flight

Dougie Kirkland blurbed out his da was dead, and that his mum was so pissed with him leaving her that she jumped out of the window of their high flat with their pet dog in her arms.

‘That’s a real shame about the dog,’ a girl with a pluke for a face and the flattened cockatoo of a Goth haircut said.

‘Ah mean dogs are innocent—right?’ A pretty girl with red hair looked about her for support.

‘What kind of dog?’ a boy with the beginnings of a moustache asked.

‘Alsatian.’

‘Cool,’ said the moustached boy. ‘They’re good guard dogs. My da’s brother’s cousin used to have one. It was like a cross between an Alsatian and another dog. It was pretty smart and only bit people my uncle didn’t like.’

‘Did it bite you?’ a small terrier like boy who stood a little apart from the group of them asked. ‘Cause nobody likes you.’

‘Only once.’ The moustached boy pulled up his Levis to show his hairy leg and what might or might not have been three puncture marks and now were no more noticeable than the smallest pimples on plukey face’s forehead.

The pretty girl crouched down to get a better look her fingers tentatively tracing the fading marks. ‘Was it sore?’

Dougie could see her white bra beneath her yellow cheese-cloth top and his face began to ripen and redden so that he looked away towards the other kids in the playground.

‘That’s like the SS.’ The small terrier boy said, pulling at his shirt collar. ‘They used to have train a dog up and then strangle it.’ He put his hands up to his neck and noises came from the back of his throat and he fell about as if he was choking.

‘You’re sick,’ said plukey face.

‘Ah wasn’t the fuckin one that flung my fuckin dog out the windae.’ He straightened up with his fists balled.

‘You’re such a prick,’ said the pretty girl, her green eyes sparking like go in traffic lights.

‘Well you would certainly know about fuckin pricks,’ he growled.

‘She didn’t actually fling it out of the windae.’ Dougie cut in.

‘Oh, didn’t she—actually.’ The smaller boy quickly covered the ground between him and Dougie and stood facing him, his lip turned up.

‘How high up was she?’ The moustached boy asked.
‘Eighth floor.’

‘That’s rotten,’ said the pretty girl and there were tears in her voice and her eyes were as big as a gibbous moon. She came over to stand beside Dougie so that he could almost taste her perfume and she patted him on the upper shoulder through his school blazer.

‘So you’re like an orphan now?’ The plukey girl frowned and it was like a dot- to- dot interrogation.

‘Not really.’ Dougie stared at the outline of goals chalked into the building at the back of the PE block where some smokers were congregated.

‘Whit dae yeh mean?’ Terrier boy demanded to know. ‘Jump out a windae eight floors up and that’s fuckin about it. Splatttt.’ He clapped his hands together for added emphasis.

‘Kev you’re just absolutely terrible.’ Plukey face laughed in a way that suggested she thought he was anything but terrible.

‘Eight floors isn’t that high,’ moustached boy offered. ‘What’d she do break her leg or something?’

‘Nah, landed on the dog. Paraplegic.’

‘I seen a film about that,’ plukey face said. ‘Something about butterflies and a man in an iron lung, all he did all day was…’

‘You’d look good in an iron lung,’ cut in the moustached boy, his thin shoulders shaking as he laughed through his beaky nose.

‘That’s terrible,’ said the pretty girl, ‘but I must admit if I was paraplegic I’d just kill myself.’

‘Do you have to wipe her arse and that kind of thing? Terrier boy screwed up his face as if he was thinking about it, but something about his eyes made Dougie shiver.

‘Nah,’ Dougie said. ‘The carers do all that sort of thing. They’re there all the time Some of them are…’ He looked at the pretty girl and began to redden. ‘Some of them are quite young and they get to take me to the pictures, the bowling and the swimming. Whatever I want.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said the pretty girl. ‘What did you say your name was again?’

‘Whit’s it a shame for? Ah’d fling my old man out the windae in a minute. Yeh, wouldnae even need to take me to the pictures.’ Kev snorted.

‘I’d fling you out the windae in a minute,’ the pretty girl laughed and they all grinned at each other.

‘You and whose army?’ Kev looked from face to face and spat out: ‘You’re nothin’ but a fuckin’cow.’

‘You wish!’ the pretty girl said, her cheeks burning.

‘Kev. Kev. You don’t need to be like that,’ the plukey girl whined.

‘You can fuck off as well,’ Kev growled at her. ‘As for you, yah big drip of shite. You’re probably shaggin your maw when naebody’s lookin’.’ He flung his shoulders back and squared up to Dougie.

Kev didn’t feel Dougie grabbing for his hair. He just felt himself suddenly pitched forward, being pulled down and down by the hair and the mushroom of pain as his nose splattered. He howled and cried as he was fist grabbed and kicked up and down the playground.

‘You’ll kill him,’ said the pretty girl.

‘Fight. Fight. Fight,’ came the shrill cry from a crowd of bodies that suddenly appeared from every corner of the playground.

Blood was in Dougie’s mind and limbs. He felt himself being pulled sideways and bundled close to the wall by Mr Clinton, one of the math teachers. ‘That’s enough boy. That’s enough,’ he panted.

‘He’s a complete nutter,’ the plukey girl said, with a note of admiration.

‘What’s this all about?’ Mr Clinton let Dougie go just as the bell began to ring.

‘He started it,’ Dougie sneered over at the blood red smears on his opponent’s face.

‘Ah never. You’ve got to believe me Mr Clinton. Ah never did anything. He just attacked me.’ Kev spat out globules of blood from his cut lip onto the PE wall.

‘Headmaster’s office, both of you.’ Mr Clinton said.