A huge green horse passed by, its belly shaped like an arc. His head was all swollen and padded, like it was made of hard foam. Jig knew it was weird. The horse bowed its head and exhaled long tubes of steam from its nostrils. A rider, wearing a red racing hat, stooped forward. The horse began to limp. The rider turned towards Jig, but all Jig could see were rows of square white teeth. The horse reared up and kicked out its front legs. The rider hit him hard with a big whip. The more Jig looked at it the more it looked like a long gun. The rider’s teeth ground with each whipping. Something was pulling Jig away. He could see the rider’s face now. It was Maggot. Then there was a bang. And an image of Taylor’s mangled face exploded in his mind.
Jig jumped up out of bed and let out a roar. He punched his duvet to get rid of the images and smells assailing him: the shattered bones of Taylor’s face and the stink of the burning horse.
He lay back on the bed, his eyes pulled right back as the event came at him. One second he was cycling beside Taylor, then went past her. The next second there was a bang and he fell off, clattering his head. When he got up out of the water, she was in a heap on the path, the bottom of her face cut away. Megan was screaming; the dogs were going mad. He didn’t remember Shay or getting out of the water.
He stared at the damp blotches on the ceiling until the sound of the television from the kitchen roused him to get out of bed.
He rooted around for his school uniform. His trousers were behind the door. The shirt was on the bathroom floor.
He wanted to go for a dump but there was no loo roll.
He couldn’t find his school jumper and slumped down the stairs. He found one shoe in the hall and the other under the sofa in the front room.
Opening the door to the kitchen, he adjusted his eyes to the harsh light and his ears to the booming TV.
‘After the break – how to bake a coconut meringue. And later, some DIY super-luxe pampering.’
Bowie bounded over to him. His ma was at the kitchen table, holding his baby sister Leanne in one hand and a bottle in her gob. A fag smouldered on a plate. His da sat on the near side, with his back to him.
‘That shirt’s manky,’ his ma said.
‘Where’s the other one?’ Jig asked.
She squirmed her face: ‘Up me hole. I don’t know.’
‘And me jumper?’
‘Wherever ya fucking left it,’ she snapped.
‘Is there anything to eat?’ he asked, giving his da a quick check over his shoulder.
‘Look,’ she said, throwing a bread pan across the table.
Jig picked it up and went over to the counter. He grabbed butter from the fridge. Bowie shadowed him. Jig tried to spread the butter on the bread.
‘It’s too hard,’ he muttered, as the thin bread ripped apart.
‘Fuck it,’ he said, throwing the knife into the sink.
His head hopped from the smack.
‘Ow, ya bastard.’
‘Watch that mouth, boy,’ his da shouted, an inch away from his face. He could feel his short breaths against the side of his head. He braced for more. ‘And stop moaning like a little girl.’
Jig ran for the front door, holding his head.
He slammed it shut, stood outside and kicked the bins. He could feel the heat from his ear. Bowie barked and scratched behind the door. Jig grabbed a hammer from the railing and swiped at anything and nothing.
‘Fucking bastard.’
He smacked the bin. Then he took on the front wall. Chips of it flaked and flew.
I’d love to drive this into his rotten head.
‘Bastard,’ he shouted. ‘Prick. Bastard!’
His ear was still stinging and he could feel his face was all puffy. He swung in the air. He missed the wall and hit himself.
‘Ah, me fucking knee.’
He dropped the hammer and hopped around with the pain. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
His da and ma hadn’t even asked him how he was since they got back from the hospital. All they seemed to talk about was Maggot, and where the fuck he was, snapping at each other.
When Jig looked up, a dad was pushing a bike up the road. He was chatting to his son, who was balanced on the saddle, all chuffed looking.
Jig blinked and twitched at the memories from years back.
‘Don’t just stare at it, get up on the fucking thing,’ his da shouted, lifting him up and banging him down hard on the seat. ‘Hold the handlebars. Put yer feet on the pedals. Yeah, the fucking pedals.’
The saddle was too high and Jig couldn’t push the pedals all the way round. His feet slipped off.
‘Don’t slip. Get up. Push. Steer.’
But he couldn’t.
‘Fucking steer,’ his da roared, clipping him across the head.
Jig held his head and shouted back, ‘I can’t push the pedal all the way.’
He could see people on the paths either side of the canal glancing in their direction. His feet slipped off again.
‘Jaysus, ya on the gargle last night or what? Stop fucking slipping.’
His da slapped him, harder this time, around his ear. His ear throbbed and he started to cry.
‘Da, that hurt.’
‘Ah, stop yer sobbing and yer moaning.’
A man with a dog approached them.
‘Story, Hunter. Out with the little fella?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What ya doing, training him for the Olympics?’
‘Fucking Special Olympics more like.’
They both laughed.
‘I’m heading down to the Docker for a few scoops after I bring the dog back, if yer interested?’ the man said.
‘I’ll be fucking gagging after this. See ya down there.’
The man headed off, laughing to himself.
‘Da, why youse laughing at me?’
‘Cos yer a joke. An embarrassment. Fucking six today and ya can’t ride a bleeding bike.’
‘I’m five, Da.’
‘Is that fucking right? Well, I’ll count to five and if yer still acting the bollix I’m heading to the Docker.’
Jig wiped sweat from his forehead. He grabbed the handlebars, but his grip was greasy now.
His da was counting.
‘One.’
Jig put his feet on the pedals.
‘Two.’
His legs shook as he tried to push them.
‘Three.’
His feet slipped.
‘Four.’
He scraped his shins against the pedals.
‘Five.’
Terrified, Jig looked over his shoulder.
His da straightened up and glared down at him. He swung his arm right back and smacked him so hard he flew clean off the saddle.
He landed face down on the path, whacking his nose and mouth off the rough tarmac. He roared at the pain and shock.
Tears blurred the shape of his da storming off.
The rev of a car roused him; the memory drifted away. He felt himself shaking where he stood.
He heard a noise at the door and jerked. Tensing, he darted a look over his shoulders, but it was Bowie whining inside.
His ear throbbed afresh. Jig clenched his teeth, picked up the hammer and attacked the wall.