New white shirt

The New White Shirt

Mark stood at the window, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair
still damp from the bath he had left a few moments ago. He frowned as
his eyes searched the cluttered bedroom. Stepping on the bottom bunk to
look on the top one, the towel slipped, and in trying to retrieve it,
he lost his balance and fell back onto the double bed. Swearing quietly
to himself he rewrapped the towel and called out.

'Mam, have you seen that new shirt I bought on Thursday?'

'What new shirt.'

'Me new white one, with the cutaway collar.'

'A don't know anything about a new shirt. Where did you put it'

'On the window ledge in the bedroom.'

'Well I haven't seen it, see if your brother's put it away.'

'He better not have worn it.'

Holding the towel he went to the battered, three-drawer chest. The
second draw had collapsed onto the bottom draw that was his elder
brothers. Holding up the broken draw, he pulled out the lower one and
rummaged around in it. His shirt wasn't there. Again he swore to
himself. He then proceeded to search the other drawers, to no
avail.
In anger and frustration he smashed the top drawer back, knocking over
the photograph on the top of the chest and a piece of the broken glass
fell out. He ignored it and turned to once again peruse the room, the
only collar on the plain wall was the two posters of the Liverpool and
Everton football teams.

'What's goin' on up there,' his mother called out.

Ignoring her, he went to the big Victorian wardrobe. So annoyed, he did
not pause to look at himself in the long, door mirror. Pulling open the
door with a jerk, he pulled out the loose bottom hinge. Holding on to
the door he pushed the small screws back and searched the bottom of the
wardrobe. Feeling and hearing the crinkle of the plastic, he gave a
sigh and pulled out the still wrapped shirt.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed, he was standing in front of the
wardrobe mirror. The collar of the new white shirt was up and he placed
a tie around it and began to knot it. Pulling the stiff new collar
down, he buttoned the top of the shirt and tightened the tie. Stepping
back, he appraised himself, then took out a comb from the back pocket
of his jeans and began to carefully comb his dark, greased hair. With
careful precision he parted it on the left, then combed it back into a
quiff. His hair was long enough to rest on the collar of his shirt.
Aged fifteen he had still not started to shave, so he pulled down a
little hair from the side in an attempt to create sideburns.
Turning to the bed, he picked up the black, white speckled coat and put
it on. Pulling the coat back, he placed his hands, thumbs out, into the
pockets of his jeans and looked himself over.
There was no extra flesh on his face, or five foot six body. His dark
hair was now black from the grease. He had his mothers' large, dark
eyes and long lashes. Smiling, he showed a set of perfect white teeth
that, three months ago, had been discollared and unclean. A girl
friend, then, had told him she would not kiss him, until he did
something about his teeth, so he had gone to the dentist and now took
great pride in them.

Leaving the room, he went downstairs into the untidy living room. His
father was sitting in the small kitchen off the room, eating his
evening meal. Going directly to the large radiogram in the corner by
the window, he slipped out an L.P. from the rack and, carefully
removing the record, placed it on to the turntable. He studied the
picture of Elvis on the front as the first song burst from the
speaker.

'Turn that friggen thing down will you,' his mother shouted above the
music.

Leaning down, he turned the knob to reduce the sound and stood,
silently mouthing the words to the song and tapping his feet to the
rhythm.
Sitting down on the arm of the torn, leatherette sofa, he continued to
listen to the record.

The second song, Old Shep, began and when it reached the line, 'I wish
they would shoot me instead,' his father called out. 'I wish somebody
friggen would.' And getting up from the table switched the television
on.

Switching the lever, he waited for the arm to return to its rest before
removing the record. Placing it back into its sleeve, he returned it to
the rack amongst his other records. After a momentary search he removed
a 45 r.p.m. Record and slipped it into his coat pocket.

Going into the kitchen he poured a cup of tea. Then, standing behind
his father, who now sat in the armchair watching the television, he
began to pull faces at him. His mother seeing this, glared at him and
he immediately stopped.

Placing the dishes from his fathers' meal into the sink, already full
of dirty dishes she said, 'Where are you goin.'

'St. Philly's' school.'

'What are you going to school for, anyway it'll be closed won't it,'
she queried.

'It's not school, it's a dance night.'

'Oh, a see, who're you goin with.'

'Nobody, am meetin' our Jean there.'

'Isn't it about time you two found somebody else to dance with,' she
asked, and stopping what she was doing, turned to look at him. 'A mean,
you cant keep dancing with your cousin. They probably think she's your
girlfriend.'

'So, it doesn't matter.'

'How long have you two been dancing together now?' she asked.

'About a year, we're really good now, we practice a couple of times a
week at her house,' he answered, his voice bright and enthusiastic.
'Anyway, she's got a boyfriend, but he can't dance.'

'Don't you dance with anyone else?'

'Course a do, but a do all the fast ones with Jean.'

'A shouldn't think her boyfriends too happy with that,' she said and
smiled.

'Why, he knows were cousins,' he said, with a quizzical frown on his
face. 'An anyway, I'm seeing a girl there tonight.'

'Oh, who is she?' she asked, squinting her eyes in mock
seriousness.

Standing, he quickly said, 'You don't know her, and I've got to go
now.'

Grinning, she called after him as he left the room, 'Marky, don't be
late, eleven-o-clock, home.'

Without replying, he left the house and once outside in the warm summer
evening he removed his coat, and with his finger through the coat hook,
casually threw it over his right shoulder and sauntered along the
road.

The dance was taken place in the gym of the recently built school,
which catered for the children of one of the new, large housing
estates, built on the outskirts of the city less than ten years
previously. People from all the different areas of the city had been
thrown together, breaking up the old tight-knit communities. Three,
big, new estates had been built over the last ten years, and were still
being extended, creating three mongrel communities. More so with the
newly created teenagers, bored and with nowhere to occupy them of an
evening, they soon gravitated into opposing gangs looking for
excitement.

Arriving at the entrance to the school, Mark slipped his coat back on.
Looking across the wide grass verge in front of the school, he made a
careful study of who was waiting outside. No, neither Little Mickey,
nor any of his mates were there. Releasing a little sigh of relieve, he
started down the path to the entrance. They didn't usually come to
these dances but after what happened on Tuesday night, they just
might.
No, he thought, they probably wont bother, a mean, there was no fight,
an as I legged it they'll just think I was chicken. A mean, a wasn't
going to fuckin' fight him with all his lot standing round in a circle,
just waiting for me to go down. Dead jammy that bus came along when it
did though. He smiled at the memory of his sudden and quick exit from
the circle and onto the bus as it pulled up at the stop. They were all
still standing rooted, as it pulled away. They will probably have
forgotten it now. He hoped.

Nearing the door of the gym, he heard the sound of the music and he
instantly forgot all about Little Mickey and his friends. Handing over
his sixpenny piece to the teacher sitting at the small table inside the
door, he accepted his raffle ticket and turned right towards the stage
and the record player. He wanted to see who was working the record
player, what records he had and what order he had them in.

There were about a dozen girls dancing together in the middle of the
room, no boys. Stopping for a moment, he searched the room for Jean.
She was on the other side of the room, down by the stage. Seeing him
she waved, he didn't return the wave, just nodded his head in reply and
continued on to the record player.

Up on the stage was a school table with a record deck on it and on
either side of the stage was a large black speaker. A teacher was
standing with the boy who was acting as D.J. He did not go up on to the
stage but approached the table from below the stage and called up to
the boy standing next to the teacher.

'Frankie'

The boy looked down and shouted, 'Hi Mark.'

'Here,' Mark shouted back holding up the 45record.

Leaving the table Frankie came to the edge of the stage and said, 'Wha,
do yer want me to play it.' Reaching out he accepted the record.
'Do-yer want me to play it now.'

'No, later on, al let yer no, O.K.'

'Yer, O.K. then, give us a shout when you want it on.'

Turning from the stage he headed towards Jean, as he did so he looked
towards the door and saw the arrival of Little Mickey and a dozen
friends.
He took a short intake of breath as they stood looking at each other in
recognition, then he turned and continued on to Jean.

'Hi kid,' he said to her.

'Hi Marky,' she said. 'Like your shirt.'

He gave her an angry look and she smiled sweetly back at him. How he
hated that pet name. Then leaning forward he whispered in her ear,
'Your paddin's shown in your bra.'

Flustered, her hands reached up to the buttons on her blouse and
clutched the top together. As she did so she realized that the buttons
went up to the top and you could not see through the blouse.

'Al belt you Mark,' she said and relaxed her hold on the blouse.

Laughing, he left her and her friends and went to talk to a couple of
lads that he knew.

'Hi,' he said, nodding to all three.

'Hi,' they said.

'What's this with you and Little Mickey,' one asked.

'What do you mean,' he asked.

'Words going round that he's go'ner have you to night.'

'When did he say that?'

'A don't know,' the boy replied, shrugging his shoulders. 'It just
goin' round.'

The second boy said, 'A heard it was something to do with you chatting
up his girl.'

'What girl?' Mark asked.

'Mary O'Connor,' the third boy said.

'She never said she was his girl friend,' Mark said to all three.

'Nar,' said the first boy, 'he just walked her home from here the other
week.'

'Yer,' said the second boy, ' anyway, you could fuckin' do that little
shithouse.'

Looking at all three, Mark said, 'Yer, an' what about the rest of
them.'

'Don't worry about them,' said the third boy, 'there's more of us here
tonight than them, and he looked at the other two for back up to his
statement.

'Yer, don't worry Mark,' said the second boy. 'If he starts anything,
let us know an we'll see everybody is there to keep it fair.'

'A don't want to have a fuckin' fight with him, have only spoken to her
a couple of times.'

'She said you where seein' her here tonight,' said the third boy and
again looked at the other two for confirmation'

'Yer,' said the first boy and laughed, 'she told my sister and she was
well pissed off.'

'A didn't know you had a sister,' said Mark.

'Yer, she fancies you. She asked me to ask if you wanted to come to her
birthday party next week?'

Mark felt his face redden at the invitation and answered, 'Yer, O.K.
Are you two goin?' he asked the other two boys.

They both nodded.

'Is she here tonight,' Mark asked, looking around the room.

'Yer,' said the first boy and he too looked around the room. 'There she
is over there,' he said and pointed to a girl standing talking to his
cousin Jean.

'What, Mo, Our Jeans mate,' Mark said.

'Yer.'

'Our Jeans never said nottin' to me.'

'I don't know,' the first boy said. 'She just asked me today.'

'Yer, you're taken the piss,' Mark said and pushed him lightly in the
chest.

'Am not, honest. That's how a knew you were seein' Mary O'Connor, she
was doin' her bollocks. Called her everything,' said the first boy,
pushing him back in indignation.

'Watch the shirt,' Mark said, brushing the front of it down.

'Yer, a was just goin' to ask where you got it from,' the third boy
said and reached out to touch the collar. 'It's a proper cutaway is in
it.'

'Don't touch the collar,' Mark said, brushing his hand away.

'Where did yer get it,' he asked again.

'You know the Black Bull.'

'Yer.'

'Well, you know that row of shops on the other side.'

'Yer.'

'Well, there's a new shop just opened there and its got some real good
clobber in it.'

He was about to continue when he saw Jean wave to him and point towards
the dance floor.

'Hal see you later,' he said to the three boys and headed towards the
stage.

Lifting his arm, he waved to catch the eye of the disc jockey and as he
looked at him he put up his thumb. The disc jockey nodded and put up
his thumb in understanding.

Mark stayed where he was, about twenty feet away from Jean and as the
music came from the speakers they started towards each other, clapping
their hand to its beat. They had been rehearsing this for the past
week. A space was made for them on the floor by the other dancers and
they met in the middle of a ring of expectant admirers.

They danced to the rhythm, like two synchronized wheels, never loosing
contact, without hesitation, spinning, tossing over back and shoulder,
her bare feet sliding across the floor carrying her body between his
legs, up and over once again, all the moves that they had practiced
came together for the two and a half minutes of the song.

Everybody had stopped and was watching, clapping their hands and
calling out to them, except the little group containing Little Mickey
and his friends, who stood away at the far end of the hall, silent and
still.

They had three more fast dancers before the D.J. played a slow number
and they separated, leaving the floor.

Mark walked over to the table with the soft drinks on and bought a
glass of orange drink. He finished it in one swallow and placed the
glass back on the table. As he turned he saw Little Mickey and his
friends coming towards him.

He started to walk away when one of the group called out, 'Hay you,
Hughes'y.'

Stopping, Mark turned to look at the caller as he came directly to
him.

'We one a word with you,' he said, a sneer on his face as he tried to
make himself look hard.

'Wha,' all of you,' Mark said to the now facing group.

'Yer, no, a mean Mickey does,' came the stumbling reply.

Looking at the face of the boy doing the talking, he recognized him but
did not know his name, he said, 'Then why are you doin' all the
talking, like you did the other night at the bus stop. Mickey said fuck
all then, what's the matter, can't he talk, or are you his
ventriloquist dummy or somthin.'

Somebody in the group tittered and the boys face went red and stepping
close to Mark he said, 'You'd better fuckin' watch yourself
Hughes'y.'

Standing his ground, Mark said, 'A don't need to watch meself, have got
enough of you doin' that.'

The music was still being played but the dancing had now stopped and in
ones and twos, boys were beginning to gather behind Mark. He didn't
belong to any one gang, he was a bit of a loner, but the group
gathering behind him, was an apposing faction to the one facing
him.

From behind him, a voice said, 'You alright Mark?'

Turning his head to the speaker, a boy much taller than the rest, he
said, 'Yer, am alright thanks Tony.'

The boy named Tony came and stood by his side and said to the boy
facing
Mark, 'What's goin' on Keyo?' He was a foot taller and bigger built
than Keyo and his presence forced Keyo to step back.

'What's it got to do with you,' he replied, his voice and manner filled
with bluster.

Taking another step forward, Tony forced him to retreat again and said,
'What's the matter Mickey, cat got your tongue.'

Mickey, who was standing just behind Keyo, suddenly and without a word
stepped back into the group, who all took a step back in unison. Tony
had proved on more than one occasion that he could handle himself, and
at that moment, nobody wanted to be close to his forehead.

Keyo, now isolated and vulnerable said, in a voice as octave higher,
'He's been trying to chat up Mickey's girlfriend.'

'So, what's it got to do with you?' Tony demanded.

'He's my mate.'

'Yer, well I'm Marks mate,' Tony said, stepping back to be beside Mark
once again.

Turning, Keyo grabbed Mickey by the arm, he pulled him forward and
said, 'Go on, fuckin' tell him.'

Stumbling forward, hesitating, he said to Mark, 'You asked my girl
out.'

Looking at the small, slight figure in front of him, Mark asked
sarcastically 'You've got a girl, who?'

'You fuckin' know who, Mary O'Connor.'

A high pitched, girls voice called out from the back of the gathered
crowd, 'Am not his girlfriend, a wouldn't go out with him if he paid
me.'

There was a burst of laughter from the crowd, including some of
Mickey's friends. With a reddening face, Mickey stepped forward and
shouted angrily at
Mark, 'You think your fuckin' fancy 'cause you can dance don't you.
Well am goin'er do you.'

Before he could make any further movement towards Mark, one of the
supervising teachers pushed through the crowd.

'All right, all right, break it up,' he said, 'what's going on. What's
the problem?' And stepping between the two protagonists he pushed them
apart. 'Come on break it up, every body back dancing.'

But it was two late, the fuse had been lit and now could not be put
out.

'Al see you outside,' Mickey said and turning, pushed through the crowd
towards the door.

There would be no more talking now, it was done, he had hoped it would
all blow over, but no, Keyo had pushed Mickey into it. Mark didn't want
to fight, and though he had been in fights before, like now, they had
never been of his making.
Walking back to the stage, he picked up his coat and headed for the
door and as he did so he switched off. He did not know this, or notice
that he no longer heard the noise of the crowd around him, not even in
his good ear. There was no fear in him; in fact there was no feeling
about the situation at all. It was going to happen, he could not stop
it and so he would go with it.

Leaving the hall he walked among a group excited well-wishers without
noticing them. Then, suddenly he was pulled to a stop. It was one of
the teachers.

'Where are you going Mark,' he asked, a worried frown on his
face.

'Over there,' Mark said, nodding to the wide grass verge where
everybody was now gathering.

'I think it would be best if you came back inside,' the teacher said.
'Mr. Martin is calling the police.'

Without expression, he said, 'I've got to go.'

'No you don't, I'm telling you to come back inside.'

'I'm not at school anymore, you can't tell me to do anything.'

'You don't, have, to go,' the teacher pleaded.

Looking him in the eyes, Mark said, 'Yes I do.' And turned away.

The grass verge was no more than twenty yards from the school and
already the crowd had formed a circle. A pathway through the crowd
opened up for him to reach the inner circle.

Tony came to him and said, 'Don't worry, we'll make sure no that nobody
else joins in.'

Handing his coat and tie to him Mark nodded his understanding and
agreement. As he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, he thought, Fuck,
I mustn't go down on this grass, it'll ruin me shirt.
Looking across the arena he saw that Mickey had his hands behind his
back inside his coat and thought, Maybe I should leave mine on. No, his
coat will give me something to grab hold of.

He was about to start forward when Tony grabbed him by the arm and
whispered, 'Watch him Mark, he's a dirty little basted.'

Again, without a word, Mark nodded in understanding and started towards
the center. Walking forward to within a couple of yards of each other,
he faced Mickey and opening his arms wide said, 'I'm not carrying any
weapons.'
He had no sooner spoken than Mickey took a quick step forward and from
underneath his coat Mark saw something snake-like appear. There was no
time to avoid it and he felt an explosion on the left side of his
face.

There was no pain, just a blinding light for a second. There was a gasp
of horror from the crowd and a couple of the girls screamed as they saw
blood burst from the side of his eye. He heard nothing but his hand
went instinctively to his face and bringing it away, he saw that it was
covered with blood. Then he looked down and saw the blood covering the
front of his shirt.

Looking up at Mickey, who had stepped back, the belt with the lump of
lead on the buckle hanging from his hand, he cried out, 'You basted,
look at me shirt.'
Throwing himself at Mickey, he was on him before he could raise the
belt again and gripping him by the coat collar he butted him in the
face. Mickey was swinging the belt wildly but Mark was to close.
Grabbing at the belt, Mark wrenched it from his hands and stepping
back, began to lash Mickey with it. Cowering to the ground, Mickey
covered his head with his arms, as Mark brought the belt down on to his
back again and again.

Then he was being pulled away and he saw Mickey scrambling away and
tried to get to him once again but was held back and forced to sit on
the ground. The shouting, gesticulating crowd of a few moments ago was
now silent and still.
A handkerchief was pressed onto the deep cut on the side of his left
eye and he looked with blurred vision from his right eye at the teacher
who was holding it.

The teachers face was both white and drained as he said to Mark, 'Just
be still, Mr. Martin his calling an ambulance.'

He still felt no pain, but the shock was beginning to set in and he
began to shiver.

'Where's his coat,' the teacher said to the silent teenagers standing
around looking on.

'Here it is,' Tony said, handing the coat over to the teacher.

Placing it around Marks shoulders he said, 'Do you think you can stand
up?'

Mark was about to answer when he tasted the blood in his mouth and spat
it out onto the grass. Without thinking, he wiped the sleeve of his
shirt across his mouth and saw it come away covered with blood. It was
then he began to grasp the severity of the cut.

Looking at the teacher with his good eye he said, 'His it bad?'

With a weak smile, he said, 'No, I don't think so. But lets get you
inside shall we.'

At that moment everybody looked away to the sound of a clanging
bell.

'Is that the ambulance,' the teacher asked of the crowd.

'No Sir,' somebody said, 'it's the police.'

Helping Mark to his feet, he said to the remaining teenagers, 'They
will want to speak to you all, so don't leave.'

With that, there was a general dispersal, until there was only Jean, Mo
and Tony left to help him back inside.

They were no sooner inside, with one of the other teachers wrapping a
clean tea towel around his head to stem the flow of bright red blood,
when the police came hurrying in.

'Who's in charge,' the first policeman to enter asked.

The older of the three teachers said, 'Me I suppose.'

'Can I have a word?'

Together, they both walked away a few yards and stopped.

'What happened,' the policeman asked. 'Oh sorry, can I have your
name.'

' Mr. Martin,' the teacher replied. 'I don't really know what happened.
One minute everybody was fine and dancing, the next they where all
outside. Before I cold get to them, this happened.'

Shaking his head, the policeman said, 'These kids, that's all they seem
to want to do, fight each other.' Like the teacher, he did not have a
local accent. 'Every night we have it.
Personally I would sooner leave them to it, let them kick hell out of
each other. Some of them are no more than animals.' Looking over the
shoulder of Mr. Thompson to Mark he shook his head. 'Oh well, I suppose
I had better have a word with him. It will be a complete waste of time
though.'

'Why is that,' Mr. Martin asked.

'Why, because he wont know who it was that hit him, nor anybody else
that was there, they where all strangers to him.'

'But he must know him, they come most every week, even I know them all
by sight, if not buy name.'

'Yer, you watch.'

They came back to the group and the policeman said to Mark, 'What's
you're name son.'

'Mark, Mark Hughes,' he replied.

'Where do you live?'

'Up on the Woodchurch estate.'

'What happened?'

Looking down at the floor, Mark said, 'A don't know, a was standing
outside talking to someone when somebody came up and hit me.'

The policeman looked at Mr. Thompson out of the corner of his eye and
said, 'I don't suppose you know who it was, do you?'

Looking up at him, Mark said, 'No, have never seen him before.'

'Was there anyone with him?'

'A don't know, it all happened so fast.'

Turning to the other youngsters he said, ' Of course you wouldn't know
who they were would you?'

All three shook their heads without speaking.

'No I didn't think so.'

Mr. Thompson squatted down in front of Mark and said, 'Mark, you must
tell them who it was.' And looking at the red patch appearing through
the towel that covered Marks eye, said, 'This was a serious, vicious
attack, we don't know what damage has been done to your eye, you really
should tell the police who it was.'

Slowly Mark raised his head and said, 'A told you, a don't know who it
was. An a feel dizzy.' He swayed slightly as he spoke.

'That sounds like the ambulance,' the second policeman said.

On the way to the hospital Mark contemplated the destruction of his new
shirt and thought about how he would get Mickey, as soon as his face
was all right.

I