Sean Happens 4

Sean hugged himself in the back of his Uncle’s van. He squatted,shuggling sideways, breathing through his nose the musty smells. Human debris withthe spare tyre and bits of cements and rusted spades and a pick with a broken shaft.

His two older cousins grinned at him, crouching down, rolling with the movements of the van. They’d have been quicker jumping the fence and walking.

They were stocky boys, gone to fat after they’d reached their teens. Not good at jumping fences. Sean recognised that sneering and cruel look they cultivated. He’d seen and felt it overshadowing him in their visits when they were younger. Getting him to swear and do things. But not to tell.

Rodger farted and wiggled his fat arse busting out of his denims, giggling. His knife with a long curved blade couldn’t cut through it. ‘If they gie us an hassle,’ he’d said, ‘I’ll cut their fucking goolies aff.’

Rab pulled rank, being a few hours older than his twin, but heavier, with a wheeze. ‘Don’t be so fucking stupid. Carrying a blade gets yeh a five yearer. Don’t past Go!’

He picked up a length of scaffolding tube and weighed it in his hand as an alternative.

Rodger smiled like a baboon. ‘I don’t gie a fuck. They’ll say fuck aw. And dae whit I tell them.’

‘Yer fucking minging,’ Rab said and laughed.

The street was quiet. Yellow streetlights lighting the drizzle, but the sky was pink and bright. Sean shivered, but not because of the cold.  

Sean’s da dragged him out of the van. Pushed him forward towards the Potter’s house. They hung back. His Uncle whistled an off-key tune from a Western. ‘We’ll show they no good fucking namby-pamby bastards who’s boss,’ he’d said as they crowed and crowded together around the open doors.

Some neighbours across the street looked out, but quickly shut their blinds. Sean felt like running, but his da’s eyes pinned him to the doormat. And he couldn’t run home. Da was there too.

The door chime echoed in the house: Debussy. Mr Martin didn’t like his music, but that was only because he didn’t understand it, Miss Dill had said. Sean had the casting vote. He voted for the Pet Shop Boys, which made them laugh.

‘Who doesn’t need a Pet Shop Boy? Miss Dill said as she licked her lips. ‘I could tell you—’

But Mr Martin’s disapproval had censored her. ‘He’s too young,’ he’d said, eyeing Sean.

Miss Dill seemed put out, but she was changeable as her dresses. ‘For now,’ she’d said. ‘For now.’ She’d laughed so much she squirmed and begged for something out of reach, pawing at it.

 They’d laughed too. Mr Martin had to slap her on the back. ‘You can’t make a loaf out of bawdy jokes,’ he’d said.

Sean wondered what he meant. Something to do with being bright, pretty, impractical and useless as a girl. As Miss Dill?

It was Mr Martin that answered the door. He’d dressed down and was wearing a velvet smoking jacket. Miss Dill stood behind him fingering the silver tiara she wore in her hair. Sean had tried it on. It was solid and with what seemed like read diamonds and gemstones.

‘Can I help you?’ Mr Martin asked in his regimental voice.

He looked beyond Sean to his scar-faced Uncle advancing, waving a thick bike chain. His dad, a little slower, skulking behind.

The twins had nipped to the side of the building and weaved their way towards the door.

Sean wanted to cry out a warning. But Mr Martin moved him aside, gently patting his shoulder as if to say, there, there.

‘We’re here tae teach yeh a lesson yeh’ll n’er forget,’ crowed his Uncle. ‘Swinging his chain, he hit his leg, which made him limp, but he pretended it hadn’t happened.

‘Oh, that’s simply marvellous,’ said Miss Dill, clasping her hands together into a posy. ‘I’ve not had such a lesson in such a long time. And I might not forget it is so much better. I’ve been so forgetful lately. I’ve an awful worry about Alzheimer’s’

Sean breathed in the comforting smell of the leather upholstery in the hall. He wanted to run away and avoid seeing Mr Martin and Miss Dill being hurt. But he knew the lesson wasn’t just for them, but for him too.

His da was weaponless. He stared hard at Mr Martin as he stuttered forward until he squinted sideways.

Rodger sprung out with a battle cry, waving his curved blade.

Mr Martin dropped a shoulder and stepped aside as if guiding his dance partner. He seemed to touch Rodger on the chest. A spark and Sean’s cousin fell at his feet on his back, convulsing.

His wheezing twin dropped his metal pipe and he too fell forward, convulsing. Miss Dill had kissed his back with the same kind of stun gun.

Dad squinted at my Uncle. My Uncle stared at Dad.

His two boys twitching on the same line, his bike chain dropped at his feet.

‘Yeh’ll  pay for this,’ he growled.

‘Oh, how delightful,’ said Miss Dill. ‘If you use any more clichés I’ll need to go inside and collect them all in a big box. Get an ink marker and label it “Best of”’.’

‘No, you’ll pay for it,’ said Mr Martin. ‘The question is whether I use the services of The Spider or The Mole.’

Miss Dill lost her sense of gaiety. ‘Not The Mole,’ she said in a pleading voice. ‘We can’t use the Mole, especially if our Little Gabriel is there.’

She tried to smile at Sean but it came out all wrong. The twins started to revive and looked befuddled. Before they could get up, Mr Martin stunned them again, as if they’d interrupted their conversation and would have to wait until they’d finished.

‘Hi, yer fucking dead,’ said my Uncle, pointing at Miss Dill.

That seemed to settle it. ‘Perhaps The Spider then,’ said Miss Dill.

‘But we’ll need to find the boy sanctuary,’ said Mr Martin. ‘He’d never properly recover from his meeting with The Spider.’ He pondered this. ‘Perhaps his mother too?’

Miss Dill was light on her feet, stepping over their bodies. ‘Yes, a boy is nothing without his mother’s love.’

Mr Martin glared at Dad. ‘His father?’

He was helping Rodger up towards the van, bucking under his weight. Sean’s  uncle was trying to help the other twin but faring even worse.   

‘Em,’ said Miss Dill, holding her hands over Sean’s ears. ‘If The Spider gets him, there’ll be no coming back.’

Mr Martin said, ‘I guess then he’d be thankful it wasn’t The Mole.’