Bitin' Back (10 page)

‘That's bout right. Now Gwenny's got somethin to tell ya. Tell her, Gwen.' I shove her forward.
Go on Gwen, tell her the truth.

But Gwen just stands there lookin stunned n drunk as Booty on a bender. Suddenly I see she looks kinda scared.
Ain't like Gwenny to be frightened. No, siree.

‘Rightyo, I'll tell ya then. Your husband, that thing over there, has been talkin bout Gwen here all over town. Yep, that's right he's been rootin her when you was gone away. Then he got the hide to run her down to the lowest.' I watch the way her face changes—from not believin, to mad as hell, to not my Darryl.

‘That's not true,' she squeaks.

‘It true, all right.'

‘Darryl doesn't do that with—' She stops, then looks at Gwen with a frown.

‘Doesn't do that whit what?' I walk up closer to her.

‘With black women!' She bursts out, face redder n the pits a hell.

Gwen throws her hands into the air, glaring at her. ‘Ya fucken idiot! What? He doesn't fuck anyone part from you!'

‘Troublemakers, that's all you are. Oh yes, I've heard all about you, Mavis Dooley
and
Gwen Hinch!' She jumps to her feet. ‘You, Mavis, are weird anyway and as for you, Gwen—well, everyone knows you're the town bike!' she screams, spit sprayin out the woman's gob like a lawn sprinkler.

‘Fucken cunt! I fucked him. I fucked him. Geddit! Geddit! I done fucked ya husband!' Gwen yells as she charges at her. They land on the floor in a heap of legs and arms. Gwen has her down and starts pummelling into her chest.

Then from across the room Darryl pelts toward us, his face blood-red, his hands bunched into fists. ‘Get off, get off!' he yells, knocking over bar stools as he rushes at us.

Terry throws down the pool stick, shoves Dotty aside and strides toward me. ‘What's goin on, Mave?' he yells.

Ignoring him I turn round just as Darryl goes to put a steel capped boot into Gwen.
The fucken dog!
I charge at him and feel meself leave the floor for bout a second. I tackle him mid section. The man's too grog fucked to have a go back at a woman. He hits the ground with a thud.

‘He tried to put the boot into Gwenny. What sorta man is he, eh? I ain't fucken takin that sorta shit!' I scream, then grab a handful of Darryl's hair and pull his head back.
Crackcrackcrackcrack.
His face caves in under me fists.
Take this, ya woman-bashin fucker.

‘Fuckin lemme go! Lemme go!' Darryl screams from under me as his hands beat the floor, like a little kid throwin a tantrum.
I want my mamma.

Feelin satisfied I get up off him. Then I look round at the room. The bar is quiet n still as a morgue.

Everyone gapes at me an Darryl. Suddenly all the fellas point at Darryl and burst into loud laughter, a woman bashed the poor sucker, he must be piss weak, their looks say. I search the room for Gwenny. She stands in the corner crying, half her dress torn away and a large chunk of hair missing.

‘You ever say a bad word bout her again n I'll come after you, Darryl Kane, ya got that!'

He glares at me, his shame complete. The rumble seems to have sobered him up; his mean, green eyes bore into me. ‘I'll get you, Mavis Dooley, if it's the last thing I do,' he whispers, his voice cracked, as he lifts his bawlin, battered wife to her feet. I walk away feelin a small shiver a sorry for her.
Yep, Gwen kicked her arse!

‘Gwenny, I'm off home. You comin over for a drink?'

‘Might as well.' She purses her lips.

‘Don't worry bout it, girl.' I motion to the barmaid. ‘Carton a Fourex.'

We walk out into the night. The carton a piss rests on me shoulders as we wobble towards my place.

‘Thanks, Mave.' Gwen sniffles in the dark.

‘S'all right, Gwenny. A woman weren't gonna let em kick ya when ya down. Ya ain't no fucken dog!'

‘He'll do somethin to ya, Mave. Get revenge like. Ya shamejobbed the piss outta him, in front a his mates n all. A man, any man, ain't gonna be forgettin that too soon. Ya pulled away his big cock hero image.' Gwen sounds scared.

‘Yep, well, a woman's been chased all her life. Ain't gonna make no difference to me,' I say, all gammon. I hear his words echoin inside me head:
I'llgetyouI'llgetyouI'llgetyouI'llgetyou.

NINE

‘Nevil, are ya gonna wake up to yerself n get down to the footy trainin whit the Blackouts?' I slam the carrot cake down on the table.

‘Mum, I ... I just don't know if I want to play,' he throws Trevor a curious look.

‘Don't wanna play! What sorta talk is that?'

‘I—um, just don't think I can any more.' He drops his head.

‘He's sick of it, Missus Dooley,' Trevor interrupts, his eyes meetin mine.

‘Ohr, I get it. So this is your idea, Trevor?'

‘No, no, it's not.'

‘Seems mighty funny to me that Nev was doin okay til you come along. This ain't the city, Trevor. Kids like Nevil ain't got that
sophistikation
you fancy boys from the city got.' I slice into the cake.

‘They'll be all right without me.' Nevil reaches cross to grab a hunk a cake.

‘Bull. The Blackouts need ya, Nevie. What, yer gonna let em down now? Let poor ol Mum down. Yeah, that's right,
Nevil, let poor ol Booty down? He so proud a ya, son. It'll kill him is what'll happen.' I plonk onto the chair n stare hard at him.

‘Ain't letting anyone down. Mum, football's just a game, it's nothing to me! Fucking hell! There's more to life than throwing a ball across a bloody field.
Can't you see that!'

‘It's
everythin—you know that!
Ya got real talent, Nev. Ya could go places. Everybody knows you the best player round here, son. Yeah, Trevor, don't be givin me that look cos ya jus don't understand. I bet you never had to fight for anythin in ya life. This is the one chance for me boy to do somethin decent. To be a winner. Whatever ya gonna say, don't, cos it be nuthin to me.—So, Nevil, what ya want? To hang round the house playin dress up, is that it?' I give Trevor a look of disgust then I glare back at Nevil.

‘You just don't understand.
How can I ever tell you anything when you just don't want to listen. Yeah, that's right, Mum, you never listen to anything I tell you. I never wanted to play football. It was your dream. Yeah, Mum, your and Uncle Booty's dream, not mine. I always wanted to do something different. To be someone different. I can't be living a lie. Cos that's what it is. Yeah, Ma, a dirty big lie! I can do other things apart from football! It's just that you and Uncle could never really see.' He pauses. ‘Ah, what's the point. You're never going to listen anyway.'

‘Nev, don't say that. That's not true. I always listen. And what the hell ya mean, ya wanna be different! What sorta talk is that! I just don't know ya any more, son. It's like somebody else comed along n took the real Nevil away.'

‘It's true and you know it. You, Uncle Booty, all this town want me to be one thing and I never have any choice, do I? You set out to make me into the person
you
wanted me to be. Mum, times have changed. People have changed. I've
always wanted to be like this, but I couldn't never, ever.' He stops and looks at me, suddenly his eyes are tired and very old.

‘It's because of Trevor, ain't it? Yeah, ya started all this Jean Rhys rot jus before he turned up. That's where all this shit started. Number one, Nevil, you're not a woman. Number two, ya not white. Number three, football is ya only way outta this town.

‘Number four, me n Uncle Booty doin our best for ya, son. We don't want you to end up like everybody else round here. That's right, drinkin piss, strung out on dope n knowin nuthin bout nuthin. Like all the other fellas in this friggin town, this country—yeah, they got deadly talent but they all gotta get out there n make their dreams come true. Fuck every other wanker that says ya can't do it cos I know ya can. I want ya to have everythin I didn't, son.' I stop and look over the boy's face. ‘Ya gotta believe ol Mum on that one.' I twist me hands into a knot.
I don't know what else to say. How to tell him it's wrong to be wantin to be a woman. Havin mad, crazy ideas that no one gonna like. Havin to fight the town for him. Last, how hard it is for any black fella, let alone one thinkin he's some dead white sheila.

I slam me hands to me forehead.
That's his problem, don't wanna listen to common sense. Got his head stuck up in the friggin clouds. The boy's like the weakest kitten in the litter. Ain't got a hope less the mother be protectin it from everythin else. I know bout things like that n how they can fuck ya life up. I seen people like that. Ain't worth it sometimes. The runt'll always be different to others, weaker, that a truth.

‘Missus Dooley, may I say something?' Trevor asks, raisin one hand in the air like the man's in a classroom.

‘Yeah?' I offer me best frown but feel meself runnin outta steam fast.

‘Nevil is not like them—Big Boy, Grunta and the rest. He already has a special talent.' He pauses and looks at Nev. ‘You see, what I'm trying to say is that Nevil doesn't belong here.' He turns to me and his eyes are sayin that he's not gonna back down.

‘What the hell is this kinda talk! He doesn't belong here? Jeesus Christ, where
does
he belong, Trevor?' I tear the carrot cake into tiny pieces.

‘Some place where he can find himself. Where he can be who he really is.'

I laugh and laugh. ‘Find himself!' I splutter, carrot cake flyin outta me mouth.

‘See. Just what I told you.' Nevil turns to Trevor and shrugs.

Trevor looks at me like I just pissed on his leg. His face suggests there's no hope here in this town, in this house, in me. He whispers somethin into Nevil's ear but Nevil shakes his head, no, no. Finally, I stop laughin n look at each a them in turn. For a fraction of a second I see a look flicker cross Nevil's face. A look I never saw before. Hopelessness. He's pissed off real bad.

So now I'm the big bad egg here. What's a woman sposed to do? Trevor talkin high-up shit into Nev's ear, I jus bet. Puttin stuff in there he got no right to. That's the problem whit Nevie, always listenin to other fellas steada me n his uncle. Ain't like he'll ever do anythin good as playin footy. Nah, nope, no dice. Sometime a woman gotta wonder, how could a kid like Nev boy turn out like this? Maybe Booty was right, that Nevil was always like this n I jus never seen it. Ahhh, a woman tryin her best.

I look at his made-up face, his painted fingernails and me ol floral house dress stretched tight cross his hairy chest.
It's not right. Where'd I go wrong?

‘Nevil, go n get dressed, son. Trevor, you shut ya mouth. I'm almost done whit the pair of ya. If ya any sorta mate you'd help Nevil out, talk some sense into him. Instead a feedin him whit fuckery ideas n shit. I oughta kick ya arse right outta this house. Ya jus member that I be watchin every move ya make, Trevor Wren Davidson! Any trouble here n I'll go straight cross that road there n bring Booty back, unnerstand?' I look at both of em. ‘On your toes, Nevil.'

‘What, Why? Where are we going?' He looks up at me, eyes slitted, angry.

‘Doctor Chin. That's right D-O-K-T-E-R C-H-I-N-N. He can have a look at that head a yours. Seems like there ain't nuthin us fellas round here know. Maybe the
doctor
will know what's wrong whitcha. Person oughta take you to see him too, Trevor.' I push the chair back under the table n stand whit me hands on me hips. ‘Move it. Come on, Nevil, none a ya shit today. A woman jus ain't got the heart to be pissin bout anymore.'

‘Gee, Mum. Nah, I'm not going anywhere. Do you think I'm fucking loony, do you?' His face twists grey with anger.

‘I know you're not mad,' I lie.
Worst thing in the world, tell a madman he's mad. Course he's gonna deny it. Like askin an alkie if he's a drunk. Nah, the dice don't roll that way.

‘Missus Dooley, I think you'd better sit down so I can explain things to you.' Trevor gets to his feet.

‘Rightyo, if you can tell me what's goin on here I sure would preciate it. Trevor, I don't wanna hear any shit talk, either.' I pull out the chair, again, and sit.

He begins, ‘Well, see, it's like this...' and pauses as Booty strides into the room.

‘How ya goin, son.' Booty greets him with a hard slap cross the back.

‘G-good,' Trevor splutters, the wind knocked outta him.

Booty jabs a hairy finger in the air. ‘Nevil, get that fucken shit off your face before I wipe it off meself.'

‘I don't have to. You're not my boss, Uncle.' Nevil hurls over his shoulder, then makes a quick dash outta the room.

‘Don't be too hard on him, Boot. He's not hisself.'

‘Yeah, you can say that again.' Booty growls, then pulls up a chair n sits down next to Trevor. ‘Listen, son, I gotta deal for you. Wanna make a few bucks?'

‘Make some money, how?' Trevor coughs nervously, and looks at Booty with a slight frown.
Yeah, the boy is suss.

‘Boxin. Yeah, me n the boys got a ring set up down at the dog shed. Now, this fella you gonna fight is from Bullya, real mad fucka. I reckon you could take him out, whatcha reckon?' Booty smiles and cracks his knuckles.

‘Me boxing! Oh gee!' Trevor gasps.

I wave me hand, ‘Booty, come on now. Leave him be whit this mad shit.'

‘Five hundred bucks is ridin. Big Boy n Grunta are in, so we need another fella. I nominated you, Trevor.' Booty laughs, his big gut wobblin as he turns in his chair n opens the fridge door. ‘Any beer, Mave?'

‘Behind the meat.' I watch Trevor. He don't look too flash. Matter a fact he look like he gonna spew up, his face sorta green n grey like.

‘I can't do that. Oh no.' Trevor begins, but Booty cuts him dead.

‘Here, get this into ya.' He shoves the beer at him. ‘Mongrel Brandon, that's who we got lined up for you.' Booty grins.

‘Mongrel?' Trevor whispers, his hands shakin as he tries to lift the cap on the beer.

‘Crazy fucka.' Booty sighs whit respect. ‘Now, he's got a good right hook so what you got to do is dodge that fucka cos if he lands one on you, sonny boy, then you'll be fucked
good n proper. But I reckon you gotta good chance a layin him out. All the Bullya boys'll be there. I'll be takin on Reggie Drayden, that weak piss.' Booty takes a gulp of beer.

‘I—I suppose you're using gloves? Boxing gloves to protect your hands?' Trevor asks, his voice thin.

‘Gloves, ha!' Booty laughs, ‘No fucken gloves here, my boy! She all bare knuckles. Ain't no pussy ever fought bare knuckles, eh.' He slaps Trevor on the shoulder.

‘Look, um, I can't,' Trevor's lips quiver as he reaches cross the table n picks up the bottle opener. He rips the cap off n takes a big swallow.

‘Shit. Don't talk shit, son. Your name's already down. If you don't turn up then the fight'll be in the backyard here, right?' Booty burps loud.

‘I've got no choice, huh?' Trevor's eyelids flicker. He glances my direction.

‘Yeah, ya have. Let him alone, Booty. If the boy don't wanna fight em mad bastards let him be. Ain't like Trevor knows bout that stuff.' I shove a piece a cake into me mouth and chew.

‘Got Nev lined up whit Mad Dog Whitton. Nev'll bust his gut for sure.' Booty throws me a careful look.

‘Ya got Nevil lined up to fight?'
Has he gone off his head?
‘But, Booty, Nevil don't know how to fight, not like that mob.'

‘Get over it, Mavis. That's the problem whit him, too much sookyin up. He needs to get round whit men, not women. Yeah, that's parta the problem, gettin round here alla time whit you,
a woman.
That's probly why the boy's thinkin he's a sheila!'

‘Don't ya start on me, Booty Dooley! I'm his mother! Nevil put that idea in his own head bout bein a woman! Ya can't blame me for it. No way!'

‘Yeah, well, tamarra night I want this fella n Nevil at my place. In the dog shed. Mavis, you keep away, it ain't no place for a woman to be. If Nevil don't turn up I'm gonna come here n drag his arse cross there, got it? You too, Trevor.' Booty gets to his feet. ‘Five hundred bucks is ridin on you, boy. I spect you to knock this fucka off. Come over later n I'll teach you a few tricks—I know Mongrel's style, okay?'

Trevor, unable to open his mouth, looks up at Booty with a look of real terror, like he's gonna faint dead away. Knowin Booty's on a roll I keep me mouth shut til he walks outta the room.
Yeah, can't tell the bullhead anythin. Not that he'd really listen to me anyway.

‘Missus Dooley, I can't do that.' Trevor places the beer on the table, his hands shakin.

‘You not the only one. Nev can't do that neither. I'll think a somethin. Ain't havin em Bullya boys tearin Nev to pieces.'

I swallow the last piece a cake n stand up. ‘Been a long day. I might go n have forty winks, eh.'

‘I'll go and have a talk to Nevil,' Trevor says, walkin to the sink whit the empty beer bottle. Suddenly he freezes on the spot, starin out the window.

‘Trevor, ya right there?'

He turns to face me, unable to answer, n points out the window. I go cross n look out.

‘Jesus God! Shit! Trevor, run down n tell Nev to get dressed proper. In his own clothes!' I grab the bottle outta his hand n push him towards the hall. ‘Hurry up!'

I turn back to the window.

Big Boy has Grunta up on his shoulders n all the Blackouts are followin him through the front gate, singin and yellin: ‘The Nev.' ‘We want the Nev.' ‘Weee want the Nev.'

Suddenly, from the opposite side a the street, Gracie tears
cross the road like she's got fire up her arse and joins em.
Yeah, a woman jus can't win no matter which way ya slice it.

I go to the front door, me heart thuddin whit fear.
Can only hope Nev got outta that dress bloody fast.
I swing the door wide open.

‘Hey, hey, Missus D, we want the Nev,' Grunta shouts down at me from his perch.

I look past them at the rest a the crew. Some sit on the lawn; others haunch down on their legs watchin me, then watchin the door.
Could they know? Maybe Dotty already tole em all bout Nevie. Gee, it never ends! And Gracie—well, she looks like she's ready for the morgue. The girl fulla dope.