Junk

  For Gilly

  Praise for Junk

  ‘A powerful talent who offers few easy solutions’ – The Times

  ‘Bold and cunningly structured – a real novel with an unpatronising tone that makes it accessible to a wide range of older readers’ – Guardian

  ‘Uncompromising, but utterly convincing… the most talked about children’s book for years proves that the complexities of the drug culture are more effectively explored in fiction than in preachy documentaries’ – Mail on Sunday

  ‘Brilliantly and sensitively written, it encompasses the raw, savage and ecstatic world of the adolescent mind, taking the reader through first-person accounts of an “adventure” that leads to addiction… A superbly crafted and important book’ – The Times Educational Supplement

  ‘It is believable and rivetingly readable. I couldn’t put it down’ – Nina Bawden, Evening Standard

  PUFFIN MODERN CLASSICS

  JUNK

  Melvin Burgess is regarded as one of the best writers in contemporary children’s literature. He was born in 1954 and was brought up in Sussex and Berkshire. After leaving school at eighteen he began training as a journalist. He then had occasional jobs, mainly in the building industry. Melvin started writing in his twenties and wrote on and off for fifteen years before having his first book, The Cry of the Wolf, published in 1990. In 1997 his controversial bestseller Junk won the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award and the Carnegie Medal. It was also shortlisted for the 1998 Whitbread Children’s Book of the Year. Four of his novels have been shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal: The Cry of the Wolf, An Angel for May The Baby and Fly Pie and The Ghost Behind the Wall.

  Melvin now writes full time and lives in Manchester with his wife and their two children.

  Other books by Melvin Burgess

  BLOODTIDE

  BURNING ISSY

  THE CRY OF THE WOLF

  KITE

  LADY: MY LIFE AS A BITCH

  LOVING APRIL

  TIGER, TIGER

  For younger readers

  AN ANGEL FOR MAY

  THE BABY AND FLY PIE

  THE EARTH GIANT

  THE GHOST BEHIND THE WALL

  MELVIN BURGESS

  JUNK

  PUFFIN

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published by Andersen Press Limited 1996

  Published in Penguin Books 1997

  Published in Puffin Modern Classics 2003

  10

  Copyright © Melvin Burgess, 1996

  Introduction copyright © Julia Eccleshare 2003

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN-13: 978-0-141-31593-5

  Introduction

  by Julia Eccleshare

  Puffin Modern Classics series editor

  Junk: the very title was enough to shock when it was published in 1996. Drugs are the enemy – and especially the enemy of the young. To put the word ‘Junk’ and children’s books together looked like madness.

  And sure enough, Junk created a storm of protest – especially from those who didn’t bother to read it.

  But for those who did, it raised up a different storm. Credible, honest, moving and sympathetic – not to drug taking, but to some of the reasons for it and to how the young fall into it and then, with luck and a bit of help, get themselves out if it – Melvin Burgess had written a book which was responsible and caring. Instead of turning his back on a subject whose very existence many adults want to deny, he shows it as the reality which many adolescents know all too well.

  There are many moments which shock, as Melvin Burgess intends: the physical and mental terror of addiction that he describes raises goose pimples and there is no shying away from the long-term damage – even death – that drugs can inflict. But Junk also shows that humanity doesn’t die with addiction. Junk builds up a picture of a community whose lives come together by chance. Written in different voices, but with Tar and Gemma as the most familiar characters, it is open-minded and thought-provoking as the stories weave together, giving insights into the vagaries of the tellers’ lives and especially their responses to drugs. Junk remains a lasting example of the power of honest storytelling. It won both the Carnegie Medal and the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award.

  Chapter One

  A boy and a girl were spending the night together in the back seat of a Volvo estate car. The car was in a garage. It was pitch black.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ complained the girl.

  The boy turned on a torch and peered inside a grey canvas rucksack behind him. ‘There’s an apple.’

  ‘Nah. Any crisps left?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Gemma sighed and leaned back in the car. She pulled a blanket over herself. ‘It’s cold,’ she said.

  ‘Barry’ll be here soon,’ Tar said. He watched her closely in the torchlight, frowning anxiously. ‘Sorry you came?’ he asked.

  Gemma looked over and smiled. ‘Nah.’

  Tar snuggled up against her. Gemma stroked his head. ‘You better save the batteries,’ she said in a minute.

  Tar turned off the torch. At once it was so black you couldn’t see your own hand. Surrounded by the smell of damp concrete, oil and petrol, they carried on their conversation cuddling in the dark.

  Tar said, ‘Come with me.’

  ‘What?’ She was amazed, surprised. It had never occurred to her… He could feel her staring at him even though it was too dark to see anything. In the darkness, Tar blushed deeply.

  ‘You must be crazy,’ said Gemma.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What have I got to run away from?’

  ‘Wait till you get home…’ The two laughed. Gemma had been banned a week before from seeing Tar. Her parents had no idea where she was that night, but they had a pretty good idea whom she was with.

  ‘It’d be something to do,’ said Tar in a minute. ‘You’re always saying how bored you are.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Gemma was the most bored person she knew. Sitting in class she sometimes felt dizzy with it, that she’d pop or faint or something if it didn’t stop. She felt she’d do anything just to have a life.

  Still…

  ‘What about school and that?’

  ‘You can go to school any time.’

  ‘I can run away any time in my life.’

  Gemma would have liked to. She wanted to. But… What for? She didn’t love Tar, she only liked him. Her parents, and her father in particular, were totally ghastly but he didn’t
knock her around. Not yet anyhow.

  Was being bored a reason for running away to the city at fourteen years old?

  Gemma said, ‘I don’t think so, Tar.’

  Tar lay still in her lap. She knew what he must be feeling because she’d seen it on his face so many times. Tar’s heart was painted on his face.

  Gemma bent down close. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  Tar had a reason, plenty of reasons. The latest were painted on his face, too. His upper lip swelled over his teeth like a fat plum. His left eye was black, blue, yellow and red. Gemma had to be careful not to touch his wounds when she stroked his face.

  There was a noise at a small door behind them. Tar and Gemma ducked down out of sight behind the seats.

  ‘It’s only me…’

  ‘Bloody hell – you nearly killed me,’ hissed Gemma angrily.

  ‘Sorry. Here, put that torch on so’s I can see where I’m going…’

  Tar shone the beam over to a plump blond boy carrying a plastic bag. He grinned and came over.

  ‘I suppose we ought to have a secret knock or something,’ he said. ‘Here…’ He handed over the bag. Gemma poked inside.

  ‘It’s only rolls and cheese. They’d have missed anything else,’ apologised Barry.

  ‘Didn’t you get any butter?’ complained Gemma.

  ‘No. But I got some pickle…’ Barry handed over a pot from his coat pocket.

  ‘Branston. Brilliant!’ Gemma began tearing up the rolls and chunks of cheese. Barry had forgotten a knife; she had to spread the pickle with her finger.

  Barry watched Tar’s face by the torchlight. ‘Christ! He really laid into you this time, didn’t he?’

  ‘Looks like a bowl of rotten fruit, doesn’t it?’ said Gemma. ‘Not that you’d want to eat it…’

  They laughed.

  ‘You haven’t been turning the light on, by the way, have you?’ asked Barry anxiously. ‘Only…’

  ‘We said we wouldn’t, didn’t we?’ demanded Gemma.

  ‘… only they might see it through the cracks in the garage door.’

  ‘I told you…’

  ‘All right.’

  Gemma stuffed a roll leaking pickle into her mouth. ‘Wan won?’ she asked Tar thickly.

  ‘Yeah, please…’ he beamed.

  There was a pause while Gemma pulled another roll in half.

  ‘When are you going?’ Barry wanted to know.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Tar.

  ‘Got everything?’

  Tar leaned over the front seat and patted his rucksack. It wasn’t that full.

  Barry nodded. He watched Tar eating for a second and then he blurted out, ‘But what about your mum?’

  Tar looked stricken.

  Gemma glared. ‘His mum’s gonna be all right. She’ll probably clear off herself once Tar’s gone. She’s only been staying because of him anyway; she’s said that thousands of times, hasn’t she?’

  Tar nodded slowly, like a tormented tortoise. Gemma glared at Barry and mouthed, ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Right.’ Barry nodded energetically. ‘Best thing you could do for her, clear off. She won’t have anything to tie her to the old bastard then.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ said Tar.

  It got very cold in the garage later on. Gemma and Tar snuggled up together and wrapped the blankets around them. They kissed. Gemma didn’t stop him when his hand glided under her top, but when she felt his hand sliding down her tummy she slapped his fingers lightly.

  ‘Naughty,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Tar in surprise.

  ‘Not here…’

  She didn’t mind him touching her there. But she was worried about spending the night together…

  ‘I just don’t want it to go any further.’

  ‘You might never see me again after tonight,’ said Tar cunningly.

  Gemma shook her head.

  ‘It won’t go any further, then.’

  ‘All right.’

  Chapter Two

  Gemma

  My parents are incompetent. They haven’t got a clue. They think being a parent is like being an engineer or something – you do this, you do that, and this is the result you get at the other end.

  Someone ought to give parents lessons before they allow them to breed.

  That night in the garage, we never did anything. I mean, I wanted to sleep with him. It would have been a nice way to say goodbye, and poor Tar could’ve done with a nice goodbye, really. That’s to say, if I’d done it before, it would have been a nice way to say goodbye, but I don’t know if the first time is the right way to say goodbye. But I might have done it anyway – for me, for him. It wasn’t for either of us I didn’t.

  I only didn’t do it for my parents. I wanted to be able to say, Look… this was my boyfriend. He was in some really nasty trouble, he was really upset, he was hurt, he’d been beat up by his dad for the nth time, he was running away and I spent the night with him because he needed some company.

  And I think he might be in love with me.

  But there was no sex, we never did that. It was just… being close.

  Is that human or what?

  The only thing I regret is that I put my dad before Tar. I won’t make that mistake twice.

  When I got home the next day, all hell broke loose.

  My dad was wagging up and down the room. ‘There must be limits… there must be rules!’

  Mum was sitting on the edge of the chair with no lips trying not to cry.

  ‘We all have to follow the rules, Gemma. When I forbid something I expect you to obey me…’

  I tried to smile at my mum but she looked the other way.

  Then he came out with this real beauty. Listen to this: ‘Her reputation is a girl’s greatest asset…’

  Stone Age!

  ‘What about her GCEs?’ I said. ‘What about her ability to put her lipstick on properly?’

  My mum tried to bring the conversation into the real world.

  ‘Darling, you’re too young – ‘she began.

  ‘She’ll have to learn!’

  ‘What are we going to do, Gemma? Your father’s right, there have to be rules. Surely you can see that?’

  ‘Where’s David?’ my father said. That’s Tar. I christened him Tar, because he was always telling me off for smoking.

  ‘You’ll get tar in your lungs,’ he kept saying.

  ‘Ring up his house and find out,’ I told my dad.

  ‘I have. He’s not come home. But his father’s promised to give him what for when he does.’

  I nearly said, He’ll have a long wait, then. But I bit my tongue. ‘He already has,’ I told him. ‘He beat him up again the night before last.’

  Dad snorted. ‘He got into another fight, you mean.’

  Tar’s dad’s a teacher at one of the local high schools. You can see the way my dad’s brain works. Teacher = good. Bad relationship with Tar = Tar’s fault.

  ‘He hits the bottle,’ I told him. ‘Go round and see him next time. You’ll smell it. That’s the sort of influence we young people have to look up to,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t try and be clever with me!’

  ‘Look… Tar was upset. He just needed someone to stay with him. But there was no sex. Honest. All right?’

  There was a pause in which my dad looked at me. You could see how furious he was. As if me being responsible was some sort of threat to his authority.

  Then he said, ‘Liar.’

  The whole room went cold. My mother was furious, I reckon. She glared at him. I mean, I don’t know if she believed me, but she wanted to. I don’t know what he believed. He just wanted to hurt me, I reckon.

  He did. But I didn’t let him see that. I just said, ‘I believe every word you say, too,’ or something, and made for the door. Of course that wasn’t good enough for him and he dragged me back and started up again but I’d had enough. I just lost it.

  ‘Just… drop down dead!’ I screamed a
nd I ran out of the room.

  I locked myself in my room and tried to take the planet over with music.

  THEN WHEN HE SEES YOU IN THE COLD MORNING LIGHT

  HE SAYS DAUGHTER WHAT YOU GONNA DO WITH YOUR L-I-IFE?

  OH DADDY DEAR YOU KNOW YOU’RE STILL NUMBER ONE

  BUT GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FU-UN

  OH GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

  THAT’S ALL THEY REALLY WA-A-A-A-ANT…

  I played that over and over and over but I expect it was lost on my dad. He never listens to the lyrics.

  The difference between Tar’s dad and my dad is that Tar’s dad is basically a reasonable bloke who forgets to be reasonable, even if it is in rather a big way. Whereas my dad’s basically an unreasonable bloke who never forgets just how much you can get away with by appearing to be reasonable.

  He came up afterwards and apologised and for a bit I thought the whole thing was going to be settled in a friendly way. I should have guessed what was going on when he started on about how he’d been big enough to admit when he was wrong. Now it was my turn.

  Well, I wasn’t wrong. I’d have been a real cold bitch not to keep Tar company on his last day in Minely. I was beginning to think the only thing I’d done wrong was refusing to sleep with him. But I know when to open my mouth as well as when to keep it shut. Dad’s easy enough to handle. The trouble is he enrages me so much I forget to do it sometimes.

  I decided it was time to do sugar-sugar. I apologised, whimpered, flung my arms around him and gave him a hug and a kiss.

  ‘You’re still my number one, Daddy,’ I told him. And he went as pink as a cherry. I had him right there, in the palm of my hand.

  That was when my mum popped round the door like something out of a pantomime.

  ‘Have you two made friends now?’ she asked as if she didn’t know. She must have been hiding behind the door waiting for her cue the whole time. I hate being manipulated.