Part 4

“Tell me about Jack.”

I hadn’t said anything. Instead, I’d saved my thoughts for the train journey back to Sheffield, absorbed myself in 80s music, and drifted in and out of sleep.

I’d met Meghan, my literary agent, in a pub off Wardour Street. She’d looked tired. The book business was taking its toll and she was desperate for a bestseller. I wasn’t sure that I’d be the one to deliver it.

“I don’t know where it’s leading,” she’d said. “And I never took you as being a chav bad boy.”

I’d laughed. The word ‘chav’ hadn’t been invented then and it had made me think of Jeremy Kyle.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Meghan frowned. “I worry that once people realise it’s about you that some of your charm will disappear.”

“I know that people don’t want to know that I grew up in a council flat. But I did, and they might not like me afterwards.”

She’d folded her arms on the table. “If that’s the sacrifice then it means we have a bestseller on our hands.”

***

Park Hill had changed beyond recognition. It was the same buildings that I once knew, the same framework, the same concrete, but it had a new soul.

Despite my initial reservations I was feeling slightly homesick. Not for London, but the apartment in Sheffield where you couldn’t hang a coat because the bare concrete couldn’t be disturbed.

I thought of the high up neon sign that said, ‘I love you… will u marry me.’

And on that train home I remembered when we’d dangled Jack over that same walkway. He was the only one brave enough to be suspended hundreds of feet above ground and paint ‘Geisha Boys’ in big letters.

We’d hung on, threatening to drop him at any moment, but he’d added his mark on the drab concrete.

But it was wasted. At ground level you could hardly see it and the lettering made no sense. And then a council worker came along and removed Jack’s efforts. It gave somebody else the chance to write, ‘I love u… will u marry me.”

***

Andy was the handsome one. He was the boy that all the girls liked and had anyone he wanted. Next was Jack. Cute and adorable Jack. The lad with the six-pack and infectious smile. And then it was me. Harry with the black spiky hair, not as handsome but taller than the others.

Jack was shorter but had the confidence and personality to make up for it. His six-pack arrived by the time he was a young teenager, and that was because he liked sport, especially football. He played for the school team and was picked for Sheffield Boys, but we told him it wasn’t right. He had a trial with Rotherham United and we got him drunk the night before. We didn’t want Jack to leave us.

He also had a big sister, Louise. She hung around with girls her own age and was distinctive for the long leather coat that nearly touched her ankles. All the boys coveted her.

But something changed. As we grew older, became perfectly hard and glamorous, I got the girls. The prettiest, the sexiest, and the oldest. Andy and Jack would get jealous, and that suited me fine. But things were never what they seemed.

***

We were fourteen and notorious. Branded for drinking, smoking, fighting, stealing, and mindless vandalism. That standing followed us to comprehensive school, a 95 bus ride to Manor Top, and a long walk to Ashleigh School.

It was a shock to be there. Next to Ashleigh was Hurlfield where most of our schoolmates ended up. We were shunted into a different environment to straighten us out, but we ended up as adversaries to our former classmates.

But a bigger school meant bigger boys and they soon found us. Or rather they found Jack first.

We always went home together but one afternoon Jack had football practice. By the time he’d showered and was walking across Ashleigh field we were already home and smoking fags outside the Scottish Queen.

Jack looked dreadful when he came back. His trousers were ripped, his shirt hung open because the buttons had been torn off, and his face was bloody. But Jack still smiled.

The three lads had been hanging around the cricket nets and Jack was an easy target for them.

“They tried to nick my footy gear,” he told us.

They’d grabbed him, pushed him to the ground, and kicked him. But Jack was having none of it. He got up, kicked the first lad in the knee, thrust a foot into the second lad’s bollocks, and on the third he landed a punch that broke a nose.

The incident went unreported to the school, but the word in the corridors was that payback was heading Jack’s way.

We had to be the first to act.

Monday evening was youth club. On this day we never went home after school and always went to Manor Top chippy, where we stuffed ourselves with cod and chips,  as well as cans of Top Deck shandy. We’d go to the newsagents and steal porno magazines which we read behind the fire station, and then leave them where little kids might find them.

That Monday night, we went back to school for seven. We diverted into nearby woods and found sticks that we hid alongside our school bags behind the boiler room.

We played table football, shot pool, and danced to music in the darkened assembly hall. It was about flirting with girls, lots of them, beautiful and ugly, and then scrawling our names and conquests on the toilet wall.

Andy loves Jayne, Jack loves Julie. Harry loves Kay.

It was also about having teachers watch us all the time because we might start a fight or vandalise the toilets.

That night, the arrogance and restlessness amongst us was nervous tension. We’d noticed the three spotty boys following us from room to room, staring, smirking, and whispering between themselves.

Saggy, Tommo, and Hesso, lived on the flats at Gleadless Valley, and were bullies who everybody avoided.

We plotted and schemed, blew kisses, and stuck two fingers up at them. They glared at us, but only Saggy and Tommo looked like they might be a problem because Hesso was supporting his smashed knee with a crutch.

When they weren’t looking, we left and crept into the shadows outside.

Everybody left at nine and headed towards the main road.

Saggy and Tommo came out first, and instead of following the crowd, turned towards the dark field and the flats beyond. Hesso was next, struggling with the crutch, and trying to catch up. The night was black and dangerous, but with safety in numbers, they trekked into it.

We picked up our sticks and followed.

We crept across the muddy grass, weapons in hand, and got nearer our prey. That’s when it happened.

Andy gave the nod, and we raised our sticks. The second nod was the signal for us to run as fast as we could.

Jack was fastest and hit Hesso across the back of the head. Hesso screamed and collapsed in a heap, and Jack followed up with a blow across his already destroyed knee.

Saggy and Tommo turned but they were too late.

Andy landed a crushing blow on Saggy’s temple, and he slumped forward. I aimed at Tommo’s chest and knew straightaway that I’d broken his ribs. They lay on the ground moaning, but we hadn’t finished and delivered blow after blow until they begged us to stop.

It was then that the clouds parted, and the moon cast an eery glow over the incident.

Andy stamped on Hesso’s crutch until it snapped, and Jack got his dick out and pissed all over Saggy. I collected the discarded sticks, fascinated that Jack had such a big one.

“Never mess with Park Hill lads.”

“I’ll piss on all of you.”

“All for one and one for all!”

It never crossed our minds that we could have killed somebody.

The three of us didn’t go to school the following day because there might have been too many questions. Angry teachers, enraged parents, and battered boys. There was even a chance that the police might have been waiting.

We walked into town and lounged outside Castle Market, cadging cigarettes from bus drivers, and stole a big bottle of Woodpecker Cider from the Co-op.

In the event, nothing happened at all.

Saggy, Tommo and Hesso had a code of honour. They were like us. And their standing would have suffered had it been known that they’d been humiliated by three fourteen year old schoolboys. 

But we had an enemy, and retribution would come much later.