Apples (9 page)

When I used to live in Saltersgill there was a girl who rode past my house every morning on a pink bike, and though she was engraved in my head as a six-year-old it was funny seeing her standing there by the snooker table. She was about seventeen now, and I was hoping just to slink past and mind my own business but she grabbed me and went, ‘Is that Adam thingy?’ I nodded, luckily not throwing the pints all over her. We talked for a bit about shit stuff like Saltersgill Avenue and pints of lagers, and since my hands were full of glasses I wasn’t doing all that nervous body-language like scratching my face and crossing my arms and biting my nails. I actually thought I was getting somewhere until she snapped, ‘Anyways, gotta go. I’m meeting me boyfriend at Aruba.’

Back at the table, Burny and Donna were dead embarrassing and asking about the girl but I wasn’t a wanker so I kept my mouth shut. For some reason it was a macho thing in Boro to say, ‘Would’ve nailed her, fucking dirty slag.’ But I’d be lucky. The girls I went for all had blonde hair and blue eyes, not that I was Hitler; it was probably the purity and innocence that got me going. Having said that, lasses with those attributes like Eve or Rachel or Claire Blame were always going out and getting into mischief while a normal night for me was getting tucked up in bed by half-ten. So I necked the next pint a bit quicker, not really enjoying it, and I got the kick to get up and wander around again. There were quite a few pretty faces, but I didn’t know how to act and when an Aryan bombshell brushed past me I had a cheeky little feel of her sides. God knows what I would’ve done if she turned around. I had no chat-up lines or come-hither expressions. In actual fact I got clocked by her boyfriend, who was trailing behind with arms the size of beer barrels. Straight away I shit myself, and he sort of barged into me and snarled, ‘Watch out then you fucking prick.’ All I could think about was Pablo Picasso – everything about her boyfriend was dead square and cubist. Hideous.

So from then on I decided not to be so forward and sleazy, although if a square cunt like him could get a beauty then so could anyone. I chose a spot at the bar next to these two brunettes, one of them much better-looking than the other but they both had on nice summery dresses and they shone out on such a frosty night. While I waited to get served I eavesdropped, and when Summer Girl 1 asked Summer Girl 2 for the time I took a stab in the dark and went, ‘About nineish,’ and smiled. They looked at me doss-eyed and I figured they were both sloshed, so I pouted all stupid and asked, ‘What are you drinking, ladies?’ They just laughed though.

Burny and Donna were still watching me from the corner, and I felt daft staggering back to the chairs but who gives a fuck – the beer and a half had kicked in, and I was having a good time I think. I plonked back down on the seat, but we still couldn’t really say anything to each other and I figured they wouldn’t ask me out again. The Grove was beginning to empty and these other girls came over to sit at the table next to us, and as I slurped the new Carlsberg the confidence wobbled back again. I sat with my legs slightly open on the off-chance one of them moved up against me, but there was no joy. They yapped on like puppy dogs, all sorts of things like how men are total pigs and dickheads and I decided to take my leg back. After a bit we had to finish those drinks and we dragged ourselves outdoors, and I’d almost forgotten the shit estate was out there. We tackled it together.

Donna was the last girl standing in the swirling night. She was pissing herself between me and Burny but it was sweet, and I held her sides and she felt like toasted marshmallow. She brightened me up with a cherry on top. I asked if there was any chance I could come back and sleep at theirs, but I knew they’d want to make babies and stuff and I had to go back home sooner or later. My parents would be in bed, and hopefully I could creep in without having to shut the door too many times. I dreaded bumping into them though, now they knew I was a complete wanker. After a firm no from the lovebirds, I sighed the goodbyes and started charging home as the cold set in. Donna at least sent me off with a peck on the cheek, but as soon as they disappeared I was left with the same crap feeling and I wondered to myself how was I ever going to avoid another beating.

I bought the yellow Hello Kitty beanie for five pound, but I knew I wouldn’t wear it and in the end I gave it to Mam when her hair started falling out. Me, Debbie and Rachel swung our shopping bags as we flounced out of the Hill Street Centre, all of us really jolly compared to the dour grey faces trundling round Boro that afternoon. The town seemed to be a beautiful playground, all the silver factories and pipes and flares sticking up over the little strawberry rooftops, and we bounced around like three-year-olds on Prozac. The weather was good, and we got our holiday booked. Claire was at home with flu or something, but the four of us were jet-setting to Majorca the following March – it was only some off-season resort, but we figured it was worth it what with GCSEs coming up and also the crap spring wind and rain. As we stepped onto Linthorpe Road and saw everyone going about in their drab outfits and sour expressions, we stuck our eyes on the sun and imagined what it would be like.

Where next? Debbie asked us, squinting a little. We weren’t ones to float around in posh sunglasses, but then again I believed all the stuff about getting crow’s feet. Rachel pushed up her sexy sixties shades while me and Debbie screwed our faces up, and even though she was seeing everything in black and brown she was the first to say, Look, there’s Gary.

Gary Clinton was the biggest gangster in Brackenhoe school. We’d scored a few love-heart pills from him the night before, and we were wandering around with that dreamy Happy Monday feeling in our heads except it was Saturday. Everything seemed funny and beautiful. Gary was also the type of boy to go round smacking kids from other schools, and trying to shag girls who didn’t know any better. I was pretty sure he hadn’t nailed any of my gang – I personally wouldn’t go anywhere near him, even though he was charming when he was trying to get into you. He had on an eighties-looking black and green shellsuit, and did the upward nod when he spotted us coming over. He thought he was the king of cool, and me and Rachel had a tiny smirk about it with linked arms.

Alright? he asked once we reached him. What youse up to?

Nowt; we just booked our hol to Majorca, I explained. I breathed in when he looked at my tits.

Mint. Any decent clubs out there like, or what?

Well yeah, it’s got Pacha and everything, Rachel replied, but Gary didn’t have a clue. All he knew about was nutting and glassing people in Time and Bongo. He had a silly life.

So what you doing? I asked him, but I wasn’t as interested as that.

Gaz blinked up and down the rainbow-dotted street, then went, Tried to get some money off this lad. I dunno now. I was gonna nick some bottles or something. Youse need owt getting?

God did he know what women wanted. Rachel and me just laughed, but you could see the cogs ticking in Debbie’s head and she went, Some spraypaint?

It was fair enough not wanting to spend three or four pound on a can of paint, but it meant Gaz had to hang around with us the rest of the day and you couldn’t talk about the stuff you wanted to with him around. Gary shrugged black/green sheeny shoulders, then those two went off to find a car shop. Me and Rachel waited out in the sun while they scooted in and stole plum, lime green and raspberry red, and later on we spotted them getting off on the benches near Virgin. I guessed it was payback for the paint – a kiss from Debbie had a street-value of about twenty-five pound. Even back then Deb was seeing darkie Brandon from North Ormesby – Gary didn’t have any colour to him whatsoever. Me and Rachel got a couple of pasties out of Greggs, but we could hardly stomach anything having been on the love-hearts the previous evening. We just stood and played about with the pastry – in a way ecstasy was a good way to keep your figure. If you gave E to completely fat people not only would they be buzzing all the time, the weight would topple off them. Debbie was jiggling her knees while Gaz felt her up – they were getting into it, but you could hardly watch. Me and Rach laughed but they were a nuisance – once they prised themselves off each other, Debbie and Gary lagged behind the rest of the day and in a weird way you hoped Brandon would appear round the corner with a bomby-knocker.

Gary had a foil-lined carrier out with him – I seriously wondered if he was for real, spending Saturday afternoons stealing things and putting fingers up girls’ rude bits. In broad daylight as well. It was a gorgeous day – I tried not to worry too much but he was mental, and I strode forwards chatting with Rach. We got loads of looks off boys as we rocketed up the pavement, but we were in the mood for just staring straight ahead like stuck-up supermodels. Every now and then we had to say hello to people we were associated with. On the corner of Vaughan Street, Gary wanted to browse in JD Sports, and yet again me and Rachel giggled about his class although we had been known to wear Fila and Adidas and Kappa and Ellesse back in the day. Actually I woke up in trackie bottoms that morning but let’s keep that one to ourselves. Rach came back to mine after a night down the Viking, and we changed into comfy clothes and watched the last of the Friday telly. The love-hearts especially tended to give you that speedy up-all-night effect, so we were there on the settee til about five or six in the morning, wired to it.

It’s boiling, Rachel said, taking off her shades as we pushed through everyone in the tight shop. It was the perfect scenario for swiping sportswear, but you just could not look. Me and Rach dragged Debbie over to the swimwear and stroked a few bikinis, trying not to be seen with Gaz. Debbie was neither here nor there, but all the talk of holidays got her in the mood again and we nattered a while about beaches and Sex On The Beaches. There was better fun to come than hanging around with scallywags. We watched Gary smuggle away a pair of sky blue Kappa trackies, and after a bit it was obvious the security guard was going to get involved. I had a hold on a red Adidas bikini top when the hunky guy in black marched over, but Gaz spotted him pretty fast and burst his way out. The trackies were hanging out the foil bag when he crossed the alarm but it didn’t go off, and Debbie shoved her bum in the security man’s side and he had no choice but to manhandle her.

Watch out then! What the fuck you doing, Debbie said, and for a second she fazed him with her bedtime eyes and pneumatic breasts. I almost laughed, but Rachel was staring the opposite way and instead we decided to watch Gaz sprint off. The guard got all flustered, made a charge for the door then changed his mind and said to us, Do you know that lad?

Naw but I’d like to get to know you, Deb said, and we left it at that. The security guard was sort of cute, and obviously he was too hot and bothered to put up a chase. Instead we spotted him talking to his walkie-talkie as we walked the other way, and I wondered who was on the other end. To be honest with you I didn’t care if Gaz got caught or not – it was a relief to get rid of him the rest of the afternoon. I touched the Lunn Polly papers in my jeans then smoothed out my yellow cotton top, and me and the girls started waltzing off.

I finally woke up in my own bed. My brain was all misty from My First Hangover, and then it got pummelled in by my dad. It turned out my parents weren’t happy I’d run away. After the massive argument I got grounded and pounded, and forced to watch the TV set with them. Alone in my room god knows what lewd acts I’d get up to. In actual fact I only wanted to go and put on
Rubber Soul
, but instead of levitating to George’s sitar I had to sit there in front of
Stars in Their Eyes
. I couldn’t manage the lotus position, but I was seeing stars though. It was weird over breakfast my dad saying I could’ve been murdered, then proceeding to smack me round the face. I’d only been away a couple of days, but he kicked me all round the kitchen – it was sort of my fault falling into the corner of the cooker though. I had a bit of a black eye again, and watching Matthew Kelly was quite slitty and painful.

My dad was weird, but he wasn’t all that bad – don’t be thinking he was child-abusing me, after all I was fifteen years old. He was always going on about his hectic life, working at British Steel and then coming home to a stupid tosser like me. He’d been working on the plant for about twenty years, and with all that pollution and dust in his system perhaps he’d gone clinically insane. We used to do all sorts together like seeing films, kicking footies and driving about, but nowadays we could hardly look at each other and I supposed he wanted a big butch son not a pervert with the OCD.

‘Can you pass us a mint, love?’ my mum asked. I had to shut the tin a couple of times or else she’d choke on it. Mum was always chewing mints since she was chaining Mayfairs so much, and slowly the smoking had contorted her face into a mountain-face. Maybe that’s why my dad was going mad all the time – his wife was getting quite horrible, but at least he had someone to love. I didn’t have that reassurance yet that I wouldn’t be dying alone in some Easterside flat, and it was scary. That night at the Grove mixed me up – I couldn’t see myself with any of the girls in there, and at school I wasn’t exactly Casanova neither. It didn’t make a difference – that evening over fish-finger sarnies my parents decided to suspend my pocket money, which was only five pound but still though.

‘Just going to the toilet,’ I said, getting up. I had to slam the bathroom door four times, and I’m surprised they didn’t shout at me or follow me up. The having to shut things all the time was starting to grate on me – everything to me seemed like a Pandora’s Box, as if leaving something slightly ajar would launch a thousand scares and nightmares into the big bad world. I was always paranoid. I sighed on the toilet seat, and I felt like an absolute daft cunt. Just to avoid my parents for a bit, I sat looking at the circles on the wallpaper and wondered if to spite them I should wank all over the place. I hated them. Firework night was the worst, about a month down the line, staying in watching
Corrie
while all the bangs went off outside. It must’ve been a Friday because Dad was at the Beechwood Easterside, and sitting in with my mum was soul-destroying. I had to sit with my head down while she puff-puffed, though in the corner of your eye you could catch odd sparky colour outside and shit yourself at all the booms.