Get on this.
I lied.
It’s so easy to say those two little words. I. Lied. Simple. We do it all the time. We don’t even think about it. But not for me, not to him. Not about something like that.
I didn’t have the courage to face him down and just say no. I don’t think I’ll ever be that brave. But I lied. Him and his mate stood there looking at me while I stared at that map. I could see the street, I could almost see the house in my mind. I put my finger out – and I plumped it down on another street miles away.
‘Number five,’ I said.
It was the bravest thing I’ve ever done. Bar none. And ever since that day I have been living in fear. Every time I come back from the Brant, I’m thinking, Has he been there? Every time he goes out and starts up the car, I’m thinking, Is he going there now?
He will find out. I know that. He’ll go looking for her, all the way to Manchester, and he’ll find the street that I pointed to and he’ll knock on the door and someone he’s never seen is going to open that door to him. And then he’ll get back in the car, drive all the way home and he’ll kick my brains in. And then – then I’m going to tell him the truth.
I know that too. Those facts – he’s going to find out that I lied and he’s going to kick my brains in and he’s going to make me tell the truth. That’s my world. All I’ve done is put it off. I am going to betray the woman who gave birth to me. It’s just a matter of when.
So – what’s new? Philip’s going to kick my head in. So what? He always was. It’s going to happen whether I lie or whether I say nothing or whether I tell him the truth. There’s no point in worrying about stuff that’s going to happen anyway. But today – today it’s Saturday. Right now, I’m on my way to meet Chris. Not getting my head kicked in by Philip, or Martin Riley, or anyone else. We’re going to look for Billie and then we’re off into Leeds to meet the freaks. When I get home tonight, Philip will probably have gone to Manchester, and he’ll have found out, and he’ll kick my head in. Then, I’ll be a piece of shit. But right now, right this minute, just for a few hours, I’m not a piece of shit. For once, I’m just me.
Right?
Right.
I’ve been thinking about things lately and do you know what I’ve realized? I am actually one lucky guy. I’ve been going on about how crap my life is, but there’s plenty of people have it worse than me. What about Billie? Did you know her mother doesn’t even want to live with her? When Hannah told me that, I could not believe my ears.
‘Her mum?’ I kept saying. How can your mum not want you? I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to have a mother who doesn’t love you – who doesn’t even want you in the same house! Now that is bad.
There she is, on the run, all on her own, no one to love her, still thinking Chris is pressing charges … and no mother to turn to when she needs her.
No matter what else happens to me in this world, I know my mother loves me. Whether she gets it right or wrong, she will always love me and I will always love and honour her for everything she’s done for me.
I told Hannah right then I’m going to do everything I can to find her. I’ve been out every evening. That’s no hardship; it keeps me away from Philip. And lunch times and mornings. I’ve been asking around. It turns out Chris lives just round the corner to where she used to hang out. I’ve seen her in that park a few times. So me and Chris, we’ve been round there a few times together, seeing if she still is.
And just in case you’re wondering – no, I don’t fancy her. Even if I did, she wouldn’t go out with me, would she? She’s got enough on her plate. I just like her, that’s all.
And if I did – I wouldn’t tell you anyway, would I?
I asked Ruth about the Corn Exchange in Leeds, like Hannah said.
‘You want to meet the freaks, eh?’ said Ruth.
‘I don’t know if I want to be a freak,’ I told her.
She lifted up my top and pointed to the T-shirt. ‘Too late, you are one,’ she told me.
It was the second T-shirt, not the really sacred one. But she’s right. I am a freak. My music is freak music, my tastes are freak tastes. Like Ruth says, if you’re gonna be a freak you might as well do it in company. And you never know – maybe we’d see Billie there as well. Because, let’s face it – she’s a freak too.
I met up with Chris in the park. He didn’t want to meet at his house. Can you believe he’s actually camping out rather than live at home? His dad must be a real monster. He has this two-man tent put up on an old building site they stopped work at, up on the second floor of a half-finished car park or something. He showed me. It was so cool. He had everything there – even a little camping stove and a camping table and two chairs and everything. You got to hand it to him, Chris, he really knows how to do things properly.
We met in the park to look out for Billie, but she wasn’t there. Then we caught the bus into Leeds. It was great. Me and a mate – just like the old days. Ruth was waiting for us at the bus station. She looked the pair of us up and down and smiled.
‘Cool,’ she said. ‘So – let’s meet the freaks.’ And she led the way out of the station and on to the street.
I never realized about the Corn Exchange. There’s just a few people hanging about outside, but once you got round the back of it there were hundreds of them. Emos, punks, goths, gender-benders, mods, bikers, you name it. I didn’t see any metalheads, though. I had on my new Metallica T-shirt that Mum got me in Manchester, but I had the original in my bag just to show anyone who wanted to see what a REAL T-shirt looked like. Even the new one usually stuck out a mile, but here it didn’t make any difference. I actually looked normal.
Ruth didn’t stick around long; she had her own freaks to hang out with. She pointed out where to go – around the back along the canal where people hung out. Chris and I went off on our own.
His eyes were falling out of his head.
‘I’ve never seen so many freaks,’ he kept muttering.
‘No chavs, though,’ I pointed out. ‘They’re the real freaks.’
Chris reckoned that since everyone else was there, there must be chavs too, so we started a chav count – and there were a few. But only the hardcore ones, the dressed-up ones, not the half-baked kind.
Put it like this – no Rileys.
Then we found them – the metalheads. There was a group of them, studded jackets, torn jeans, standing around drinking beers by the canal. One of them caught my eye – big bloke like me but a good foot taller than I was. He had long straight blond hair down to his waist and a denim waistcoat.
‘It’s Hell’s Fairies,’ breathed Chris in my ear. Then the big bloke turned round and saw us. Maybe he heard. His eyebrows come beetling down. He stared me straight in the face. Then he handed his can to a mate and he came walking over to us, hair waving in the wind, glaring at me and my T-shirt. I thought, No! Not again. Please. Can’t I be here too?