He put his arm on my shoulder and a shot of electricity ran through me. Bad Boy Jamie is the baddest of the bad, and he came in and put his arm around me, and everybody looked at me like I was doomed.
Ben, another Ben, who I am very proud of. He is young and gets drunk easily. He reminds me of me. He does silly things and that makes me frightened. He is joining the circus, but before he goes we have arranged to go for a drink. We will talk like intellectuals because he is incredibly clever. The one thing I won’t say is that I love him very dearly.
A parcel came for Charlie. It was a small brown box that had been posted in France. He was still asleep, so I put it on the side, and it would be hours before he noticed it.
“Why didn’t you tell me that I had a package?”
“Sorry, I forgot.”
Charlie ripped the box open and pulled out a pile of magazines. They were called Catholica and there was a photo of him on the cover. He was in his underwear, or rather somebody else’s, and was seductively looking up at a stained glass window.
“Look at these. Matis has published my photos.”
“Who is Matis?”
“I told you about him. He’s the photographer I met in Paris, who styles himself on Jacques Henri Lartigue.”
The name rolled off his tongue, but I had no idea who he was, and the expression on my face gave me away.
“Lartigue was France’s greatest photographer.”
“Is Matis a good photographer too?”
“The best. He has published in all the major magazines, and this might be the making of me.”
Charlie closed the box and any hope that he might give me a copy quickly vanished.
Later that day, I googled Matis, but found nothing. I persevered and eventually found him after searching for photographers based in Lille. He had an Instagram account and amidst countless images of half-naked boys, I discovered Charlie’s photos.
I knew this body well from the times when he’d sat on the floor in only his underwear and painted. I would steal glances while writing, and then pretend to be concentrating on my work whenever he looked my way.
Charlie wasn’t mine and hadn’t given any indication that he might be interested in me, but the more I looked at the photos, the more I became jealous.
I was envious of Matis, whose images also populated the page, that he was younger, in his late twenties, and more handsome than me. He’d cast a spell on Charlie, and I was increasingly afraid that he might lure him away, back to his homeland, and leave me behind.
That night, Levi was working, and Charlie spent ages in the shower, followed by his normal routine of applying expensive lotions.
I opened a bottle of wine and binge watched a Swedish tragicomedy where a naïve 27-year-old loses his father in an accident and does everything in his power to avoid his grief, and slips into the adult world of sex, drugs, and alcohol.
Charlie finally appeared in silk pyjamas and dressing gown, his hair neatly combed, and smelling of expensive French cologne. He made himself comfortable on the sofa beside me and, like always, placed his bare feet on my lap.
“Will you massage my feet?”
I gently stroked his soft skin while thinking that it was an intimate moment, but Charlie was absorbed in his iPhone.
“Matis has asked me to go back for more photos,” he said.
I wanted to say that I hated Matis and wished that he’d shut up about him. I also wanted to tell Charlie that I’d become very fond of him, that I was falling in love, and wished that he’d stay here with me.
I didn’t say anything like that because I was afraid that if I had, Charlie might become upset and say that it wasn’t what he wanted, and that it might be best if he moved out.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” I told him.
Charlie is finally back from France. He spent Christmas and New Year with his family in Paris and on the day I expected him back, he messaged to say that he’d gone to Lille instead. I didn’t ask why.
“How was your Christmas?” he asked. “Ok,” I said, “it was a quiet one, but Christmas was ages ago.”
Levi had spent Christmas with his mysterious girlfriend and the apartment had been depressingly subdued. I’d spent Christmas Day watching movies on Netflix.
“I have something exciting to tell you,” he said. “I met a guy in Paris who thinks I should be a model.”
“That’s good,” I replied, “but be wary of anyone who says you could be a model, even though he might be right”.
“I know, but this was different, and he invited me to go to Lille for a photoshoot.”
Charlie opened his phone and showed me photos from his Instagram account, the same one that he’d blocked me from seeing. There he was, in various stages of undress, and I had to agree that he looked good.
“The shoot was called Catholica,” he continued, “and the photographer thinks I make a good catholic boy.”
Looking at the erotic images, I would have described Charlie as anything but.
“Did you get paid for it?”
“There was no money, but it was good exposure.”
I felt like telling him that I’d done so much for exposure, but it rarely reaped rewards. I had learnt that exposure meant giving something to someone for free.
“I didn’t realise that you wanted to be a model.”
“I am a painter, but I believe I could make a career as a fashion model. It pays to multi-skill.”
In the time that I’d known Charlie I had realised that he was a dreamer, but that added to his French charm. He was certainly handsome, if not on the small side, and he certainly had the physique.
“Can I have a good look at the photos?” He hesitantly handed me his phone. His cheeks coloured, as if he was embarrassed to show me, and I flicked through them.
“They are very good,” I conceded. “Will you show them to Levi?”
“I think that Levi will have seen them already, because he follows me on Instagram.”
“Ah yes,” I responded, “he showed me while you were away, and I realised that I couldn’t see them because you’d blocked me.” Charlie couldn’t look me in the eye and looked nervously at the floor. “I’d like to follow you because I think your photos are excellent, but you obviously don’t want me to see them.”
“It’s not that,” he said,” I thought that you would think badly of me.”
“Not at all,” I told him, “I’m proud that you want to do something different, and the photos are very creative, but I understand if you don’t want me to see them.”
Whilst I was scrolling, I noticed a photo. It had been taken in Paris and showed a guy with his arm around Charlie. The guy had a baseball cap and wore a big coat that said, ‘blessed have not seen yet still believe.’ He had a broad grin that was matched by the one on Charlie’s face. They looked happy. I handed the phone back and pretended that I hadn’t seen it.
“I shall unblock you.”
At that point, Levi, the Polish boy with a broad Yorkshire accent, came in.
“Charlie, you’re back.”
“Hello Levi. Yes, I am back. What have you been up to?”
Levi nodded towards me. ”Did he tell you that I got him drunk?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“It was an amazing night. So good that he asked me to sleep with him.”
I squirmed with embarrassment because it was the first time that Levi had mentioned it and I had hoped that it had been forgotten.
Charlie was shocked. “What do you mean?”
“He said he wanted to take me to bed, but I had to turn him down.”
There was a strange look on Charlie’s face, and I couldn’t tell if it was pity, or disgust. He shook his head and went to make a coffee.
When I checked later, Charlie still hadn’t unblocked me, and I didn’t want to remind him because it might make me look desperate.
I mentioned it to Levi later who thought about it before responding. “There are some parts of his life that Charlie doesn’t want you to see.”
It was incredibly cold. He wore a thick coat and long scarf, a snood covered his face, and he sported a black woolly hat. Only those blue eyes might have given him away, but nobody gave him a second glance.
The tram was crowded, and he had to stand, but he didn’t mind because he could watch people and not be recognised. He didn’t normally mix with these people but there were no airs and graces, no standing on ceremony, just ordinary honest folk going about their business, and that was a comfort to him.
What would they say if they knew who was standing beside them?
He got off somewhere in the suburbs and called at a Londis where he asked for twenty Marlboro Gold. He looked at the shopkeeper who appeared nervous, like he was going to be robbed, and only afterwards did he realise that the man was suspicious of his American accent.
It was a short walk to the tiny terrace on a side street, and he knocked on the door. It was opened by John who gave him a peck on the forehead.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“Why wouldn’t I come?”
“It’s just that you are a famous actor, coming to my house for tea.”
Back in the States, tea was called dinner, and this amused him.
“Where would you like to eat?”
He took off his winter clothing and settled on the sofa beside the fire. “I think we should eat here and watch Emmerdale and Coronation Street.”
I have a friend request on Facebook from Cameron who is Gen Z beefcake and part twink. I’m flattered. But there is a problem. Trouble always follows him. My friend says reject it, but I believe that if somebody sends a friend request then they obviously fancy you. My friend says I’m delusional, and I hope he’s wrong, but seldom is.
It’s late and I can’t sleep because Ben’s messaged me. “Are we having a catchup this year, or should I wait until 2025?” He wants to go out for a drink, and I’ve been avoiding him for months. It’s only the second day of the new year and I reply by saying that it will soon be next year. I once loved him, but now he annoys me.
I try to rid myself of the guilt by staring at the books stacked beside my bed.
Jarvis, who grew up in a house that is less than a mile from where I am now, and who went to school with my friends. A nerdy genius who made something of his life and that makes me envious because he’s rich and successful and has a smart apartment in Paris. I’m not particularly fond of Pulp but he fascinates me, and I think he’d be good to chat with over a pint.
Noel, who wrote twee plays and witty songs like Mad About the Boy that people had no clue about its meaning. Being gay meant something entirely different then. I don’t suppose he’d have been good to chat with over a pint because it would have been gin and tonic and chilled champagne. And that plummy voice would have irritated somebody with a northern accent like mine and I would have punched him in the face. “Oh darling, I am bleeding from the nose, it is most inconvenient.”
André, who once wrote a book that I thought could be a wonderful movie and my friend said I was silly. All I shall say to my friend now is… Call Me by Your fucking Name. André’s essays wobble between lustre and mundane. As such, he makes me feel inadequate because his lengthy musings bore me, and I realise that I’m not intelligent enough to understand these scholarly thoughts.
You are the son of Venus, Goddess of Love, because you are Italian with thick black hair and dark seductive eyes.
You gave me a red rose and spoke of your sacred mother who ran towards her lover to warn him about the plot to murder him. She cut her ankle on a thorn bush, and her blood turned into blooming red roses wherever it touched.
“I will stand by your side,” you said. “I am showing you my depth of commitment and my intention is to build a lasting and meaningful relationship that is based on my love and devotion.”
I took the red rose and thought about passion and love, romance and deep feelings, desire, beauty, harmony, joy, luck, and pride.
That enchanting fragrance mingles with the water, salt, and the delicious oils of the body.
The story so far. Harry Oldham is attempting to write about his distant past at Park Hill. With a deadline looming, he sets to work writing about his shady past. He recalls his dealings with a bent copper, his violent days with the Geisha Boys, and a friendship with Paolo, an Italian boy, who is caught up in Harry’s nightmare.
(Parts 1-8 are available to read in the menu)
Part 9
I had to thank Tom for getting me back on track. That meeting near the station opened the floodgates, and I needed a bucket to catch everything in.
I told him about the night I’d met Paolo which was something I’d never told anyone before. Not even Andy and Jack, who had meant more to me than anything.
“It’s strange that you bottle everything up,” I’d told him.
We’d sat talking for nearly an hour, two strangers, years apart in age, and with nothing in common.
“You came looking for me?”
“Yeah, I followed you because I wanted to know what you were doing in Sheffield and find out about you.”
“I’m here to write the book that will make me popular again.”
“Do you think that people are really interested in your life story?”
“Probably not, but it’s not about me because it’s a work of fiction.”
“I need to go,” he’d said, “but…”
“But what?”
“I wondered whether I could see you again. Just for a chat like…”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
It had been a long time since someone so young had shown interest in me, and I was flattered. I gave him my number.
“Next time, bring your girlfriend with you.”
I went back to the apartment, opened the laptop, and started writing.
*****
We were on our own with only the city skyline showing that there was life in the city. Headlights darted below and sirens wailed in the dark. Paolo sat on the bench and said nothing. I paced up and down angrily.
“What the fuck was all that about?”
“I thought you’d have guessed by now,” said Paolo in an unmistakable Italian accent, “and I’m sorry.” He sniffed as though he’d been crying.
“What are you sorry for?”
“For kissing you. For everything. It seems that I’ve dragged you into all this.”
“It’s that fucking Frank Smith. I’m not doing anything to help him. I’ll slit his throat.”
“Will you? Really? I don’t think so. Frank has us both in his grips. I’m a puff, and he’ll make out that you are too.”
“What do you mean?”
Paolo looked at me with sorrowful eyes.
“He’ll make you do anything he wants, and he’ll use that photograph to make sure that you do.”
I’d already forgotten about that sneaky photo, and the thought of it made me feel sick.
“What does he want us to do?”
“He’s going to use us. We’re the bait to get rid of people.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Think about it. We’re the fresh meat that will bring them down.”
“I’m not a fucking queer,” I said.
“That’s not the issue. It doesn’t matter whether you are or not. Frank Smith will make out that you are, and shit sticks.”
“What will I have to do?”
“That’s for you to find out, but I’ve got a good idea.”
I was nervous and out of my depth. That fight in town seemed a long time ago, and I really needed Andy and Jack at my side.
“What has he got on you, Paolo?”
“I’m a bender, that’s what. He caught me with a guy and said he’d make good use of what he saw. He made good that promise.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
“He’s not a man to be reasoned with. If I don’t do what he says, then he’ll tell my parents and they’ll disown me.”
“But he’s a copper. He can’t do what he’s doing.”
“How are you going to stop him? He’s a nutter, and like he said, plays dirty.”
Paolo wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm. I thought about the walk home to Park Hill and hoped that the guys would be waiting for me.
“I’m sorry for kissing you,” Paolo said.
“Not like you had a choice.”
“Well, I’m sorry because I know you didn’t like it.”
“You don’t know what the fuck I like!” I snapped and immediately regretted it.
“Does that mean that you liked it?”
“Of course, it doesn’t. I just meant that you don’t know anything about me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If you say sorry once more, I’m going to…”
“Kiss me?”
“No, I’ll smack you in the face.”
“I’m sorry.”
I punched him hard, and blood poured from his nose. He used his hands to stem the flow and tears welled in his eyes.
I was used to hitting people without having regrets, but this time I felt incredibly sorry for what I’d done. He had frightened but beautiful dark eyes that were locked on my face. I let him go, and he shivered in the cold.
I took my tee-shirt off and held it to his nose. He was scared and vulnerable and I’d made his situation worse. He held the shirt to his face, like he was trying to get the smell of it.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m angry, and I took it out on you.”
I could see that he was looking at my bare chest.
“You have a nice body, Harry.”
“Fuck, Paolo. Don’t you ever stop?”
“Tell me something. What did it feel like to kiss a boy?”
I laughed, not because the question was funny, but because I was nervous.
“To be honest, it felt strange. I’ve never done it before. I guess that if I had to, then I’m glad it had to be with you.”
“That’s kind of you.”
I sat beside him and could feel him trembling. Blood stained the front of his shirt, and his curly hair was dishevelled.
“I’ve only kissed girls,” I said, “and I suppose there’s not a lot of difference.”
“You have blood on your face too,” he said. “Have you been fighting?”
“Yeah, we have. The boys that is.”
“Who are the boys?”
“Andy and Jack. They’re my best friends.”
“Were they the boys that got chased away?”
“That’s right. Some help they turned out to be.”
“I don’t have any friends,” he said.
“Fuck, Paolo. How come you don’t have any friends?”
“Because they know I’m queer and think I fancy them, even when I don’t.”
“You’re cold. Where do you live?”
“Hillsborough.”
“How are you going to get home?”
“For a rough boy, you have a caring side.”
“Don’t think that I’m like this all the time.”
“Can I ask you a favour?”
“If you want money for a taxi, then you’re out of luck because I’m broke.”
“It’s not that. I was going to ask you to hold me.”
What the fuck? This wasn’t doing my reputation any good. But he was afraid, and I felt deeply sorry for hitting him. I put my arm across his shoulder, and he rested his head against it.
“I hope that nobody sees me,” I said.
“Things are going to get messy, and we’ll need to stick together. I hope that you’ll be my friend.”
“If you like,” I said. “But tell nobody!”
“I think that you have a feminine side, Harry.”
*****
Paolo had insisted that he walk home, and I watched his slender frame disappear down the hill, convinced that he had no idea where he was going.
I put my blood-stained shirt across my shoulders and walked towards Park Hill, the cold air hitting my bare chest, but I wanted to look hard and threatening. A dog walker stared. “What the fuck are you looking at?” He skulked into the shadows where there were rats, broken glass, and glue-impregnated carrier bags.
I hated myself.
I had hit a defenceless kid who hadn’t deserved it, but it was the thought of kissing a guy for the first time that alarmed me most. I had meant it when I told Paolo that I was glad it was him, and that was what concerned me most.
I should have told him that I was disgusted and would never do it again, but I didn’t want to upset him anymore than I already had. If I was honest, I didn’t trust myself not to kiss another guy, and if I was going to, which according to Frank Smith was inevitable, I hoped that it would be like kissing Paolo.
Andy and Jack were sitting on the steps when I turned the corner. They were tired and concerned, also covered in dry blood.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Thanks for nothing,” I said, “so much for mates helping one another out.”
“That guy was a bastard,” said Jack, “he’d have beaten the shit out of us.”
”Who were they?” Andy eyed me with suspicion, and flinched, holding his side where there was a tear in his dirty shirt.
I had to think quickly. “Somebody we’ve upset,” I lied, “they wanted to teach us a lesson, but it’s sorted now. I guess I was the unlucky one.”
“What did we do to them?”
“Remember those nicked fags? They’re pissed off because they sell cheap fags too, but I told them that they’d all gone.”
“They came on a bit heavy,” said Jack, throwing an empty beer bottle that smashed against the wall. “Shit! There were three of us and only two of them. We should have helped Harry.”
“Fuck! Don’t you think I don’t know that.”
Andy put his arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry mate, we let you down, and if we see those bastards again, we’ll kick the shit out of them.” He held me tight, and I brushed my cheek against his unkempt hair.
“Stop acting like a queer,” I told him, and he laughed. He let go, put his arm around my waist, and squeezed. I liked the attention, and the fact that they believed I’d taken one for the team.
“That was a fucking good fight in town.”
“The coppers have been cruising the area,” said Jack, “we’ve been lying low.”
“That cunt won’t mess with us again,” I quipped.
“We look like shit, let’s go up to mine.”
Jack’s parents were away for the weekend, but it turned out that he’d lost his door key, probably on the floor of Crazy Daisy. He knocked loudly and the door was answered by his sister, Louise. “What shit have you been up to now?”
“You should’ve seen the other guy,” Andy joked.
The flat was warm and smelt of fish and chips, the remains of which were on the kitchen table.
“We’re going to get cleaned up,” said Jack.
Louise looked at me. “Look at you. Showing all your body off!” I offered the bloody tee-shirt as way of an explanation. Jack took Andy to the bathroom, but she held me by the arm. “Let me sort you out.”
She ran a hand towel under hot water and rubbed me down. “Cat got your tongue?” I didn’t know what to say as she wiped my face like my mother used to.
“We had a fight in town.”
“If you ask me, you all want locking up.”
Jack shouted from the bathroom. “Are you coming?”
Everybody fancied Louise. She wasn’t bad looking and was one of the few people that I felt awkward around.
“Thank you,” I said. “I think I’m wanted.”
“Before you go. Aren’t you going to ask me out?”
“What?”
“You’re a div Harry.”
“Are you asking me to go out with you?”
“If I waited for you to ask, then we wouldn’t get anywhere.”
“I don’t know. Yes, I suppose. Where do you want to go?”
“You’re too young for the pub, so you can take me to the pictures instead.”
“What do you want to see?”
“I want to see An Officer and a Gentleman.”
“Fuck me,” I said, “Isn’t that a girlie film?”
“Are you bailing on me already?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not telling Jack and Andy because they’ll take the piss.”
“Get in touch with your feminine side Harry Oldham, you might find that you like it.”
I froze. It was the second time that this had been said to me tonight. It felt like Louise knew about my kiss with Paolo and that two separate worlds were about to crash into each other.
I started to leave but Louise pulled me back again.
“Are you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“A kiss maybe? For making you look handsome again.”
I stuck my tongue in her mouth, and we kissed for a few minutes. It was sloppy and tasted of vinegar. I thought I’d better put my arms around her, and she wrapped her own arms around my naked back. I could feel her sharp fingernails making circles against my flesh.
I tried to compare it to the kiss I’d had with Paolo, and hoped that it would be better, but I was mindful that this had also been forced upon me. I imagined what people would say when they discovered that I was going out with her. The lads on Park Hill would be envious, and that gave me satisfaction, but at the same time I felt uneasy.
The boys were sitting on Jack’s bed when I entered the bedroom. It wasn’t a place I’d seen very often, and I was intrigued.
It looked like any other teenage boys’ room, with posters of Kevin Keegan, Steve Coppell, and Trevor Francis, posted alongside one of Michelle Pfeiffer, and a topless blonde with big tits, who’d been torn out of The Sun.
It was untidy, with Jack’s clothes strewn across the floor, and his bed was still unmade from the previous night. Football trophies sat on top of a cheap dressing table, and I noticed his dirty football kit piled on a chair in the corner.
They were listening to Radio Hallam and were singing along to Rock the Casbah that had become a favourite. They looked almost presentable, whereas I was still stripped to the waist and feeling conspicuous. Jack didn’t object when I grabbed one of his soiled Adidas tops and put it on. It was far too small, and smelt of him, but I didn’t care.
Andy reached under the bed and pulled out several cans of Long Life beer that Jack kept stashed. We opened them believing that warm beer was the best thing in the world.
“I got that guy in the head,” Andy boasted. “He’ll be feeling that punch for a while.”
“We need to lie low,” Jack chipped in, “the coppers know it was us.”
“They can’t get us here,” I said.
“You said those guys sold cigarettes?” Andy had returned to the subject of my eventful night.
“Yeah, they were pissed off, but like I said, I told them that they’d all gone.”
“I know where we can get some more,” Andy continued.
“Where?”
“There’s a shop near the market that sells loads of ciggies, and I reckon we could rob some from there.”
“I told them that we wouldn’t be selling any more.”
Jack slurped from his can. “How do you suggest we get them?”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Andy contemplated, “and I reckon that if three of us went in there when it was quiet, then we could take them.”
“But they’re going to see us.”
“Of course they’re going to see us,” said Andy, “but there’s only a woman working behind the counter, and she isn’t going to stop three lads, is she?”
You’re talking about holding it up?”
“Why not? All we need to do is cover our faces so that nobody recognises us, steal the fags, and disappear into the market where it’s crowded.”
“Fuck me!” I cried. “This is a whole new ball game.”
“I’m not sure,” said Jack. “What happens if we get caught?”
“We’re only sixteen and will get away with it,” Andy reassured us, “but who says we’re going to get caught?”
“I don’t know. Stealing a cigarette machine is one thing, but holding up a woman in a shop is something else.”
“Are you getting chicken, Harry?”
“No,” I said defiantly, “but what if she gets hurt?”
“Nobody’s going to get hurt. We’ll walk in, tell her not to be stupid, and steal the fags.”
“Like they do in films?” asked Jack.
“If you like, but with loads of fags to sell, we’re going to make lots of money, and Harry’s weird friends can get fucked.”
I looked at Jack but didn’t say anything else.
“That’s agreed then,” said Andy. “Leave everything to me and we’ll sort something for next week.”
“Make sure it’s not Wednesday,” Jack said, “because I have football in the afternoon.”
When the beer had gone, Jack nicked a bottle of sherry from the sideboard, and passed the bottle around. It had been an eventful night, and we were brave and pleasantly drunk by the time we were ready to leave.
On the way out, Louise appeared from her bedroom and gave me a scheming look. I said goodnight to her, but Andy had noticed something, and outside issued a word of warning.
“Never mess with a mate’s sister.”
*****
On Wednesday I went to the newsagents in the precinct to buy a can of Coke and nicked a Mars Bar at the same time. On the way out, I was stopped by a man who I thought worked in the shop. I clenched my fist ready to hit him, but he held up an apologetic arm anticipating what I was going to do.
“Harry Oldham?” he asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“I’d like a little chat.”
The man didn’t live around here because he was too well-dressed for Park Hill. He took me by the arm and led me to a wall near the flower beds.
“I understand that you’re working for us.”
“What?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Harry.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Of course, you do.”
He sat me down and held out two envelopes, one in each hand.
“Envelope number one,” and he held it up for me to see. “This contains the details of your first job. Tomorrow as it happens. The address is in there, and you’ll need to be there for nine.”
“Fuck off!”
“Envelope number two,” and he put it inside his coat pocket. “This contains a photograph that will interest a lot of people around here. Do you want to know what the photograph is?”
I already knew what it was.
“If you don’t turn up tomorrow night, then this will be seen by everyone that knows you, and they’ll know that you’re a fucking faggot.”
The man gave me the first envelope and began to walk away. I stared at it not wanting to know what might be inside.
“Oh, by the way,” he said stopping, “there’s also fifty quid in there, money up front as they say.”
“Fifty quid?”
“And don’t even think about pocketing it and not turning up because that photo will still appear, and you’ll also end up at the bottom of the canal. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
I thought about the next day when I was going to rob a newsagent with Andy and Jack whilst also joining a world that looked dark and sinister. I wanted to talk to the boys, and ask for their help, but I knew that I couldn’t, and would never be able to. I didn’t sleep at all that night.
*****
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 