Junk Page 6

  Poor Tar was ever so embarrassed but his dad was livid. He was clanging around in the background pouring drinks for him and her, not forgetting to abuse her for drinking it, of course. I never heard language like it. His dad, actually, must have known she was only doing it to wind him up but he couldn’t help getting angry about it. Not that he wanted to have her wet tongue in his ear… but he didn’t want her to even pretend to put it in anyone else’s, especially not Tar’s. And of course that’s exactly why she did it.

  It was all deeply crazy stuff and both Tar and his dad knew exactly what she was up to but they didn’t seem able to help themselves. She had the old man knocking Tar about, when all he really wanted to do was land one on her.

  It sounded as though he hadn’t wasted much time waiting for his dreams to come true. And of course she wanted Tar to come back and carry on inserting his face in between his dad’s fist and her own ugly mug.

  I had no intention of letting him.

  I tried to get round to have a look at his mum myself. I thought I’d go and knock on the door and pretend to be all sympathetic. Fat chance. My mum and dad would have fed me to the sharks first.

  Since Tar ran off, things had been tighter than ever. Dad wasn’t just picking me up from school. He’d started taking me there as well. He must have got time off work to do it, because I didn’t get ready until about ten to nine. There were top-level meetings at school. I used to catch glimpses of the teachers keeping an eye on me when I went to the loo, that sort of thing. Of course it was All For My Own Good. They wanted every second of my life accounted for. I suppose they thought that the moment I had a spare minute, I’d be peeling my knickers off and diving into the boys’ toilets…

  I tried telling them. ‘I’M STILL A VIRGIN!’ I screamed from the top of the stairs one day. There was no reply.

  I’d had the police round questioning me about Tar. Mum and Dad hated that. I think they hated me for it, bringing their home into disrepute or something. They’d even taken to locking the doors in the evening to stop me sneaking out. The stupidity of it, when you think… I mean, I could have gone out of the windows or anything. And, of course, my weekends out hadn’t been banned, not yet anyway, although I assumed that it was only a matter of time. Let’s face it, if I was going to run off there wasn’t much they could do about it, beyond tying me to the bannisters. As they were soon to find out.

  They thought I was on drugs, too. I got accused of smoking and sniffing glue on the beach with the crowd.

  ‘I expect that boyfriend of yours is dead by this time,’ my father suggested, sounding as though it would be no bad thing. Tar, sniffing glue… I ask you. Or me, for that matter. It’s true some of the kids did it but all I’d ever done was smoke a bit of hash. Of course, they knew all about it. I don’t know who told them but they knew all right.

  My parents belonged to the Slippery Slope school of thought. They had no doubt at all that unless my life was made as miserable as possible, I’d be a junkie whore by midnight.

  I made my plans. I went along with it, staying in, presenting my homework for the nightly check, waiting for my dad at the school gate to collect me. I was even dropping the sarcasm.

  ‘I hope there’s nothing behind this good behaviour, missy,’ my mother told me. Talk about trust. I suppose I overdid the not being sarcastic. Sarcasm flows in my veins like blood. But it shows how much they thought of their darling daughter, that I couldn’t even be good without arousing suspicion.

  If things hadn’t been falling to bits at home I could have arranged it better. I’d have pretended I was staying away with a friend for the weekend. I’d have left on Friday night and they wouldn’t have even known until Monday morning. But there was nothing I could have said. If it involved going away for the weekend they’d know I was out having an orgy and beating up old ladies.

  Still, I did pretty good. Saturday was the best day for it. They’d get furious at teatime when I was supposed to check in and start worrying at night when I didn’t turn up. But in the end they’d get hoisted by their own paranoia. I reckoned they’d think I was staying the night with some boy. It wouldn’t occur to them I was actually giving them the elbow. They’d start really worrying, I mean police worrying, about Sunday night. Monday morning, and they’d get a nice letter in the post from their loving daughter.

  This is how I did it.

  I hid my bag in a garden a few houses down on Friday night, so I wouldn’t be seen walking out with it. Next morning, shower, breakfast…

  ‘Where are you going this weekend?’ my dad demanded. He’d dropped any pretence of liking me over the past few weeks.

  I shrugged. ‘Down town, maybe.’

  He snorted. My mum leaned across and held my arm. ‘Stay out of trouble, Gemma,’ she begged, but I didn’t even bother looking at her. I thought, If you only knew.

  I sneaked out about ten. Mum was upstairs and Dad was out at the supermarket. I walked out of the house and down the road to the coach station.

  Oh, there was one little arrangement I forgot to tell you. On Friday I got my hands on Dad’s Visa card and booked my ticket. I also helped myself to his bank card. He was always running about the house yelling, ‘Where’s my cards, where’s my cards? If I can’t find them I’ll have to ring up and get them cancelled again…’ So even though he’d miss them some time over the weekend, he’d wait a few days for them to turn up before getting suspicious.

  I have indicated that my parents are not over-endowed in the head department. Dad left the number you need to type in the money machine written on the back of a mirror in the bedroom. He’s not very good at remembering things. On the way to the station I dropped by the bank and got a hundred quid out. It was no sweat. In the town centre I posted the letter to my parents.

  Then I stepped on the coach.

  And the coach drove off.

  And it was as simple as that.

  Don’t judge me. I don’t have to justify myself to anyone. I didn’t feel so great about some of the things I had to do but I didn’t have any choice. Stealing off my folks… well, it was either them or someone else. The way I looked at it, if they’d known… I mean if they were able to put themselves in my place, which I know is ridiculous anyway, they’d have given it to me, I expect.

  That letter I sent them – I tried to make it all right. Actually I wrote about six or seven letters. I hadn’t realised how hard it was going to be until I sat down and tried to say, ‘Look, I’m going.’ I mean, what can you say? They used to love me when I was a kid but they hardly knew me any more and there was no way I could make them understand. Thanks for everything, goodbye, that’s what it boils down to. And I love you. I said that. I didn’t think it was true at the time but it made me cry anyway. I kept writing letters and tearing them up, writing them and tearing them up. I got it as good as I could but I had tear smudges on it and had to start again. I wasn’t going to post my tears to them. I was going… I was going and it didn’t matter how many hearts I broke – mine, theirs, anyone’s. In my mind I was already gone.

  I sat on the coach and watched the town go by. I didn’t say goodbye to the buildings and people of that place where I grew up, I just watched, I was happy to see them go. I didn’t know then how long I was going for. Sometimes I thought – just for a week or two. Other times I thought, I’ll never see this dump again. Thank God.

  The coach trip took two hours. I was sitting there wetting my knickers all the way. Every time a police car came by I thought they were going to pull us over and arrest me and take me home. Of course nothing happened. When we got to Bristol I was goggle-eyed looking out of the windows trying to see everything. I was getting so wound up, I just wanted to dive into those busy streets and disappear like a little fish.

  I was almost chewing my nails with frustration and excitement by the time we got to the coach station. I almost welcomed that feeling actually, because I didn’t want to be cool about it. I was planning on giving Tar a welcome he’d remember for the
rest of his life. I was going to really go for it, knock him off his feet. I wasn’t going to be cool and swagger down the stairs and say, ‘Hi…’ It was going to be full pelt, total happiness. Tar’s had so much grief in his life. I wanted to make the poor sod feel so good. And I wanted him to make me feel good too.

  I was thinking that all that excitement and frustration building up inside me was rocket fuel…

  I saw him out of the coach window, waiting for me. I ducked down. I didn’t want to water myself down with little glances through the window. I kept my head down right up until I was on the last step down from the coach… then I saw him.

  I yelled, ‘TAR!!!’ and I dropped my bags on the steps and I went off like a scalded cat, shrieking across the tarmac, screaming his name at the top of my voice. He looked quite alarmed. I got my arms round him and I hugged him and, oh, and I kissed him and I hugged him and I kissed him and I danced around and then I hugged and kissed him some more and, oh, and I squashed my boobs on his chest and slowly this enormous great smile crept across his face…

  ‘Oh, it’s so GOOD to see you… Oh, I’ve MISSED you, I’ve MISSED you…’ And I was pressing myself into him and pulling him against me and and and and – and I think it worked.

  Actually, I didn’t have to put it on that much. I was pretty near hysterical anyway. It wasn’t just Tar I was kissing and hugging. It was… being on my own, having an adventure. Yeah. It was life. A big, fat slice of life. I’d been so anxious sitting on the coach but as soon as I stepped off it all that just vanished. I was thrilled. Just walking down the road was brilliant. I felt like a kid. If I was with anyone except Tar I might have wanted to try and look a bit more cool about the whole thing, but that sort of thing’s wasted on him. He’s so cool anyway. I just wanted to infect him with Gemmaness. I reckon I did, too. He was walking along with his lips wrapped halfway round his head. I felt like I was blowing him along the road.

  I made him walk me round a bit. We went through the town centre to the docks… and I just fell in love with the place. It wasn’t big and busy like you think a city’s gonna be. No one was desperate about anything. There were weeds growing out of the walls and people weren’t rushing. I cooled down and I started feeling really mellow. I mean, I was still high, but it was okay to be high. No one was bothered about stopping me; it didn’t feel like I was going out of control. I remember thinking, I’m gonna like it here.

  Tar was worried about getting home. ‘They’ve cooked us a meal,’ he kept saying. ‘They’re really nice people, it’s rude…’ But I wasn’t interested in them.

  I don’t love Tar, I’ve said that, but I didn’t half fancy him that day. I kept catching sight of myself in the windows. I was very pink in the face and I was wearing all these russety coloured things – scarf and jumper and a skirt. I should have worn jeans and things but I’d dressed up.

  It was all for him, see. I wanted to feel like he could have done anything he wanted with me and I’d have let him.

  We got away from the docks and into the market and I suddenly leaned against the wall and pulled him on top of me. He’s about a foot taller than me. I pulled him on me so he was leaning against me. I could see from his face what I was doing to him. Then he kissed me – a real long kiss like we were on our own in the middle of a forest or a desert and there was no one within a hundred miles and we could do anything we liked.

  I said, ‘Wow…’

  ‘Yeah, wow.’

  I wanted him to touch me so much I think I’d have dragged him into a shop doorway but there were too many people about. But that was okay. There was always later on.

  We got to the squat in the end. I was impressed, actually. I mean, he’d found a place to stay, got himself a bunch of people who weren’t just prepared to put him up, they were even willing to feed him. He’d only been away two weeks and he had the whole of that side of it worked out. The only thing he didn’t have was a scene… you know, people to hang around with. Friends. You couldn’t put Richard, Jerry and Vonny in that class. They were too old and too nice. To tell the truth I found it a bit put on. The girl, Vonny, came over and gave me a kiss and a hug, and I hugged her back and grinned, but she hardly knew me. And I didn’t get the impression she approved of me all that much.

  Richard was a bit weird, grinning all over the place, but he was fun. I think he was shy or something. Jerry was okay, he was fairly normal but even he was putting it on a bit. I felt like they could have been vampires in disguise for all I saw of the real them. You had the feeling they were nice because they’d decided it was the fashion to be nice. You could see them working out how to be nice. For all I knew they were probably no nicer than I am.

  Now, if it’d been me, I’d have been sleeping in doorways and eating toenail clippings. But I’d have found a crowd to do it with, I expect. I guess I’m not all that interested in niceness. Sometimes people call me nice but that’s just because I can make them feel happy. Inside, I just want to have a good time, enjoy myself.

  I expect I’ll get found out one day.

  The first bad sign was that the meal Richard had made for us was drying out in the oven. Richard didn’t care. When I said we’d been sightseeing he beamed at the ceiling as if it was the most exciting thing in the world and said, ‘Oh, that’s all right.’ Vonny was a bit put out, though, even though she hadn’t cooked it. Well, except she’d made an apple pie for pudding.

  Over the apple pie Vonny said, ‘How long are you staying with us, Gemma?’ And there was this pause. I could feel them all looking at me.

  I thought… oho. Because it wasn’t, do you think you’ll like living here, but, how long…

  I just smiled and I said, ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know…’ And I smiled and they smiled and Tar smiled.

  Like I say… they were all very nice.

  Later on we went to the pub. It was good, sitting in there drinking half pints of lager. They had to sneak me and Tar in slightly, in case the barman refused to serve us.

  They wanted to know if I’d heard anything about Tar’s mum. So we talked about that for about an hour which made him utterly miserable. Mind you, they seemed to have a good time.

  After a bit it turned out they were all anarchists. That took me back a bit. I mean, I don’t know much about it, but aren’t anarchists supposed to go around blowing people up, not hugging one another? It turned out they had this big plan for Sunday night. They were going to go out and superglue all the locks in the banks.

  Richard got really beside himself about this. He kept putting his beer down and grinning wildly at the ceiling with the sheer delight of ruining the banks’ trade for a day. I said, ‘Don’t banks have back doors, then?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll glue those up, too. And the night safes.’ And he beamed all round the pub like a man who had been given a million pounds.

  It was all arranged. Me and Tar were going along with them. I got quite excited about it. I thought, This is different. I always looked down at the vandals at home – you know, having a good time by smashing up the kiddies’ playground. Great fun, eh? But this had a purpose and anyway, I’d have given anything to see the bank manager’s face when his lock wouldn’t open. We all had a good laugh about that.

  I told them about my mum and dad and they seemed very sympathetic. Richard was quite distressed about it. ‘My parents used to let me misbehave all I wanted,’ he said, and he grinned in that mad way he had at the ceiling. ‘I made plenty of use of the opportunity,’ he added happily.

  I was getting to like Richard.

  We started swapping stories about mums and dads and how terrible they were. Tar was a bit quiet. Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? But I was beginning to get the giggles. I’d had a vodka and orange on top of the lager and I was thinking how just at that very time my parents would be beginning to get utterly furious. It was ten thirty and I was just one hour late. They’d be sitting there grinding their teeth and planning new restrictions, which frankly would be taxing even their imaginations
because there wasn’t much left to restrict. They’d be wondering who I was sleeping with, what I was taking, etc. etc. It really cracked me up, thinking about them raging around at home and ringing round all my friends and promising themselves they’d be tougher tomorrow. And all the time I was a hundred miles away…

  They’d find out on Monday morning when my letter came through.

  And then, Vonny turned to me cool as a cucumber and she said, ‘Don’t you think you ought to ring your folks up and tell them you’re all right?’

  I just gaped at her. The hypocrisy of it! There we’d been swapping stories about parental horror and now she wanted me to start being nice to them!

  ‘What for?’ I asked.

  ‘But they must be feeling awful. At least you could let them know you’re all right.’

  ‘And tell them when to expect me back?’ I asked. ‘And to send on the woolly vests.’

  ‘No, like I said – just let them know you’re okay.’

  ‘I think that would be a good idea,’ said Richard to the ceiling.

  Well, I was cornered, wasn’t I? I went on about the letter coming on the Monday morning but it wasn’t good enough. Mum and Dad were worried now. I tried to point out that at this stage in the proceedings, incandescent fury would be a more typical reaction, but no. Even Tar rounded on me. Then of course he wanted to ring up his mum and we had to argue him out of that. I hoped that’d put them off the scent but as soon as he backed down they started on me again.

  They even had a whip round so I wouldn’t get cut off in the middle of something important. And before I knew it I was standing there in front of the pay phone stuffing in pound coins and thinking, Pig, pig, pig. How did this happen?