point out, this isn’t just about smoking a humble cancer stick.’
‘How do you mean?’
Hugo grimaced in a Should I or shouldn’t I? quandary.
‘Go on. Say it.’
‘You need to hear some hard truths, cousin,’ he took a deep drag, ‘but first I have to know you know I’m telling you them for your own good.’
‘Okay. I’ (Hangman gripped ‘know’) ‘understand.’
‘Promise me?’
‘Promise.’
The green or grey of Hugo’s eyes depends on the weather. ‘This “not today” attitude of yours is a cancer. Cancer of the character. It stunts your growth. Other kids sense your not-todayness, and despise you for it. “Not-today” is why those plebs in the Black Swan make you nervous. “Not today” – I would bet – is at the root of that speech defect of yours.’ (A shame-bomb blew my head off.) ‘“Not today” condemns you to be the lapdog of authority, any bully, any shitehawk. They sense you won’t stand up to them. Not today, not ever. “Not today” is the blind slave of every petty rule. Even the rule that says’ (Hugo did this bleaty voice) ‘“ No, smoking is BAD ! Don’t listen to naughty Hugo Lamb! ” Jason, you have to kill “not today”.’
This was so appallingly true I could only try to smile.
Then Hugo said, ‘I was you myself, Jace, once. Just the same. Always afraid. But there’s another reason why you must smoke this cigarette. Not because it’s the first step to becoming someone your turkey-shagging schoolmates will respect instead of exploit. Not because a young blood with a mature cigarette is a better proposition to the ladies than a boy with a sherbert dip. It’s this. Come here. I’ll whisper it.’ Hugo leant so close his lips touched my ears and 10,000 volts sang all over my nervous system. (For a split second I had a vision of Hugo the Oarsman out on the water, cathedrals and river banks blurring by, biceps stiffening and loosening under his vest, with girlfriends lining the river. Girlfriends ready to lick him where he told them.) ‘If you don’t kill “not today”,’ Hugo did a horror-movie trailer voice, ‘ One day you’ll wake up, look in the mirror and see Brian and Uncle Michael! ’
‘ Atta boy…breathe in…through your mouth, not your nose…’
The mouthful of gassy dirt left my mouth.
Hugo was stern. ‘You didn’t suck it into your lungs, did you, Jace?’
I shook my head, wanting to spit.
‘You have to inhale , Jace. Into your lungs. Otherwise it’s like sex without an orgasm.’
‘Okay.’ (I don’t actually know what an orgasm is, apart from what you call someone who’s done something stupid.) ‘Right.’
‘I’m just going to pinch your nose,’ said Hugo, ‘to stop you cheating.’ His fingers closed off my nostrils. ‘Deep breath – not too deep – and let the smoke go down with the air.’ Then his other hand sealed my mouth shut. The air was cold but his hands were warm. ‘One, two…three!’
In came the hot gassy dirt. My lungs flooded with it.
‘Hold it there,’ urged Hugo. ‘One, two, three, four, five, and—’ he released my lips, ‘— out .’
The smoke leaked out, a genie from its bottle.
The wind atomized the genie.
‘And that,’ said Hugo, ‘is all there is to it.’
Vile. ‘Nice.’
‘It’ll grow on you. Finish the cigarette.’ Hugo perched himself on the back of the bench and relit his own Lambert & Butler. ‘As aquatic spectacles go, I am a trifle underwhelmed by your lake. Is this where the swans are?’
‘There aren’t any actual swans in Black Swan Green.’ My second drag was as revolting as my first. ‘It’s a sort of village joke. The lake was classic in January, mind. It froze over. We played British Bulldogs actually on the ice. Though I found out afterwards there’s about twenty kids who’ve drowned in this lake, down the years.’
‘Who could blame them?’ Hugo did a weary sigh. ‘Black Swan Green might not be the arsehole of the world, but it’s
‘How do you mean?’
Hugo grimaced in a Should I or shouldn’t I? quandary.
‘Go on. Say it.’
‘You need to hear some hard truths, cousin,’ he took a deep drag, ‘but first I have to know you know I’m telling you them for your own good.’
‘Okay. I’ (Hangman gripped ‘know’) ‘understand.’
‘Promise me?’
‘Promise.’
The green or grey of Hugo’s eyes depends on the weather. ‘This “not today” attitude of yours is a cancer. Cancer of the character. It stunts your growth. Other kids sense your not-todayness, and despise you for it. “Not-today” is why those plebs in the Black Swan make you nervous. “Not today” – I would bet – is at the root of that speech defect of yours.’ (A shame-bomb blew my head off.) ‘“Not today” condemns you to be the lapdog of authority, any bully, any shitehawk. They sense you won’t stand up to them. Not today, not ever. “Not today” is the blind slave of every petty rule. Even the rule that says’ (Hugo did this bleaty voice) ‘“ No, smoking is BAD ! Don’t listen to naughty Hugo Lamb! ” Jason, you have to kill “not today”.’
This was so appallingly true I could only try to smile.
Then Hugo said, ‘I was you myself, Jace, once. Just the same. Always afraid. But there’s another reason why you must smoke this cigarette. Not because it’s the first step to becoming someone your turkey-shagging schoolmates will respect instead of exploit. Not because a young blood with a mature cigarette is a better proposition to the ladies than a boy with a sherbert dip. It’s this. Come here. I’ll whisper it.’ Hugo leant so close his lips touched my ears and 10,000 volts sang all over my nervous system. (For a split second I had a vision of Hugo the Oarsman out on the water, cathedrals and river banks blurring by, biceps stiffening and loosening under his vest, with girlfriends lining the river. Girlfriends ready to lick him where he told them.) ‘If you don’t kill “not today”,’ Hugo did a horror-movie trailer voice, ‘ One day you’ll wake up, look in the mirror and see Brian and Uncle Michael! ’
‘ Atta boy…breathe in…through your mouth, not your nose…’
The mouthful of gassy dirt left my mouth.
Hugo was stern. ‘You didn’t suck it into your lungs, did you, Jace?’
I shook my head, wanting to spit.
‘You have to inhale , Jace. Into your lungs. Otherwise it’s like sex without an orgasm.’
‘Okay.’ (I don’t actually know what an orgasm is, apart from what you call someone who’s done something stupid.) ‘Right.’
‘I’m just going to pinch your nose,’ said Hugo, ‘to stop you cheating.’ His fingers closed off my nostrils. ‘Deep breath – not too deep – and let the smoke go down with the air.’ Then his other hand sealed my mouth shut. The air was cold but his hands were warm. ‘One, two…three!’
In came the hot gassy dirt. My lungs flooded with it.
‘Hold it there,’ urged Hugo. ‘One, two, three, four, five, and—’ he released my lips, ‘— out .’
The smoke leaked out, a genie from its bottle.
The wind atomized the genie.
‘And that,’ said Hugo, ‘is all there is to it.’
Vile. ‘Nice.’
‘It’ll grow on you. Finish the cigarette.’ Hugo perched himself on the back of the bench and relit his own Lambert & Butler. ‘As aquatic spectacles go, I am a trifle underwhelmed by your lake. Is this where the swans are?’
‘There aren’t any actual swans in Black Swan Green.’ My second drag was as revolting as my first. ‘It’s a sort of village joke. The lake was classic in January, mind. It froze over. We played British Bulldogs actually on the ice. Though I found out afterwards there’s about twenty kids who’ve drowned in this lake, down the years.’
‘Who could blame them?’ Hugo did a weary sigh. ‘Black Swan Green might not be the arsehole of the world, but it’s
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