Apples (22 page)

‘I’m just off to the boys’ room,’ I said, getting up. The pub seemed a bit twisty as I weaved round the walls to the toilet, but it wasn’t some druggy hallucination. It was me getting pissed on about three watered-down pints. What a knob I was.

In the bathroom I ran the hot tap, but it kept clicking off and I couldn’t get my face splashed. I was sweating as I stood alone in the loo, my Adidases soaked a bit in piss but there wasn’t much use crying over that. I’d blown it with Eve – Abi was right about all the shagging, and all I knew about ecstasy was that episode of
Dawson’s Creek
where the mental one goes off her head. Apparently all you do is say you love everyone and then collapse and go to hospital. But I didn’t love anyone really, in fact I was starting to hate being in anyone’s company at all. I was quite sick of myself and all.

‘Ooh ooh ooh,’ said the toilet door. It was a female voice, and at first I thought I was hearing things, but the cubicle carried on moaning in an orgasmic manner and I straightened up. There was a bloke’s grunt there too, and it was pretty obvious what the cubicle was doing. I snuck into the stall next door – it was quite raunchy hearing two people shag, especially in public on a Wednesday evening. I adjusted my boxers, then clambered on top of the shut toilet-seat and peeped over. It was safe to say I was a weird cunt – I hadn’t matured at all really. I stared over the rim. Of all the people in the world, it was Abigail and the Prick banging each other to bits in the disinfected cubicle, and my brain fucking exploded and exploded. A couple of tears popped out, and I slid back on the white cover feeling all deflated. In actual fact I was a burst red balloon. It was all too much – I wasn’t man enough for Eve or Abi, and I banged my forehead off the graffiti wall cursing myself. Here’s my advice to you – if you ever get the chance to lose your virginity, you should grab it. Abi was fantastic, and I threw her out. Eve was a sunbeam, but miles too hot to handle. I didn’t want to be always shying away from things, and I had to slam the toilet door in my head seven times or else I’d never learn my lesson. But then it clicked – if someone else is going to love you, you’ve at least got to love yourself. So I pulled myself together, and as I walked out of the lav I let the door shut itself behind me. And I opened up my eyes.

Mam collapsed in the hotel bathroom in the morning, and we didn’t even know about it. The chlorine water drained off my body as I pulled myself out of the swimming pool, and I stepped into a gaudy green towel then walked along the hotel terrace to the burning sun-loungers. Drying my hair, I sat between Debbie and Rachel, then looked across the harbour and wondered where Sugar Buns was. Sugar Buns was this lad I met on the beach a few days earlier, a sexy thing with daisy yellow hair and a posh-cunt accent. He was from Brighton or somewhere and his name was Justin but I much preferred to call him Sugar Buns. His arse was juicy peach jelly. Often on the sand he’d come over and try to chat us up, gobbing on about his money and his yacht and his villa up in the goldy hills, but he wasn’t a complete cock. In fact he was pretty sweet, well mannered, and tanned like a cup of tea. We ended up going to his villa a couple of times for a banquet and a mess on, and I got off with him in his bedroom the first night. It was a palace. His mam and dad were okay even though they came across as a bit stuck-up, but Mam found something to chat to them about while the rest of us got stuck into sausages and stuff. We weren’t yet boyfriend and girlfriend, but Sugar Buns was really nice and cute, and I had that snap-crackle-and-pop feeling in my tummy over him.

All dry, I took the lotion off Rachel then happily worked the cream around my brown bits, making sure to put tons of factor 10 on the burnt shoulders – they looked well done or at least medium rare. I rolled over on the sun-bed and unbuckled my white bikini top, reading a bit of
Mixmag
while we baked. I wasn’t interested in extreme bronzing like Debbie and Rachel, who were topless and getting all the men’s wandering eyes – I was more interested in little boys. Sugar Buns was sixteen, and we were texting each other non-stop, him always offering to take me for dinner at some smart restaurant or other. It was a toss-up that night between tapas or BCMs with the girls – strangely Sugar Buns wasn’t game for getting pissed, but I did want to see him.

So what you gonna do? Debbie asked. Her sun-lounger was completely tarred now with graffiti.

Dunno, I’m trying to get him to come to Magaluf, but he’s not into it, I replied, chucking the magazine on the bone-dry tiles. He’s a bit of a saddo.

That was the problem with Sugar Buns – he had an amazing body, but he never did anything amazing with it. He preferred to stay in all the time, up in the sunny mountains like a fluorescent recluse, and he was obviously a mammy’s boy. I felt it my aim to get him to live a little, get him hooked on a drug, make him a racehorse in bed, but we only had a week really and I wondered if I could be fussed.

I felt my shoulders flaring up again, so I re-hooked my bikini and had to sit under the umbrella, staring over the balcony. You could just about spot the famous cathedral in the distance, and I wondered if Sugar Buns was seeing it too.

So what you gonna do about him when you get home? Still gonna see him? Rachel asked, peeling some sunburn off her shin. I wished she didn’t put it so blunt, but me and Sugar Arse had been talking about it and I said, I dunno. He’s great and that, but still not sure if it’s worth all the effort. I mean we were talking about meeting in London now and then, if he really wants to make a go of it. But it’s just money isn’t it.

Rachel nodded, clenching all her hair together then tying it in a ponytail with these pink bands we had. She took a long swig of Evian, then passed the bottle to Deb while I played with my necklace, hoping it wasn’t making a white line round my neck. I squinted in the bright lights, then laid down on the sun-sofa again and sighed. Palma was gorgeous, all stretched out beneath us with boat-masts sticking up from the sea, and I liked watching kids cycle and roller-blade while the heavy traffic shot past. Coughing, Debbie had more warm Evian then handed it to me and said, Well just see what happens. At least he’s not Fairhurst anyway.

You what? I said. Since we got to Majorca the sun had sort of taken his place in my head. I felt my skin stick to the plastic bed, perching up on one elbow as I finished off the bottle.

Oh nothing, it’s just you must remember Rachel’s party.

Well naw, I went, feeling my belly. All it made me think of was White Lightning and achey bits and worry.

Well you know he’s on smack now, don’t you?

Eh? I said. I felt the cogs shift in my skull, and I tried to look out across the harbour but it was completely blinding.

Yeah, Brandon reckons so, Debbie went on, biting a fancy nail. I think he’s getting it from Pullman down Grangetown. Dunno what’s up with him. They just sit round people’s houses not talking and being boring – Brandy reckons it started when they were snorting brown to come off Es and that. Fairhurst done twelve in one night, fucking scruff. So you probably won’t be seeing much of him now anyway.

I felt my face redden and begin sizzling, and it was all such a shock I actually had to laugh. I tugged my knicker elastic then went, God, to think I wanted to get back with him at Rachel’s.

Really? Rach asked. You were better off with that Adam lad.

Excuse me? I raised a drippy eyebrow. I wasn’t expecting to hear that name in the middle of Majorca. I went, What’s he got to do with it?

Well, you know, he took care of you while you were poorly. Kept an eye on you so you were alright. He was dead nice to you, Rachel smiled, popping on her white sixties shades.

He loves you, Debbie added, and all of a sudden a flock of tropical birds swept across the sun or at least I imagined it.

Aww, was all I could say, sighing through the warm air. I watched the little boats bob and twinkle in the water, and the whole town shivered as I blinked in the scorch. Scratching my chipped strawberry nails, I rested my head against the sun-lounger and felt my heart thump for a bit. I smiled but I was feeling funny. My tummy rumbled – I wondered if Sydney loved me too inside me. I’d definitely love her. And get her a good daddy.

Richard Milward was born in Middlesbrough in 1984. His debut novel,
Apples
, was published in 2007 and was described by Irvine Welsh as ‘one of the best books I’ve ever read about being young, working class and British.’
Ten Storey Love Song
, his second novel, was published in 2009.

First published in 2007
by Faber and Faber Limited
Bloomsbury House
74-77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
This ebook edition first published in 2009

All rights reserved
© Richard Milward, 2007

The right of Richard Milward to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

ISBN 978—0—571—25081—3

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