Apples (16 page)

Abi Ellis had a habit of stirring shit. The last thing she said to Adam before they got split up was, ‘I hate Eve. She’s up her own arse; you’re miles too good for her.’

It was the last thing he wanted to hear. You know how drones do what they can to get laid by the queen bee, that was sort of how Adam saw Eve. He completely wanted to buzz off her. It took Eve ages to realise Adam even existed, but he was nice and it was quite like Eve to go round with her head in the clouds. Or up her own arse, or whatever. But she didn’t exactly have it easy – her mam was dying of lung cancer, and at that very moment Eve was spewing up outside the Pizza 2000. She was in a sad mood – she lost her keys and her phone, and she didn’t know what she was going to do. She wandered aimlessly round Wilson Street, blurry eyes, and at about 1:35 she spotted Adam walking around in the swarm of people. He wasn’t her best mate, but in times of crisis you tend to grab on to any old friendly face.

‘Eve, are you alright?’ he asked her, but he could see pretty clear the tears and the zig-zaggy mascara. All she could do was put her arms around him. Tons of cars and people and police-people were charging past at a hundred miles an hour, but Adam kept a tight hold and he knew deep down they were good enough for each other. Eve was looking for the kind, sensitive type and there you had it.

‘Will you help me find my keys?’ she wept, looking really down but cute in our pink and yellow light. Adam held her hand as they scoured the pavement, though it seemed a bit of a long shot. All they could see was rubbish and empty spaces and blinding glow. Adam so desperately wanted to help her though. They scuttled down back alleys Eve hadn’t even walked down before, and the more she got exasperated the more Adam wanted to hug her to pieces – maybe he could smell the sicky smell in her hair, maybe he couldn’t. Eve stared up at him with flying saucer eyes and Adam wanted absolutely everything for her.

But he couldn’t do a thing. Eve was crying and the keys weren’t getting any easier to find. She kept a hold of his maroony shirt, but she didn’t want him taking advantage of her and she felt vulnerable with such a spinning-top head. And the pills. Adam was taking special care not to touch her anywhere dangerous, but she couldn’t even tell. She sighed and cried more and more. She had to admit it, ‘We’re not gonna find them.’

‘We will,’ Adam said, but he was drunk and what did he know. All he wanted was to comfort her, not so much get off with her or get into bed with her. He was pretty perfect for her, but Eve never really went for boys like that – she went for boys who mess you about and don’t telephone you and touch other girls’ boobs. Adam was trying to keep her warm stroking her arms and wiping her tears, but all she could say was, ‘We won’t. They’re not here, they’re not here.’

‘We will.’

‘If you find them,’ she sniffed, ‘I’ll love you for ever, but if you don’t find them I’m just gonna hate you because you lied.’

It was a horrible situation. Eve was getting wound-up, and she let go of Adam’s hand and stomped up the steps of Bar Fresco. As she sat down Adam had visions of the keys turning up and the two of them going out and getting married and having beautiful babies, and he was just as exhausted as Eve. At one point he felt Abi Ellis phoning him in his trousers, but he ignored it. As she sat there all swept up in tears, Adam watched disco lights gang up round Eve’s head and she looked like a fairy wearing a tiara. He had her on a fine thread and he didn’t want to lose her.

‘Where did you last have them?’ Adam asked softly, perching next to her on the step. She explained about the pizza shop but she couldn’t really remember having them there either, and the idea of someone stealing them kept crossing her mind but it frustrated her too much. She hunched her back over her knees and cried black lines, and for once it didn’t matter to her when Adam put his arm round her shoulder. It was all he could really do. She sunk her head between her thighs and mumbled, ‘My phone’s gone too.’

Adam caressed the sky-blue dress, his mind absolutely tortured and all the girl could say was things like, ‘And my mam’s going to hate me.’

Adam looked out across the crossroads. All the bars and drunk kids met in swirly multicolour, but he didn’t dare hail one of the taxis and take her back to his. He was too much of a gentleman, or not enough of one. In the end they decided to walk back to the pizza shop – the last resort. Eve knew for a fact she wouldn’t find her things, but what she needed now was her friends and not a complete stranger. Adam sort of read the signs and didn’t touch her again. They found Rachel and Debbie and Ben and everyone in the same formation in Pizza 2000, and Eve got a ton of attention – it was obvious she’d been crying. There was a runny nose involved. Adam ended up with his back to the counter. With her friends Eve could speak a lot clearer – Debbie hugged her and said it’d be alright and Ben even made her laugh for a bit. She blew into a Kleenex. Adam and Eve felt completely shit for different reasons. Everyone huddled round, and a couple of boys took the opportunity to touch her up disguised as affection. Adam didn’t have the guts to go anywhere near her, but whenever someone looked over he had a sympathetic face so they knew he was sound. He read a text about Abi going home in a taxi on her own and whether he was okay, but he wasn’t sure.

‘Don’t cry, look, it’s here,’ the boy Ben said out of the blue, holding Eve’s Motorola before getting absolutely swamped by her and the sky blue dress. Adam tried not to notice as they cuddled and sat down again, and Ben whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t worry about your keys, it’ll be okay. We’ll get some new ones cut tomorrow. Come sleep at mine tonight; you’ll be alright.’

And she didn’t just sleep at Ben’s.

I could’ve killed him. I borrowed a kung fu book and a boxing book from Easterside library, and to warm up I shadow-boxed Ben to death every night. I would like to see Gaz’s neck broken and Ben’s cock ripped off. It was exhausting, and after a minute I laid on my bed with my head against the brick side of the wall. The wires in my brain were a bit mishmashed, but then again they always had been. Any sane person would’ve sought out professional help. I looked up. Dad plastered the hole in my ceiling just after Christmas, but if you caught it in the right light you could still see the mark. I wondered if he’d chucked out the
Razzle
as well. Every now and then he seemed weird and suspicious around me, but nowadays the grunts and groans in my bedroom were just me building myself up. The exercise made me sick though – I was so unfit. It’d been about a week since I’d even left the house, but there was no place in Boro for a brittle little fanny anyway. I hated boys and I hated girls. Instead of happy Beatles ditties I dusted off Dad’s selection of darker sixties stuff –
Aftermath
was a good one, Mick Jagger singing all about stupid girls and what have you. Another hot pick was ‘The End’, the Doors song where Jim wants to kill his father and do other nasty things. I wondered in the world how people got by without ever being sad – there’s so many shit things that can happen to you. I lurked about the house with a negative face, sometimes reading the books or playing guitar but none of the hand positions like Tiger Paw or Snake Fist worked too good on the telecaster. Often I cranked the distortion to eleven, trying to cover the feedback at the start of ‘I Feel Fine’ but the song itself was miles too tricky. I felt shit anyhow – guitar fuzz was a better outlet for those feelings than sweet luxurious songs or dead disciplined martial arts. With the amp that loud all you could hear was squeaking whines and the undercurrent of rumbly bass stuff – it almost gave you a hard-on, music can do that occasionally. I fingered a few chords but in the end I just had to sit back and float around on the sound – the feedback was a flapping bird and a tidal wave, and the sheer volume was like getting drowned in ever so deep water. I could see the great barrier reef. And I held my breath.

Sitting there, the guitar pressed to the amp and me falling down a waterfall, I’d sort of forgotten my mum and dad were home from work. For days I’d been sitting around whingeing to myself about girls, and whatever my Submarine clock said I couldn’t really trust it. I was thinking a million suicides when my dad stormed in. He caught me off guard, appearing in all that intense noise.

‘Fucking
hell
, son,’ he said, with such frowny eyes and red cheeks. He stamped across the carpet and, I guess without really thinking, threw the guitar off my lap and pushed me hard against the wall. Just to be ignorant I struck the high strings and watched Dad’s face crease as the amp screeched its head off – he went absolutely mad and smacked me across the face, right where Gaz had caught me a month or so before and I almost felt the jaw buckle again.

‘Fuck off!’ I yelled. After all I’d made a promise not to take shit off anyone ever again. I tried to remember some of the moves in the Bruce Lee book, but in the end I just lifted the fake Fender off my bed and slung it across my dad’s head. I tried to render him immobile by clattering it across his temples a few extra times, and he ended up unconscious and seeping blood. I shit myself then. He wasn’t moving, and I jumped from the mattress and tried to sit him up but there was no response at all. I wasn’t sure where to look for a pulse and I couldn’t hear any breaths. He started staining my carpet. I stood for a while in complete silence, though the amp was still fizzing slightly and I liked the sound of it. Outside my mother was chaining her Mayfairs in the Greggs outfit, and I couldn’t be bothered shouting her out the window so I took the Nokia and dialled in 999. It was my first time phoning that number; I wasn’t that sure how to conduct myself. I wanted to get my dad out of my room pretty quickly, and while I waited for an ambulance I pretended to kick his head and belly in just for the fun of it. The siren reminded me of feedback.

I met the Baby Boy the following Saturday. I was never that fussed about little kids even though I enjoyed babysitting Nicole next-door, but I figured Claire would be going through all the post-natal depression stuff and it’d be a laugh sleeping over at hers. None of us had really seen her since the baby was born – it was pretty cruel to isolate her like that, but we all had the mock exams coming up and it was tough getting to and from Park End on a weeknight. I was getting my period the night she phoned – usually I’d make up some shit excuse, but there was nothing on telly and Claire won me over with the mention of pizza and the top and tail. It was harder being her than being me after all – on top of the Baby Boy, she’d split up with Shane and her life was going down the plughole. All I had to worry about was daft lads and come-downs. As of that week, I’d kicked pills for a bit – the night I lost my keys was a bit of a downer, and I was sick of feeling icky and fluey all the time. I wished I hadn’t let down my Mam and I wished I hadn’t partied with Ben. It was nice for a change being sober with Claire, as long as it didn’t involve changing any dirty nappies.

I perched myself on the plastic bench and watched rain drag down the shelter for about twenty minutes, until the 36 or something came with Park End on the front of it. I sighed and dribbled myself inside – the bus was absolutely packed, you had hardly enough room to stand up. Rubbing my nose, I climbed into the luggage compartment and plonked myself down, remembering to bring my knees to chest so as to ease the period pain. We learnt that with Miss Gerard. I felt pretty shit and tired, and I rocked with the bus in the tiny little luggage space. Me and Jenni used to sit there on our way home from town when we were pissed, back when we had to be in before midnight. Back when we lived in adjoining terraces, and back when we were best buds and would never cheat on each other or bitch or be nasty.

Are you alright there, pet? an oldish woman asked me, stood nearby with her kids or her grandkids. I nodded, though there was a wet patch sprouting under my bum getting me all shivery. I wondered if I’d stand up with two dark blue buttocks, but I didn’t mind. People tended to look at my bum anyway. After a while, the cramps in my womb started trickling to my legs, and it was a relief stepping off the bus and stretching them up Overdale Road. It felt a lot chillier when I got off, but I was glad the rain had stopped – that steamy bus was giving me a fucking cold. I felt a bit delirious going down Claire’s back alley, like tripping off pills that time but not half as happy. The weekends were crazy – Ben had been texting me a bit since the pizza shop episode, but I was partly ignoring him and not giving him the green light – I still wasn’t completely in the mood for another boyfriend. Up in Claire’s bedroom I told her, I just sort of wish me and Fairhurst were back together. I didn’t even realise how good he was to me.

But I didn’t like to moan and groan about boys to her. It felt weird watching her answer the door with the baby on the other side of her belly, but she was looking good. She had on a red Dangermouse T-shirt and tight-fit Levis – there was no more need for drawstring trousers and trackies. I kicked off my trainers then followed Claire into the kitchen, where her step-dad was scrubbing dog-shit off her little brother’s shoes. His cheeks were dead pink and angry, but he still span round and winked at me when we hit the lino.

Dave, can me and Eve have the telly in my room for a bit? Claire asked, standing next to him and stroking his arm in the provocative manner. Do you wanna come and move it for us?

Dave stopped what he was doing for a moment, then wiped his forehead and said sharply, Fucking hell, get Joe to do it – I’ve only got two hands.

Sighing for effect, Claire hummed then brushed past me into the lounge, being a right drama queen. I followed her and the baby into the purple lounge, then watched as her older brother Joe unplugged the TV and carried it up for us. I recognised him from big school, but he hardly even looked at me as he set everything up in Claire’s room and I couldn’t be bothered trying to chat him up. I’d had it with boys, hadn’t I.