DOLL THOUGHT THAT SOMEBODY WAS TRYING TO BATTER the door down and when she went to find out what was going on, discovered Kenny on the step, white-faced and with his hair plastered to his head. It looked to Doll as though he might have been crying.
‘What’s up?’ she said, fearing that something had gone wrong in the family. Kenny came in and went straight through to the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet bootprints on the composition floor. Jimmy was sitting down to his tea; considering that the pubs had been open for an hour or more this was something approaching a minor miracle. Neither the man nor the boy said a word: Kenny flopped into the chair with the broken arm and stared into the fire.
‘Kenny?’ Doll said tentatively. Even now she couldn’t altogether resist a hesitant smile, her perfect set of teeth on display like a specimen in a dental training school.
‘The old man twamped me,’ Kenny said into his chest. His voice was gruff and he released a long shuddering sigh.
‘What for this time?’ Doll said carefully; she didn’t want the lad to break down and cry.
‘How should I know? He came in after work and went bloody mad. The usual caper. I can’t do anything now without him picking on me.’
‘What about your mam?’
‘What about her?’
‘Didn’t she say anything?’
‘Nowt much she could say, what with him ranting and raving.’ He added in an undertone and with deep, bitter feeling, ‘I’ll get me own back.’
‘It must have been for something, Kenny.’
It had been, of course, about money – or, more precisely, the lack of it. He had arranged with Janice to go to the Seven Stars in Heywood and had asked the old lady for a couple of quid: she had been in the kitchen cooking the tea and had pointed silently and furiously at the living-room where Brian was watching the northern news. But Brian wasn’t watching the northern news: at that precise moment he was on his way to the kitchen and had caught her in the act, caught her mouthing and gesturing, and things had taken their course. Brian’s anger had been held in abeyance over Christmas (a friendly gesture in the spirit of peace and goodwill towards all mankind). Kenny had been misled by the temporary truce and lapsed into his old careless ways. Instead of staying in his room and avoiding his father as much as possible, he lounged in front of the television all night, smoking his mother’s cigarettes and drinking canned beer out of the fridge.
He no longer kept up the pretence of looking for a job but lay in bed till dinner-time and after egg, bacon and fried bread wandered round the flat in his mauve underpants until late afternoon. Brian didn’t know about this, but he suspected it. And what really annoyed him, angered him to the point of incoherent rage, was Kenny’s attitude. In the army they had called it dumb insolence, and Kenny had perfected the technique to a fine art. He would stand and stare with his slightly bulging eyes and take everything that was hurled at him without batting an eyelid or uttering a word. It was as though Brian were attempting to communicate with a deaf and dumb person, or an imbecile, or the wall.
So when he came upon the secret, silent conversation between mother and son the last shred of reason and tolerance snapped – like a steel wire under tremendous pressure – and he went at them both until Margaret, the first to give way, said, ‘Yes. Yes. All right. He was asking for money. He’s taking Janice out and he wants a couple of quid. Is that it? Are you satisfied?’ She turned off the heat under the liver and onions and pushed Brian aside to get into the living-room.
Then the fight started. Brian clipped Kenny on the ear and Kenny, who normally only defended himself, retaliated. Then Brian went berserk and leathered him. He was smaller and weighed less than Kenny but it was no contest. The liver and onions went flying and the sliding glass door in the wall cupboard was shattered. Kenny couldn’t get out and ended up scriking.
‘It must have been for something,’ Doll said, taking the dirty dishes to the sink.
‘It weren’t for anything.’
‘Money,’ Jimmy Mangan said.
‘He’s been on at me for ages,’ Kenny said. ‘I can’t do anything right. He even gets mad if I take Janice home. You don’t know what he’s like at times; he’s like a madman.’
‘He always was a bit too bloody handy with his fists, yon bugger,’ Jimmy said. He lit a Park Drive and propped his bare elbows on the table. Pale streaks showed through the grime on his arms where rivulets of soapy water had run down. He dragged the smoke into his lungs and said, ‘You’re not on the cadge, are you?’ Doll gave him a look and put her hand on Kenny’s shoulder:
‘Do you want a drink, love?’
‘What have you got?’
‘Only tea or coffee.’
‘Never mind.’ There was a catch in his voice and he was full of self-pity. It even hurt him that they didn’t have any beer for him to drink. Life, it seemed, was conspiring to crush him: nobody really cared anything for him: he was all alone in the world. The flames in front of his eyes suddenly went distorted and streaky, like sunshine seen through a rainy windowpane, and he had to tense his muscles in his throat to hold back the tears.
Jimmy Mangan said, ‘Have you got a job yet?’ and Kenny shook his head without looking up; he thought furiously: You’ve got fucking room to talk. ‘There you are then,’ Jimmy said. ‘You can’t expect him to keep on forking out when you’re on the dole.’
‘I’m not on the dole,’ Kenny said. ‘I was given the push, so I can’t draw.’
‘There you are then.’ There was a silence in which Jimmy picked up his pint mug and slurped his tea. The sound reminded Kenny of a pig with its snout in the trough and he nearly lost control. He thought seriously – for just a moment – of hitting the silly old fart on the head and taking his money.
In the hallway on his way out Doll put a finger to her lips and pressed a pound note into his hand, saying loudly, ‘See you again, Kenny love. Give me love to your mam.’ She opened the front door and waved him on. ‘Ta-ra now.’ Her teeth flashed like a beacon in a dark world as Kenny went out into the rain.
• • •
The Seven Stars was fairly quiet – it was only to be expected – this being the first Friday after the New Year when most people had spent up and were short of cash. Janice knew that Kenny was in a black mood as soon as they met: his jaw was set and he didn’t say a word all the way to Heywood on the bus. The rain continued to pelt down and they were both soaked by the time they got to the pub. It was a disco place and at weekends had a local group on: three or four lads who worked during the day and played for a few quid and free beer at nights – attracting the sixteen to twenties from Rochdale, Bury, and from Heywood itself.
Some of the lads were there: Crabby, Arthur, Fester and Shortarse. Kenny ignored them and sat in the corner farthest away from the long curving bar with the leatherette trim which took up all of one wall. Janice sipped her half of mild and watched the girls on the small scarred dance-floor, accustomed now to Kenny’s moods and wise in the ways of dealing with them; he would come round sooner or later, and even if he didn’t, anything she might say would only make matters worse.
‘How’s your mam?’ Kenny said after ten minutes of brooding silence.
‘All right. She’s gone away for the weekend.’
‘Oh aye.’ He lifted his pint and the liquid was almost sucked out of the glass. ‘She’s all right, your mam,’ he said, testing her.
‘Yeh,’ Janice said non-commitally.
‘Where’s she gone?’
‘Blackpool.’
‘At this time of year?’
‘She has a friend there.’
‘Oh aye,’ Kenny said.
The group came on and all further conversation was curtailed to shouted observations and monosyllabic remarks. The group went through their limited repertoire of outdated top thirty hits and rock n’ roll standards; Janice wanted to dance but as she knew Kenny wouldn’t, had to be content to sit and listen, tapping her foot and moving her little round bottom on the seat. When he went to the bar to get more drinks Kenny was approached by Fester, who laid a fat square hand on his shoulder.
‘Crabby says Skush got the chop.’
‘Yeh.’ Kenny watched him from beneath heavy eyelids and then shifted his gaze, like somebody ill-at-ease who awkwardly transfers weight from one foot to another. He said, ‘Did Andy tell you?’
‘He told Crabby.’
‘He was stoned. We tried to get him away but the law arrived. There must have been ten of them.’
‘Did he have any stuff on him?’
‘Pockets full of it.’
‘Fuckinell,’ Fester said. ‘Will he grass?’
The word sent a thrill through Kenny. He suddenly felt bigger and tougher and more dangerous, and life expanded within him: after all it was possession of drugs – a criminal offence – and the law was involved. ‘Skush isn’t a nark,’ he said, matching Fester’s word with one of his own.
‘They’re bastards though; they could trick him into telling them your name and Andy’s. You want to get an alibi or get away for a bit.’
‘Yeh,’ Kenny said thoughtfully. He was thrilled at the idea, but at the same time felt a slight unease. And yet he wasn’t afraid, not truly afraid: the real and actual possibility of being picked up by the police was something that happened to other people, like getting cancer, or being run over by a bus. They might get Skush, they might get Andy, but they’d never get him.
‘Hello stranger,’ a girl’s voice said, and it was Eileen from Woolworth’s.
‘What are you doing in a duff place like this?’ Kenny asked.
‘Same as you.’
She still had the blatant, unabashed stare that both discomfited and excited him. A picture flashed instantaneously through his mind of her lying back with her legs open, inviting him to have it away. She would be that kind of girl: straight in, first time, no messing. He remembered a girl (but not her name) who had invited him into her house during the school holidays and they had lain on her mother’s cerise eiderdown and it had taken what seemed like hours to unfasten her bra, finally, at long last, revealing little pink rosebud nipples which he hadn’t known what to do with and could only gaze at in dumbstruck awe. It was the first time he had been overcome by such intense sexual excitement, and Eileen evoked the same response – he couldn’t get his breath properly and was shaken by an almost uncontrollable desire to reach out in the crowded pub and grab her breasts.
‘On your own?’ Eileen said, moving in next to him. (Fester had raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and gone.)
‘No, I’ve got a bird with me.’
‘Regular girlfriend eh?’
‘Not really.’ Kenny let his eyelids droop. ‘She hangs around a bit. What can you do?’ They looked into each other’s eyes. ‘How’s Woolies these days?’
‘Same. Irwin’s always on your back. As usual.’
‘That twat. He wants fucking strangling, that cunt.’
‘Yeh. He’s a right cunt,’ Eileen said deliberately, her eyes locked on his. Kenny’s hands were perspiring. Why had he never got to grips with it when he had a chance? He knew she would go like a rattlesnake and here it was staring him in the face and he couldn’t do a thing about it. Apart from kicking Janice into touch.
‘Do you fancy a trip to Luton?’ he said straight out of the blue. Eileen’s mouth curved in a small mocking smile. Kenny lowered his voice as though somebody might be eavesdropping. ‘They’re playing the Dale in a couple of weeks and I’m going down on the coach. Fancy it?’
‘Yeh,’ Eileen said. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ll see you in Woolies,’ Kenny said. ‘I’ll come in one afternoon and fix it up.’
‘Yeh.’ She was still watching him as he turned to go; Kenny was unnerved. He got back to the table with the drinks and when he looked up she was smiling at him over her shoulder.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Who?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘I only asked who she was,’ Janice said plaintively.
‘Somebody I used to work with.’
‘Have you ever taken her out?’
‘What?’ Kenny said. ‘No.’ And then remembering himself, ‘What’s it to you? What if I have? So what?’ He was thrusting his face near hers, wanting to hurt her, to make her cry. He gripped the flesh of her forearm between his bitten fingers and pressed it as hard as he could till all the blood had gone, leaving an area of tiny blue bruise-marks. When she cried out he thumped her on the muscle of the upper arm and kept repeating, ‘Shut up. Shut up.’
Even when they got outside and were walking towards the chip shop on the main road there was too much violent energy in him that had yet to be dissipated. They walked apart, Kenny scuffing his boots on the pavement and Janice desolate and in tears. She loved him and was afraid of him: she couldn’t understand what drove him. Why did he want to hurt her? What was so wrong with the world that he had to inflict pain on other people – like a spiteful, obstinate child that must smash and destroy everything around it?
Inside the fluorescent brightness and greasy warmth of the chip shop they stood in line, not touching, and waited their turn at the high stainless steel counter. The man was scooping sizzling brown fish out of the hot fat. Kenny didn’t even bother to ask Janice what she wanted; she noticed that he couldn’t take his eyes off a boy in front of them in the queue – a young man, rather, in a midnight-blue velvet suit with flared trousers. His hands were white and nicely-kept, with long tapering fingers, and his hair had obviously been washed, trimmed and blow-waved at one of those boutique-type hairdressers, probably in Manchester. At the kerb was a lowslung sports job – a Lotus – and the blonde hair of a girl splayed over the back of the leather seat.
As he was going out with his order Kenny sniggered down his nose and the young man half-turned and went on. Janice was prepared for something to happen but nothing did. She prayed that the car would drive away: the mood Kenny was in, the venom spurting inside him, could lead only to damage, either to property or people.
The car was still there when they came out. Janice tried to stay close to him, clutching his arm, but he shook her off. He stood in the middle of the pavement, his eyes hooded, eating fish and chips, and said in a loud voice: ‘Hey, Jan. What kind of a ponce would buy a shit-heap of a car like this?’
As expected, there was no response. Kenny continued to watch the young man through the windscreen. The blonde girl was saying something to him, and, although they couldn’t hear her, obviously in a low voice.
‘It must be a ponce,’ Kenny said loudly to Janice. ‘A fairy. Look how shiny it is. I bet he polishes it a lot. Or gets his mummy to do it for him.’
The young man wanted to drive away; the girl was begging him to drive away; but for that reason he couldn’t. Kenny tossed a greasy chip on to the shiny bonnet. Janice shrank away into the shadow. The car door opened and the young man got out.
‘Watch what you’re doing,’ he said.
Kenny stopped eating. His jaw went stiff. ‘Are you talking to me?’ he said.
‘Just watch the car, that’s all.’
‘Or what?’ And when the young man didn’t answer, ‘Or what will you do?’
It was coming, it was coming, Janice could see it happening in front of her eyes. The badness was spilling out of him, it had to be released. If the young man didn’t get in the car now it would be too late. She saw Kenny’s hands with the tattooed knuckles wadding the newspaper into a tight greasy ball: she could almost sense the nervous energy vibrating in his arms: he had to take his spite and hate and frustration out on somebody.
‘I don’t want to argue with you, friend,’ the young man said. He still had one foot inside the car; he was that uncertain; and the girl was pleading with him to drive away.
Kenny said slowly, ‘I’m not your fucking friend.’ He threw the ball of newspaper on to the bonnet and stood with his arms hanging straight down at his sides. For the first time that evening, Janice realised, he was enjoying himself. His fingers were actually twitching with suppressed eagerness. A fist in the face and a boot in the bollocks were his idea of how to end a good night out.
‘Kenny…’ Janice said, but – as she knew he would – Kenny ignored her. And then the small miracle she had hoped for, and given up hope, happened. The young man got into the car and drove off. Kenny ran into the road and kicked at the rear bumper but missed.
All the way home on the bus he was distracted and fretful. She tried to cheer him up. ‘Me mum’s away. I’ve got the key. We’ve got the flat to ourselves. You can stay the night.’
‘Great,’ Kenny said without enthusiasm. He wiped the window with his sleeve and stopped in mid-motion. He looked at her. ‘You’re all electric in the flats, aren’t you?’ he said. Janice nodded. ‘And have they all got meters?’