Apples (19 page)

I was feeling fucking groggy. And paranoid – all of a sudden I remembered embarrassing myself in front of Fairhurst; I wondered if he was still around, but I didn’t have the energy to get out of the covers. I put back my head and grimaced. My throat was in ribbons from all that throwing up, but something else just didn’t feel right. I started to shiver as I realised I was in my bra and knicks, and in between my legs I felt quite sore. I glanced at Adam but he seemed fairly innocent – I wondered if I was dreaming him or if he was really there. He just sat and stared, and I curled up in a little ball with terrible stomach cramps. And that’s when I realised my pants were halfway down my thighs, and someone had been at my miaow. Even my bum-hole was a little achey. The panic shot through me like a train-set – I had that distinct feeling of being fucked, and the shock was so intense I had to hold back the tears while Adam just stopped there on the carpet.

What you doing? I mumbled, pulling up the knickers. Thank god I was covered by the duvet – one of my boobs had been squashed out of my bra, although I guessed it was nothing he hadn’t seen already.

I’ve been taking care of you, Adam replied. What a sick way of putting it. I wanted to get rid of him – I couldn’t believe what kind of morbid cunt got into bed with unconscious girls. I screamed air as I sat up all rigid, but my head throbbed so much I couldn’t really argue with him. I was shuddering – every single position in bed felt like medieval torture.

Where’s Rachel? I asked. I couldn’t look at him – I bet he felt pretty hot losing his virginity to me, and the more I thought about my miaow the more it started to sting. I didn’t have the guts to check it for sludge.

She’s downstairs, Adam said, with this fake bunny-wunny voice, But I’ll stay with you, if you want.

No, I snapped. Fuck off! Get Rachel …

Adam’s face totally dropped, but then so did my knickers. It did seem like genuine anguish, and for a second I wondered if it was really possible for him to fuck me without me knowing – he was always so shy and feeble at school. I wished for one moment I wasn’t so attractive to boys. Adam shot out the room pretty sharp – even if he felt guilty, what good was that? I figured it was always freaks from schools who did that kind of thing, though – I felt sloppy, full of spew and all violated. And to think I used to really like him.

Rachel came up the stairs after about a minute or so. It was hard to tell if she was drunk – she was smiling a big red wedge and I tried not to weep when I said to her, What did he do to me?

Who; that Adam lad? Rachel asked, raising tweezer eyebrows. Dunno – he’s alright isn’t he?

I swallowed down the sobs – they tasted just like White Lightning, and I had trouble keeping them down. I touched my belly again, then got shivery again and said, But I’m all undressed …

God, you dafty, Rachel smiled, but she could tell I was in a bad way. At last it felt good to have my best friend by my side instead of some strange boy, and I managed to curve a smile when she added, Me and Gracie got you out of your clothes. They’re just down there.

Rachel pointed at my blue USA top and denimy trousers by the bedside table, but my eyes were so icky it was hard to focus. I was still dead juddery and tearful, and I went to her again, But I feel like someone’s been touching me up.

Rach just laughed, and I had to smirk as well when she said, God, you’re absolutely mortalled. Nothing’s happened to you! It was me and Gracie – we pretended to feel you up when we got you into bed.

You bitch, I said, but it was a massive relief. I adjusted my knicker bottoms again, and in my head my bits didn’t feel so hurty any more. I screwed my eyes then breathed out really loudly – it’d been a mad night, and I was better off getting some kip instead of fretting about stuff. I felt bad chucking Adam out, but he’d get over it. I decided to fill my head back up with sunshine – Rachel tucked me in, and I ended up sleeping at hers. Even though I was sicky and disgusting she jumped in with me, and it was nice having someone close to me again. But not that close.

Next time I get raped I’m going to have an abortion. I looked shit in the mirror – I was once famous for the ice-blonde hair and sprouting boobs in Year Seven, now everything was just a tip. My eyeballs were in some serious need of a cucumber. Speaking of which, I hadn’t seen any action for ages and that green dildo from Ann Summers was hardly getting me off any more. To be honest the idea of getting dicked was quite sickening. Shane dumped me as soon as he realised I was carrying, or at least he stopped coming round and I got the hint. Rumour had it he was seeing Katie K from Berwick Hills now = a complete whore compared to me. But Shane and me both knew the Baby Boy wasn’t his, so you couldn’t really blame him – Shane always wore a Durex or a Trojan and we were dead careful. And to think I used to say they were a nuisance. In the Duck Tales cot, the baby was making a terrible racket. With him not being able to talk and all, it was impossible to tell if he wanted feeding or changing or whatever else, especially when my mam and Dave were out. I sighed and tried to rock him a little, but he didn’t shut up. I pretended to throttle him. There was quite a bit of spew in the side of his cot, but I figured if I cleaned it up he’d only go and dirty it again. He was the absolute devil-child, but what can you do. I went around wearing ear-muffs and stuff. It was half-term that week, but the girls didn’t seem to come round any more, and the only sign of any boys on the horizon was Clinton – I couldn’t see him changing any nappies, and he did have a habit of raping you, but he was my only chance really of a serious relationship. We used to go out at the start of secondary school, and all I could remember was the carefreeness and the hilarity. We used to climb fences and stamp on people’s gardens and laugh at dead animals together. I supposed we’d just tell the Baby Boy he was conceived on a paradise island with ‘When a Man Loves a Woman’ playing. I sat there and watched the kid go red, bawling, and I was pure bored. I wasn’t sure how Clinton felt about me, but I guessed if he was desperate to fuck me nine months ago he’d at least be into going out one night. I decided to give him a bell. ‘Hi, Gary. You up to much?’ I said when he picked up. ‘Naw mate,’ Clinton replied, and it was annoying him always calling me his mate. He went on about driving his brother’s dodgy new Nova, getting into capers with the police and suchlike, but I could feel the phone bill stacking up and I tried to cut him off. ‘So you seeing anyone at the moment?’ I asked down the phone. ‘Well yeah, sort of,’ he replied, and my heart bombed. ‘I shagged Eve at Rachel’s party.’ I went, ‘You serious?’ but I felt totally squashed. Clinton didn’t even get it – he wanted me to hear all the gory details, for instance fucking her in the front and in the behind in Rachel’s bed, her legs up by his ears and him coming like a skyrocket, but I was more cross at Eve than him. Eve knew I wanted to get back with him, and it wasn’t the first time she’d stolen someone from me. I even caught her giving glad eyes to my brother once. It was pretty typical for Clinton to go getting stuck into a load of different girls but I couldn’t hate him, after all he was the only chance of Damien having a daddy. When I got off the phone the house felt emptier and emptier. I was fuming – I shot upstairs to check if the Baby Boy had died, but unfortunately it was there wriggling around and making sound. I picked him up – the thing was horrible, gurgling and clinging on to you like a pink tarantula. I felt like throwing it against the wall, but I was only wound up about Eve. It was merely weeks since we had that sleep-over and I told her I wanted to get back with Clinton – I remembered her saying ages ago she didn’t even like him that much. I shimmied the baby’s weight in my arms, but I couldn’t stand staying in the house – I needed fresh air, and I started getting our coats together. I was sick of that stinky little kid smell, but when we got onto Overdale Road there was a nasty wet breeze and it frustrated me even more. We got drenched. All I could think about as we walked past the health centre was how shit my life had got – I used to have amazing visions of boyfriends and dream jobs and maybe a big house in America. Now I just had stretch marks. Every house I passed all I had on my mind was that spoilt bitch in Beechwood. My head and my lungs and my belly were hollow, and I wanted to go argh! We trudged on – the Baby Boy didn’t even have a buggy yet, and god knows who he got the fatty gene from. When we reached the end of Overdale and the rain really started, I forced out a bit of a cry. ‘You wanna go see Eve?’ I asked him, since we were only a stone’s throw from Bitchwood and I had to sort things out with her. The baby didn’t say anything, but there was no point turning back. I ducked his head under mine and we shot over the beck and the rusty railway line. The sky was getting to be glorious black-coal cloud and it was pissing it down. I felt like complete shite – my head was splitting open as we ran away from the streamers, and quite possibly I could feel my periods coming back on top of all that. I walked round the back of the mental hospital, cradling the Baby Boy all the way to Belle Vue, and it was a relief as the drizzle fizzled out. Me and the baby were covered in teeny tiny droplets like teddy bears, and we went in the shop to dry off a short while. I bought us a pack of Jammie Dodgers, not that the baby had taken to sweets yet but I was starving. We sat on the bench while I gobbled them up – it was depressing watching the cars go round and round the roundabout, but my head felt better. I laid the Baby Boy on my lap while I worked my way through the love-hearts, and I dropped crumbs all over him. I didn’t really give a fuck. It looked like torture walking the opposite way to the litter bin, so I left the half-eaten packet on the bench and me and the baby crossed Keith Road together. I cleaned him up for the sake of keeping up appearances, though my arms were killing from all that carrying. He was growing dead fast, and I was only a little girl. When we got to Eve’s I had to drop him by the gate, watching he didn’t roll about while I composed myself. It was a Friday morning and Bitchwood seemed ever so quiet, and all the fallen leaves got me thinking more and more about Eve. I wanted to tear her fucking hair out, tell her not to touch Clinton ever again, and as for being friends she could fuck herself from now on. Definitely no more sleep-overs. Just to make a point I blammed really hard on her front door, the Baby Boy banging its head and trying to crawl as it laid out on the garden. One of Eve’s slut-o sisters came to the door in a dressing-gown and went to me, ‘You after Eve? She’s gone to Majorca this morning. You know, with Rachel and everyone …’ I almost broke down again. I’d forgotten all about the holiday – another fucking excuse for Eve to sleep around, and my eyes were welling up as I stood in the yard. Her sister could tell I was pissed off, but I couldn’t really take it out on her so me and the Baby Boy pulled ourselves together and set off back into the morning glaze. I gave that holiday up because of the baby – what a gift from the stork he was. ‘So when they back?’ I asked, turning around again. ‘Don’t know. A fortnight or something like that.’ I nodded, but I sulked all the way from Beechwood Avenue to the dingy roundabout, and that’s when the weeping began again. First me, then the Baby Boy. I had this amazing urge to throw myself in the middle of the road, and the idea of going home and slitting my wrists was slightly exciting. But I wasn’t a sick fucker – I had a lot to live for, if only the baby wasn’t dragging me down all the time. I blew out air and we cried into each other’s faces. I didn’t want to go back to the house straight away – I hated the idea of sitting around in all the chaos and shit and wee again, but the estate didn’t have much to offer either. At least there was no one around to see me bawling. We walked on, and my little fingers were frosting over in such a massive gale – I seriously wondered if my eyes would get icy from all the crying. I just kept on looking glum, but the thoughts were killing me. The Baby Boy screwed its face up as we tripped down Belle Vue Grove, the trees all dripping with raindrops and I knew exactly how they felt. Five minutes later we reached the beck again, and we stood at the side of the bridge as the water rose and surged like a black brick road. I watched it cut through the Grove Hill and the Berwick Hills, and I wished I was anywhere but there. I thought of Eve and Rach and Debbie in Majorca, sunning themselves and not giving one care about the people back home. I imagined them fucking a bunch of Spanish hunks, and I was fucking jealous. Eve probably didn’t even care about Clinton – she had that special way of using people and getting whatever she wanted. She had it so easy. I leaned on the railing and bobbed my eyes around the silver streets and granite buildings, propping the Baby Boy in one arm as I took out a Sovereign and smoked it. It was my first cigarette since the baby, and my hands shook as I puffed. ‘What are we gonna do with you?’ I whispered to him, but he didn’t know. For a moment he was quiet and I relaxed a minute, til the wind picked up again and the tantrums started over. The noise was incredible – even my mam couldn’t get him to shut up sometimes. I threw out the fag then lifted him in two hands = what an ugly idiot he was. My brain was overflowing with babies, boys and bitches, and it fucking knacked. I told Eve it was Clinton’s baby, and she still went and shagged him. I knew me and Clinton were over – he always had his eye on a thousand different girls, and he didn’t even know the kid was his. He wasn’t going to change. I cuddled the little knobhead in my arms for a minute or two, but the crying was unbearable and I really wanted to strangle it. It struck me for the rest of my life I’d only have the Baby Boy for company, and so far he hadn’t been much of a mate. I stood him on top of the railing, and we had a dance as the wind eased and we saw a couple of slivers of blue sky. I made a little prayer, then I scrunched my eyes and accidentally-on-purpose threw him off the rail. There was a big plop in the water, and a bit of red where he must’ve smacked off the bottom. I faked a look of horror, Clinton’s jaw and my hair colour and cheekbones washing down the dirty stream. I felt a bit sick, but at least I’d got it over with. I didn’t want to hang around the scene of the crime too long, so I pushed up my Nike collar and headed back to Park End – I felt like all the estate’s eyes were on me, but killing the baby was just a silly mistake. We’ve all been there. I pushed my lips together and charged down Overdale Road again, the breeze still going but nothing holding me back. When I got in I made sure to phone 999 straight away, and I waited for them to come round with another Sovereign on the go, and a story in my head. I stared at the windows. I felt alright – the sky wasn’t exactly glowing, but all the black clouds they were diamonds.