Apples (17 page)

Do you want to hold him? Claire asked, passing me the Baby Boy as Joe charged back downstairs. The little fellow was sleeping, and I paraded him round the bedroom while me and Claire started chit-chatting. She had a cot and other stuff set up in her room, but she still had all her clothes and everything chucked over the floor, and I wondered how she coped in that mess. I kicked a trail to the window and jiggled the Baby Boy above the garden, where little Shaun was running around in his socks. I ended up shutting the curtains though because the sun going down was such a terrible sight.

So how’s everyone else? Claire asked, clicking on the television but there wasn’t really much on it. I told her a bit about Rachel getting friendly with Dan and the usual stuff about snogs and shags – with Claire you could talk totally freely about the shape of boys’ knobs and getting squirted on, but the biggest news was still her having the baby. With all the talking he ended up crying his face off and I passed him back to Claire, but there was no surefire way of getting these things to stop. In the end Claire had to burp him about twenty times, and I popped downstairs to put on the pizza because he was rather annoying. I couldn’t believe Claire had to take care of him the rest of her life – it really put you off getting one of your own. I talked for a while with Claire’s step-dad in the kitchen, and he kept touching my arm which I didn’t like – he either fancied me or was trying to get dog-muck all over me.

Do you think Claire’ll come back to school? I asked, just trying to be polite while the oven warmed up.

I dunno. I don’t think she wants to, Dave explained, touching me again. I don’t think anyone could babysit the Baby Boy anyway.

It was a real shame hearing it put that blunt, and I walked back upstairs to the sound of TV and crying. The Baby Boy was back in his cot when I came in, but he didn’t seem to want sleepy-peeps. Claire looked shattered – it was a full- time job having a baby, so no wonder she couldn’t go back to school. I tried to cheer her up while we chewed through the Margherita, talking about anything but little kids – boys, periods, sex, class As, Brackenhoe, all the classic stuff, but it probably reminded her of everything she’d lost. Claire wasn’t all that depressed but for the rest of the night the baby kept crying and whining, and I got sick of it pretty quick. You wanted to strangle it. I wondered how I’d cope if I had a kid – I supposed Mam would help me out a lot compared to Claire’s mam, who tended to work dead late at the Blue Bell garage and Dave didn’t seem too much into babysitting. I sighed and munched into the crust.

Your mam working tonight? I asked, as a door whammed downstairs. It was Joe going out, and the baby stirred then let out a stupid noise.

Yeah, she’s back about twelve. But hopefully he’ll of gone to Nod by then, Claire said, stepping up to the cot and rocking it gently. I finished off the last slice and stacked our plates by Claire’s bed, where loads of neglected cats and dogs and dinosaurs stared out. The night was going so slow you sort of wished we had some cider to keep us going, but I doubted Claire was allowed to drink in front of the baby and there was a chance it’d just bring us down.

Are you coming to Rachel’s party next week? I asked, licking the bits of tomato off my fingers.

Nah, I don’t think so, Claire went. Her face dropped, and for one night I wished she could let her hair down. It was only a few days til Rachel’s mam and dad were off to Antigua, and the party would be amazing. But the baby had sucked all the life out of Claire. And I feared the worst when I asked her, You’re still up for Majorca though, aren’t you?

Claire cringed when I mentioned it – it was such a terrible blow. She glanced where the Baby Boy was gurgling its head off, then said, I forgot to say. I can’t. I’ll have to stay with him. It’s annoying as fuck, but it’s just money and that. Maybe one of the others would be up for it?

I pulled a dead sympathetic face, but it wouldn’t be the same. Sometimes Gracie and Jenni could be irritating cunts. I sulked, but I sulked for Claire. She got the Baby Boy out of the cot just for the sake of it, and we swapped him about while night completely fell outside. The TV started to flash its colour round the walls, but we had to stick the sound down and there was still fuck-all on it. The baby grabbed at thin air as Claire asked after my mam, how she was doing after the therapy and everything like that. It was always sad getting into that, but she was doing alright. We’d been on a few day trips together, shopping in Newcastle and we did the ice-skating in Boro the week before, and slowly it dawned on me Mam could maybe take Claire’s place in Majorca. After all she deserved a holiday, and there was a chance I’d feel crap anyway away from home if she wasn’t there. Ever since the cancer I never argued with her and I never wasted any precious moments. All at once there was a nice feeling in my belly, and it wasn’t just the pizza digesting and it definitely wasn’t the period. Me and Claire and the Baby Boy laid back on the bed covers, watching the smooth ceiling instead of the clutter. I let the baby grab my little finger, and for once he seemed quite settled.

We should set him up with little Nicole, I laughed, imagining the tiny tots dressed in wedding gear and I snorted. It was pretty obvious by now that babies were a total nightmare, but Claire grinned and kissed the thing’s teeny forehead. I wondered yet if the baby had been christened or confirmed or whatever you called it, but Claire probably wanted him blown up. She hadn’t even named him yet. I still had my heart set on Sydney for a boy or a girl, but I didn’t mention it to her because she’d only want it for the devil child. We bounced the kid up and down then switched off the telly – it was getting lateish, and he was starting to get excited and grouchy again. When he screwed his face up he was the ugliest piece of shit, but I didn’t say anything. We tucked him up in the Duck Tales cot, then started to get tired ourselves and began getting ready for bed. It was sort of a last-minute thing to have the sleep-over so I hadn’t brought any stuff with me; Claire lent me her toothbrush and a tiny Garfield vest, and I managed to change my tampon in the bathroom without embarrassing myself. It was only half-ten when we got in the top-and-tail position, both of us completely sober while the baby dropped off in the corner. Boy had the sleep-overs changed lately. We took a risk and chatted whispers in the dark; every now and then the Baby Boy wriggled about in his cot and we had to shut up, but you couldn’t just lay there in silence.

So you really wanna get back with Fairhurst? Claire asked me, hogging the covers but I wasn’t fussed. That period was hotting me up.

I dunno. I’ve just been with too many crap lads recently, I said, for example the sex with Ben the previous weekend was awkward and ever so slightly painful, him not quite being able to heat me up correctly. I mean, the more people you sleep with the more you realise how good you had it before. And Fairhurst only treated me bad that one time, fondling Rachel’s perfecto titty, and he phoned me all the time after it happened.

Yeah, I know the feeling, Claire whispered. I wish Gaz would have me back.

You don’t mean Shane? I said, raising an eyebrow her toes didn’t catch. I rolled over. I always thought Shane and Claire were good together – like me and Fairhurst, their two-year affair had loads of ups and downs but those boys taught us how to have a good time. I thought it was pretty weird her mentioning Gaz – there was a boy I hated right now.

No, I mean Gary Clinton, Claire repeated. Don’t tell anyone – it’s his baby.

I took some of the covers back, and I hid under them.

Fairhurst was at Rachel’s party, and I tried to get back with him. But it was hard work – perhaps if I was loved-up I could’ve slid up to him and said something nice, but in the end I got mortalled. Me and Jenni went halves on six litres of White Lightning, and there was total frost underfoot and we skidded about while we drank it. The cider was knacking my head by the time we got to Fremantle Crescent, a few motorbike gangs buzzing around as we stood by her front door. Rachel had on her red cheerleader jacket – it was bitter as well indoors, and me and Jen huddled in our coats while we finished the first bottle. Rachel said the pilot light had blown out so there were no radiators, and she had no idea how to fix it. We could see our breath like we were in the
Exorcist
and it was spooky. We made our way through the hall and said hellos to a few people. As I started getting pissed I felt quite high but it was more wobbly than ecstatic. Me, Debbie and Rach sat around nattering about Majorca – Jenni didn’t seem all that bitchy and jealous about the trip, and we swore we’d bring her back some tiny Smirnoffs and Baileys off the aeroplane. She sat on the carpet while I perched on the chair arm next to Debbie – the living room was pretty packed with faces, and that’s when I spotted Chris Fairhurst.

I felt like I made a dick out of myself. He was laid quite bored-looking on the sofa, and I did my biggest grin but it seemed to go right through him. My head was swirling – I couldn’t decide if he’d seen me or not, so I got up and trudged over the people. There were loads of unfamiliar faces, tearaways, and scruffy girls I didn’t know too well. I touched their heads til I got to Fairhurst, and I plonked myself down. He just looked at me with pin-point pupils, and in my head I knew I had to be cool but the cider was a bit of a nightmare. I ended up talking to him about the Citroën he crashed, and straight away I could tell I was pissing him off. The last time I saw him was at the traffic lights with Jenni. Then I started fumbling my words, trying to explain the holiday, but he couldn’t tell what I was on about. He seemed so cold and lifeless, or he had a new girlfriend or something. I wished I wasn’t so drunk – I was aware of making a fool out of myself, but I didn’t know how to combat it. I staggered back to the girls, knocking glasses and people’s knees, and I sat back down all annoyed and fidgety. I hadn’t been this pissed for at least a week. I had the feeling I’d cry about it in the morning, but for the time being there was no reason to sit around worrying about stuff. Fairhurst could do what he wanted.

Me and Jenni lounged around and quaffed more White Lightning – it was so sour and it always made me think of cat poo, but soon enough I was talking shite again and me and Jen floated around with light heads. I kept glancing over at Fairhurst, and I wondered why he was being such a robot. My head was in a muddle about how good looking he was, but there was no denying those cheekbones and green meadow eyes. In a little bit Brandon came in and sat with Debbie, and he blocked my view – those two were having a lover’s tiff, but I managed to change the subject. Brandon wasn’t so het up when we started discussing bikinis and sun lotion, and I steered clear of holiday romance. We weren’t exactly going to Majorca to shag every lad there, but it’d be good to unwind for a week. I was looking forward to coming home roasted.

You alright for drink? Brandon asked me, offering a can of Tennents or whatever it was. I showed him the big bottle of cider and we laughed. I took a can anyway. Brandon was a hotty – at first it seemed weird for Debbie to be going out with a Paki, but he was one of those with nice bracelets and trendy lines shaved into his hair. I wriggled on the hard settee, and I started getting jealous of all the girls sitting around with their boyfriends. Opposite me Rachel and Dan were sloshing tongues, and even Debbie and Brandon necked now and then despite the arguing. Me and Jenni were just the sad cases getting drunker and drunker. I smiled at Dan, then spotted Gary Clinton squashed underneath them slurping up a bottle of Three Hammers. I didn’t want him to notice me; I was still cross about him battering Adam as well as putting a bun in Claire’s oven. He changed my mood – I bobbed my head back, and I could feel my eyes swimming out of their sockets.

Eve you’re wrecked, Rachel went, cradling Dan’s hand and laughing. People who say that to you are boring knobs though. She hadn’t been drinking much, just sharing a cup of Spectra with Dan and that was that. She seemed pretty happy though – house parties tended to be disastrous, especially with the open-door policy. Sometimes you got people coming in off the street and stealing things, but at least all the thugs at Rachel’s were smiley thugs. To me they were all just a bunch of spinning faces. Me and Jenni polished off the rest of the White Lightning, looking really terrible but we didn’t give a hoot. Me and her at least wanted to have a good time. I was starting to wish Jenni could come with us to Majorca, but it’d be a kick in the teeth for my mam. And her tits looked really out of shape in her tight Nike top, and in a way I didn’t want to witness her in a bikini. Boys still went for her though, for example Ben getting off with her at Empire way before me and him did the squelch. The sex was nothing to scream about though – I think when you start getting laid you imagine boys to have really different styles and ornate techniques, but to be honest they’re all quite similar and it’s hard even to tell the difference between knobs sometimes. It’s safe to say Fairhurst was my best shag, lots of doggy style and licking out and kissing and cuddling afterwards. But now he didn’t want to go near me.

Crossing my legs, I felt my tummy churn a bit of cider and I had to balance feeling drunk and feeling sick. My pulse was pumping a little bit harder, and I felt my cheeks drain. I didn’t want to sick up in front of Fairhurst so I made a sharp exit out of the room, sweating like mad to the sound of
Street Fighter II
someone had just put on. With the nasty cider swishing about, I darted up the steep staircase and locked myself in Rachel’s bathroom. I turned on the cold tap but the water was disgusting, my belly all tight and scrunched. I admitted to myself I’d feel better if I spewed, but the toilet cover was down so I had to quickly gag into the white sink. I felt ashamed. My puke was mostly liquid with a few yellowy lumps of Mam’s fish bake, and it filled half the bowl – you’d think by now I’d realise I couldn’t hold my drink. Wiping my mouth, I felt absolutely knackered all of a sudden, and slumped in a crumple on the bathroom floor. I was still drunk, and I felt dippy sticking my fingers down the plug to clear the lumps out. I watched the sick swirl away, and I was so used to the milky acid smell I felt sad. I wanted to go back downstairs like nothing had happened, but my guts were in a twist and I was white as an ice cream. Blinking heavily, I knocked my head off the towel-rail then put my back against the cold radiator. I tried to go to sleep. Eyes shutted, the room was still spinning and all I could think of was spew and cider, teasing myself. I had to push my hand into my waistband to get any kind of comfort, and I tried to focus on Majorca. My head was a whizz of coconuts and monkeys and sunshine. After a bit I managed to drop off, or rather completely pass out on the sticky lino. My brain went blank. Only two more sleeps til Majorca.