bed. I played with my sharp fringe, wriggling on Matty’s knee – he was a great lad, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted the whole ordeal of dating and spending money and riding to Pallister Park every few days. All of that just for a boring Missionary. I told Debbie he was pretty uncreative in bed – I always liked him from English because he was the first lad to get stubble, but I figured I’d stop phoning him and get out of the relationship as quick as poss. It was hardly even a relationship – we wouldn’t talk much at school, and when he was round Matty only tended to say a few words before we got snogging and end up between the sheets. I wasn’t even paying much attention to him as the girls chattered round the circle.

  So when’s your mam and dad leaving again? Jenni went, looking Rachel’s way. Jenni was trying to lose weight for the new year – that’s why we had so many sweets that breaktime. She wasn’t really that chubby – I thought she’d be better offfixing those wonky boobs, personally. But we stuffed our faces no matter what.

  Dunno, about a month or two. Just before we go to Majorca, Rach replied, sucking and licking her way through a caramel finger and I laughed, thinking of Dan’s tail. For some reason me and Rachel could put anything in our mouths and not put on any weight.

  But you’re defo having a party, though? I asked, raising an eyebrow. Rachel nodded, and I watched her stroke Danny’s arm under the white shirt sleeve. I was happy for them. Rachel’s parents were going to Antigua for a fortnight in March, and it was always a good laugh taking a load of drink and whatnot into someone’s house and being wallys. The last time we’d done that was round Fairhurst’s though, back when he touched Rachel’s tit and got dumped. Boys were dafties.

  God, have you seen Adam! Matty said over my shoulder. The bell had gone for next lesson, and little Adam from Art came sauntering past with a huge red blotch where a fist had been. I hadn’t thought of him much since the disco, but I remember feeling awful when Gaz knocked him out. That night the MedusaHeads were insane, and as it was pills tended to blotch your memory up. A few people like Matty and Ste Barber and Jenni pointed and laughed, but I nearly welled up – us lot were sort of born on shooting stars and we didn’t even know it. Kids like Adam always tended to walk around with a sad face, like they hated the world and wanted to murder everyone. He wasn’t even that bad looks-wise, just a bit strange round the edges. I guessed I wouldn’t be seeing Matty again after all – as we walked separate ways to French and History, I realised he was shitty as everybody else. I liked Adam – we had a good time together on disco night. And lads were cunts – for example Claire Blame was huge now, there was only a couple of months left til the baby flew out and there was still no daddy. You can’t let boys take control of your life, but all the same you’ve got to have one. I almost chased after Adam as the corridor filled up, to say sorry about everything and for a few of us laughing. But he’d probably think I was taking the mick, and want to murder me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daddy’s Girl

  Eve

  I learnt a new word in French that day: l’hôpital. I’d hardly set foot in a hospital for ages, then all of a sudden Mam was getting chemotherapy and Claire was getting her baby pulled out. We went to visit them quite often – Claire wanted us to be there as soon as her waters broke. It was disgusting. Me and Jenni got a lift with Natasha, and you couldn’t look past the curtain when she was squeezing out the kid. I held Claire’s sweaty palm as she groaned and moaned – me and Jenni didn’t want to see her miaow all big and stretchy, and it totally put you off getting pregnant. The Baby Boy was beautiful though, and we helped Claire out with some homework while the baby hung in incubation. It was pretty obvious she’d be quitting school anyhow. Every three weeks we went with Mam for the chemo stuff – she said she didn’t want us nicking off lessons just to see her, but to be honest it was taking its toll on me going backwards and forwards to Brackenhoe to home to James Cook and back again. I was a dead girl walking. That evening I’d hardly stepped through the door when Laura and Natasha dragged me into the red Vauxhall, and we charged back towards Marton Road. Mam looked really gaunt in one of those greeny-white nighties, and her hair was fallen out and she was huffing and puffing. She reckoned she still felt the tumour, but I guessed the doctors knew what they were doing. They reckoned the chemotherapy was going quite positive. I didn’t cry when I saw her, but we were all shivery round the bed while she spluttered. We spent ages at l’hôpital feeling edgy. Some nights Mam was chirpy and some nights she was knackered – the night Claire went home with the baby was the night Mam could hardly speak, throwing up all the time and looking awful. Me and my sisters crept round the bed, watching her lay about like a shipwreck – eventually we had to leave her to it, and we walked back to the car park in complete silence. It was starting to dawn on us Mam might not live for ever. But we managed to look on the bright side, and Natasha drove us to KFC for a bucket full of spicy wings – we sucked it off our fingers while we shot towards South Bank. In a corny way Mam’s cancer made us think about our dad and what he was up to, and it really made you realise how precious your life is. I gazed out the window all the way there – Natasha was driving through the fog with her full-beams on, and it was the look of heaven outside. We liked the idea of surprising our dad, and he’d also want to know how Mam was doing. He wasn’t all cold-hearted although he was lazy (he wanted to collect the dole while Mam grafted at the Spacker School), and you’ve got to love your daddy. His new girlfriend had the look of Jo Guest but not half as sexy, and I think they copped off too soon after the divorce, though I wasn’t the suspicious type and I didn’t care what he did with his life. He had a Joint Claim now with the new bird.

  Do you think Dad’ll borrow me some money? I asked from the back of the Vauxhall. I crossed my legs in those tight school trousers, watching white chemical factories whizz past the window. I could hardly tell what was smoke and what was mist.

  For what? Natasha asked. She was ever so bossy now Mam was out of action and now she w
as married.

  Friday night, I said simply. I think Rach and Debbie and everyone’s going to Empire or somewhere.

  Natasha just shrugged and sighed, and I breathed breath on the glass. Laura shivered in her furry coat, just as we reached South Bank and the sign that said FROM HOPE TO REALITY. I didn’t get it – South Bank was still pretty scruffy. All the terraces looked like they were lined with sharks’ teeth, the jagged glass being there to keep out intruders and other unsavouries. We used to feel grown-up letting ourselves into our dad’s new pad at weekends – he always made pizza and chips for us and sometimes took us down Redcar for a play on the beach or a cassette out of Woolworth’s. We used to write our names big in the sand, stamping out the letters on tippy-toes. Such fun.

  The industry smell must’ve reminded her; Natasha pulled up on Costa Street then suddenly went, Shit, I’d better get petrol actually.

  Can I let myself in first? I went, leaning into the gap between sisters. Natasha nodded, then sped off into the night as I hopped onto the concrete. Costa Street was nasty – a lot of the houses were boarded up like in Beechwood, but at least we had a view over the playing field not an orangey scrapyard. Saying that, there were a few kids out playing and the streetglow was glinting on the rusty metal and I smiled to myself. The fog was clearing. I tried to quietly unlock Dad’s door – it’d been ages since he’d seen us and I liked that element of surprise. Even though I didn’t like her Liz was quite canny – she always forced us tea and stuff, but we were the classic stepdaughters and just grunted through any conversation. I stepped out of my school shoes in the hallway then snuck along in green SEXY BABE socks, following the sound of the telly. Spotting a twenty-pound note on the shelf, I smiled thinking Dad must be loaded although there was also a box of Benson and I thought he might’ve stopped smoking after Mam and everything. I curled my face and rehearsed what I’d say to him. I held my breath and I jumped, but I jumped into an empty living room. The television was talking to itself – often you had to do that to ward off burglars, but Dad hardly went out on weekdays and in any case I could hear a bit of mumbling upstairs. I wasn’t fussed about watching EastEnders so I snuck out the lounge again, going upstairs like a kitty on the prowl. That reminded me of the Medusa night – we still had to return those cat ears and tails, all stained with drink and kisses. At the top of the stairs the noises stopped. Their bedroom door was a bit ajar and I started pushing it open until I spotted them in the mirror shagging each other on the double bed. Liz was on top and her white tits shook while my dad tried to keep going underneath. He was blowing out air like a factory, his hairy legs dead tensed under Liz’s bum. It was the first time I’d seen them naked, and I didn’t stand there that long. Yuck! Feeling dizzy, I pushed my eyes shut then sneaked downstairs, absolutely plagued. I felt ill perching on the bottom step, as if my dad was cheating on Mam while she was having her body zapped, except he wasn’t. I put my knees together while I sat there, wondering if I could really ask Dad and Liz for money now I’d seen them fucking. I decided to forget it. But I only had brown pennies in my Halifax account, and there was no chance of babysitting little Nicole really or doing any jobs for Mam. Then suddenly I remembered Dad’s twenty on the hall shelf and I just could not resist it. What a naughty girl. I guessed it was better to be greedy than sad, so I reached and slipped the money in my Duffer pocket, then stepped into the foggy light and waited on the kerb for Laura and Natasha. I tried to be silent as I could. The whole of Teesside was humming brown, black and tangerine and I looked through the mist for the outline of roofs and power stations. Sooner or later it got boring on your own – while I sat a couple of kids pretended to ride over my toes on their BMXs, which was just charming. I touched the twenty in my jacket then popped my cheeks out as Natasha pulled up again in the Vauxhall.

  Isn’t he in? she asked, jumping out. She walked round checking all the car doors were locked, but I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to steal that piece of rubbish. It was nothing like Fairhurst’s Citroën with the alloys and the big exhaust and the dump valves and all that other stuff that goes whoosh and zoom. The word dump used to make me laugh though. I lifted myself from the kerb then straightened my trousers and said, Yeah, he’s upstairs. He’s shagging Liz!

  I said it with a bit of a smile. All Laura could do was raise her eyebrow, and she went, You’re full of shit.

  I just shrugged it off like a cool dude. Shaking her head, Natasha clopped her Nike trainers over the pavement then knocked hard on the cardboard door. We had his keys, but I think Natasha was scared of his hairy legs after all. We stood running our fingers through our hair while we waited, and Natasha laughed out of her nose when Dad appeared in just his bathrobe. It was dead obvious. He lifted his curly eyebrows then smiled, recognising us in the fog, but he didn’t look that flustered. I could well imagine Liz spread-eagled upstairs, keeping the bed warm.

  Hi girls – I wasn’t expecting to see youse round here, Dad said, letting us in.

  Well no, Natasha mumbled, and inside we all burst out laughing but kept a straight face. I kicked off my shoesies again and went back into the living room. Dad ran upstairs to finish something while we made ourselves comfy, and I tried to keep my mind on EastEnders instead of the twenty. We squashed up on the patterned sofa, tapping each other and giggling. I put the tips of blonde fringe in my mouth, then felt my stomach turn over even though we’d gone for the KFC.

  You hungry or something, Laura laughed, so I took it out. We all had our new haircuts. When Dad and Liz finally came into the lounge, they were wearing their casuals but I couldn’t help still imagining them naked. Knowing it was wrong only made me think about it more.

  Eve, didn’t you want to ask Dad something? Natasha went, nudging me and I felt my cheeks blow up. At first I thought she meant the sex, then I remembered the money and said softly, Oh. Naw. It doesn’t matter now.

  Natasha lifted the sides of her mouth – she thought I wasn’t a selfish cow any more, but actually I was a bit worse than that. All I wanted was to go out on Friday night but, as I crossed my legs on the scratchy sofa, I wondered if I’d cursed it. I felt a bit weird around my dad, but not because of the sex – in fact I thought it was pretty cool him and Liz had a good shag life. I hoped I would at that age. I sat there and curled the note in my fingers, and I said to myself I’d find a nice bloke and I’d have good sex with him too. And I’d never steal again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Black Lungs One

  Adam

  Abi took me out on Friday. I had to let my hair down, but in fact I gelled it up with the Brylcreem and threw on the new shirt I bought over the Christmas period. That number I wore at the disco got all caked in blood, but instead of sticking it in the washing-machine I chucked it over nextdoor’s fence and went on my own to Marks and Sparks when I got out of hospital. Funnily enough the shirt I pipped for was maroon, so I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. I didn’t like spending money and I was totally clueless when it came to fashion – I considered asking Abi to take me round those trendy boutiques down Linthorpe Road, but they were way too expensive and in any case I wasn’t hip enough for those extravagant garments. My face was still a bit contorted from all the beatings, and I could bend my nose now like it was a rubber dildo.

  Everything I did over that time was wrapped in woolly sadness. I was sort of sulking in the back of the taxi with Abigail, but she kept touching my leg and chattering away and I didn’t mean to be annoying. She was being nice to me. The Paki in the front kept looking at us as Abi talked and talked, and I still enjoyed her gossip even though I’d heard most of it two or three times already. Now and then when she wasn’t looking the driver stared down her blouse. She was telling me about Claire Blame getting pregnant, Rachel her cousin shagging Dan Williams after the disco, and how there were tons of boys at school on drugs and stuff. I felt so boring – for example the Beatles had done all sorts of narcotics and even they were quite clean-cut at the beginning of the sixties. My wildest mo
ment was probably getting Eve to dance with me and then not doing anything.

  It was about eight or eight thirty when we got to the Royal Exchange, and we chipped in a few pound for the pervert Paki then walked in separately. It was nerve-wracking with all the bouncers staring you up and down, and I feared getting turned away or even receiving another hiding. I’d become a complete fanny, but Abi looked after me. We squashed past tracksuits and shirts to some seats near the back, drinking lagers and Smirnoffs and screaming in each other’s ears. Now and then I tried to say something funny but she never quite caught it. Loads of lads in there were pumped up on steroids – you could tell by the square shoulders and blockheads and tiny cocks. I avoided eye-contact. I wondered why people would want to come out to kick each other’s heads in, rather than having a good time. But I guessed it was the same as me coming out all depressed and nervous – some people are nutcases.

  ‘So you reckon your Rachel and them might be out tonight?’ I yelled at Abi, and she nodded. I was more interested in Eve – just laying eyes on her was like reaching enlightenment, or at least it made me wee my pants. But I guessed she only went out with musclebound pricks, the type that give you protection but also chlamydia and other odd things. I glanced about the bar again, and all round us the boys looked like they wanted to throttle each other. I watched Raging Bull in the Christmas holiday, and I practised punching the wall and lifting my bed-frame but I only knacked myself. I tried to build myself up by stuffing my face and using the skipping-rope, but if anyone saw me I might as well have been a little girl in a daisy garden. One afternoon I was getting frustrated in the bathroom, throwing punches at the silly cunt in the mirror, and I ended up putting my hand through it. Blood ran down my knuckles like strawberry sauce on a sundae, and I went back into my bedroom with seven years’ bad luck.