Six bullets make a round. I fired two of them at the target.
Five aims to the head: two hit.
Four aims to the heart: one hit.
Two aims to the lady garden: two hits.
One aim to the gut: miss.
Let’s just say if that target had been a real woman she’d have been lying on a slab by now. In all the books I’d read about men blowing someone’s brains out, all the movies I’d seen with characters banging away at each other in a final shootout and, all that time, when I think about it now, I never knew how thrilling it would be. I couldn’t tell how much fun they were having. I do now. It gave me a massive inside tingle. I didn’t tell The Big Man that firing the gun gave me goosebumps every time I pulled the trigger; I didn’t want him to know how much I liked it. And I did. I really did. But you never know what people might do with that information; he could’ve had me down as this young sharpshooter and before you can say READY-AIM-FIRE I’d be roaming the streets of Little Town in search of legitimate targets.
The drive back from the coal mine was blanket-free. Window open. Front seat. Thankfully my lungs were reintroduced to my body. On that journey I kept telling myself that Pav mustn’t know. He mustn’t have a clue about any of it. Even though the shed was his domain as well, I knew he’d go ballistic.
Before I dragged one of the chairs to the other side of the shed and pulled a board loose from the floor and placed the steel carefully underneath until I couldn’t see it, I held the thing up towards my eye and peered through the aim groove. I so wanted to pull that trigger again. Just one more time. The gun was well hidden now: we had both reached a dark side.
Sheds are great things; they’re so versatile. When Erin F comes to the shed there’ll be no faffing about. With my fifteenth birthday looming I’m going to have a whopper of a party. It’s going to be an animal. It’s going to be topper. Erin F and me in a cramped space celebrating my birthday.
Pav will be there too!
My tactic is to play it cool, show her the sharp side of Charlie Law. My sensitive side. Then, maybe …
Pav will be there too!
Hold hands first … then go for a cuddle … then, maybe …
PAV WILL BE THERE TOO!
I hate having the feeling of wishing Pav would get a bad flu in time for my party.
Maybe just a twenty-four-hour flu would do.
Maybe an obstacle put in place.
It’s amazing the things that go through your head in times of stress.
Maybe I could just shoot him?