by John King
–Would you like a drink? one of the benders asks.
I ask for a can of lager and he laughs.
–Bit young to be drinking aren’t you, he smiles. How old are you?
I say eighteen and he frowns. Billy says we’re fifteen, that we just want the lager, think we’re in a pub and have to lie to get served. The bender gives me and Dave a can each. It’s warm and tastes like shit, but I don’t say anything. We sit on two chairs sipping the drink, while Leon talks to the man on the couch. I don’t listen to what they’re saying. Ten quid for sitting around is easy money. I was getting £4.95 for a full day stacking shelves and I’m lucky if I make three pounds picking cherries. These blokes don’t do much, just sit around. One starts smiling at me, staring, and he’s getting on my nerves. Don’t know what we’re doing here. Dave isn’t saying much, looks clumsy, same as how I feel. Maybe something’s going on we haven’t twigged. Me and Dave might argue, but we stick together. We’re mates.
–Go have a word with Reg, will you, Billy says, in this new polite voice. Over there in the corner, by the table.
I shrug my shoulders and go over to the man sitting at the edge of the room. We should be off soon. I’m trying to think of something to say to the poof, but he’s not going to be interested in the same things as me. With him it’s probably art galleries and theatre plays, while I prefer watching telly and listening to punk records. It’s a big place, lamps everywhere, paintings on the walls. I’m almost up to the bloke when I see he’s got his knob out and is having a wank. I stop, stuck to the floor, and he stands up, grabs me and pulls me forward. I shout at him to fuck off and leave me alone.
–What’s the matter with him, I hear the other poof say, from over on the couch next to Leon, anger in his voice that wasn’t there before.
The man has me by the arms. He grabs at my bollocks. I try and get away, but he’s strong.
–Don’t be shy, young man. I’m going to fuck you up the arse and you’ll love it. That’s what all you young boys want.
I draw my head back and nut him right in the middle of his nose. There’s a crack and his conk explodes, same as Butler’s head the other week in the bus station. His hands go up to his face and I move back, ready to boot him in the balls, but new hands grab my arms from behind. I hear Dave shouting to leave me alone. Billy has me in an iron grip and for a second I can’t move. He lifts me out of the way and steps forward. He kicks the queer hard as he can in the nuts. The hands that were holding a bloody nose shoot down to a pair of cracked bollocks. Billy picks his spot and kicks the man in the face, planting his steel toecaps into the nose I’ve already splattered. I can see the mark, a cut right into the bone. I feel sick, but more from being touched than seeing the queer get a kicking. Fucking cunt.
–You dirty fucking cunt, Billy screams. You sick fucking nonce. They’re only kids and you want to bum them.
My head has gone and I stagger back. My whole body is shaking and I stand against the wall. I look at the other man and Leon is doing a number on him. He’s down on the carpet and Leon is putting the boot in, kicking him in the head and body. The poof in front of me is busy pissing blood and trying to protect himself, but Billy doesn’t give him a chance. He punches the face and smashes the skull into a concrete column. Blood specks the wall. When Billy finally lets him fall, he really gets stuck in, kicking the head around till he’s worn out and can’t kick any more. When he’s finished, he unzips his flies and takes his knob out, pisses on the silent poof, blowing the blood off the side of his face.
–Fucking scum. They deserve everything they get, trying to fuck little boys up the dirt box. They think they own the fucking world, can do anything they want because they’ve got the money.
Billy is calmer now and zips up. Maybe that’s what benders do, stick their knobs up you. Debbie said something about a friend of hers doing it up the bum once, but I never thought about it really. Doesn’t make sense. That must be why they call them bum boys. Billy looks at me and sees I don’t understand.
–You must be slow in the head, he says, laughing, but not in a bad way. That queer wanted to stick his knob up you. That’s what they do. Get hold of children and have their way. They’re fucking sick. Come on, it’s time for some wealth distribution.
I sit down on a chair and look at the bodies on the carpet. Billy and Leon are in control, moving through the flat. They know what they’re doing, find a couple of suitcases and start loading them with valuables. They empty the men’s wallets and give me and Dave another twenty quid each. That makes thirty. I put it in my pocket. It’s brilliant money, the most I’ve ever had, but I feel ill, lean forward and puke on the carpet. I think about cleaning it up, but realise it doesn’t matter. Dave stands next to me. We wait for Billy and Leon to finish.
–This is called queer-rolling, Billy says, from a bedroom. Turning the dirty bastards over in their own homes. The poor fuckers you do for fun, in a bog, but it’s better coming up here because you don’t only have a laugh, you can make a few bob as well.
I watch him going through a chest of drawers, transferring things to the bag. Leon is in another room and whistles.
–We’ve hit gold, Billy boy, he shouts. There’s rings and all sorts in here. One of them looks like a diamond.
–Some blokes hang around the Gents and they get bashed in there, Billy continues. That’s queer-bashing as well. Then there’s Paki-bashing, but that’s a mug’s game. Pakis hate queers as much as us, and they’ve got no money. Other poofs, scum like this, bring boys home. They’re the mugs, because good boys like us pile right in and take over. We teach the nonces a lesson. We’re doing nothing wrong, just upholding the law. You two are under-age, and they know it. They can’t go to the old bill or they’ll get done for molesting children. The other prisoners will kick their teeth in and then the screws will have a go as well.
Four suitcases sit on the floor, stuffed full.
–Shame about the hi-fi, Billy says. Must be worth a bit.
–Can’t be helped, Leon laughs, unless you fancy carrying it down the road balanced on your head. We’ve done well. Come on. Let’s get out of here.
Dave walks over and kicks the bloke who grabbed me in the head. Billy laughs and Leon looks at his watch, cool under pressure. We leave the flat and Leon pulls out a ring once the lift starts moving. We stare at it, wonder how much it’s worth, if it really is a diamond, till the doors open and he stuffs it back in his pocket. Billy and Leon are quiet, loaded down with the bags. When we get outside, they tell us to go home. It’s important we split up, and before we have a chance to say anything, ask where we are or what about a better share of the takings, they’re in the back of a cab and off down the road. We’re left standing on a corner like a couple of lemons.
–Bloody hell, Dave says. What do we do now?
Those two men could be dead for all we know. There’s a bus coming and we run for the stop. It pulls over and waits, and we jump on. The conductor moans when I hand him a tenner, but says not to worry, we can ride for free. It’s the last bus of the night and he’s already bagged up. We press our faces against the windows and watch the streets, looking for somewhere with a name we recognise. When we spot Earls Court tube we jump off. All we’ve got to do now is wait till morning. The trains will start running in four or five hours, and Earls Court has places that are still open. At home the streets are dead by midnight, but here it could still be eight or nine.
–What a night, Dave says at last, when we’re sitting in a cafe, run by these Arabs who serve us coffee and sweet cakes with nuts on top.
–I’ve never seen anything like that. I thought they were going to kill them. Billy and Leon went mental.
Maybe they did kill them.
–I fucking hope not. I don’t want to end up in borstal for the rest of my life. How did you feel? I was bricking it in there. When you went over and he had his knob out, I couldn’t fucking believe it.
I tell him I never thought about queers, what they did.
I didn’t know they stuck their knobs up each other.
–I thought they just talked funny, Dave says. Least men don’t have to do that to women.
I think of what Debbie said. Funny how you don’t know these things. I wonder why they go after kids. They were old enough to be our dads. That was a heavy-duty kicking Billy and Leon dished out. They got what they deserved, but Billy and Leon are wankers using us like that, pretending to be our mates when all they wanted was a way into the flat. Shows you have to watch yourself, that looking up to people because they’re older is a mug’s game. Least we’re safe here. I start thinking about the bags they filled, and there must’ve been hundreds of pounds’ worth of watches, clocks, cuff links, ornaments. Plus cash as well. Thousands even. We made thirty quid each, and that’s good money, but they got a lot more. They took the piss out of us. Even if we’d earned a hundred quid, it wasn’t worth all that.
–We’ll keep away if we ever see them out, Dave says. Least Billy and Leon don’t live near us. That’s something. We’ll know next time.
We sip our coffee and watch the people come in and out. Nobody bothers us, and the man running the place doesn’t tell us to order another drink or get out, like that miserable cow in the bus station.
–We won’t tell anyone what happened, Dave says. Not that we did anything wrong, but people will only take the piss. It wasn’t our fault.
We have two more cups of coffee to keep ourselves awake, strong dark mud that rockets my head into space. We have a roll each at about five, talking for a while, repeating ourselves a lot, running through the night, what happened, shaking our heads with Camden in the past, feeling stupid, seeing the last hour out in silence.
It’s gone seven by the time we get back to Uxbridge, tired cleaners and tube workers dozing on the seats around us as we roll along. After a long wait at Raynor’s Lane, the bigger Baker Street service chugs along, past the semi-detached houses of Eastcote and Ruislip, long gardens reaching down to the track, paint flaking. Wouldn’t mind a place like that one day. We should’ve gone to Paddington, but it meant hanging around for another half-hour and we wanted to get moving. There’s no one on the gate at Uxbridge and we walk over to Woolies where the bus leaves for Slough. A 207 to Shepherd’s Bush revs its engine at the top of the stairs, choking us with fumes. The timetable says we’ve got twenty minutes till our bus leaves, so we duck in the cafe built into the side of the station, splash out on a full breakfast. We eat fast, get back to the stop with time to spare. The same bloke who sells me a ticket in Slough is standing on the pavement, having a fag before the return journey. I don’t see the driver, who’s still in his cab, raring to go.
Up on the top deck, Dave takes out his felt pen and covers the back of the seat in front, the smell lingering, the usual stuff—ELVIS IS A WANKER, TEDS RUN FROM PUNKS and NEVER TRUST A HIPPY. He thinks for a minute, brain ticking, brings things up to date with CHRIS IS A SHITTER and POOFS ARE SCUM. I catch this bus most days, and the conductor’s bound to notice, but I keep quiet, don’t want to set Dave off. It’ll only make him worse, and he’ll do the other seats as well. He doesn’t have to use this bus every day. He can’t think of anything else to write and puts his pen away. Dave was there with me last night, when everything went wrong, and he kicked that bloke in the head like he wanted to kill him. We’re always winding each other up, but he’s a good mate. Still gets on my nerves, and he shouldn’t do the seats like that, but there you go.
People hurry down the alley next to the DHSS, men and women with their heads down, the bus half full by the time we leave. We turn past the White Horse and down along the high street, the driver ignoring a boy running to the next stop, speeding up even though the kid gets there just in time and sticks his hand out. We turn left at the Odeon, go past the multi-storey and the Mahjacks roundabout, off past the Prince of Wales, Rockingham Arms, Dolphin, General Elliott, Pipe-makers. The conductor does our tickets in silence, stops at the top of the stairs to run a steel comb through his DA. I see his face in the mirror, and he’s narked. He’s seen the graffiti but kept quiet. Suppose we’re growing up. The bus struggles along the hill to Iver Heath, axle rattling as we pass the Black Horse and another Prince of Wales. Must’ve been a proper pisshead, that prince. I ask Dave if he wants to come and pick some fruit, do a decent day’s work for a change, instead of dossing in the precinct with the meths drinkers.
–Fuck off, cunT, he grins. I’m going home to bed. Have a good wank over one of those birds from last night and sleep till teatime. I’ve just earnt thirty quid, so what’s a pound or two extra? Why bother? Come on you div, it’s not worth the effort.
I tell him he’s a layabout and get off the bus. Dave’s at the back and opens the window, stands on tiptoe and turns his head sideways so he can gob at me, back to his old ways. His spit gets caught in the churn of air as the bus pulls away, hangs for a second, then flashes straight back in his face. I wave and carry on down the lane clicking my hand, snapping the fingers, and it’s in the wrist action, just wish I could make more noise.
This is another world from Leicester Square and Camden Town, with the hedges and mesh fence, the chirp of a robin. I think of that bender last night and blank the picture of Billy trying to crack his skull open. That was some serious aggro and I don’t want to think about it too much, concentrate on the trees that make a tunnel as they loop over the road, and when I get to the farm it’s already busy. It’s nearly eight now, and I don’t normally get in till after nine. I go over to the shed and pick up two boxes, the woman there giving me a funny look, shoot off before the starts in.
I walk to the back of the orchard where it’s easy to hide. There’s a place at the end of the fence where the grass is long and seeding, a good place to doss. I’m knackered, plan to lay down for a bit, fill some boxes and get off home. If I take a bag of cherries back it’ll sweeten Mum up. She loves cherries. Dad isn’t bothered, hates fruit and leaves her to tell us off. She’s handy as well. And I lay down and look at the sky, make shapes out of the clouds as they float along, imagine them as mountains, then cars, Ford Cortinas and Aston Martins. Winter goes on for most of the year so you have to make the most of the summer while you can, and I hope I don’t end up stuck indoors all my life, when I leave school, working nine-to-five, under control. I’m not stupid, know that things are going to change when I leave, that I won’t be able to come down here and do my own thing. Roy has got his life worked out, but I wouldn’t want to be travelling around all the time.
It doesn’t take long to close my eyes, just for a minute, then open them again and see that the sun is on the other side of the sky. I’m sweating and a bee’s buzzing around my head, a great big one with fur. I leave it alone and it flies off looking for something more interesting. Don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but a lot has happened.
I’ve been back to a smart flat with the most beautiful girl in the world, sat with her through the night, happy in her front room drinking mugs of coffee, eating these cakes with nuts on the top. We’re waiting for the sun to come up but the night goes on and on, and it’s winter outside, the rain running across the windows. She has this expensive hi-fi system and shows me how to use it, has all these records I’ve never heard of, knows every word, tells me what the songs are about, and once she’s told me everything I need to know, she puts on this other music that relaxes us both, lets the ideas float around in our heads. She moves in next to me listening as I tell her about my mum and dad, how Mum loves cherries and Dad loves watching the telly after he gets in from work, says he’s worn out and wants to relax. She isn’t bored, seems really interested, and for a second I think she’s taking the piss, knows my life is boring, putting on a show, her hand going up to her mouth, amazed that the old man can watch so many programmes in one night, or that Mum can eat so many cherries, but she’s really impressed, so I stand up in front of her and start clicking my hand, and the loudest cracks I’ve ever heard echo around the room, mingle with the music, sound effects that mak
e her shiver and smile. She’s dressed in fishnet stockings and a rubber skirt, with a red-and-black top, and she’s kept her gloves on, but it’s not about sex. She’s interested in my mates, asks questions about Smiles’s family, gets worried that Chris might die on the way home, that Dave will get done for a murder he never committed, says Dave is a good mate, one of the best. I lift one of my boots in the air, turn it on its side so she can see how well polished it is, her eyes shining, reflecting the outline of the DMs, and she says her hair is polished as well, peroxide wax instead of cherry red, and I know we were made for each other. She’s tough, but melts when I slowly lift a trouser leg to show off my right boot, and she’s counting as I go—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight … nine, ten holes. She’s well impressed, pulls me over so I’m sitting next to her on the couch again, presses her lips against mine, then sits back. She wants to know who’s my best mate, and I tell her it’s Smiles, who does she think. She asks me to follow her, and we go outside and look down into the street, see a police car pull up, the sun suddenly shining, four men in suits jumping out and looking up at me, smiling, slapping coshes into their palms, backed up by police with dogs. I move back and turn to the girl, but she’s not there. I go inside and there’s blood all over the walls, the smell of rotten meat and a skewer on the floor. Dave tells me to hurry up, we’ve got to get out quick, before we’re caught and hung. I look around for the girl, but she’s left with her mates. The buzzer goes and I brush a bee away, sit up in the grass and stretch, move my neck and go over to the boxes, start work.