Blood Rising - Part Three
Warnings: Just for language
Wordcount: 2247
That evening we decided to walk to the chippy in the village across the valley. It was only two miles away, and there would be light for a few more hours.
We strung out a bit along the route. Des, Mark and Tag were in the lead by a fair distance. Every so often, laughter trailed behind them, making them seem further away than they were.
Will and Wayne were having a more depressing conversation as we walked along together.
“I can’t believe the mess he’s made of him,” Will hissed angrily, “It’s not even as if he’d fight back.”
“You’re too scared when they’re like that,” Wayne replied quietly, “‘’specially if they’ve been drinking. You can’t reason with them.”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“How do you know?” Will asked him.
“That’s why me mam left me dad.”
Will didn’t know us back in junior school, but I could remember Wayne suddenly having to move house. He was normally such a gobshite, it was strange hearing him come out with something so personal.
“Thing is,” he continued, “It’s not like Des can move out, is it? His dad doesn’t want him and he’s got nowhere else to go.”
“He should ‘phone the police; get the bastard arrested.” Will was really pissed off.
“Oh, yeah,” Wayne sneered, “then what? It’s his brother. Chances are the police are going to write it off as a domestic and then send them home together. Or he has to go to court and tell a bunch of strangers every little detail. And they never get sent down for long, even if they’re convicted.”
Will thought it over. “He could go into care; he’s under eighteen.”
“That’s not a barrel of laughs either,” I told him, joining in for the first time. I’d been shoved around three foster homes until they finally decided Duncan could take care of me. None of them made me miss my mam any less, and she was the one who walked out.
Wayne shrugged at Will, “I’m not having a pop at you, mate, but you don’t know what it’s like.”
Will didn’t try to deny it, there was no point. “What do you think, Steve?”
I could no longer think beyond the images of fury mapped out across Des’ body. They were there every time I shut my eyes, and they were freaking me out. Maybe it was because they’d never been as bad before; maybe it was because Des had never been so bothered.
Or maybe it was something else.
“Doesn’t matter what I think,” I told them. “It’s up to Des.”
*
The chip shop was bright and friendly and the two girls behind the counter seemed pleased to talk to people who were under fifty. They were also fit.
Tag had his public school charm on full beam, but the shorter girl blushed every time Des spoke to her and the taller one was busy eyeing up Mark. The rest of us found it very funny.
We stayed there to eat and waited ‘til the girls came off shift. It was getting dark by then, but the air was still warm and humid. I was feeling on edge and would have preferred to go back to the farmhouse, but Mark didn’t usually get much action and the girls said the local off-licence didn’t ask questions.
It was pathetically easy to buy some tins and the girls took us to meet their skateboarding mates over the park.
Mark and Donna disappeared off somewhere, but Des tactfully passed Lisa onto Wayne. Tag took it quite well, if you discounted the dirty looks he kept shooting his step brother.
The lads from town were far too impressed that we lived near Manchester. I felt like a fraud when they asked what gigs we got to see or where we hung out. We were a good forty minutes on the bus from the city centre, and it wasn’t like we were living the high life; we could barely afford the local pub.
Will changed the subject by asking one of the lads if he could have a go on his skateboard. There was a lot of laughter on their side ’cos Will couldn’t look less ‘street’ if he’d tried, and they obviously thought he was going to make a tit of himself.
Des sauntered off a few feet as the board was passed over. The rest of us kept a collective straight face and stood well back.
The previous summer, our local council had decided a skate park was the way forward for the wayward youths of the borough. It ended badly after various incidents involving the police and fire brigade, but not until we’d spent half our days down there.
Will had proved particularly adept at the art of boarding, and sharing a set of wheels with Des, they’d kept it up long after the last ramp had been taken away. It was a while since I’d seen them really go for it though, and it was quite clear the Lancashire lads hadn’t seen it coming.
After pissing about for a bit and generally pretending he’d never been on a deck before, Will got going along the walls and benches around the park. His 360s were still damn near perfect and we were torn between watching him and watching the open-mouthed reaction of the Lancs lads.
Finishing on a particularly tidy turn, Will back-heeled the board to Des who took over seamlessly. If his injuries were bothering him, he didn’t let them keep him down. He flowed in and out of moves and jumps at his usual speed.
I’d always enjoyed watching him ride. He was at ease on the board as if it was part of him; as if it was something he did every day, like breathing. It was a talent that Thomas didn’t know about, let alone one that he could take away or abuse, and it made me grin like an idiot.
He slid to a smooth stop and kicked the board up. Catching it with one hand, he turned it over appreciatively before handing it back. “Nice set of trucks, that,” he told the owner, typically deadpan.
We all laughed and spent another hour or so watching the Lancs lads show us their stuff.
Mark eventually reappeared with Donna, holding hands. There was a chorus of wolf-whistling and jeering at the big smile on Mark’s face.
Eventually we said our goodnights and set off back to the farmhouse.
*
The last of the evening light reflected in wet puddles as we made our way back. It was lucky, ’cos we’d have been stumbling in pitch black otherwise. Everything smelt damp and ancient in the woods and invisible creatures rustled out of our path. Tag said it was creepy, but I liked it. We were just passing through, and our lives and thoughts and problems didn’t matter there.
I guess Des was thinking along the same lines. He and I were walking next to each other behind the others when he quietly said, “I forgot about it this evening.”
“Forgot about what?” I asked, though I had a good idea.
“Everything.”
I could hear the smile in his voice without having to see it. I smiled too and lay a hand briefly on his shoulder. “I know mate, I know.”
*
It seemed a waste to go straight to bed when we got in, so we sat around in the garden for a bit, finishing off the beers. Des and Mark were in the kitchen, digging around for food. I could see them from my seat on the patio, chatting and laughing.
“Is Dezzie getting a full and lurid account of Mark’s conquests?” Will asked, leaning backwards for a better view. There was a moment when he and the chair were in perfect balance and then they went over, crashing to the ground, all six legs in the air.
We all froze; the noise it made sounded terminal.
“Though I hate to admit it,” Will calmly announced from the floor, “it turns out that teachers were right about tipping on your chair.”
When we’d finished crying with laughter, (it was bloody funny, but then we were quite drunk) I offered to help him up, but he waved me off. “I don’t think I’ve broken anything, and the stars are particularly spectacular tonight.”
Later on, Wayne made us all stand up except Will. “Gentlemen, I’d like to propose a toast,” he raised his tin. “To William Green and his eccentric, rich, generous father; without whom none of this would have happened.”
Everyone cheered.
“Right on, sisters,” replied Will, still lying on his overturned throne. “Right on.”
*
In the middle of the night, I suddenly woke up.
I lay, eyes straining into the darkness, trying to work out why I was awake. It felt very late; no sign of dawn coming through the curtains. The house was silent. I shut my eyes and slid back towards sleep.
An indistinct noise dragged me out a second time. More awake than before, I listened carefully, holding my breath. When it came again, I realised it was coming from Des’ bed.
It sounded like he was having trouble breathing. I propped myself up on an elbow and quietly called his name. There was no answer.
I tried a bit louder. “You all right?”
He made me jump by suddenly muttering something that sounded very like ‘Don’t.’
“Don’t, what? What’s wrong?”
He turned over in a wrenching of sheets and started muttering again, but nothing that made any sense.
I lay back down, understanding finally that he was talking in his sleep. Finding my wrist, I pressed the light on my watch. Two a.m. I was about to roll over and get some more shut-eye when there was a loud thump from Des’ bed and a burst of agitated moaning.
Sitting up, I squinted across the room. As far as I could tell, he was fighting with the bed clothes. There was another thump as an arm-shaped shadow collided with a bedside cupboard-shaped one.
Another stream of nonsense came from him, finished off with a definite and scared-sounding “No!”
If we’d been at my house, I might have left him for a bit to see if he calmed down. As it was, I was bothered that he’d wake up the others. Also, if he kept hitting his arm, he’d have more bruising to explain in the morning.
Disentangling myself from my own sheets, I rested my feet on the wooden floorboards. They were still warm from the heat of the day. It had been too hot for anything but shorts when we went to bed, and I wrapped my arms round my body as I crossed over to Des and looked down at him.
He was twitching and murmuring, shoving at his sheets. It was surreal, knowing he was asleep, yet watching him acting out God-only-knew-what.
The anger that I’d felt earlier began to resurface. It wasn’t fair. None of it was bloody fair. He should be relaxed, should be dreaming of good stuff.
I sat tentatively on the edge of his bed. The movement must have registered somewhere in his head, because he twitched violently away from me and whispered, “Thomas, please…”
The words were a massive weight pressing down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds while I fought to get my reaction under control. Reaching out a shaking hand, I touched his shoulder. The noise he made in response sounded like crying, and I couldn’t bear it.
“It’s all right, mate. It’s me, Steve. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Where the words came from I don’t know, but they had some sort of effect. Des stopped attacking his sheets and lay awkwardly, his breath coming in short, heavy bursts.
I could feel his skin under my fingers; the heat pouring off him. A memory came up from when I was little; of Duncan calming me after nightmares or during thunderstorms. He’d spend ages stroking my back and neck, waiting for me to fall asleep again. I’d always try and stay awake, enjoying the feeling of safety and protection, but he’d always win.
Copying the motions from the distant past, I did the same thing, bringing the marks on Des’ back to mind and avoiding the sore places. It felt strange at first, sitting there half-naked, stroking my mate’s bare skin, but his breath was evening out and I was aware of his body relaxing.
After a while, I began to enjoy the contact. We’d had a lot to drink that night, and I had joined in with some dope before we turned in, but it was more than that. Sitting there with Des, everything felt right, even if the situation was completely fucked.
Without vision, his back was smooth and flawless. I outlined his square shoulder blades with a fingertip and traced the muscles I’d admired earlier. As my strokes settled into a rhythm, I decided that if it was helping him, then it couldn’t be wrong.
Downstairs, the clock chimed three. The slow in and out of his breathing had me half hypnotised. My eyelids drooped and my brain wanted off. The other side of the room seemed a long way away. Lying down where I was seemed the easiest thing.
More or less asleep, I put my arm over Des and felt his heart beating peacefully under my hand.
*
Wordcount: 2247
That evening we decided to walk to the chippy in the village across the valley. It was only two miles away, and there would be light for a few more hours.
We strung out a bit along the route. Des, Mark and Tag were in the lead by a fair distance. Every so often, laughter trailed behind them, making them seem further away than they were.
Will and Wayne were having a more depressing conversation as we walked along together.
“I can’t believe the mess he’s made of him,” Will hissed angrily, “It’s not even as if he’d fight back.”
“You’re too scared when they’re like that,” Wayne replied quietly, “‘’specially if they’ve been drinking. You can’t reason with them.”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“How do you know?” Will asked him.
“That’s why me mam left me dad.”
Will didn’t know us back in junior school, but I could remember Wayne suddenly having to move house. He was normally such a gobshite, it was strange hearing him come out with something so personal.
“Thing is,” he continued, “It’s not like Des can move out, is it? His dad doesn’t want him and he’s got nowhere else to go.”
“He should ‘phone the police; get the bastard arrested.” Will was really pissed off.
“Oh, yeah,” Wayne sneered, “then what? It’s his brother. Chances are the police are going to write it off as a domestic and then send them home together. Or he has to go to court and tell a bunch of strangers every little detail. And they never get sent down for long, even if they’re convicted.”
Will thought it over. “He could go into care; he’s under eighteen.”
“That’s not a barrel of laughs either,” I told him, joining in for the first time. I’d been shoved around three foster homes until they finally decided Duncan could take care of me. None of them made me miss my mam any less, and she was the one who walked out.
Wayne shrugged at Will, “I’m not having a pop at you, mate, but you don’t know what it’s like.”
Will didn’t try to deny it, there was no point. “What do you think, Steve?”
I could no longer think beyond the images of fury mapped out across Des’ body. They were there every time I shut my eyes, and they were freaking me out. Maybe it was because they’d never been as bad before; maybe it was because Des had never been so bothered.
Or maybe it was something else.
“Doesn’t matter what I think,” I told them. “It’s up to Des.”
*
The chip shop was bright and friendly and the two girls behind the counter seemed pleased to talk to people who were under fifty. They were also fit.
Tag had his public school charm on full beam, but the shorter girl blushed every time Des spoke to her and the taller one was busy eyeing up Mark. The rest of us found it very funny.
We stayed there to eat and waited ‘til the girls came off shift. It was getting dark by then, but the air was still warm and humid. I was feeling on edge and would have preferred to go back to the farmhouse, but Mark didn’t usually get much action and the girls said the local off-licence didn’t ask questions.
It was pathetically easy to buy some tins and the girls took us to meet their skateboarding mates over the park.
Mark and Donna disappeared off somewhere, but Des tactfully passed Lisa onto Wayne. Tag took it quite well, if you discounted the dirty looks he kept shooting his step brother.
The lads from town were far too impressed that we lived near Manchester. I felt like a fraud when they asked what gigs we got to see or where we hung out. We were a good forty minutes on the bus from the city centre, and it wasn’t like we were living the high life; we could barely afford the local pub.
Will changed the subject by asking one of the lads if he could have a go on his skateboard. There was a lot of laughter on their side ’cos Will couldn’t look less ‘street’ if he’d tried, and they obviously thought he was going to make a tit of himself.
Des sauntered off a few feet as the board was passed over. The rest of us kept a collective straight face and stood well back.
The previous summer, our local council had decided a skate park was the way forward for the wayward youths of the borough. It ended badly after various incidents involving the police and fire brigade, but not until we’d spent half our days down there.
Will had proved particularly adept at the art of boarding, and sharing a set of wheels with Des, they’d kept it up long after the last ramp had been taken away. It was a while since I’d seen them really go for it though, and it was quite clear the Lancashire lads hadn’t seen it coming.
After pissing about for a bit and generally pretending he’d never been on a deck before, Will got going along the walls and benches around the park. His 360s were still damn near perfect and we were torn between watching him and watching the open-mouthed reaction of the Lancs lads.
Finishing on a particularly tidy turn, Will back-heeled the board to Des who took over seamlessly. If his injuries were bothering him, he didn’t let them keep him down. He flowed in and out of moves and jumps at his usual speed.
I’d always enjoyed watching him ride. He was at ease on the board as if it was part of him; as if it was something he did every day, like breathing. It was a talent that Thomas didn’t know about, let alone one that he could take away or abuse, and it made me grin like an idiot.
He slid to a smooth stop and kicked the board up. Catching it with one hand, he turned it over appreciatively before handing it back. “Nice set of trucks, that,” he told the owner, typically deadpan.
We all laughed and spent another hour or so watching the Lancs lads show us their stuff.
Mark eventually reappeared with Donna, holding hands. There was a chorus of wolf-whistling and jeering at the big smile on Mark’s face.
Eventually we said our goodnights and set off back to the farmhouse.
*
The last of the evening light reflected in wet puddles as we made our way back. It was lucky, ’cos we’d have been stumbling in pitch black otherwise. Everything smelt damp and ancient in the woods and invisible creatures rustled out of our path. Tag said it was creepy, but I liked it. We were just passing through, and our lives and thoughts and problems didn’t matter there.
I guess Des was thinking along the same lines. He and I were walking next to each other behind the others when he quietly said, “I forgot about it this evening.”
“Forgot about what?” I asked, though I had a good idea.
“Everything.”
I could hear the smile in his voice without having to see it. I smiled too and lay a hand briefly on his shoulder. “I know mate, I know.”
*
It seemed a waste to go straight to bed when we got in, so we sat around in the garden for a bit, finishing off the beers. Des and Mark were in the kitchen, digging around for food. I could see them from my seat on the patio, chatting and laughing.
“Is Dezzie getting a full and lurid account of Mark’s conquests?” Will asked, leaning backwards for a better view. There was a moment when he and the chair were in perfect balance and then they went over, crashing to the ground, all six legs in the air.
We all froze; the noise it made sounded terminal.
“Though I hate to admit it,” Will calmly announced from the floor, “it turns out that teachers were right about tipping on your chair.”
When we’d finished crying with laughter, (it was bloody funny, but then we were quite drunk) I offered to help him up, but he waved me off. “I don’t think I’ve broken anything, and the stars are particularly spectacular tonight.”
Later on, Wayne made us all stand up except Will. “Gentlemen, I’d like to propose a toast,” he raised his tin. “To William Green and his eccentric, rich, generous father; without whom none of this would have happened.”
Everyone cheered.
“Right on, sisters,” replied Will, still lying on his overturned throne. “Right on.”
*
In the middle of the night, I suddenly woke up.
I lay, eyes straining into the darkness, trying to work out why I was awake. It felt very late; no sign of dawn coming through the curtains. The house was silent. I shut my eyes and slid back towards sleep.
An indistinct noise dragged me out a second time. More awake than before, I listened carefully, holding my breath. When it came again, I realised it was coming from Des’ bed.
It sounded like he was having trouble breathing. I propped myself up on an elbow and quietly called his name. There was no answer.
I tried a bit louder. “You all right?”
He made me jump by suddenly muttering something that sounded very like ‘Don’t.’
“Don’t, what? What’s wrong?”
He turned over in a wrenching of sheets and started muttering again, but nothing that made any sense.
I lay back down, understanding finally that he was talking in his sleep. Finding my wrist, I pressed the light on my watch. Two a.m. I was about to roll over and get some more shut-eye when there was a loud thump from Des’ bed and a burst of agitated moaning.
Sitting up, I squinted across the room. As far as I could tell, he was fighting with the bed clothes. There was another thump as an arm-shaped shadow collided with a bedside cupboard-shaped one.
Another stream of nonsense came from him, finished off with a definite and scared-sounding “No!”
If we’d been at my house, I might have left him for a bit to see if he calmed down. As it was, I was bothered that he’d wake up the others. Also, if he kept hitting his arm, he’d have more bruising to explain in the morning.
Disentangling myself from my own sheets, I rested my feet on the wooden floorboards. They were still warm from the heat of the day. It had been too hot for anything but shorts when we went to bed, and I wrapped my arms round my body as I crossed over to Des and looked down at him.
He was twitching and murmuring, shoving at his sheets. It was surreal, knowing he was asleep, yet watching him acting out God-only-knew-what.
The anger that I’d felt earlier began to resurface. It wasn’t fair. None of it was bloody fair. He should be relaxed, should be dreaming of good stuff.
I sat tentatively on the edge of his bed. The movement must have registered somewhere in his head, because he twitched violently away from me and whispered, “Thomas, please…”
The words were a massive weight pressing down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds while I fought to get my reaction under control. Reaching out a shaking hand, I touched his shoulder. The noise he made in response sounded like crying, and I couldn’t bear it.
“It’s all right, mate. It’s me, Steve. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Where the words came from I don’t know, but they had some sort of effect. Des stopped attacking his sheets and lay awkwardly, his breath coming in short, heavy bursts.
I could feel his skin under my fingers; the heat pouring off him. A memory came up from when I was little; of Duncan calming me after nightmares or during thunderstorms. He’d spend ages stroking my back and neck, waiting for me to fall asleep again. I’d always try and stay awake, enjoying the feeling of safety and protection, but he’d always win.
Copying the motions from the distant past, I did the same thing, bringing the marks on Des’ back to mind and avoiding the sore places. It felt strange at first, sitting there half-naked, stroking my mate’s bare skin, but his breath was evening out and I was aware of his body relaxing.
After a while, I began to enjoy the contact. We’d had a lot to drink that night, and I had joined in with some dope before we turned in, but it was more than that. Sitting there with Des, everything felt right, even if the situation was completely fucked.
Without vision, his back was smooth and flawless. I outlined his square shoulder blades with a fingertip and traced the muscles I’d admired earlier. As my strokes settled into a rhythm, I decided that if it was helping him, then it couldn’t be wrong.
Downstairs, the clock chimed three. The slow in and out of his breathing had me half hypnotised. My eyelids drooped and my brain wanted off. The other side of the room seemed a long way away. Lying down where I was seemed the easiest thing.
More or less asleep, I put my arm over Des and felt his heart beating peacefully under my hand.
*