Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new.(Parts 1 to 14 are available to read in the menu)
Part 15
July 1982
My date with Louise was a disaster.
An Officer and a Gentleman had sold out, and we watched Porky’s instead. She wasn’t impressed, complaining about the hoots and whistles from the audience that greeted each unruly scene.
Louise had a cold, and sniffed her way through the film, and I was in a lousy mood. We didn’t say much to each other, and I tried to make up for the silence by holding her hand.
My heart wasn’t in it, and I didn’t know what I would rather have been doing, but it wasn’t being with the girl that everyone on Park Hill fancied.
I kept thinking about the conversation I’d had with Paolo in the Brown Bear. Nobody had spoken to me like that before, and certainly hadn’t made me question myself.
As I sat in that dark cinema, I thought about Paolo a lot. If I could have chosen where I wanted to be, it might have been with him, and that concerned me.
I tried to kiss Louise, but she pulled away, and when I tried to put my arm over her shoulder, she elbowed me in the ribs. There was a ripple of laughter from behind; somebody was taking the piss. I turned around and there was a nerdy kid smirking at me. I reached over, grabbed him by the shirt until the buttons popped off, and headbutted him on the nose. That was when Louise got up to leave.
When we got back to her flat, Jack was laid on the settee watching the World Cup on TV.
Louise went to her bedroom without saying anything, and that meant that I was unpopular. Jack shunted along the settee and made room for me to sit down. “I take it that your big date didn’t go well.”
Jack was wearing only a pair of black football shorts, and I saw how athletic his body was. He sat with his knees bent, his smooth legs covered in cuts and bruises that he’d got on the football pitch, and for the first time, I noticed how tiny his feet were. These little feet could tickle a football better than anyone.
He pressed his toes into my thigh, and massaged the top of my leg, and I kind of liked it.
“You’re acting like a bum-bandit.” Jack ignored me and didn’t stop.
He looked serious. “The coppers have been around to check that I hadn’t done a runner. They went to see Andy too, but he was out, and that made them freak out a bit. They found him at the shops.”
“What did they say?”
He flashed his famous cheeky smile. “They said that if the Falklands War hadn’t already ended, they’d have sent me to fight the Argentines. That’s what should happen to all bad lads.”
I thought that Jack would make a good soldier one day. He was brave, quick witted, and always eager to please, and joining the army might get him away from here.
“Something’s up Harry, because you’ve been acting strange.”
“Yeah, I guess there is.”
“You can talk to me if you want.”
I desperately wanted to tell Jack everything, about Frank Smith, Paolo and the bad guys who took advantage of me. I looked helplessly at him and could see that he cared and wanted to help. I couldn’t fight back that feeling of love – brotherly love – for someone I’d known most of my life, but there was something else too.
“I’m in trouble Jack and I don’t know what to do about it. And I can’t tell you anything, because if I did, I’m afraid that I’d lose you, and that’s something I couldn’t cope with.”
Jack rubbed his toes harder against my leg. “You’d never lose me. No matter how bad it is. We’re mates, and mates stick together… like we’ve always done.”
Back home, there was an envelope with my name on it that had been pushed through the letterbox. There was a note inside telling me to ring a telephone number.
My parents were in bed, and I had to talk quietly while I made the call in the hallway.
“It’s Harry. What do you want?”
“Harry. Good of you to call. Your next job awaits you.”
Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new.(Parts 1 to 13 are available to read in the menu)
Part 14
July 2023
It was Thursday night, and my mobile rang. I didn’t recognise the number and considered ignoring it. But curiosity got the better of me and I answered.
“ It’s Tom,” said the voice. I’d given him my number, but I never expected to hear from him. “Can I come around?”
I’d met Tom, eighteen and anxious, outside Sheffield Station, and had been flattered that he knew about my writing, even though he hadn’t liked my books.
When the doorbell rang, I buzzed him upstairs, and when he didn’t appear, I presumed that he’d changed his mind and left. Fifteen minutes later, he apologised for losing his way. Tom didn’t seem the kind of person to apologise.
He was dressed once more in matching grey hoodie and sweatpants, smartly finished with flashy white Nike trainers. His blonde hair had been cut short and for the first time, I noticed the faint trace of a scar that ran down his right cheek. .
“Hello faggot,” he said.
“In view of the fact that you’ve not brought your girlfriend, I presume that I can call you a faggot too.” He blushed and sat on the sofa. His eyes wandered around the apartment, taking in the books and magazines, and the laptop that was open on the table.
“There are no pictures,” he observed. I couldn’t be bothered to explain that they weren’t allowed in the apartment. He looked through the large window that framed the city below. “You’ve got a nice view and must be loaded to live in an apartment like this.”
“I don’t know many writers who are rich,” I replied, “and the apartment’s not mine, it’s rented, and that’s about all I can afford.”
“Do you mind if I smoke?” He moved a copy of A Rabbit’s Foot on the coffee table and put his feet on the glass top. If I did mind, it was too late, because he’d already lit a cigarette and offered it to me. He lit another one and blew smoke into the air. He was the first visitor since I’d moved in, and he’d made himself comfortable. “Have you been writing?”
“Would you like to see it?”
“I’m not really bothered,” he replied, but I saw a flicker of interest.
“Why are you here?”
“I thought I might be able to find something to steal.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I said, “but I might have to throw you off the balcony if you did. Where have you been tonight?”
“Out with my mates, but I got bored and remembered that you’d given me your number, and I thought that seeing as I was in the area, I’d look you up.”
My thoughts turned to Andy and Jack, and all the time, years ago, when I’d made similar comments. That was another lifetime.
“Would you like a glass of red wine?”
“I don’t drink wine,” he said.
“Then go without, because that’s all I have.”
He turned his nose up when I gave it to him, and then nursed it, not quite sure what to expect.
“What are you writing?”
“I’m writing that book I told you about.”
“The one with the Italian guy in it? The one you fell in love with. What did you call him?
“Paolo,” I replied. “But he’s only a part of it. Lots of things happened.”
“Care to tell me about them?”
I passed him the laptop and invited him to read it. I watched his facial expressions to determine whether he approved, or not, but he didn’t give anything away. He occasionally drank his wine, and each time he did so, he winced.
I made myself busy and left him reading, always keeping an eye out, because I didn’t trust him, and then I asked myself why I’d even let him read it in the first place. He was too young to understand the importance of it; the people, the places, and the stories, all from a different time. It wasn’t likely to interest somebody his age. Yet, I realised, I was still seeking his approval.
Tom kept reading, stopping only once to ask for more wine, until it was after midnight, and he shut the laptop. “It’s time for me to go.”
He was unaware that his lips and mouth were stained red, and I thought that only a short time ago, these would have been the lips of a small boy who had been drinking his Ribena.
“Well? What do you think about it?”
“I don’t know what to make of it. It’s about you and your mates, and how you were a complete nightmare, and should have been locked up, and then you start to get all faggoty with an Italian, who seems like a snowflake, and there are parts that I don’t understand at all.”
“Such as?”
“Like what you were doing in those people’s houses that seemed so bad.”
“It’s late,” I agreed. “You can sleep on the sofa if you want.”
He kicked off his Nike’s and I noticed that there was a hole in his white sock.
Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new.(Parts 1 to 11 are available to read in the menu)
Part 12
July 1982
Two days after we robbed the newsagent, the police arrested Andy and Jack. I saw them arrive while I was standing on the balcony. They came in numbers, and I waited for them to come to our door, but they didn’t. They found the stolen cigarettes under Andy’s bed and then they were bundling Andy and Jack into the back of police cars.
“With reputation comes recognition,” said Frank Smith. “No sooner had you done the place over, there were people queuing up to tell us who’d done it.”
Frank had collared me outside the flats a couple of hours after the lads had been carted off to West Bar nick.
“That poor woman,” he said. “She had ten stitches in the back of her head. I hope you’re all proud of that. But I can see that she fucked your pretty face up.” He pointed to the scar on my face.
“That wasn’t meant to happen, but she wouldn’t do as she was told.”
“And now, your mates have been locked up.”
Frank lit a cigarette and leaned against the lamppost. He was in a shirt and tie, and for once he looked like a copper. I stood with my hands in my pockets and felt like shit.
“The question you must ask yourself,” he continued, “is why you’ve not been locked up as well?”
“Fuck you! Is that why you’re here? Have you come to arrest me too?”
“No Harry. I’m here to tell you that you owe me one.”
I didn’t grasp what he was saying.
“How come?”
“You’re not going to be any use to me behind bars, are you? Let’s say that I had a word in someone’s ear and you’re off the hook.”
“And how will I explain that to Andy and Jack?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something, but more importantly I want you to tell me what happened afterwards.” He looked serious. “I want every detail. I want names. I want to know what those perverts did to you.”
He flipped open a notebook and stood poised with his pen. I couldn’t tell him because I was too embarrassed to say.
“When you’re ready,” he said impatiently. “I’ve already seen your Italian friend and after putting on the waterworks he blabbed. Now unless you’re going to cry like a baby as well, I suggest you tell me. Oh, by the way, our little eyetie has a thing about you.”
I told Frank every terrible detail, each name that I remembered, every minute that had passed in that posh house, and I noticed that he didn’t flinch once.
“Keep up the good work,” he said after I’d spilled my guts. He winked. “Not nice, and it will get a lot worse.”
He got in his car and wound the window down. “Watch your back. I hear that Billy Mason’s pissed off that you hurt his girl. He’s not a nice man. He’ll chop your balls off, and let’s face it if anyone needs their balls, it’s you.”
“I hate you. Why are you making me do this?”
“I nearly forgot,” he said, and fumbled amongst the shit that was on the passenger seat. “Paolo wants you to ring him.” He passed me a slip of paper that had a telephone number scrawled on it.
Andy and Jack were released on bail that night. Pending further enquiries, the police had said, but they knew they had them bang to rights.
I nicked a bottle of White Horse from the off-licence and shared it with them in the precinct. I wasn’t afraid of being caught because for the time being I might escape anything.
“How the fuck have you got away with it?” Andy asked.
“I’ve no idea,” I said. “You didn’t grass me up, did you?”
“No mate,” confirmed Jack. “But we’re in big trouble.”
“They’ll know I was involved,” I lied.
“It looks like someone’s looking out for you, Harry. They said that they weren’t looking for anyone else. The woman said there were only two of us involved. You’re a lucky bastard.”
“I feel bad lads. What will happen to you both?”
“Fuck knows. They didn’t say.”
I thought about telling Frank that I wouldn’t play his little game unless he got the charges dropped against them. I knew this was futile because Frank would have to answer to somebody above him.
“My sister reckons that you promised to take her to the pictures,” said Jack. “Is that right? I can’t believe that you want to go out with her.”
Andy looked at me with suspicion. “Fuck Harry! What did I say? Never mess with a mate’s sister.”
I saw that look in his eyes and realised that he was jealous.
“I’ll ring her tomorrow,” I replied, happy that I’d got one over him, but also annoyed that I was stepping into something I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
Then I remembered that screwed up piece of paper in my pocket.
“I have to make a phone call.”
“Who are you ringing? Jack demanded. “You’d better not be two-timing Louise.”
“As if I would. I need to speak to a man about a dog.”
“We’re losing you Harry. You’re acting fucking weird.”
I went to the phone box on the corner and found that it had been trashed, so I walked down the hill to the next one. I dialled the number and dropped coins into it when it was answered at the other end.
“Can I speak to Paolo?”
“It is me.”
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk to you. I would like to see you… before…”
Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new. (Parts 1-10 are available to read in the menu)
Part 11
July 1982 It should have been the perfect summer evening. Large Victorian houses lined both sides of the street that stretched to the top of the hill where a spectacular sunset could be seen. The sun reflected from the leaves of large trees that cast shadows on the pavements, while birds chorused their final songs of the day. Yes, I told myself, it should be an idyllic end to the day. But I was miserable.
The streets of Nether Edge did not belong to me, nor were they willing to welcome me. For a boy from Park Hill, where life consisted of concrete and hardship, these streets were borrowed from another world. I was out of my depth here. I was also tired because robbing a newsagent had been stressful.
A few hours earlier we’d hidden our stolen cigarettes underneath Andy’s bed, not quite knowing how we were going to sell them without arousing suspicion. There was also the woman who’d been knocked unconscious by Andy, and we’d felt bad about that. We were used to dishing out violence to scrap-heap kids like ourselves, but hurting a grown woman was something that we weren’t used to.
I clutched the piece of paper and decided that number 68 was on the right hand side. I walked nervously towards it and felt the cuts on my left cheek where the woman had ripped at it with her fingernails. The bleeding had stopped but it was still tender to touch.
“My god, we’ve got scarface tonight,” said the smartly dressed man who opened the door of number 68. “Come inside, we all enjoy a rough boy.”
The door was shut behind me and I was ushered into a smartly decorated lounge where a video was playing on an expensive looking TV set. I could hear male voices in a room next door, and laughter, and I sat on a sofa that was twice as big as the one at home. I didn’t recognise the film, and it wasn’t long before I realised that it was an American porn movie.
“Would you like anything to drink?”
“I’ll have a beer if you’ve got one.”
“Not here. It’s cheap and nasty. Let me give you a large Pernod because it will help you to relax.”
It tasted like aniseed balls, and when the glass was half empty, the man topped it up again.
“Where do you live?”
“Park Hill.”
“That says it all.” Raucous laughter erupted from the other room as though they’d been listening to the conversation.
There was a weak knock at the front door, and the man flounced away to answer it. I could hear muffled conversation, and Paolo appeared looking anxious. He relaxed when he saw me sitting on the sofa.
“I didn’t know that you’d be here,” Paolo whispered as he sat beside me. The man handed him a large Pernod and poured more into my glass. He looked at us, assessing what he had before him, and flashed a wicked smile. “Not long now boys.”
It was a traumatic experience, one that we’d never forget. Men did indescribable things to us, and a few hours later, we left the house in silence, feeling used and dirty, Paolo stayed close to me, and I saw a tear run down his cheek. We walked for ages, not knowing where we were going, until we found a bus that would take us back into the city.
“Are you okay?” I asked Paolo,
“Promise me something,” he said. “Tell me that you will never leave me on my own with them.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
Later that night, Andy phoned, and I told my parents to say that I wasn’t in. It was the same when Jack phoned afterwards, and when Louise rang at midnight, and my dad shouted to me through the bedroom door, I pretended to be asleep.
Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new. (Parts 1-9 are available to read in the menu)
Part 10
July 2023 Meghan, my agent, had said that I had to send each chapter as they were completed. That way she knew that I was writing and might still make the deadline for completion.
She was understandably nervous when she rang after reading the latest instalment.
“Is all this true, Harry?”
“Every word of it,” I told her.
“Are we going to have to run it by the lawyers before it’s published?”
“That’s up to you,” I said, “but I’m writing it because it’s what you asked for.”
“It’s good,” she said. “It’s bloody good, but I’m not sure I like where this is going?”
“That’s for you to find out.”
“And there’s a danger that they might not publish it.”
July 1982 Stupid woman. If she hadn’t been the obstinate type, things might have gone smoothly. But no, she had to be a brassy bitch, and things went tits up.
We looked conspicuous as we walked from Park Hill. It was a busy Thursday morning, and everyone looked at us as if to say, “they’re up to no good,” and they were right.
Andy had identified a newsagent near the market, and he reckoned that it would be an easy place to steal cigarettes.
“We wait until it’s empty, and then we go straight in. Jack, you stand at the door and don’t let anybody in. I’ll shout and scream to frighten her. Harry, you empty the fags into the bag. Quick as you can. As soon as I say, we leave and head back to mine. Got it?”
We nodded in agreement, but I had misgivings. We normally operated under cover of darkness when there was nobody around, but this was different because there were too many people who might recognise us.
“Trust you to pick the busiest shop,” Jack berated. “We’ll be waiting all day for it to be empty.”
“Shut up, Jack. We’ve got to be patient. There’s only one woman serving so that makes our job easier.”
We waited in the shelter of a doorway outside Castle Market and at last plucked up courage to go for it. We wrapped scarves around our faces until only our eyes could be seen. Then we dashed across the road and entered the shop.
A bell rang as the door opened, and the woman behind the counter looked up. She was our mothers’ age, a bit of a looker, with auburn hair, and dolled up with Avon make-up. I saw her eyes, hard, and uncaring, and they narrowed as we stormed in.
“Fuck me, we’re being robbed by the Boys Brigade! If you’ve come for your comics, they’re not here. Now get the fuck out,”
Jack jammed his foot behind the door to stop anybody coming in.
Andy screamed. “Shut the fuck up! Don’t do or say anything and you’ll not get hurt. Now come out from behind the counter.”
We expected her to burst into tears, or faint, or something like that, but she didn’t. She just stood there and didn’t seem at all frightened.
“Step any nearer and you’ll have Billy Mason after you.”
“Who the fuck’s Billy Mason?” Jack cried.
I knew who Billy Mason was. He was a tough guy from Gleadless Valley, and I’d heard stories about his method of handing out punishment. Billy Mason would ensure that we all had broken arms and legs.
I went behind the counter with the bag and pushed her out of the way. I didn’t expect her to pull the scarf away and neither did I expect her to gouge her long fingernails into my face. She looked into my eyes, daring me, and I knew that she would recognise me again. I felt blood trickling down my left cheek, and all I could think about was Billy Mason.
The next thing I knew, Andy had smashed a full bottle of R Whites lemonade across the back of her head, and she slumped to the floor. The bottle shattered, and its contents mixed with the blood from her cuts.
I opened the bag and scooped cigarette packets into it, most ending up on the floor, and I realised that the bag wasn’t big enough. I tried to zip it up, but it was too full, and had trouble holding the two handles together.
“Let’s go!” Andy cried. “Walk out as if nothing happened and then split up.”
And that’s what we did.
Andy and Jack walked in opposite directions while I headed down to Sheaf Roundabout with the open bag of fags that everybody could see. I tried sprinting but they spilled onto the pavement, and I had to stop to pick them up. All the time I looked nervously behind me, expecting to see somebody running, but there was no one.
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 readin 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.”
*****
The Clash / Rock the Casbah / 1982
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 