Damages .9

My head is thumping. Normally I’d bunk school cept I know teachers will be swarmin over me if I do, but they’re dreamin if they think I’m getting in for nine. Anyways, the first lesson is RE and the teacher who takes us smells of drink an is definitely havin major breakdowns.

Talking of alkies, mum is in the kitchen in her dressing gown, sittin on a chair at the table, smokin a fag and looking at her cup of tea like she wishes it had the answer to all her prayers.

How come you’re up? I say, turning the tap to pour water into a tall plastic cup.

What’s that supposed to mean? she says.

I point to the yellow, smiley face clock on the wall. It’s quarter to ten, you’re normally in bed.

Less of your cheek.

She smells worse than the RE teacher. I can hear Liam on the sofa in the living room, snorin.

Why aren’t you at school? she asks.

I’m goin in.

You should be in already.

I was poorly last night.

What’s the matter, upset tummy?  

I feel better.

You’re very pale. You want toast?

I shake my head, drinkin the water, feeling mega rough. I look at mum an I know this won’t be the right time to ask her, but I kind of realise as well that I don’t have a choice. Mum, I say.

What?

A teacher was speaking to me at school the other day.

Just speaking?

Well…

Go on.

She wants you to talk to her.

Where’s this going, Jay?

The teacher gave me her number for you to call.

She what?

Wrote her mobile number.

Are you in trouble again? What have you done?

Nothing.

Don’t give me that.

Nah nah.

Don’t nah nah me. As if I don’t have enough goin on with the Council snooping on us cos someone’s grassed us up about that useless fuck-pig in there living with us. I bet it’s that cow next door too. She can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business. Seriously, the people round here, I’ve had it up to here with them talking behind our backs and the gossiping and snide comments.

In the pocket of my tracksuit bottoms, I have the piece of paper with the number the teacher gave me. I feel it between my fingers, wantin to hand it to mum. 

She keeps talking, sayin, I think we have to find somewhere else to live, Jay. Don’t you reckon? I can’t be dealing with this estate anymore and I tell you this, it’s getting worse round here. Worse than it’s ever been.

I’m waiting for her to press pause, so I can give her the paper to call the do-gooder teacher.

Would you like that, Jay? she says.

Yes, mum, I reply, but I know it’s all pap cos she’s been talking about movin elsewhere since forever. Mum, I say, did you want the teacher’s number?

She stubs her ciggie into the ashtray an says,  What trouble are you in?

None.

They won’t want to speak to me for the fun of it. You haven’t been bunking off, have you?

Nah nah.

She picks up her cup of skin coloured tea. I swear, Jay, if you have and they get social services crawling all over me, I’ll give you the biggest hiding you’ve ever known.

I haven’t mum.

Liam wakes up in the living room and yawns loudly. Carol, bring us a coffee, he shouts.

Mum closes her eyes and then looks at me an we both know Liam is the spoon of the century.

I realise the do-gooder teacher, Miss Robinson, is only going to cause me problems. I start walkin out of the kitchen to go to my room to get ready for school.

Jay, she says.

What?

Do you have the number?

What number?

The one from the teacher you’ve stood here telling me about.

Oh yeah, I say, reachin into a pocket and handing it her.

She looks at the paper, then at me, saying, Come on, out with it. How many days have you missed?

I stand there.

Jay, be straight with me.

Quietly, I say, Lots.

Her face drops. Oh god, she says, taking a deep breath. You promised me you wouldn’t…

All of a sudden I feel this fear cos I can see and hear that she’s scared too.

I’m sorry, mum.

She doesn’t even yell. That’s how serious it is.

Go to school, she says. Get dressed and hurry yourself to school before we have social services on our doorstep and they try an take you off me like they did before.

Yes, mum, I say.

She lights a fag, lookin at the number, shooing her hand at me, sayin, Scoot.

Liam bowls along the hallway, wearin his mingin boxers an a vest.

They’re both hungover as fuck an that means danger.

You, he says, pointin at me.

Yeah?

A word.

Not now, says mum, he needs to go to school.

Liam stands over me. I get a flashback of him yanking the rope round mum’s neck. I don’t think what I saw was real, but the memory forces itself on me an I feel myself twistin at the thought of the damages he does to her.

Did you drink the wine in that fridge? he says.

Nah, I say.

He turns to mum an says, Are you makin me coffee?

Make it yourself.

He gives her evils. She pushes her fag into the ashtray, stands up an puts the kettle on.

Well? he says to me.

Nah nah.

It drank itself did it?

Liam, enough already, says mum.

Shut it.

Don’t talk to her like that, I say an I shove him.

He laughs at me, pushes me back an then gives me a propa slap. You lying prick, he says.  

Mum drops a coffee mug on the floor. It smashes an she goes an runs over, sayin, Don’t you hit my boy.

My face goes hot an the waves start rollin through me.

Liam says to mum, I’m warnin you, woman, if you know what’s good for you, keep your mouth shut.

I’m tellin myself, Don’t do it, don’t it, but these fucken tears squeeze out of me.

You fucken bastard, she shouts an she’s punching him with her fists an clawing.

Cept she’s not strong enough. He grabs one of her wrists an rotates her arm like a doner kebab on a spit. She bends with the turning, yellin at him.

I wanna get a knife from the kitchen drawer. I try grabbin the arm he’s using to hurt mum an he pushes me over.

Fuck off, he says and to mum, he goes, Have you had enough?

You’re hurtin me.

You gunna pack in your nonsense?

Yes. Yes. Fucking, yes.

He let’s go an she drops onto the kitchen floor.

Don’t touch the shroom wine or any of my stuff, he says, jabbin his stupid finger at me.

Mum, are you alright? I say to her, lookin passed him.

She’s touchin the shoulder of the arm he turned. Her dressin gown is loose an I can see one of her boobs hangin out. She then checks out her wrist, shakin her head. There’s blood on the lino from where she’s stepped on a broken shard from the coffee mug.

Liam goes to the fridge an takes out a can of lager, cracking it open.

Mum does a laugh that means something’s not funny at all. That’s right, keep drinkin, that’ll make everything better.

You’ve been told, he says to her, drinkin the lager.

I want you out, she says. The Council can come anytime an if they find out you’re here as well, I’m done.

Council won’t do shit.  

I don’t want you living with us.

I’ll be gone when I’ve saved enough to pay the money I owe.

Which’ll be the other side of never. You’re using me.

Why else would I put up with your crap?

Wanker.

Watch it.  

To me, she says, Jay, are you okay?

Yeah.

Like you give two fucks about him, says Liam, burping.

What do you know? says mum, standing up an usin a tissue in her dressing gown to dab the heel of her foot.

I head to my room an feed Flapjack, cleaning her poos an wees. Kittens are well messy. I get dressed, puttin on yesterday’s clothes. When I come out, I see dots of blood on the carpet leading to mum's bedroom, where I can hear her blubbing. I think about going in, wanting to give her a cuddle, but I reckon she’s best by herself. I think it’ll be safer for her too if I’m not here. A lot of the fights between them are cos of me.

Fake dad, pretend uncle, or whatever the fuck he is, sits smokin at the kitchen table. He gives me hardman evils an says, Get rid of that poxy cat.

I pretend I don’t hear… Fucken Liam… I slam the front door shut behind me an unzip my rucksack, taking the pack of fags I stole from his side of the wardrobe. I light one, walkin along the balcony, goin down the concrete steps which are full of dark stains an smell like the stairwells of car parks.

The binmen are on strike an the rubbish is so high it covers the bins. 

 I don’t know what mum sees in Liam, or the other randoms she’s brought home.

It used to drive my brother Mike nuts.  

Liam’s up there with the worst.

I wait at the bus stop. One finally comes an I find a seat. I like lookin out the window when I’m on the bus, seeing the cars, motorbikes, cyclists an the men and women walkin along the pavements. I wonder what’s going on in their lives. What kind of waves they have rushin through them. I think about when they were my age an the kind of grown-ups they pictured themselves turning into.

I don’t think anybody livin in my area is who they dreamed themselves to be.