by Alan Gibbons
Jess stared at me for a moment, then snorted with irrepressible laughter.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ I demanded, annoyed that my big moment had fallen flat.
‘Oh, don’t get angry,’ she said, squeezing my arm. ‘You were so earnest. Honestly, it didn’t sound like my Eve. That’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard you make.’
‘It wasn’t a speech!’
‘Yes, it was. You sounded exactly like . . .’
Her voice trailed off.
‘Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I sounded like Rosie.’
Anthony and Charlie were by the bollards up the road from the school. Anthony was in no hurry. He was walking through the streets and everyone he saw was a statue, still, frozen in time by some Medusa stare. As he continued through the school gates he heard a slow, sinister, cracking sound. Stone heads were turning, chips of grey cascading to the ground. Their eyes were blank the way they were in a museum. Then something happened. From the statues’ tear ducts dark, gluey, crimson blood bubbled and spilled in streams down the inanimate faces. Anthony let out a small gasp at the memory.
‘Something wrong?’
Charlie was watching him, a frown hardening his usually soft features.
‘No, just thinking.’
‘You do a lot of that.’
A smile mixed with a nod of the head.
‘Yes, that’s me, the thinker.’
‘Anyway, here’s my lift. We’re going to the Snow Zone in Manchester. I would have invited you, only we can’t squeeze anybody else into the car. Sisters, eh? My parents had to have three of them.’
He walked to the car. He was trying to hold a tune. It was vaguely familiar.
‘Charlie,’ Anthony said. ‘What’s that you’re humming?’
‘We Are Young. It was a hit a couple of years back.’
‘Yes, I remember it.’
Charlie paused by the car.
‘I heard it around school today. Can’t think where.’ He rummaged in his memory for a moment. ‘No, it won’t come.’
‘It’s not important,’ Anthony said.
He was wrong. Charlie had heard it that morning when one of the girls walked past him on the way to registration.
It was Eve Morrison.
Mum was home when I got back. She was sitting in front of the computer screen, screwing up her eyes at the message on the screen. Black Sab’s Paranoid provided the background noise. Tony Iommi’s guitar was ripping through the house.
‘Nothing like a bit of Ozzy,’ Mum said.
‘You’ll have the neighbours knocking. What’s for tea?’
‘Chilli lemon tuna, broccoli and spaghetti. Everything OK at school?’
What was I supposed to say?
‘Not bad.’ I wanted to tell her the truth, but the old platitudes tripped off my tongue so easily. I changed the subject. ‘Oli got his first bit of abuse today.’
‘What happened?’
‘I heard about it second-hand. Jess said he had a run-in with a couple of boneheads from my form.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Jake Lomas, Connor Hughes.’
‘Hughes? Not Brian Hughes’ son?’
‘I don’t know. Who’s he?’
‘Runs a scrappie in Martendale. I went to school with his sister.’
I heard the change in her voice.
‘I’m guessing this Brian Hughes isn’t your kind of people.’
‘If it’s the same family, I’d tell Oli to steer well clear. Were you there when a bunch of yobs turned the peace stall over?’
I remembered. Mum and Dad used to campaign against the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, getting people to sign petitions. Rosie and I would tag along sometimes. Once in a while thugs would try to break up the protest. They’d come out of nowhere that afternoon, five or six burly men, mostly shaven-headed. To the little girl I was then they were like giants. I didn’t understand any of it. All I knew was that there was all this rage exploding around me. While Rosie yelled at them, all I could do was scream and dissolve into tears.
‘That was him?’
‘That was Brian Hughes. He was into the neo-Nazi skinhead scene back then, Skrewdriver and all that. They used to have Blood and Honour gigs at the Wishing Well.’
‘On the Blackburn Road?’
‘That’s the one.’
There wasn’t much more to say so I changed the subject.
‘Have you heard anything from Anthony’s mum?’
‘Not yet. If I don’t hear by Saturday, I’m going round.’
‘Are you sure?’
There was no answer. Her mind was made up.
‘I’ll crack on with the tea, Eve.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘But be careful. If this Connor is Brian Hughes’ son, he could be trouble.’
HAVE YOU EVER KISSED A BOY?
Thursday, 6 March 2014
It was the final of the Great Debate. It was down to Oli and Simon Gore. There were posters around the school with photographs of both of them. There was a line of kids leaning against the wall opposite the entrance to the hall, maybe twenty in all.
‘What’s that about?’ I asked.
‘Their parents have asked them to be withdrawn. Oli says one boy in his class wants to attend, but his dad thinks the school is advertising homosexuality.’
I laughed out loud. ‘What, like cereal?’
‘Absolutely. Didn’t you know? A ninety-second jingle can actually turn you gay overnight.’
I faked a look of dismay. ‘No!’
Jess was having fun.
‘A little jingle every day is guaranteed to make you gay.’
Hannah gave her daggers.
‘Hey, knock it off. This is meant to be serious.’
‘Why’s it serious? You giggled all the way through Sex Ed.’
‘That’s different.’
‘How’s it different?’
‘That was boy-girl. It’s a laugh. This is boy-boy.’
I interrupted.
‘Don’t forget girl-girl.’
‘You’re being stupid,’ Hannah objected. ‘You know what I mean.’
Jess was suddenly serious.
‘No, I don’t actually.’
‘Look, I’m not prejudiced, but . . .’
Jess shook her head.
‘Oh, for God’s sake! That’s how every bigot starts a sentence.’
‘I am not a bigot!’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘You’ve got to explain the issues properly.’
I stepped in before Jess lost it.
‘There are issues, as you put it, whether you’re straight or gay. What’s the difference?’
Hannah was slipping into a sulk. Jess softened her attitude.
‘Hey, I don’t want to beat you up about this. Honestly, Oli feels the same as you do, or Eve or I do, only about other boys.’
Hannah nodded.
‘Fine.’ Which said it wasn’t really fine. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’
‘You didn’t.’
I watched them hug. That got Connor’s attention.
‘See, it’s spreading.’
Jess spun round, her face taut with anger.
‘It’ll never spread as far as you, you sick, sad loser. If I was looking for a boyfriend I’d choose the fattest man on Earth over you. I’d choose road-kill over you.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘Oli told me what you said.’
‘Truth hurts, does it?’
Mrs Rawmarsh put a stop to the quarrel.
‘Over here, Connor. I want a word.’
‘Why me? She started it.’
She wasn’t impressed.
‘Just how old are you?’ No answer. ‘I heard every word, Connor. Consider yourself on a warning. One more outburst and you’ve got yourself an hour’s internal exclusion.’
‘This sucks. Why are you taking her side?’
‘I’m not. You have been provoking the other students for at lea
st two days.’
‘You talking about that poof Oli Hampshire?’
‘You’re walking on thin ice, Connor.’
Mr Hudson had overheard the exchange. He was making his way over. Mrs Rawmarsh gave a little shake of the head to tell him she could deal with it.
‘You’re always jumping in on their side,’ Connor snarled, ‘her and her brother.’
‘I would advise you to stop there. Absolute silence, young man, or Mr Hudson will remove you and you will spend the next hour outside his room.’
Connor considered his options for a few moments then made a tactical retreat.
‘Thank you. Now go back to your place.’ Mrs Rawmarsh folded her arms and looked along the line. ‘This is going to be a serious debate. I trust nobody else is going to try to turn it into a pantomime.’
Mr Hudson chaired the session.
‘Today’s final will consist of two rounds. Each speaker will have five minutes to summarise his arguments from the semi-final then there will be a question and answer session before the final vote.’
There was nothing new in either speech. Everybody was waiting for the Q&A. The first question was directed at Oli.
‘Why’ve you got to go on about being gay all the time? It isn’t that big a deal.’
Oli was patient.
‘I’m not going on about it. It was one part of my presentation.’
‘It’s the bit everybody remembers,’ the questioner retorted.
‘Fine, I’ll give you a straight answer.’
There were snorts of laughter.
‘There are gay people in every community. You’re right. It isn’t as big a deal as in the old days, and it shouldn’t be an issue at all, but there is still a lot of prejudice against LGBT people . . .’
‘Against what?’
‘LGBT stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people. I should have explained that.’
There were a few giggles at ‘transgender’.
‘What, men who dress up as women?’
Oli stayed deadpan.
‘Go look it up on your smartphone. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you should get out more.’
The heckler’s mates ruffled his hair.
‘I see the demand for gay rights as part of a wider fight for equality.’ He glanced at Simon. ‘You can’t just dismiss it as political correctness gone mad.’
The next question was also directed at Oli.
‘Are people born gay?’
‘Beats me,’ Oli replied.
His answer got a few shouts of disbelief.
‘No, that’s not a cop-out. Most gay people say they feel different even before they’re interested in sex. I know I did. Are we born that way? I’m no expert.’
Mr Hudson leaned forward.
‘Another question, please.’
‘This is for both candidates,’ said a girl sitting three seats away. ‘Have you ever kissed a boy?’
‘I think that’s a bit personal,’ said Mr Hudson. ‘We’re discussing political correctness. You don’t have to answer, candidates.’
Simon scowled.
‘No.’
Oli waited a beat then a smile came over his face.
‘No need to be coy about it. Yes.’
Connor was on his second warning, but Jake wasn’t.
‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’ he said. ‘The thought of two boys going at it makes me sick.’
Mr Hudson went to interrupt him, but Oli caught his eye.
‘That’s all right, Sir. I’ll answer him.’
He cleared his throat.
‘Did you know, Jake,’ he said, ‘that research by US psychologists claims 80 per cent of men who are anti-gay have secret homosexual feelings themselves?’
Jake’s face drained of blood. He searched in vain for a comeback before slumping in his chair. Oli shifted his gaze pointedly from Jake to Connor. Peals of laughter engulfed the hall. The applause turned into a standing ovation from three-quarters of the audience. Two boys tousled Connor’s hair and he tried to elbow them away. Mr Hudson finally calmed the audience down and the candidates made their closing remarks. We crowded round Oli on the way out.
‘I loved that crack at Jake and Connor,’ Jess said. ‘They will never live it down.’
‘Ow, that’s a bad dose of Sphenopalatine Ganglioneuralgia!’
Anthony swallowed his mouthful of ice cream and waited for Charlie to explain the torrent of gobbledegook. Charlie fancied himself, among other things, as an edgy and comic observer of twenty-first-century life, but came across as a geek with a bad dose of verbal diarrhoea.
‘What are you on about now?’
‘Ice cream brain-freeze, that headache you get when it gets stuck to the top of your mouth.’
‘Is that what they call it, Spendodoodle Gangliowhatsit?’
‘It is.’
‘So what did you think about the debate?’
‘Oli Hampshire dealt well with that heckler.’
‘Didn’t he just? Jake and Connor deflated like balloons.’ Charlie finished the ice cream, dropped the stick in the bin and treated Anthony to a meaningful stare. ‘That might have been a mistake.’
He held an invisible noose over his head, closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
‘How’s that?’
‘You’ve obviously not spent much time round Martendale.’
‘No, I don’t really know the place. That’s where you live, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, and nobody who has any dealings with Brian
Hughes would dare to make fun of his family.’
‘Bad news, is he?’
‘I actually feel sorry for Connor. He’s terrified of his old man. Brian Hughes is a few slates short of a roof. He got done for road rage a while back. He claimed this guy cut him up on a roundabout. He chased him for over a mile and dragged him out of the car at traffic lights. He battered the poor sod with a wheel brace. Did eighteen months for it.’
‘I wonder if Oli knew any of that when he used that put-down.’
‘I don’t think so. Oli should follow my example and steer well clear. Taking risks is against my religion. I’m a devout coward. What about you?’
The question crept under Anthony’s guard.
‘Oh, I’m a coward.’ He had the night in Cartmel Park in his head. He struck his leg with his fist. ‘I hate myself for it.’
Charlie was thrown by Anthony’s reaction.
‘Are we having the same conversation here? I was only joking.’
Anthony recovered quickly.
‘Yes, me too.’
‘You’ve got a weird sense of humour, mate. I don’t get it. One minute you’re here on Planet Normal, then you’re off in some whole other galaxy.’
It was time for Anthony to reroute the conversation.
‘I looked up that song you were humming yesterday.’
‘We Are Young?’
‘Yes, there’s an acoustic version, guitar, piano, voice. It shouldn’t be a problem.’
He played the YouTube clip on his Android.
‘I think that’s my song. The guitar is simple. Tough on the voice, but I think I can do it. What do you think?’
‘Love it.’
Anthony smiled. He hadn’t felt this happy since before his mother met Mosley.
I’M THE 0.9 CHILD
Sunday, 9 March 2014
The weather was good enough to get the bike out. Dad preferred the car when it was wet. He had always been protective, over-protective Rosie used to say. She had a point. We spent the day in the North Lakes. On the way back we pulled into Tebay services, stowed our helmets in the top box and went inside.
‘Cake?’
I smiled.
‘Are you kidding? Of course, cake.’
He went for a slab of chocolate cake. I chose a scone the size of a boulder.
‘Did Mum tell you they’ve fixed the date for the trial?’
His eyes, usually so soft, went hard, like ston
es.
‘When did she hear?’
‘Not sure. She told me yesterday, but I think she’s been hanging on to the letter for a while. All this stuff with Anthony Broad, I don’t think she wanted to spring anything else on me.’
‘How are you coping with that? I suppose you see him all the time.’
‘I do my best to ignore him.’
That wasn’t the right word. Ignore is something active. I looked away on purpose. I evaded him. Most of the time, I faded away at his approach, the ghost girl. Even if Mum hadn’t told me to steer clear, would I have confronted him? I don’t know.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any alternative. Maybe that boy is as much of a victim as we are.’
I felt a buzz of shock.
‘You don’t mean that!’
‘Would I have been any different if I’d been one of those onlookers? I like to think I’d have come forward as a witness, but I’m not sure.’ He sipped his tea. ‘Did I ever tell you about a lad called Eddie Morris?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘He was a year older than me. I was in top juniors, Year 6 these days. He was at secondary school. I was out with my mate, Danny. We saw him in the distance and started shouting insults.’
‘Why?’
‘God knows. Anyway, we thought he’d gone, then there he was right behind us on his bike. He’d circled round the back somehow. Danny legged it. Well, Eddie gets off his bike and gives me a clip round the ear. He says I’m his prisoner. He makes me run alongside him. I’m bricking it. I’d do whatever he says. He kept me a kind of prisoner for two hours, humiliating me. I was ashamed of myself for days after.’
‘Why didn’t you run like Danny?’
‘I was scared. Pathetic really. Eddie wasn’t much bigger than me, but I just gave in and made myself his slave. People are always ready to tell you about the brave things they’ve done. They hide the stuff they don’t want to admit.’ He finished his cake. ‘Maybe I kind of understand this Anthony lad.’
That was a step too far.
‘He watched while they killed our Rosie!’
The people on the next table stared. I dropped my eyes.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘Don’t be. Maybe I’m the one who should say sorry. I’m beat, love, broken. I’m not like your mum. I can’t handle this.’