Annie waited where she said she’d be, makeup darker round her eyes and her lips pale pink and glossy like icing. A long scarf was wrapped round her neck and stuffed into the army jacket.
“Bloody freezing.” She shivered.
“At least it’s dry.”
“Later on it’s going to rain.” She leaned on the chemist window, tugging her bag strap.
Nicky said, “Will we go?”
“Where to?”
“I don’t mind.”
“D’you want clothes?
“Think I’m awright for clothes.”
She shook her head. “Where d’you usually go? Marks and Spencer?”
“I’m kidding. Where d’you want to go?”
“I just came in cos you were.”
She straightened up. “Come on.”
It was damp in the streets and she was right, it probably would rain. They passed a bunch of boys at the exit holding skateboards, chains looped from their jeans. One of them shouted her and she waved. “Coming to the steps later?” the boy called out. Further on she told Nicky they couldn’t even skateboard, just carried the things around all day.
“Are you in here a lot?”
“Depends. Used to do dancing classes on Saturdays, but I chucked it.”
He grinned. “You went to dancing?”
“Yeah. So. Started when I was wee.”
“Were you good?”
“Fuckin’ amazing,” she smiled and dug out a cigarette.
They waited at the lights. Nicky glanced, watching her cheeks sink as she sucked, a blotch of pink staining the end. “Where we going?”
“Somewhere good. We’ll get you some good stuff.”
“I don’t need anything.”
They walked on.
The shop had no sign, just smudgy windows showing a few headless mannequins. He snuck in front and pushed the door open.
“You’re such a weirdo,” she said and ducked under his arm.
It stank of old clothes. Behind the till a tattooed girl with a pierced face smiled. Annie made a shy wave, fingertips fluttering from her sleeve. She led him through to the back, stroking the rails of clothes on the way. Rows of old boots stood against the wall, scuffed and dusty, some painted with cracked flowers and at the back knee high ones flopping against each other. Nicky stopped and gazed. She came up behind, her chin brushing his shoulder.
“You want some boots?
He turned a trainer on its edge. “These are letting in.”
“They’re manky.”
“Me and Sid were down at the scout hall last night.”
“Look. These ones are good.”
“They’re pure knackered.”
“You’ll look good in them. What size are you?”
He told her and she peered behind the tongue. “Perfect.”
They were black with eight lace-holes, like Sid’s. Across the toes the leather was creased to bits. Some white splatters came off under his thumbnail. He balanced on one foot and crossed one leg over the other and untied the laces.
Annie nudged him. “Flamingo boy.”
“Get lost you.” He nudged back, got the shoe off and the boot on and started working on the other foot. She crouched, lacing up the first.
“They nip a bit.”
She watched with her arms folded. “You’re walking like you’ve special needs.”
“I was just trying them out.”
“They’ll stretch. Get them. You look good.”
“Not too chunky?”
Annie had started flicking through a rack of coats fixed high up the wall. She yanked one by an arm till it tumbled off the hanger.
“Nicky. Try this.”
She made him feed his arms in. The cuffs hung over his hands and the tail dragged on the floor.
“Sich heil,” she said, “You look like a mad Nazi bastard.”
It was roasting. The wool itched his neck. He started shrugging it off.
“Wait a sec.” She backed in, shuffling her feet in-between and slipped her arms in next to his. “This belonged to one big motherfucker. Do it up.”
He stretched the two flaps and fastened the buttons, the middle one right at her chest where her scarf was knotted.
“So hot in here.”
She stepped forward and he had to go with her.
“It’s boiling. And it stinks.”
They stopped in front of a mirror. Tufts of her hair tickled his nose and he inhaled her fruity shampoo smell. Only her eyes peeked out, the jacket buttoned over her face. She was laughing, vibrating and her shoulder blades dug into his ribs. She was getting him hard. There was no way she wouldn’t feel him jabbing in.
The coat tore.
“Shit.”
He’d tried to shove his arse away. Some old brass buttons had popped off. They wriggled out and Annie bundled the coat and chucked it under a rail of faded jeans. She grabbed his arm, laughing silently and led him away, down the stairs to the basement. The stink turned to blocked drains.
There was no carpet, just plastic sheets spread out and taped up at the joins. A thin man sat in the corner with a book folded over in his lap. Sideburns reached his jaw and he had boxes and boxes of CDs arranged on fold out tables. Nicky walked to a section with PUNK scrawled on the cardboard and started flipping through. The man crossed his legs.
Annie had quit laughing. “Let’s go,” she said.
Nicky picked a CD out. “Is this good?”
“I dunno.”
“It’s the Descendents. You had that t-shirt with the picture on it. At the scout hall.”
“You remember what I was wearing?”
He nodded.
“That’s a bit creepy.”
When he looked up from the song titles she was already climbing the stairs.
“Early stuff’s better,” the man said, uncrossing his legs. “Unless you’re into that poppy shite.”
Upstairs he paid the pierced girl for the boots and Annie went out and lit up. The rain was on.
“Aw,” she said when he came out. “Wearing your new shoes home?”
“Got to carry these around with me all day now.” He held up the trainers.
“Here.” She gripped the fag in her mouth, took the trainers and fed them in the bin behind.
“Annie.”
“What? They’re done. No one’ll call you shit for shoes anymore.”
“Who called me that?”
“No one.” She pulled her hood up. “Just one or two folk.”
She stuck a chip in and gasped, puffing hot breath.
“D’you not want to go to the steps?”
She looked at him, mouth open.
“The steps the guy with the skateboard was going on about.”
“It’s pure boring.” She chewed and swallowed. “And they’re all daft wee idiots.”
“He was acting like you’re best mates.”
“It’s like you and Sid.”
“But I like Sid.”
“I meant the other way round.”
He elbowed her and she slipped off the plastic plank. Rain was rattling off the bus shelter.
“What were you and him doing last night anyways?” she said.
“We went to the pub.”
“Tinto?”
“D’you go?”
“It’s a shithole. How’s Sid?”
“Don’t think we’ll be going back.”
“How?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She stopped chewing and eyed him. “You know he’s got an eating disorder?”
“What?”
“I think so anyway. Have you ever seen him eat anything?”
“He doesn’t look that skinny.”
“If you see him without his shirt. He looks like he’s out a concentration camp.”
“Has he seen you without a shirt too?”
“Yeah. Good one. How’s the boots?”
He raised one for her to see. “Giving me blisters and my sock feels wet like one of them’s burst.”
“Nice.” She crumpled her chip papers and let them fall on the ground. “Sid said he met you at that church.”
Nicky nodded.
“D’you still go? Like, every week?”
“Most.”
“Me and Gordon used to go, when we were in Wales. My mum sent us to the Sunday school – she wouldn’t give out our fuckin’ pocket money till after we’d been. This daft old Sunday school teaching bitch told me I was going to hell.”
Nicky dug around the chip bag.
She sucked some grease and salt off her fingers. “How come you still go?”
He shrugged.
“It’s awright if you’re into it. Or is it you can’t tell your parents to fuck off?”
He dropped from the plank on to his feet and stared into the chips. “No one makes me go.”
“Right,” she said. “Sorry.” She slid up till they were close again. “So d’you think I’m going to hell too?”
“It’s not really up to me is it?”
“You do then.”
“Where d’you think you’re going?”
“I think it’s all a load of shite. It’s just nothing.”
“Just black, like when you turn the TV off. I don’t mean black, I mean you’re just gone. There’s no more black or any colours.”
He screwed up the empties, collected hers off the ground and went to the bin hanging by the bus shelter. When he came back he said, “It’s weird. I sometimes wonder if I even want to live forever. I start thinking about it – time just going on and on and on, and I get this sick feeling. And once I’ve started I can’t quit thinking about it.”
“You’ll be fine. All your pals’ll be up there. Jesus might let you play drums in the band.”
He lifted himself onto the plank and slid close like she’d done, watching his new boots swinging. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“To heaven?”
“Church.”
She grinned. “No thanks.”
Rain hammered harder and they both peered through the dirty shelter at the sky. An old woman shuffled in with her shopping bags. She shook her head and tightened her plastic hood. “Not even my stop this,” she said.
Annie frowned and turned away. Her hand appeared from a sleeve holding a pack of fags. She peeled the plastic, flipped the top and plucked one with her lips. She tucked the packet in a pocket and brought her lighter out. Once the fag was lit, the lighter stayed in her hand. It was metal, all the sheen worn off it. She smoked, flicking the wee lid open and shut.
“I like your lighter.”
She held it for him to take. “Used to be my dad’s. He doesn’t know I’ve got it.”
“Is he still in Wales?”
She nodded. “When we moved up here, that’s when my mum stopped making us go to church. Probably gave it all up when he had an affair.”
“I can’t imagine you and Fadge going.”
“To heaven?”
He sighed. “Church.”
She peered up the road and tutted, stubbing the cigarette lightly on the plank, twisting till the smoke died and slotted it back in the pack. She grabbed his hand and took the lighter and stuck her arm out at the bus, fingertips poking from the sleeve.
Her head was pressed against the window, dozing. His stop was first. He tapped her and she turned, drowsy and blinking.
“This is me.”
“Shit. Whereabouts are we?”
“Not far.”
“I thought you’d chaperone me home.”
“I can if you want.”
She grinned. “Fuck off. You’d be no use anyway.”
“Fine.” He pressed the STOP button and stood.
Near the front seats he glanced back. Her head had dropped against the window again, dark eyelids closed. Chips had taken the pink from her lips and they’d gone almost blue in the cold. The lower one curled out – it always did, unless you managed to make her smile and she showed you her teeth, lined up small and white and glossed with her spit.
He edged back and squeezed her arm. “Want to do something another time, mibbe?”
Without opening her eyes she nodded. Her hair left swirls on the glass. The bus bounced through some potholes and stopped.
“But don’t say anything to my brother,” she said. “Or Sid. He’ll go and tell him.”
“We didn’t do anything.”
“He gets weird about stuff.”