Vintage (17 page)

“Get out!”

Marilyn turned to Kyle. “Let's get out of here.” He put his hand to his face. There was a trickle of blood on his cheek.

“Get him up and walk!”

The man stopped, turned back, and spat on the road.

“You fuck off, that's what I say. Fuck off out of here, fuckin' Emos. Fuckin' gays.” Marilyn saw the man put his hand in his pocket.

The voice came again, urgent.

“He's got a knife!”

Marilyn couldn't believe what she was hearing. The man pulled his hand out of his pocket. Marilyn saw the knife flash.

She pulled back. Suddenly she was thinking clearly, in control. She could do anything, anything to protect Kyle, and herself.

“Come on, we need to get the cab.” She kept her eyes on the knife. Behind her Kyle struggled to his feet, coughing.

The man was swaying. The knife was hanging in his hand.

Then he gripped it firmly.

“He's going to use it. Listen to me, Marilyn! It's me, Holly.”

Marilyn was listening. Her eyes were glued to the knife.

The she looked the man in the eyes, held his unfocussed stare.

Kyle stood up, steadying himself on Marilyn's shoulder. The man lifted his hand, and Marilyn stepped between them, her arm raised, ready. She knew what she had to do.

She felt the sharp sting of the knife. And something hot and wet on her arm. It was her own blood.

The man stepped back, but his hand was still raised. Marilyn half turned towards Kyle. Now she was calm, in control.

“Just walk,” she said quietly, urgently. They backed away, and the man swung at them again with the knife, wildly.

“Yeah, you fuck off.”

And she saw Saleem, walking up quietly behind the man.

She stood her ground, willing him to keep his attention on her.

Then Saleem jumped on him, pinning back his arms. The man turned, and loosened his grip on the knife. A police van swung round the corner, sirens blaring.

Marilyn and Kyle ran away down the pavement, Kyle trying to straighten up. The worst was over. They stopped at a safe distance. They saw the police surrounding the man, pushing him into the back of the van. They saw Saleem walk off towards the club.

The photographs stopped. The action was over. The girls across the street had huddled back together, laughing. One of them was sitting by the road, curled up, hugging her knees.

A taxi pulled up on the road beside them.

“Enough looking at the scenery! Get out of there.”

Marilyn heard the voice again. “Okay okay,” she flashed back.

“Now we're getting somewhere. Get in the cab.”

They reached the waiting cab. The driver wound down his window.

“You bleeding?”

“Not much,” said Kyle.

“You bleed on my car, you pay, right? Fifty quid for bleeding.”

“Just take us to Uppingham Road.”

Marilyn helped Kyle into the cab. He sprawled on the back seat. She got in behind him, pulled out the bunch of toilet paper. She tore it in two and gave half to Kyle. He put it to his face. The blood on her arm was soaking into her jacket.

“Do your mothers know you're out?” The man began to pull away.

“132 Uppingham Road please.”

Marilyn was taking control. She didn't know how she'd found the strength and the courage to face the man. She didn't know how that voice had got into her head. She leant back on the seat, holding her arm, the feeling slowly burning back into it.