“How is your cold? Have your flu-like symptoms eased?”
“They have mostly, but I’m still feeling a bit bleurgh.”
“That’s the technical term, isn’t it?” Both smiled. “It probably is no surprise to you Edward but I think it is important that we take time to discuss this.”
Dr Robson made a point of putting on his wire-frame glasses and fastidiously reading through the teenager’s notes. Some theatrics always add to the drama, Edward thought. After a few moments, the GP glanced up from Edward’s file, spectacles still perched on the end of his nose.
“So Edward, your blood test has come back positive for HIV.”
Edward sat back in his seat, half-slouching, with unflinching eyes refusing to betray any form of emotion. Maybe a twitch in one corner of his closed mouth, the merest hint of a wry smile from his pursed lips, revealed anything more about his true feelings.
Dr Robson, detecting Edward’s antipathy, leaned across his desk and pressed on with a low voice, as though masterminding a great conspiracy to which only Edward could listen. “Let us run through where we go from here.”
◆◆◆
Initially, Edward did not appreciate the gravity of that diagnosis. He slunk back home as the sunlight rescinded its power and sunk below the rooftops of middle-class suburbia. No one was home when he stepped through the porch, ambled to his room and threw himself on his mattress. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, reflecting deeply. Edward listened to the ringing that accompanies periods of utter silence that pervaded his room.
A magical divination – or something – forced his chest to heave up and down. With every breath came a slew of tears, and a sob. He embraced these and thrashed his fists against his temple. The doctor’s sombre tone, the ramifications of that appointment, played on Edward’s mind. Safe in the knowledge that no one would disturb him in his room, his feelings erupted in a vicious frenzy of despair.
Later on, he surprised the clueless Helen and Michael by eating dinner with them. At the dining table! His food may have gone cold long ago and his guardians may have already finished their meal, but let these trivialities not detract from this phenomenon. The sight of their son eating at the table, rather than in front of his computer shut away from the outside world in his room, gave Helen and Michael cause for concern.
Helen rose from her seat to do the dishes. Her husband tried and failed to make eye contact with his son. Eventually he lowered his newspaper.
“How’s your day been, Ed? We’ve not seen you at all, hardly.”
No answer.
Helen attempted to capture his attention. “Would you like some more, Edward? There’s ice lollies in the freezer if you want one later.”
“Thanks, I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll call it a day soon.”
Once he had eaten what little he could manage, Edward returned to his room, set the music volume to eleven and gamed hard through the night. He only paused twice, to seek the sexual release that had been building for much of the day; and to update his new diary. Great plumes of vengeance simmered within. Anger begat fury and fury elicited wrath.
Later in the evening he sent someone a message. Patiently he waited. When he was on the verge of giving up and going to sleep, a reply reached his phone. He threw on a tracksuit top, donned a pair of gloves, swigged from a can of stale energy drink and slunk to the porch. Helen and Michael were in their room, presumably asleep. Pinching their keys from a drawer in the hallway, he sneaked outside. Into his parents’ car he settled, before driving off into the night.
XXV
Some way across town, Edward pulled over and sent a new text. It took all of three minutes to receive a reply:
Yeah mate, where do you wanna meet?
Edward suggested a treeline skirting the edge of an obscure property development site.
Sweet man, I’ll head over in a bit. Got protection?
Sure, I got it covered, Edward messaged back. He set off again, deliberately easing off the accelerator to kill time. He made it to a rec ground, overlooked by a row of bungalows. Here he waited. The streetlights were turned off, and only an owl could be heard in the distance. The darkness was now as complete as it was ever going to get.
After a restless hiatus sat inside to keep warm, he got out and crossed onto the grass. His dark clothes blended into the totality of the blackness. He wandered down a slope, away from the road towards a large tree. This sycamore was cast adrift of its neighbours, but at the base of its trunk grew a bed of nettles. Edward knew the area well enough to be sure where he was going. He reached the foot of the tree and with his gloved hand, tugged at the nettles. A handful of leaves were plucked from their stems and swiftly pocketed in his tracksuit top.
His mobile phone pinged and vibrated. Edward checked his notification.
I’m here, where abouts are u?
Edward tapped out a response: Nearly at the tunnel now. I sent u my location.
Ok well I’m basically there and can’t see you aha. You must be well hidden.
Edward looked towards the playing area, where a large pipe-shaped structure stood out against the inky surroundings. To locals, it was known affectionately as The Tunnel and was intended for skateboarding. In truth, it offered an excellent spot for youths to drink, light up and generally mess around.
A man approached, just a vague shape in the darkness given away by his white trainers. He had both hands in his pockets and his buzzcut was concealed by a hooded jumper. Edward set off at a slow pace, scanning the area for any unwanted onlookers. The other person did the same. The pair drew closer and Edward recognised his features. That familiar handsome face, pock-marked in places. He strutted over to Edward with that confident swagger.
They came to within a yard of each other, before eyeing each other up in the late-night gloom. They waited for the other to make that first move. This was part of the turn-on, all part of the foreplay.
To begin, they embraced. It soon evolved into locking of lips. Gentle, tentative kisses swiftly grew into passionate extensions of their tongue into the other’s mouth. Edward’s acquaintance moaned softly as they caught their breath. Their grips on each other’s body strengthened, neither one letting go.
The man slid one hand to feel Edward’s bottom, as the other crept down the front of his pants. Heavy breathing penetrated the silence. He took to his knees and undid Edward’s bottoms. The man in the hoodie continued massaging Edward – firmly but not forcefully – with narrow and mischievous eyes secured on Edward’s face, unwavering.
“Do you want to?” Edward whispered.
“Yeah.” The recruit’s distinctive West Country accent cut through the night air like a knife to butter. “Go on then, I’ll do you.”
“Nuh-uh, tonight I’m fucking you,” Edward whispered.
“I’m not ready I don’t think,” replied the squaddie.
“Don’t care.” Edward then coolly suggested a list of things he wanted to do to his boot-neck partner.
The recruit was on board. Tonight, he would have to play the submissive role. “Make sure you’ve got a condom and lube up well. I’m tight.”
Edward scoffed. “I’ll just eat your ass and slide it in.”
They dropped their tracksuit bottoms to their ankles and the man lowered himself onto his hands and knees, facing away from Edward. Butt exposed to Edward, who lowered himself and rummaged around his pocket. As the other man jacked himself off, Edward rubbed something into his backside. The man grunted, with the discomfort preceding a sharp pain.
“The fuck?” He almost shouted this, but the pain worsened. He tried to rise to his feet but was forced down onto his stomach by Edward, whose hand full of nettles was slammed into the man’s face.
The man cried out. “Seriously, what the fuck?” His voice was muffled as Edward grasped his forehead with one steely grip and sandwiched thorny weeds against his mouth with the other hand.
Edward hissed, in a tone so aggressive that the man’s discomfort
at once gave way to raw terror. “You dirty bastard.” He could feel his eyes burning as they misted up; his face was flustered red despite the chill air. By now, the man was struggling to breathe.
“I don’t know what you mean! Seriously, what?” he exclaimed through muffled gasps. Edward blurted out the cause of his fury.
“You gave me HIV, you prick.” He pummelled the man and smashed his head into the muddy ground.
“Huh?” grunted the recruit.
“I won’t kill you, but you’ll wish you’d never been born,” Edward snarled. “What I wouldn’t give to thrust my fist so far up your arse you’ll be chundering my fingernails and shitting my own right arm into the middle of next week.”
His victim gurned and clenched his teeth to handle the pain. He was prone with his arms forced behind his back, almost to the point of dislocation, and his hood pulled down. His tracksuit bottoms still resided far down his legs, constraining his scope for movement. Edward was straddling him from behind and using all his strength to push himself down on his prey.
The man drew on his military training to break free. He struggled onto his side and succeeded in freeing one hand from Edward’s grasp. He then pinched Edward, forcing him to retract one of his arms. Edward found himself repelled by a flurry of kicks as the soldier lashed out.
Realising the tides had turned, he backed off and tried to retake control. A scuffle ensued, where a succession of blows rained down on Edward’s head.
The squaddie got the upper hand, sitting comfortably on his aggressor’s chest. He responded to Edward’s defiance by ejecting a massive globule of phlegm into his face. It remained glued to his forehead, a congealing pool of viscous, green-tinged mucus. Edward shuddered, but was in no position to fight back. His mouth was dry and his body had given up. From here, diplomacy was the only way out. Contrition, he hoped, would be a virtue.
“I was tested this week and it came back positive. You were the only one—”
“The hell I fucken was.” The man was rasping, his mouth swollen and his arse intolerably itchy. “I’m clean, I get plenty of action but I don’t take risks like that. How are you gonna prove it? What makes you think you’re so fucken special, huh? You don’t mean shit to me.”
Then, pointing an index finger millimetres from Edward’s face, he continued. “I couldn’t care less if you don’t fucken believe me, but you better get your dirty, diseased arse out of my sight. If I didn’t have so much riding on a clean slate, I would lamp you so hard you’ll end up taking cock through a colostomy bag.” He rose to his feet and landed a brutal strike to Edward’s groin, causing him to recoil into the foetal position and stifle a surge of nausea.
It took a long time for Edward to regain focus. There was no way to know how long had passed, yet the pain seemed to take forever to ease. When at last it did, he staggered to his feet, using the outside wall of the Tunnel to support him.
The man was nowhere to be seen. It was just Edward, the darkness around him, and the hooting of owls mocking him from afar.
XXVI
Edward returned home in tremendous discomfort. The lights in the house were off and all was quiet when he slipped through the doorway. Careful to keep noise to a minimum, he removed his shoes and hobbled along the hallway on tiptoes. Just before he could extend his fingers to open his bedroom door, a stark voice cut through the noiseless abode.
“Edward, what are you doing back at this hour? We thought you said—”
“Jesus. Christ Helen, what are you doing?” Edward rebuked her.
His father piped up from within the master bedroom, evidently half-asleep. “Edward, is that you lad?”
“I got jumped by some chavs outside the petrol station. I’m going to bed, sorry if I woke you coming in.”
Helen flicked a switch to reveal the lamentable state of his clothes and face. He winced at the onslaught of light striking his retina.
“What do you mean you were jumped on? For crying out loud Edward, what have you got yourself into this time?”
“Has he been out late again, dear?” her husband called.
Edward spun an outrageous sequence of events to explain everything. He was feeling under the weather, so walked to the shop to get some tablets. He passed some kids who asked for a lighter. Ultimately, they beat him up for looking at them funny. Passing drivers came to his aid. Police were called but they never turned up.
“The corner shop closes at seven. Where did you go?” Michael challenged him when he made it to the doorway beside his wife.
“I took a long walk to the 24-hour store outside town.”
“You walked four miles in the dark to pick up some tablets?” Michael asked in shock.
“Which we have plenty of in the cupboard,” Helen added, her voice breaking with helplessness.
“The fresh air helped me to clear my head,” came Edward’s reply.
Michael was exasperated. “Walking to the shops, while sick? At two in the morning!”
Edward took his hands out of his pockets and shrugged. In his weary state, it wasn’t until he saw the look on their faces that he realised how stupid he had just been.
The car key was still in his grasp.
“Son of a bitch, what were you thinking!” Michael bellowed. He fully emerged from the bedroom, a pair of boxers struggling to embrace his waist. His exposed body was pasty, with patches of wispy hair clinging to his torso like ivy straggling a derelict wall. “Honey, check outside that the car is in one piece. Quick.”
Helen remained unmoved, frozen in shock. “I was too tired to check it was in the driveway before coming to bed,” she admitted, more to herself than anyone else.
“The car’s fine dad, thanks for your concern,” muttered Edward.
“I’m sick to the back teeth with you! You don’t even have a licence. You can’t drive because of your medical history. What the hell were you thinking?” Michael yelled.
“Darling, take it easy—” Helen squeaked, but her husband went berserk.
“That’s it, I’m done with you! What is wrong with you, thinking it would be OK to swipe our keys and take our car for a joyride? Do you realise how irresponsible you are?” Michael paused for breath and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. His wife placed a hand on his shoulder, half-expecting him to rudely swat her arm away like it was a virulent pest.
Michael was not finished yet. “You waltz in at two AM, looking like absolute shit, and fuck knows what would’ve happened if you’d binned the car in a hedge or someone’s front room. Or God forbid a pedestrian, or another car.”
Edward was unmoved. Never before had he heard Michael speaking with such venom. However, he still felt strangely indifferent towards his father’s fury.
“I get it dad. You don’t figure that I’ve already been punished?” he hit back. He pointed to his cut lip and bloodied cheek. Helen flapped her hands, encouraging Edward to make himself scarce while she calmed her husband.
“Grammar school. You’re having a laugh,” Michael sneered as Edward traipsed past.
His adopted son froze and turned to face him.
“What? What did you say?” The light on the landing illuminated only half of Edward’s face. He tightened his lips shut and his parents could only make out the vacuous stare of one eye.
“You heard me.” Michael remained steadfast. “For so long, you’ve laid into us for not sending you to a selective school like your friend. What makes you think you deserved a place there anyway?”
“I am not the bad guy here!” Edward screamed. He lashed out with a fist towards Michael’s face. A blind fit of rage. He’d been trodden on enough. Now was the time to show these people that he would not be rendered helpless, not cowed into submission any longer.
Michael side-stepped the wayward jab, then lunged towards his son, grabbing his collar.
“Michael, no!” Helen gasped, fearing he too had lost all sense of reason.
“Edward, listen to me,” demanded Michael. Tears formed over his ey
es, clouding his vision. The conflicted youth kicked out at his bedroom door. His father pinned him against the door frame. “Edward, please,” Michael now begged. “I can’t – we can’t – we can’t go on like this.”
Edward’s tears, tinged red from running over open wounds, beat Michael’s tears to the drop and landed on the floor. “It’s so fucking unfair,” he whimpered. He did not dare face his equally distraught parents. “If you knew just how daft, how retarded—”
“Edward,” his mother warned.
“Honey, let the boy speak.”
Edward took a deep breath as the tears slowed. “I didn’t expect the world to be handed to me on a plate. But I also didn’t think I could have all the bad luck dumped on me. I mean, compared to some of the,” he scrunched his nose and spat out the words, “really messed up life choices some kids make, I never brought any of this on myself.”
“We love you to bits, Edward,” Michael assured him softly.
“I’m not saying I deserve the best in life, or even good things in life. But—” and here Edward’s legs gave way and he collapsed on the floor. He clutched his fringe with both hands, obscuring his face from view of his parents.
Helen held a tissue to her own eyes, dabbing away her tears. Her messy hair resembled a bird’s nest. The yellow glow cast by the light above her reflected off her face, which was free of make-up and blemished by blotchy red patches across her cheeks and eyes.
Michael leaned down to scoop Edward up by his armpits. Helen too stepped forward, arms outstretched, stooping as if trying to fool them into believing she could help lift him up. Her husband managed to raise him to his feet and she seized her chance to hug her son, and Edward appreciated this. He could smell her fruity night-gown and was content. And he could smell his father’s spicy body odour, and this too pleased Edward with its familiarity.
Satisfied by the warm, three-way embrace, he allowed himself to be marshalled into his room. Nothing needed saying, because Edward was tired and his parents were exhausted. Tears stung his face, which had been tenderised from the fight a short time earlier. In spite of this, he landed on the mattress and it beckoned him into its snug domain. So Edward accepted this invitation and collapsed against his pillows. Sleep came in an instant, straight after he sensed Helen planting a kiss on his forehead. He was out like a light, with dirty, damp clothes still hugging his body. Tossing and turning, his rest was fractious at best. He dreamed the night away, blurring the boundary between imagination and reality.
Screams of Thy Neighbour Page 18