It’s not as though Danny had ever been a stranger to attention. More than a year had passed since I’d met him, and I’d grown used to the way people would look twice as he walked through the town, the way the punters’ eyes would linger on him when he came into the pub. I’d always thought it was because he was beautiful. I didn’t understand the narrowness of their gaze.
We moved about like a pack by then, us kids. Down by the river or in the bus shelter or at the park, never arranging where we’d meet but always ending up together, always with the unwritten aim of oblivion. I couldn’t stand to be at the pub anymore, around Chrissy and all the skanky new mates she’d taken to knocking about with, most of them barred from half the other pubs in town. Barry would have liked to do the same, I think, if he wasn’t so terrified of upsetting her.
I was out most of the time, whether Danny was there or not. The ease with which I could get hold of drink had cemented my place in that motley crew, and the lads seemed to like how I was always up for getting wrecked. You’re a funny drunk, you are, they would grin at me the day after the night before, and even though I could never remember enough to know what they meant by that, it felt good to hear it.
The police had had their eye on us kids for a while, although they made up their own minds about who was trouble and who wasn’t. Didn’t matter that Danny wasn’t like the other lads, getting their kicks from putting shop windows in, chucking rocks at cars passing under the viaduct just for the laugh. It felt as though they’d only ever round in on us when he was there, snipering him with their questions: where you been? and what you doing? and empty your pockets, please, Danny lad. Pulling out their little notebooks, asking a few of us our names. They never asked his, they already knew it. Danny Campbell, right at the top of the list.
It was always the same, the way they spoke to him, with their look-at-me-when-I’m-talking-to-you and take-your-hat-off-I-can’t-see-your-face-under-that-hood and what-did-you-say-speak-English-son. And then, when he did all of those things that were asked of him, when he would stand up straight and take a deep breath and look them dead in the eye, they’d accuse him of being threatening, tell him to wind his neck in, that they’d take him down the station if he carried on like that.
I wasn’t there the night the garage got done over. Danny had been late coming to call on me at the pub and so I’d ended up drinking Bacardi Breezers in my bedroom while I waited for him, leaning out of the window, smoking Chrissy’s cigs. When he finally turned up I was already pissed, could see by the look on his face as I stumbled down the stairs that he didn’t like it.
What you lookin at me like that fer? I slurred.
He shook his head slowly. Pigs’ll pick you up before we even get to t’park, state you’re in.
Yeah, I snapped, if you’re there they will.
Danny’s jaw tensed and I wished straight away I hadn’t said it, tried to link his arm, but he turned too swiftly, heading back onto the main road through the pub car park. I followed, quickening my step to keep up.
How come you’re so late then?
No reason.
Well, that’s nice, innit? Just couldn’t be arsed showin up.
He stopped walking. What you bein such a bitch fer, Neef?
Sorry, I mumbled, his words stinging like a slap. I didn’t mean to be.
Danny’s eyes softened and he slung an arm over my shoulders. Mardy cow, he muttered, but not unkindly. We carried on walking, neither of us speaking. Me dad’s come back, he said eventually.
I stiffened. Yer dad?
That’s what I said.
Someone was calling Danny’s name from across the street and I looked up to see Donna and Chelsea standing there. They could have passed for eighteen easy, the pair of them, looking more polished and uptown than I ever would. Donna was smiling at Danny in a way that made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and Danny unhooked his arm from around me. When I looked up, I saw that he was blushing.
Y’all right, Dan? she called.
Yeah. He grinned. You?
Yeah, yeah.
The four of us stood there for a moment more, Chelsea and I looking awkward, Danny and Donna seeming to forget that we were there.
See yer in a bit, Dan, yeah? Donna smirked.
Yeah. Danny nodded. Yeah.
My stomach hardened and Danny carried on walking. He didn’t try to put his arm around my shoulders this time.
Where’s he been then? I spat after a while, quickening my step to keep up.
Eh?
Denz. Where’s he been all these months?
He frowned. He’s been in Spain. You know that. Workin.
Doin what? He don’t even speak Spanish.
So?
So he’s been in the nick. That’s what I think, anyway. But you won’t ask him, cos you’re scared of what he’ll say.
Danny’s face changed. He ain’t been in the nick.
Oh yeah? How d’you know?
He stopped, looked at me properly. That’s me dad you’re on about.
Yeah and he’s a scumbag, your dad, everyone says so. He deserves to be locked up.
The moment stretched between us, my words ringing in both our ears until Danny turned away from me sharply, his strides long and wide and his hands thrust in his pockets. A hot rage coursed through me, a hatred that was all for myself. For saying those things, for kicking Danny in the place I knew it would hurt most. I wanted to go after him, but I stayed where I was, still and silent until he reached the corner and disappeared from view.
Chrissy was downstairs when I got back to the pub, standing near the pool table with a scraggle of her dosser mates, clenching her teeth in a way that told me she was already off her head. I watched her for a minute. Ached for her. On my way up the back stairs, I helped myself to another six-pack of Bacardi Breezers from the entrance to the cellar.