D - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

James sat on his bed, music pounding from his hifi speakers. He thought
he heard his mother calling from downstairs, but when it came to his
mother, he couldn't really care less.
James was bored. He had been for a long time, since uni had finished
and he had been ushered out into the 'real' world clutching a scroll to
his chest, with a mortar board perched precariously on his blond head.
He'd found the occasional job, had earned a bit of money and even
managed to go to Spain for a week with his girlfriend, but over the
last few months, dreary and endless with winter rain, he had lapsed
into a kind of trance.
Nothing interested him anymore. A few hours earlier, he'd switched on
his computer, and started trying to write a bit of poetry. The words
he'd struggled to type had sounded melodramatic and false when he'd
read them to himself afterwards, and he'd switched the power off
without saving anything. Then he'd wandered downstairs and out into the
back garden, where a light drizzle floated like mist in the air. He'd
taken several deep breaths; he normally enjoyed the smell of the grass
and the trees when it had just been raining, but today it had seemed
sickly and cloying. After that he'd brushed past his mother and moped
upstairs, collapsing onto his bed and staring into space.
He stretched out and turned the music off. The beat hung like a ghost
for several seconds, and then the only sound he could hear was his
mother talking on the phone. Gossiping. Always, endlessly bloody
gossiping. How could she manage to find so much to talk about? When he
was talking to Susan, or even Nick on the phone, his brain ran out of
words and he was always desperately trying to think what to say
next.
He got up and wandered over to the window, hoping to catch sight of
something that would at least grab his attention, but all he saw was
dull suburbia, a curving street of prim, identical houses washed by
orange lamplight, sheltering under a rainy and darkening sky. Surely
there was a time when he'd always been able to find something to occupy
himself? He would crouch on his bedroom floor for ages playing war
games with his tiny plastic soldiers, or draw pictures of bloody
battles on some far away field. He'd always been happy in his own
company. Now, the demands of society meant he had to go out and meet
people, chat about trivial, meaningless things and occasionally get
drunk. He found that pretty boring as well.
"James!" His mother was calling him. "I'm off the phone now. Do you
want to call some of your friends, arrange to go out tonight?" Her
voice was shrill, and James winced.
"I don't particularly want to go out tonight thank you.." He always
tried to keep his voice flat and emotionless when he was talking to his
mother. He knew it infuriated her.
"You haven't been out for ages!" The voice was louder, and was
accompanied by thumping footsteps. Great, she was coming upstairs. His
bedroom door swung open and she stood, half hidden in the gloom of the
landing, hands on hips. Her red hair was swept back viciously into a
bun, and she was wearing a hideous flowery dress. He supposed he loved
her. She was, after all, his mother. But at times like these he really
wondered. "It does you no good being stuck in that bedroom all day and
all night."
"And do you really think it's much better for me going out and getting
bored there instead? I don't like pubs and I don't like night-clubs. So
what's the point in spending money on things that you don't enjoy?"
James turned from his mother and faced the window. He knew she was
glaring at him, planning her next verbal assault.
Her voice softened, and James grinned to himself. The softly, softly
approach always came next. "I don't like to see you on your own, James.
It's not normal for someone of your age. You haven't even gone out with
Susan much recently. Are you two finished?"
James gritted his teeth. "No, mother, we are not finished. Susan spends
most of her evenings looking after her drunk of a mother. She always
asks me to come over and keep her company, but I find it so bloody
depressing. Maybe it's only a matter of time before we do end it, but
if it's going to make you feel better, and stop you nagging me, I'll
give Nick a ring and we can go to the pub. OK?"
Margaret Leydon leaned over and kissed her son on the cheek. Her breath
was stale with cigarette smoke. "I'm glad. All these feelings of
boredom and fatigue are down to the simple fact that you spend too much
time in your own company. You'll feel so much better going out."
"Yes, mother, thank you mother." She left. and James slumped back on
his bed, sighing yet again. What a fun evening it was going to
be.
Later, the drizzle had thickened into rain and the winds had whipped
up. James squinted and bowed his head as he hurried to the bus stop.
Normally, he'd walk into the town centre; he even enjoyed it because it
gave him time to think and lose himself in a maze of thought. But the
rain was too heavy, and was already gathering in puddles on the rutted
pavement. Howarth Street, thought James grimly to himself. Populated by
boring middle-class families who kept their homes spotless but ignored
the state of their road. He stumbled and his left foot splashed in
water, soaking his foot. He swore, and then gasped with relief when he
reached the bus shelter. The pattering of the rain on its corrugated
roof was a comforting, homely sound, and for a moment he forgot how
unhappy he was.
A gust of wind roared from across the street, where the houses were
hidden by a line of seething, swaying poplars. It gathered the rain
into a misty curtain and then hurled it towards him, spattering his
face with cold water. He swore again, and a well-wrapped woman who had
joined him in the shelter grunted her disapproval.
He craned his neck upwards, to where the sky was stained a dirty orange
by the lights of Denton and the clouds, like burning embers, were
hurtling across the gloom. His mind, as ever, wandered, and he imagined
he was flying up there with them, buffeted by air currents but happy
and free. He nearly missed the bus.
James lived in the north end of town, in a belt of housing that had
spread out from the centre since the war. Further in, the houses were
crammed together in terraced streets shooting out at right angles from
the main road. Occasionally the bus stopped at the end of one of them,
and James caught a blurred glimpse of lights burning in living room
windows, and of huddled shapes sprinting along the pavements. Four
points of bright white light burned from the football stadium, where
Town were playing some dismal, water-logged league match. He imagined
all those bodies huddled together against the rain, cheering and
swearing as wet players splashed in the mud. Who would have believed it
was April, and spring was on its way?
By the time the bus stopped in the town centre, the winds had slackened
and the rain crashed straight down as if from some huge celestial
waterfall. James sprinted for the Cross Keys where he was meeting Nick,
ignoring the Normal cathedral that glared down irritably at the town,
its ancient stone bathed in reddish floodlights, and the rows of silent
shops reflecting streetlamps from their running, liquid windows.
The pub was warm, and Nick had found a good spot by the fire, where two
old, high-backed benches faced eachother and flickered with the flames.
"What a night!" exclaimed James. Nick Reed laughed, fires dancing on
his spectacles. "I was half expecting you not to turn up," he replied.
"I know how difficult it is to get you involved in a night on the
town."
"Who else is coming?" James rose and ordered two pints of bitter from
the bar. The barman recognised him and commented on the state of the
weather, and James grunted in reply. That was the sort of thing that
bored him the most. Every Englishman's obsession with the
weather.
When he returned to the bench by the fire, a scruffy-looking lad with
ripped jeans and a mop of reddish hair had joined them. He was rubbing
his hands in front of the flames.
"Uh...James?" Nick seemed hesitant. "I'd like you to meet Dan. He's a
friend from work." Nick had been to uni at Oxford, and cruised to a
First. Since then, though, he'd been dividing his time between seeing
the world and working in dead-end jobs to earn money for his next
venture. At the moment, he was working in what they now liked to call
'Refuse Disposal.' The lad Dan fitted the bill perfectly.
"There's a couple more coming later that you might be more interested
in," said Nick. "I met this tart in the Cellar last Friday night. She
said she's come tonight and bring a friend."
James' eyes widened. "A tart? You don't really mean..."
"No!" Nick laughed loudly. "Not that sort of tart, especially in
Denton. Just a local lass who happened to take a fancy to me. You know
what these locals think of us clever university people." James grinned.
Nick could always be relied on to pull the women, whether at Oxford or
here in boring old Denton.
"I've got to behave," said James. "I'm still going out with
Susan."
"How is she these days, anyway? Still looking after her dear mother?"
Nick drained the last of his pint and grimaced. "Christ, it's bollocks
what they serve in this place these days. "Do you want another?"
Nick went to get the next round, leaving James with Dan. Here we go, he
thought. Another one of these occasions when you just can't think of
anything to say. "So...Dan...he started. "How's work?"
Dan turned towards him and flames flickered over his face, hollowing
out his eye sockets and sharpening his nose. He looked horrific. "Yeah,
good," he replied finally, after staring at James for what seemed like
hours.
"That's good," said James, and looked desperately in Nick's direction.
When he returned, he was closely followed by a couple of young looking
girls whose faces were so plastered with makeup they looked like
clowns. Nick winked at James. "Girls, this is Nick and..uh...Dan. Nick
and Dan, meet Gemma and Anna." The girl called Gemma perched on the
bench next to James, sipping from a glass of vodka. Nick and Anna had
disappeared completely. Dan stared absently into the fire.
"Nick's told me all about you," said Gemma. James really looked at her
for the first time and came to the conclusion she must be little more
than fifteen. Her eyes were wide and blue and he decided that her
small, lipstick-painted mouth looked highly kissable. "He says you went
to university as well," she continued, staring into his eyes.
"That's right," said James, but not Oxford. "I'm not as clever as he
is." He looked away quickly and gulped down another pint. Perhaps this
evening wasn't going to be quite so bad after all. "Can I just ask
you," he said. "It's something that's been bothering me for some time,
but why do girls wear so much makeup in this place? It's just
that...girls at uni never really bothered, and to be quite honest, some
of you in Denton look bloody hilarious."
Gemma giggled. She might even have blushed, but under all that powder,
James couldn't really tell. "That's cause at uni, girls don't even have
to make an effort," she said, leaning closer towards him. "I've heard
it's all one big orgy up there. In Denton, we have to try a bit
more."
"Yeah, but it puts me..." James paused as she kissed him on the lips.
"Off," he concluded.
Listen, this is stupid," he said and clambered to his feet. "I've been
going out with someone for months now, and you're...well you're a bit
too young aren't you?"
She stood up with him and took his arm. "Can't you just walk me home? I
live in Effington. It's only ten minutes away, and you know what the
streets are like at night."
Outside the rain had eased a little. It seemed to gather in the coronas
of light cast by the streetlamps, as if it only fell where it could be
seen and didn't bother with the dark.
"It's freezing," said Gemma. "Can you hold me?" James wrapped his arm
around Gemma's waist as they passed the newsagent where Susan worked in
the holidays. She still had one year left at uni, and worked
desperately through the summer to earn enough spending money for term
time. He felt a pang of guilt, because he knew full well how this was
all going to end up, and Susan had always tried to be good to him.
Hell, she'd been great.
A bundle of rags lay scattered in the newsagent doorway, and James
jumped when they moved and a shadowy face peered out at him. "Got any
change mate?", said the bundle of rags. Gemma's steps quickened, but
James couldn't resist the impulse to turn back.
The beggar's eyes glinted back at him, reflecting white light in their
depths. James shivered and was glad when they had turned the corner and
left him far behind. Something about his eyes had frightened James, but
then he had always been the sort to let his imagination run riot.
Effington was an unpleasant, grimy estate on the western fringes of
Denton. Half the streetlamps had been smashed and the grass verge was
littered with crumpled cans and torn shreds of paper flapping weakly in
the wind. "You don't have to take me any further," said Gemma, staring
up at him with her pretty eyes. "I know what you're feeling about your
girlfriend. It's ok. I understand. She stood on tiptoe and brushed his
lips with hers, while the wind moaned and whistled and rolled empty
cans down dark alleyways. "See you again, yeah?" he said lamely. She
smiled and then turned and walked of into the estate, past a battered
brick wall daubed with swastikas.
James felt a lump forming in his throat and hurried back towards the
town centre to catch a late bus home. On the journey back, the sights
beyond his window were blurred not by the rain but by his own hot
tears.