Another Encounter

A short story

Another Encounter

                        By Gareth Storey

It was David Copper who let us in on his secret. He was two years above us in St Ethelbert’s. On weekdays, Eggy and meweren’t old enough to stay out later than Eastenders. Saturdays we had an extra half hour, when Casualty finished. Sunday was bollocks; my ma would comb my hair in a side parting and pick me clothes for morning mass. A minute in church was like an hour, the priest’s voice was slow and the stuff he went on about made no sense. Things got worse after crappy church; ma wouldn’t let me watch telly. The day of rest was spent at my desk, looking at the lucky kids who didn’t have to sit inside with overdue Maths and English. Forcing myself to memorise times tables and read books that weren’t like Roald Dahl was bollocks, my attention was on David’s dirty story.

Eggy and me had been swimming at Montem Leisure Pool. His ma called him Jack; he was Eggy to me based on his meals: Fried Eggs and chips, Scrambled Eggs and beans, Eggy bread, boiled eggs, egg mayo sandwiches. He was eggy eggy egg. I’d offer him half of me cheese and coleslaw or ham and mustard sandwiches at lunch and he’d refuse. He didn’t mind his nickname, no one did, at school if you weren’t called by something other than your real name it was ‘cause no one was bothered. Kids called me Worm.

Copper saw us coming out of Montem eating chocolate bars from the vending machine. At our school, Copper was cool. He had Nike Air Huarache’s and a girlfriend. Most of our year and the years above us were jealous and scared of him. He smoked and won all his fights. My ma couldn’t afford Nike’s, neither could Jack’s. He wore Fila’s and me: Reebok’s, good enough for kid’s with one parent. Me and Doyle,both our da’s still lived in Dublin. We told kids we were brothers. It wasn’t hard to believe, we had the same accent and we said ‘rappa’ and ‘deadly’, instead of ‘cool’ and ‘wicked’. Our slags ‘maggot’ and ‘dirtbird’ meant nothing to Brits.

David followed us through Salt Hill sharing his pick and mix. The bag was heavy and full of my fave’s: chocolate mice and cola cubes. Pick and mix was a rip. Eggy and me got lucky every month when our ma’s would give us a few pound for a film and sweets. But we got the light stuff: flying saucers, strawberry strips, buttons instead of the mice and cubes. If the girls from the counter served someone else, we shoved sweets in our mouths and pockets.

‘How old are you two?’Copper asked.

‘Ten,’ I said.

‘I’m nearly eleven,’ said Doyle.

‘You’re not ya maggot,’ I said.

‘I am,’ he stated, ‘I’ll be eleven in July.’

It was the first week of April 1990. My birthday was in August, eleven was miles off. Anyway, the best thing about birthdays was presents and cake. Age was bollocks.

‘You know Old Tom?’ asked Copper. The rumour on Tom Tawell was he had killed his wife, poison or something. He lived in a flat on Ledger’s Road, the halfway point between where Doyle and me lived. Summer, Autumn and Spring he sat outside watching kids on the way and way back from school. During Winter, he kept his blinds up and watched us from his window.  No one talked to him or waved.

‘How’d he kill he wife?’ Doyle asked. AsI chewed on a floral gum, the sweets that tasted of my ma’s perfume

David closed the pick and mix, scrunching the top of the bag, shoving it in his pocket.

‘He didn’t do that,’ Copper said, ‘it’s an old wives tale.’

‘He’s never had a wife,’ said Copper.

‘How’d you know?’

‘He told me.’

‘You speak to him?’ we asked.

‘Yeah, he’s cool, he gives me money.’

‘How much?’ asked Doyle.

We had walked past the playground and had come to Church Street. We stopped ‘cause Copper had. The sweet turned bitter when I swallowed, tasting like the pills my ma gave me when I’d eaten too much at a birthday party.

‘He gives me fivers.’

‘For free?’

‘Nah, I do things.’

‘Cleaning?’ Doyle asked.

‘Shopping?’ I inquired.

‘Nah, something else.’

 

          *         *        *

 

Copper didn’t call it anything. It was like what Jimmy and Daniel Watson, the twins who lived with their da talked about all the time. They’d found the video in a box under their da’s bed. He left them alone on Saturday’s when he was at the Three Tuns watching football.

Jimmy told us: ‘You know your thing, when you’re a man, it gets bigger and women take off their clothes to put it in their mouths, then the man puts it in her and moves up and down.’

‘It’s how we’re made,’ said Danny.

‘It’s not,’ I said.

     *     *     *

David Copper showed us his fivers but it was later than Eastenders so Jack and me said we had to go. Copper took the pick and mix out of his pocket and gave it to me.

‘No thanks,’ I said.

‘Eggy?’ he held the bag out and Doyle opened it and shoved his hand in. On the walk to Spackman’s way, Eggy stuffed Cola Bottles, Sourkisses and Jellybeans into his gob.

‘You want some?’ he asked, outside the BP garage where we met before school.

‘Nah, I’ll get something at home.’

‘See ya later,’ he said.

 

My ma had a go at me when I got in. I’d interrupted one her soaps.

‘Next time, you’ll be grounded,’ she said.

My belly was making funny noises, after a glass of Banana Nesquick; I went to the toilet and put my pyjamas on. My ma came to say goodnight but couldn’t get into to my room.

‘Will, open the door will ya?

She came into the room, drew the curtains and turned off the light. As she was closing the door, I said ‘Ma?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Nothing.’

 

My nightmare was in Tawell’s Flat, he was doing to me what Copper had told usabout. His spicy breath was warm and his hands squeezed my ribs. Waking up in the dark scared me, I didn’t move, it took a minute to see I was in my room. It was too early, the cartoons hadn’t started. With my Gameboy on silent, I played Castlevania till the Flintstones came on.

 

On our walk to school, Eggy and me didn’t talk about Tawell. Eggy went on about how he’d taken a shit that lasted half an hour. We took the Bath Road instead of the Windsor to avoid Tom’s flat.

‘We should go to the films this Saturday,’ said Jack, ‘Dick Tracy looks deadly.’

‘I’ll ask my ma,’ I said, ‘she gets paid soon.’

Before we left the freedom of the playground to go R.E, the first class, we told the Watsons about Copper’s story.

‘Is that how got he got Huarache’s?’ asked Jimmy.

Jimmy was mad on trainers. He had the whitest in school. Danny told us Jimmy put them back in the box when he went to bed. And that he saw him kiss them.

‘Probably,’ said Danny.

‘I’d love those I would,’ said Jimmy.

‘I know,’ his brother said.

 

We took the long way again after school. Eggy found a tenner by the Tuns Lane shops and bought four cans of Hubba Bubba, two Whams, double dabs, and a bag of terror eyes. No cheesy or pickled onion Monster Munch. Which he knew were my fave’s. I could eat bags of crisps without puking; too many sweets gave me the shits.

‘Let’s go swimming,’ he said.

My togs and towel were at Eggy’s, as Irang my ma to tell her I was going to Montem again, Doyle’s ma, Eileen, asked him about the money. My ma wasn’t nosyshe believed the books and tapes Ibrought home were ‘borrowed’ from mates. But I knew a shop in the Queensmere where the alarm could be taken off easily. She didn’t notice the stuff I’d borrowed stayed in my room. Eileen didn’t watch telly as much as my ma, she read books and made sure ‘Mr Doyle’ returned the things his mates leant him. Eileen spoke to my ma for a while; before we picked up our bags, she told me I’d be having dinner with them. My ma was going out. Mrs Doyle’s dinners were deadly and better than my ma’s though I wouldn’t have told either of them. She was a chef at a school near Langley. Her steak, chips and fried mushrooms was the bollocks. Eggy’s appetite was small compared to mine and Eileen would give me more than him. He couldn’t have cared;under his bed in a shoebox, he had a stash of fizzy’s.

 

As usual, we started in the kid’s pool, the water went up to Eggy’s belly, it covered mine. The toddler’s pool was warm and I couldn’t swim that well so we messed around till Eggy got bored. In the big pool, I stayed away from the deep end and close to the edge. Doyle could do laps. There were two lifeguards, one boy, and one girl. Hanging onto the edge with my fingertips and kicking under water I’d stare at the lifeguard’s shiny wet legs. Eggy was in the deep end when Old Tom walked past, his feet slapping on the floor. His big legs were covered in white hair. Eggy was floating in one spot; from where I was, he was a million miles away. Tawell leaned down and put his hand in the water. It looked like Doyle was talking to him. I got out. While running towards Eggy, a whistle blew. The lifeguard pointed at me then to the no running sign. Eggy was swimming away from the deep end, Tawell jumped in.

‘Come on,’ I said. Old Tom was catching up. ‘Jack, come on.’

Tawell swam with his head above water. He went past Eggy, glaring at me andsmiling. Doyle jumped out. We didn’t run. We got dressed without drying off and said nothing to each other on the walk we’d taken with Copper the night before.

Mrs Doyle had cooked me fave, she asked what was wrong ‘cause I’d eaten the steak but left the rest. The chips had tasted too salty. Jack ate all his. His plate was clean. He had taken my chips and wiped his yokey plate. Old Tom didn’t affect Eggy’s hunger, but me, my nightmare was creeping into life.

 

The next morning Eggy was waiting for me on Spackman’s way. The only time he’d been early before was when his nana died, his ma’s ma.

‘Cancer,’ he told me.

‘Her star sign?’

‘No, you fucking dope, it’s a thing that kills people.’

Eggy had a way of making me stop talking, when he called me dope or thick Doyle would talk and I’d listen. He’d call me Worm instead of Will.

‘Go home, Worm.’

‘Read a fuckin’ book, Worm.’

‘Worm cock.’

We’d had a scrap just once, the first week of year five, I’d nicked a Roald Dahl book instead of a tape that Eggy wanted. He knew Slough well better than me; he’d been there for two months before me and my ma moved. He assumed his role as leader.

‘You’re a bookworm? You should have stayed with your da. Kids won’t like that here.’

He goaded me down the High Street, past the sports shops and Mr Cod.

‘Your da was a worm; he gave your ma a worm baby.’ Unlike Doyle’s da, my da wrote me letters and paid child support. Doyle’s da was a bollocks. ‘A feckin drinker,’ my ma said.

‘Your da,’ he started again. My punch knocked him back and he hit the window of Tasty Bite, the burger place my ma took me on me birthday. Doyle wasn’t that big then and my size didn’t bother me. He didn’t hit back. At school and by the shops on Farnham Road Eggy would tell kids, older and younger that I was mad. ‘Cause I nicked stuff and came from Dublin, kids believed him. The truth was my ma didn’t have money to buy that stuff.

‘You’re early,’ I said.

‘I’ve been up ages,’ he said, ‘dirtbird Tom gave me a nightmare.’

‘Me too.’

 

 

Through classes I couldn’t concentrate. Copper’s ugly story had settled into my conscious. The weather was getting warm, summer holi’s weren’t far off and we wouldn’t have to wear our school jumpers or ties.

We ate lunch by the end of the field watching the footballers. The Watsons were the best in our year. They played like real players and did mad celebrations when they scored. Copper smoked in the bushes near the bench. He called us tinkers and travellers but we stayed quiet, in fear of a beating. We could smell him.

‘Tinker boys, come here.’

Eggy looked at me.

‘Tinkers.’

Doyle brushed crisp crumbs off his trousers and turned around.

‘Wha?’

‘Come here,’ Copper said. No way was I going in the bushes. Copper might try todo what Old Tom did to him.

‘Want some sweets?’ he asked.

He shook the pick and mix bag, it could have been the same bag from a few days before but it sounded full.

‘You come here,’ I said. Eggy stayed silent. David came out of bush. He called us tinkers but he was more than we were. There were chocolate stains on his face and shirt, his trousers had rips in both knees and his shoes weren’t polished. Something my ma made me do on church and no telly day, the day of rest. Of boredom. My hands would stink of polish on for the whole day.

‘My tinky tinkers. Alright?’

‘Yeah,’ we said.

‘You haven’t told anyone what I told you have ya?

‘No,’ we said.

‘Tom told me he saw you two queers at Montem.’

‘Did he?’ asked Eggy.

‘Did he what? See ya?’

‘No, did he tell you?’ said Eggy.

‘Of course he did, that’s what I just said, you fuckin’ tinker.’

‘He asked if you want to make some money.’

‘Doin’ what you do?’ I asked.

The question came out fast and remained unanswered. Copper opened the bag and pulled out a drumstick. He offered the bag to me and I put my hand in, taking some of the melting mice and sugary cola cubes, Eggy grabbed a handful and shoved them all in his gob.

 

                *         *           *

 

My ma was broke. My school shoes were a size too small and she’d stopped buying the crisps and the treats she put on the top shelf of the cupboard.

‘Take a banana,’ she said, in reaction to my complaint.

‘What about me shoes?’

‘Take a banana,’ she repeated.

Asking for cinema money was out of the question. When me ma couldn’t give me any money Eggy would pay for me instead of buying sweets. My tummy was gurgling, Itook another shit.

Eggy was early again and eating a Wham.

‘Do you want one?’ he asked.

Because he’d probably pay for me to go to the cinema and my ma was broke I said no.

On the road near school, Eggy said,‘Let’s walk the old way tomorrow.’

‘What about Tawell? What if he sees us?’

We’d avoided the road for four days and Old Tom’s flat where Copper unbuckled his belt, let his trousers drop and bent over. Copper said the flat was really clean but smelt of dirty underwear and Vosine.

 

*     *      *

On Friday morning, kids and their ma’s walked past, Eggy was late. By the time we’d usually be halfway to school I went to his house. His ma answered.

‘He’s not well, Will,’ she said, ‘come by after school.’

To get to school before the bell rang my only option was to walk past Old Tom’s.Being without Eggy made me walk quick butI needed to shit. Squeezing my buttcheeks together slowed me down. The school toilet’s where miles away. In front of the flats Tawell lived, I went into the bushes and pulled my jocks down. I tugged them up when I heard a noise behind me. It was Copper.

‘Worm, you fucking tinker? Shitting in the bushes?’

My heart was pumping like it did when my ma let me watch horror films.

‘You’re on your own? Tom’ll let you use his place.’

Holding it in and without saying a wordDavid brought me to Tawell’s flat. There weren’t any pictures on the walls or paintings, it was as clean as he’d said, it had the same sweaty wet smell as the changing rooms at Montem. Copper pointed to a door on the right. I locked the door, pulled down my jocks and unclenched. It splattered into the bowl. As I did at home or a friend’s house, Icoughed to try to cover the sound. Tom and Copper laughed. I flushed and ran the hot water. There was a bar of grey soap by the sink and another by the bath, a bottle of Vosine shampoo and an empty pick and mix bag. Although the floor and sink smelt clean and bleachy, there was weird smell coming from a brown towel hanging on the wall reeking of meat and vinegar. One of them tapped on the door. School was a long time away. Kids would be in their seats waiting for the register and I was trapped in Tawell’s toilet. They tapped on the door.

‘You finished?’ said Copper.

The tap was still running. There wasn’t anything to say.

‘Come out boy,’ said Old Tom. That was the first time he had spoken to me. There was no window to climb out of, I turned the tap off. They stopped knocking. My shirt was wet like I’d been playing football or running home before Eastenders ended. Doyle was safe, probably tucked up in bed watching cartoons and eating eggs. My small shoes weren’t bothering me and not being able to go the cinema or watch telly on Sunday was better then being in Tom’s toilet.

What was going to happen had to.