Dirty Old Town Read online

  It was even more different when Mum was young. There wasn’t a road, the toilet was outside, the washing was done by hand, things like that. Mum said that the only things that hadn’t changed were Gran’s tabard and the weather.

  Whatever time we get up Gran’s always ready with a pan or two frying. We have a big cooked breakfast “to keep the wind out,” Gran says, and we go out and explore. When we get back we wash our hands and by the time we get into to the kitchen there’s a plate of fresh scones on the table and a jug of milk from Nancy the cow, all warm and creamy.

  We explore a bit more and it’s lunch, then dinner, then supper for the weather forecast, and in the evenings we listen to stories. I think some of them are true because they have real people in them and some are made up because they’ve got fairies and giants in them.

  ***

  Mum’s the best storyteller though. Perhaps that’s because she reads so much. She was reading when we were down by the sea last week - ‘A Perfect Day For Banana Fish’. She’s been reading that lots recently; it must be her favourite.

  Thinking about banana fish makes me laugh because I start to think of other fish: orange, grapefruit, kiwi, potato… Maybe there’s a pineapple shark out there too. The one I like best of all is the onion fish. It’s always crying, even if fish can’t cry, not really.

  When she finished it she put the book face down on the rock, pulled her knees to her chest and held them there, “giving herself a hug,” she said. She didn’t move for a long time, staring out over the water into the distance; perhaps that’s what distant means. I played with Davy till it began to get chilly and went for a cuddle to warm up. This was a safe place. Old Man’s Jaw it’s called. If you stand on top of the hill behind you can see the face and this long, flat rock sticking out. I’ve seen it in a photo at home, Mum pointing across the bay to where she was born. She had one more story for me that day, about how I was made in that very place almost eight years ago. This is where I started out as a tiny seed.

  “Just look at you now,” she whispered and I wondered how big I’d been when I began and how big I’ll be in the end.

  ***

  A few days after that we went out to collect peat. A tractor came along and we all helped to load the trailer. The midgies kept biting everyone so we put on this cream to keep them away. It’s for moisturising the skin really and smells like perfume, so it’s not for the midgies at all, but they didn’t come near me after that. Uncle Tam’s hands were green from the string by the time we’d finished and Bob had a bad back. The children got to sit on the trailer all the way home, and we piled into the kitchen when it was unloaded for cakes and biscuits or whatever you wanted.

  Most of us went for a walk after that. We turned round when the dark clouds started rolling in and got back just before the storm. I don’t know how she’d managed, but Gran had moved all the peat into the shed by then. The stacks in front of all the other houses were getting soaked through and Uncle Tam was struggling with a tarpaulin in the gale and the gale was winning.

  “He’s only himself to blame, now. They said the rain would be coming,” said Gran shaking her head, wiping her hands on her apron and putting on the kettle. We all had tea to warm up our hands, which made Davy and me feel very grown-up. We watched the flames thinking about how much we deserved to be cosy, especially me with my blister and Tam with his green skin.

  ***

  Then yesterday happened.

  Gran took off her tabard and put on her wellies so that she could take me and Davy to the shore. Mum couldn’t make it. She stayed in bed because of a headache. She kissed us goodbye and said she’d join us later, and reminded me to look out for the banana fish.

  It took about twenty minutes to get there.

  There were lots of people with bags so they could tidy up the beach. For the children it was going to be a competition. Whoever collected the most rubbish would get to light the bonfire later. Second prize was a toffee apple.

  We put on our huge rubber gloves, took a handful of bags and walked over to where no one else seemed to be. Uncle Tam was just over the way collecting whelks. He’d sell them later on and said he’d make a pretty penny.

  ***

  I found the rusty bit of an old spade, a plastic bottle, a long metal stick and a burst football. Davy spent most of his time digging a piece of rope from the sand. It looked small at first, but the more he dug, the longer it got. In the end it filled up half the bag. Daddy was always asking how long a piece of string is when we asked him things; I didn’t think it would be that long. Gran had sawn off a gill net from the post in the water using the blade of her penknife and that filled the bag. Just think of all the birds we were saving and how nice it would be for all the walkers to see it so wonderfully clean.

  We started another bag. The first thing we found was an old bike tyre. Davy was trying to stuff it in when it went all quiet; he stopped what he was doing. This is the bit I don’t want to say because it sounds stupid, but you can ask Davy and Gran if you like. I couldn’t hear the sea or the birds and it was creepy, then there was music, soft at first, then louder and louder. It was like a choir in church. It was all high voices and ladies singing and it was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. There weren’t any words, just tunes. Davy held my hand tightly and then the sound was suddenly the wind again. Just like that.

  We looked at each other then sprinted over to Gran. Davy was first and grabbed onto her leg. I got the other.

  Davy was telling her about the music and I joined in until she couldn’t tell who was saying what, so we had to start again one at a time. He’d heard the same as me.

  She went quiet for a moment and said, just like it was nothing important, “That’ll be bad news at sea; someone won’t be making it to supper tonight.” She looked up, touched her forehead and shoulders and chest and said something Gaelic.

  “I heard it once when I was a girl a long time ago. My mother heard it too. Like the sound of heaven itself, and yet it was a horrible thing that happened when it came to me. Two boats collided. Full of men they were - fathers, husbands, brothers – none of them seen again.” It sounded a bit like the start to one of her fairytales, but she didn’t take it any further.

  “Now don’t you worry, there’s nothing to be done. Let’s get this bag filled up,” she said, and so we did.

  The bags were heavy, but we managed to drag them to the pile.

  I couldn’t believe what was there: lobster pots, a bicycle, tubes, bottles, netting, a doll’s arm, crates and rope. The twins had brought a bag of seaweed even though the man at the start had told us that seaweed wasn’t rubbish, so that couldn’t count for the competition.

  Angus got to light the bonfire. He’d found a whole carpet, but he didn’t carry it back himself so I don’t think he should have been the winner.

  Mum hadn’t arrived. Now it was later and I wanted her to be there.

  It turned into a party. There were guitars, fiddles and songs. The people who weren’t playing were mostly dancing. The only ones who didn’t look happy were the twins, because they’d had a fight, and Gran. She was gazing into the flames, the light seeming to make her look strangely old and tired. I guess she is pretty old, really.

  Eventually we had to go because my eyes wouldn’t stay open. The music could be heard from the cottage till we shut the door behind us.

  ***

  She wasn’t in bed. It was the first thing we did, go and see if she was better.

  I cried and Davy told me to stop being a baby, but I think he was nearly crying too, so Gran made us hot chocolate. We got into Mum’s bed, wrapped ourselves up in the blankets and she told us cheery stories until I fell asleep.

  ***

  I had a funny dream. I walked down to the sea and could hear the church music again. I could see my mother sitting in the things we’d collected, except the bicycle was like brand-new. She was staring again and brushing her hair and we
smiled at each other for ages.

  When I woke up I tried to keep that picture in my mind and when it faded I pulled my knees up and gave myself a huge hug.

  Sisterhood

  “Veil and evil.” This was the part Brandon enjoyed the most. “Same four letters. Ever noticed?”

  The three women tied to the chairs that used to sit round his grandfather’s table offered no response. Just stared.

  Ever since Grandad had gone into the home, Brandon had been using the house as a base. Seemed fair enough - he spent his week teaching brats who didn’t want to learn to pay for the old goat to stay there.

  ‘The Chamber’ he called it. He liked to hear himself say it out loud.

  Brandon and his mates loved weekends. A couple of pints at the meeting followed by a trawl round town to do their bit to clean the streets.

  Seemed like their lucky night when they saw three of them together.

  When they bundled them into the van they made no attempt to struggle. Wasn’t so much fun without having to beat them into submission, but there was still time to get their kicks.

  Billy was all for chucking them into the Ribble, leaving their fate to the undertow, but Brandon ordered them to head for the usual place.

  Number 36 was in the middle of a red-brick terrace.

  Newspapers taped to the windows stopped neighbours taking a nose.

  The Chamber was upstairs at the back. Soundproofed and blacked-out, it was perfect.

  “See, in Britain, we like to see people’s faces.” Billy had stripped down to his boxers. Sweat dripped from his armpits to his waist as he coiled a studded belt around his hand. He always undressed in front of their prey. Like it was part of a ceremony or something.

  Brandon gave Ian a nod.

  Ian pulled scissors from the bag, wandered over and cut the hijabs to the knees.

  Brandon’s skull tingled at the sight of their skin. He was itching to take them there and then. Waiting for their tears, for the begging and the squirms merely heightened the pleasure.

  They never came.

  “Maybe we’re not getting our point across.” Brandon picked up a blow torch and turned the valve.

  Billy reached over and gave it a light. The flame hissed orange and blue.

  “I’ll take off the niqabs then our mouths are going to get intimate.” He flicked his tongue up and down. Shook his shoulders with delight. “And Billy’s lips wouldn’t mind a friend tonight, eh?”

  Billy licked the studs at his knuckles and smiled.

  “Don’t co-operate and you’ll need those masks to hide the scars.”

  Brandon stepped over to the first girl, noted the smell of spices. Decided to go for a curry afterwards.

  He reached for the veil. Tore it from her face.

  ***

  “Watch yourself with that bloody razor.” As Yusuf pulled his leg away from Arash he kicked over his mug of tea.

  “Dickhead. Mum’ll be furious.” Arash took off his tee-shirt and rubbed the carped clean. “We’re supposed to be slick. Fuck would Naz say?”

  “Sorry mate,” Yusuf said, “but you cut me.”

  “Can’t take a nick from a razor, how the hell are you going to sort out these fascists?”

  Yusuf, Zeeko and Ahmed sat in a line on the sofa watching the North End with the sound down. All three had their legs stretched out covered in shaving foam.

  “We’ll take what they give,” Zeeko said. “They won’t be coming for any more of our women after tonight.”

  Arash set about his work again, stripped away the leg-hair and sent them off to get showered and dressed.

  ***

  “Jesus.” Brandon pulled his hand away as if he were about to be bitten. “It’s the bearded fucking woman.”

  Billy ripped off the veils from the others. Two more beards. “Shit.”

  “It’s a bloody trap,” Ian said backing away.

  “Cool it, man,” Billy said. “They’re the ones in the snares.”

  Brandon felt anything but cool. He’d been lusting after men. It didn’t feel right. Nobody should play tricks like that. He put his feet on the chest of the biggest and pushed him over. Grabbing the scissors from Ian, he stabbed it into the man’s thigh.

  “Crazy bastard,” the man shouted, writhing in his upturned chair in spite of the bindings. It was the first sound he’d made since they’d taken him from the street.

  There wasn’t much blood until Billy pulled the scissors out. After that the trickle was steady.

  “You girls need a facial, know what I mean?” If they hadn’t, it didn’t take long for them to find out.

  Brandon took the blowtorch. Went straight for the face. The smell of singeing hair, accompanied by Brandon’s laughter and the victim’s screams, filled the room.

  ***

  Arash pulled up a couple of doors down. Reversed into the space outside number 42. Caught the front wing on a scaffolding pole sticking out from the back of the flatbed he was trying to avoid.

  “I’m a dickhead. A total knob.” Arash jumped out of the car to inspect the damage. “Mum’s going to kill me.” He licked his fingers and gave the scratches a rub. They didn’t go away.

  In the passenger seat Naz wound down the window and took the headphones from his ears. “Park the bloody car and let’s get to work.” He looked behind him to his brothers, their necks bent, heads pushing dents up into the roof.

  Arash slapped the truck. Pulled back his hand and got ready to punch it. Decided he’d be better off saving himself for later. Got back behind the wheel, edged forward and started again.

  The car ended up two feet from the kerb. It would do.

  The boys in the back contorted themselves to get out when Naz pulled up the front seat then uncurled to their full height once on the pavement. They looked down at the car and nodded.

  “I’ll get better after my lessons,” Arash told them.

  “When you’re old enough,” Naz said. He unzipped his holdall, checked the contents and closed it up again. “Now move.”

  ***

 

  It was the first time Brandon had actually used the torch. They usually folded at the sight of it. Gave in to whatever they wanted.

  What they wanted was always the same. Sex and the promise that they’d show their faces when in public from then on. That or stay indoors.

  It had been working. The head of the Preston Chapter had been pleased with their work. Fewer Muslims in traditional dress. Fewer Muslim women on the street full stop.

  Brandon and Billy were in line for a promotion. Ian, well he might make it if he held tight to their tailcoats, but Brandon didn’t really care what happened to him. He was soft. Took all of the pleasures but had to be carried.

  “I’m definitely not screwing them now,” Billy laughed. “Shame they wasted all that eye make-up.”

  “Don’t know if these guys’ll get laid ever again,” Brandon said. He looked down on the three men lying on the floor, still trussed to their chairs. The screaming had stopped. Instead all three of them cried softly. Maybe the tears were nature’s way of cooling the burns, Brandon thought. “In fact we’re going to have to make sure of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Ian asked.

  “Sometimes you’re slower than a bloody tractor,” Billy said.

  “Aye. They came to sort us out I reckon. We have to send a message.”

  “Can’t you just write it down?”

  “Gotta get rid of them for good.” Brandon turned down the flame and put the torch over on the mantelpiece.

  “Needs to be done,” Billy said.

  “Hear that boys? Your Krishna’s not going to be any good to you now.”

  “Paper, scissors, stone?” Billy asked.

  The three men formed a circle and clenched their fists.

  ***

  Naz went up to the door followed by his younger brothers Zulfi and Ali. />
  The three of them were destined for greatness, Arash was sure of it. They were the kind of people that nothing ever touched. It was rare for them to get involved in battles these days. Most of their time was spent studying or down at one of their gyms. If they didn’t make it at boxing it would be basketball. Had their sights on a scholarship in the States. Anything had to be better than a life on the Broadgate.

  Arash came from the side, his head turning from left to right checking for witnesses. He knew it was pointless. A street like that, full of curtain twitchers and old folk, and they might as well have been posting photos of themselves through every letter box.

  Replacing his headphones and switching on his tunes, Naz opened up the bag and passed out the goodies. The Amir boys should be able to scare the shit out of anybody without needing weapons, but having a few to hand wasn’t going to do them any harm.

  The scimitar, curved and polished, caught the light even though the sun was already setting. Zulfi took that. Ran his thumb across the blade. Felt the weight of it in his hand.

  Arash was given a ball and chain. It was a token gesture and Arash knew it. He could swing it and look intimidating, but the brothers wouldn’t let him get close enough to do any damage. They just needed his mother’s car and his brains.

  Ali had a bow and a handful of arrows. Placed one of them into the string ready for action. His head nodded up and down to the dubstep that was probably ruining his hearing.

  It was going to be the first medieval battle since the middle ages, Arash thought. Made him feel better to have that picture in his mind.

  Naz took the crossbow for himself. “Ready?”

  Without being asked, Ali leant his shoulder into the door. Stood back to give it a good bash.

  Putting his fingers on the handle, Naz pushed down gently. The door opened it without making a noise.

  Ali turned rubbed the arm of his shell-suit as if removing dirt and turned down his tunes.

  Everyone nodded and they followed Naz inside.

  ***

  Ian was first out, just like always. No matter how random the game should have been, he never guessed right.