Apples (4 page)

A year later, the car was still the same – shitty and noisy. Fairhurst drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, revving the engine miles too loud as we stood at the traffic lights, and he had to yell, So are youse two at school now?

Naw, these are our casuals, Jenni spurted, twirling in the uniform. I wasn’t sure why she hammered Fairhurst so much, when it was him who used to take us into town when we were thirteen or fourteen. He bought us drinks and smokes for Jenni, and we never ever had a bad night.

Yeah, we are, yeah, I replied seriously, trying to be nice. Me and Fairhurst didn’t really have bad blood, it’s just I couldn’t trust anyone in front of Rachel really. Not only did he have his hand on her tit at that party, he was tonguing her loads and that tongue was meant to be mine. Apparently Rachel reckoned she was off her trolley and couldn’t remember a thing – she was a good girl, but just frustratingly magnetic to the opposite sex.

You want a lift? he asked. I nodded and jumped in the front with him, after a big mouth of cola then I chucked the can on the pavement. I finished off the sandwich as Jenni hopped in the back, feeling slightly like prostitutes with such an older guy but it was alright. I think Fairhurst recognised my tiny school skirt and started thinking to himself about the old days: he had his eyes on my thighs when he ploughed in the back of the 63. We all whiplashed forward and I banged my knee on the dashboard; Jenni smacked her hand off my headrest and she didn’t even have her seatbelt on either. We were lucky. The wreckage wasn’t that bad; Fairhurst’s bumper caved in, and the bus got a tiny little scratch. I think the driver went easy on him because me and Jenni were there, but there was a bit of fuss about insurance and Fairhurst was pissed off about the bumper. I felt sorry for him as we finally rolled down Linthorpe Road, everybody staring and giggling and stuff. He meant something to me. I kept pretty quiet as Fairhurst edged the car around town, just thinking to myself about Saltersgill field. He patted my leg but that was it. I tended to throw away all the lads I ever liked, and it hurt a lot more than the knee.

You have to get fucked as quick as you can. From about age twelve you haven’t got a choice about it. Me and Ste Barber and Matty went to this party with a tenner draw, thinking we could get some lasses paralysed and into bed with it. When we got there the house was packed with girls from Brackenhoe, and we helped ourselves to a bit of the wine and shit that knocked about. I kept grabbing at my sky blue Kappa trackies, feeling proper horny with the girls out of their school uniforms. Everyone looked mint without the crap baggy shirts and that. There were a load of them outside blowing up chuddy, and we set up a bucket watching them out the kitchen window. I cut the bottom off a Pepsi bottle that was lying in the rubbish, and we took the bucket out to do it with the girls. It was fuckin smart. I sat next to the Virgin, sprinkling on that bit extra so she got a good creamy one. Some of the girls hadn’t done tac before – one of the blonde lasses got fuckin spaced out and turned green, but she didn’t whitey or owt. The Virgin started laughing and messing about with us, and after I done another bucket she kept touching me and sprawling about. She was wrecked. We smoked a load more until about evening, and I was starting to see the colours and all that. By about sevenish we were laid out on the grass, feeling stoned as fuck. It was too much to move around – I got one of the girls to get us more cider, and I force-fed the Virgin it. They’d forgotten all about the chewy, and sooner or later everyone was off their face. My head was full of trippy shite, but then I remembered why we’d come to the party in the first place. I took another shot off someone’s bucket, and the Virgin looked fuckin screwed to me. The plants in the garden were starting to flow about as she darted inside. I couldn’t be bothered going after her, I figured she’d throw up then come back in a bit. But she never did. She passed out. Some of her mates put her to bed upstairs, laughing and joking about it but only because they were fucked. We all went to look at the Virgin dribbling sick on the pillow. Whoever’s house it was, they said not to fuck about with her so everyone fucked off after a while. I was bursting for a piss, and when I got out the bathroom they were all gone. I crawled into bed with her – the bed was massive with teddies sat round the Virgin’s head, and she looked fuckin nec-tar. The covers were going up and down with her breaths, and she was so drunk she thought I was her boyfriend. I said something reassuring to her, so she wouldn’t panic and smash my face in. She had her eyes shut but I thought I saw her smile and I went to snog her – she tasted like sick and orange bubbly. She didn’t hold back so I climbed on top of her and pulled back the sheets. The main thing was getting my end away rather than heating her up, so I didn’t bother with any of that foreplay and I was fuckin hard as it was. The covers went up and down with my thrusts. She was sort of moaning as I fucked her undercover, and I groaned to spur her on a bit. I tried to see her tits, but it took ages getting off her bra as we banged the bed against the wall. She was fuckin unresponsive, but then again it was her first time and she was passed out. Her cunt wasn’t as tight as your own fist but you could sort of whack it along the top and get some sensation. She was so out of it I just messed about with her tits til I came. It was fuckin mint. Afterwards I left her as she was, getting in the mood for another bucket and I put back on the Kappas. We had a ton of that draw left, and I laid back in the grass doing nothing for the rest of the night. There were still a few girls sat around, getting drunk and getting sleepy, but I didn’t have to get them wrecked any more.

I wasn’t a virgin. Sometimes I acted that way – like bringing the 4-pack of Hubba Bubba to the party instead of drinks – but I’d had sex tons of times. I gave a pack each to my Best Friends, and we stuffed our gobs with it. We blew up huge spheres in the dark, and we got drunk. We’d been in town for a couple of bevs before the party – we swallowed some vodka and cranberries at Chicago Rock then got the bus to Overfields or wherever the party was. It was a pretty big house and me and my Best Friend gave ourselves the grand tour, chasing each other round the bedrooms like knobheads = quite hilarious. Someone made a vat of wine and cider and spirity stuff in the kitchen, and everyone was helping themselves to glasses and getting really mortalled. Me and my Second Best Friend got dizzy really quick, and we sat in the garden drinking the punch and chatting up the boys. We blew up great big bubbles. My Third Best Friend always had a Pilot marker on her and she tagged her name round the garden, dark hair falling all about her face. The alcohol was obviously rushing round us, and it was about that time the Virgin came over. At first I thought his mates were going to soak us because they came out with a bucket full of water, but when you saw the sawn-off Pepsi bottle it was obvious they were doing drugs. One of them lit this bit of tac on the lid, then you saw the white smoke tornado up the bottle and they took a big hit on it. I laughed just watching. The boys made us have a go, and we were all up for it though we ended up getting ill. I had to take out the orange bubbly, and I felt my throat seizing up as I took the shot. The tac dried all the way up your oesophagus thing, and my head felt light and it kept getting lighter. The daisies were all spinning like ickle helicopters. I went to grab the Virgin’s knee, and in the corner of my eye my Best Friend was laid out and laughing at the sky. I was getting pretty sick, and it was hard talking to the Virgin even though I liked him quite a bit. We’d known each other since primary school, and it was good having him around but my mouth was clammed and I was getting rather queasy. He made me drink more cider, which by now was tasting pretty sour but I necked it down. The Virgin had that dirty look in his eye, but I was tripping out and I could feel my cheeks leaking and I knew it was going to end in tragedy. I stood and shot to the bathroom, my Third Best Friend still tagging the windows and I couldn’t even shout for help. I made it to the toilet and spewed all that punch out of me. It was like getting punched actually. I was still so dizzy and zapped of energy – someone or other helped me across the hall, or I fell asleep all by myself. I curled up in someone’s made bed; the covers were patterned with daisies but I didn’t give a shit. The bed felt so fat and comfy, though I could hardly sleep with my head whooshing and I dropped in and out of slumbers through the night. I dreamt up white boys and orange bubbles and white and orange flowers. Next thing I knew, there was a boy in the bed taking my flower. Or so he thought. My cunt was bone-dry, and he practically stabbed me to death. At first I imagined it was my boyfriend, and I swung my arms round his shoulders, completely dazed and off my rocker. I don’t know when it dawned on me I’d been violated. Afterwards I dropped straight back to sleep, one tit squeezed out my new bra and my jeans halfway down my thighs = uncomfy. I guessed there’d be all that sludge in there. At about midnight I could hear my Second Best and Third Best Friend slagging me off, saying they’d have to take me to the clinic and calling me a slag and a slut. I felt so shit, and I didn’t know what was up. I passed out again. I woke the next morning in a funny bed, the left booby still out and the undies scrunched and horrible. My Best Friends had kipped on the floor, and when I started stirring they shot up and rubbed their fuzzy heads. I felt sick and painful. I turned over in the bed, sorted out the bra and knicks, but my Third Best Friend started talking and it didn’t sound like I was allowed to sleep. And it was a Sunday, of all things. We fixed up our clothes and hair, then tried to find the Overfields Girl whose house it was and let ourselves out. There were a few boys sleeping downstairs in a heap and we got out through the back, jumping over the punch bowls and the bucket. I felt depressed as anything on the Arriva, getting off at the clinic just to make it worse. We were hardly talking to each other as we walked, my Best Friends all hungover and me probably all pregnant. I made a promise to shower the Virgin off me as soon as I got to Park End. Waiting in the clinic, it was my Second Best Friend who went up to the receptionist for the pill, and I bet she felt dead grown-up but she was a fucking virgin and all. I sat around but I wasn’t thinking about my boyfriend – I wasn’t thinking about anything really. Sighing, I swallowed down the pill then we made our way back home, through sunlight and trouble.

I jumped the baby up and down on my knee. I had on the pink pyjama bottoms and Baby Nicole was kicking the hell out of me in her tiny socks, getting over-excited. I stopped rocking her then pulled a face, blowing her a kiss – she looked so sweet in her flowery dress with her bulky nappy under; you couldn’t imagine her getting shagged in a few years’ time or doing white doves. All the boys’d fancy her – even I used to wear dinky sandals and frocks believe it or not. Smoothing out my jammy top, I yawned then leaned into the sofa, trying to watch
Friends
over Nicole’s chubby cheeks. She was Mr and Mrs Davies’ daughter from next door, and she was hilarious, gurgling and smiling whenever the audience laughed on TV. I always wanted a little sister. Laura probably had a different outlook, coming into the living room in her bathrobe and shivering.

You made tea yet? I asked, lying Nicole down on me. There were some pizzas in the freezer, but I couldn’t be bothered pulling off the wrappers and finding out how to cook them. Laura looked at me with total disgust.

Naw, I’ve had mine, she snapped, so I ended up getting up and making a boring sandwich instead. Laura looked after Nicole while I slapped together bread and Philadelphia, chomping almost half of it before I was even back through the door. I knew I was pissing her off. I had the sandwich then grabbed the baby again, still feeling dead empty. The Davieses had taken out Mam and a few other dinnerladies from the Spacker School, to somewhere like the Viking or the Social. I didn’t mind babysitting, but I had all this Maths coursework and I knew my teacher would rip my head off in the morning if I came without it. I shifted my weight, then smiled as Natasha breezed in. She was my other sister, and she was all done up in a turquoise dress with lots of back-combing and dirty blonde highlights. She waved fingers at Baby Nicole then made her dance on my lap, holding her podgy wrists. Natasha’s pea-green nails looked seductive, and I made a mental note to steal some next time I went out.

Where you going? You look mint, I told her, as she peered her face out the window-pane. Peppermint, in fact.

Out with Dean, she replied. You stopping in all night?

Mmm. I nodded. Natasha was only nineteen, but she was already engaged to him – the ring was genuine gold. She wasn’t pregnant or nothing; Dean was a good boyfriend and they’d been going out about three or four years without many break-ups. He didn’t want to rush the wedding, but Natasha wanted Mam to be alive to see it and boys tended not to have a say on that kind of thing. I didn’t know who was going to pay for it though, our dad not being on the scene too much those days – he had his own fancy-lady over in South Bank, but it wasn’t like he absconded or anything. We still got on with him and saw him now and then, but all he ever banged on about round his was the new bird and the night shift at ICI and he was boring. Plus South Bank could be scary, full of falling-down houses and angry young ruffians.

When you going out? I asked, and Natasha went, Dean’s picking me up. We’re going to Time I think.

Sniffing, I smoothed down the pyjama top then made sure Nicole wasn’t choking herself to death on my thighs. She grumbled and flapped her arms when I lifted her to my chest, just as Dean’s Escort dawdled past. Natasha peeked through the curtains again, then charged out of the house saying bye-bye then you heard the windy gales. I wished I was going out too. Natasha got a few whistles when she skipped across Beechwood Avenue, but they were most probably from Deano. It wasn’t our fault for being so good-looking. We watched Natasha’s back disappear, then the doorbell went and I wondered what she’d forgotten. I looked at Laura, but she was cosy and stubborn in her bathrobe so I got up and went myself. I handed her Baby Nicole then tugged the pink top over my belly, feeling a slight bit scruffy. It was only Rachel and Debbie and the boys though. Rach had swapped the gold porno top for white pyjamas with yellow elephants, and I smiled as they stood there clinking bottles. Gary and Dan looked quite alright under the dark grey sky, and I bit my lip when they stared me up and down.