bench laughing, slapped Jacksy on the ear.
‘Keep still or I’ll break your fucking necks.’
‘I’ve heard his bark’s worse than his bite,’ Del whispered.
Danny heard and felt a constriction of laughter move up from his chest to his throat. He managed to hold it there. Wee Jim was sitting very quietly and looking solemnly ahead. His eyes were shiny, as if he was about to cry, and his lip was still swollen, in profile, from Micks splitting it at the bowling alley a week ago. Philly flicked Del’s ear with his index finger, causing Del to flinchforward, within an inch or so of the rucksack that Slim was still swinging towards their heads.
‘What’d you say you poof?’
‘Oi, no need to be so rrrrough.’ Del growled the last word–rrrrufff–and Danny knew he was about to laugh out loud. Fuck. Just in time, at least for Danny, Wee Jim squeaked a laugh out of the side of his mouth. Philly punched the back of his head, hard, and brought Wee Jim’s forehead into the orbit of the rucksack. There was a heavy clunk and Wee Jim clutched his face. Slim started to laugh. He dropped the bag on Danny’s feet. Danny looked down. He noticed that Slim was wearing shiny silver trainers with Velcro fastening instead of laces.
‘Let’s go. These pricks are boring me already.’
Danny thought You’re the fucking prick, the fucking prick who can’t even tie shoelaces. Danny said, ‘You’re the fucking prick, the fucking prick who can’t even tie shoelaces.’ Everyone paused, as if someone had suddenly spoken in Hebrew or Swahili. Micks looked rooted to the pavement and Slim was waxwork in front of the bench, agog, his mouth wide like that of an especially vacant fish. He still stood with his crotch thrust out, the main man, the big swinging dick. Danny was at the level of his groin and it suddenly occurred to him how, if he wanted to, he could just lean forward and sock him in the balls. Danny leaned forward and socked him in the balls. A good, hard shoulder-to-fist punch. A dim thud, a keeling. Slim was doubled up on the pavement. Danny still had his arm out, locked in place like he was holding something up. ‘Oh fucccck,’ Del shouted and there was a scrabbling and rasping of rubber soles on pavement. The boys were up, weaving, scattered.
Danny too was on his feet. He heard Jacksy scream ‘Nice one Williams,’ and then he found himself pelting up the main street towards his dad’s office, even though it was closed and his dad miles away. He glanced back and saw Micks pounding after him. The other boys had gone, probably down Molesworth or up the Burn Road, legging it, laughing. Danny was pinballing through the crowd, shouting ‘Sorry’ as he went, as much to Slim as to the tutting people he was knocking into. He was electric, shocked. What the fuck had he done? He’d cut his own throat.
Danny took the entrance into the gravel car park behind his dad’s office and ran to the wire fence at the back of it. There was a gap in it that his dad had been going on about getting fixed for years. Danny, giving thanks for his father’s laziness, had one leg through it when he heard Micks’ brays from the other side of the car park. He didn’t appear to be using words. Danny ducked his head down through the gap and felt a tug at his neck–his yellow Nike T-shirt was caught on one of the cut wire prongs. Micks was running across the car park, sending up little flurries of stones as he ran. Danny yanked the rest of himself through the fence and heard the T-shirt rip. He legged it over the field. It sloped down over the course of a few hundred metres onto Monkey Lane, which ran alongside the Glencrest estate. Clambering over the gate at the bottom of the field, he paused and glanced back up the hill. Micks was standing behind the fence watching him. When he saw Danny look back, he waved, perfectly normally, as if he was waving him off from his doorstep. It was terrifying.
Danny made as if to walk down Monkey Lane
‘Keep still or I’ll break your fucking necks.’
‘I’ve heard his bark’s worse than his bite,’ Del whispered.
Danny heard and felt a constriction of laughter move up from his chest to his throat. He managed to hold it there. Wee Jim was sitting very quietly and looking solemnly ahead. His eyes were shiny, as if he was about to cry, and his lip was still swollen, in profile, from Micks splitting it at the bowling alley a week ago. Philly flicked Del’s ear with his index finger, causing Del to flinchforward, within an inch or so of the rucksack that Slim was still swinging towards their heads.
‘What’d you say you poof?’
‘Oi, no need to be so rrrrough.’ Del growled the last word–rrrrufff–and Danny knew he was about to laugh out loud. Fuck. Just in time, at least for Danny, Wee Jim squeaked a laugh out of the side of his mouth. Philly punched the back of his head, hard, and brought Wee Jim’s forehead into the orbit of the rucksack. There was a heavy clunk and Wee Jim clutched his face. Slim started to laugh. He dropped the bag on Danny’s feet. Danny looked down. He noticed that Slim was wearing shiny silver trainers with Velcro fastening instead of laces.
‘Let’s go. These pricks are boring me already.’
Danny thought You’re the fucking prick, the fucking prick who can’t even tie shoelaces. Danny said, ‘You’re the fucking prick, the fucking prick who can’t even tie shoelaces.’ Everyone paused, as if someone had suddenly spoken in Hebrew or Swahili. Micks looked rooted to the pavement and Slim was waxwork in front of the bench, agog, his mouth wide like that of an especially vacant fish. He still stood with his crotch thrust out, the main man, the big swinging dick. Danny was at the level of his groin and it suddenly occurred to him how, if he wanted to, he could just lean forward and sock him in the balls. Danny leaned forward and socked him in the balls. A good, hard shoulder-to-fist punch. A dim thud, a keeling. Slim was doubled up on the pavement. Danny still had his arm out, locked in place like he was holding something up. ‘Oh fucccck,’ Del shouted and there was a scrabbling and rasping of rubber soles on pavement. The boys were up, weaving, scattered.
Danny too was on his feet. He heard Jacksy scream ‘Nice one Williams,’ and then he found himself pelting up the main street towards his dad’s office, even though it was closed and his dad miles away. He glanced back and saw Micks pounding after him. The other boys had gone, probably down Molesworth or up the Burn Road, legging it, laughing. Danny was pinballing through the crowd, shouting ‘Sorry’ as he went, as much to Slim as to the tutting people he was knocking into. He was electric, shocked. What the fuck had he done? He’d cut his own throat.
Danny took the entrance into the gravel car park behind his dad’s office and ran to the wire fence at the back of it. There was a gap in it that his dad had been going on about getting fixed for years. Danny, giving thanks for his father’s laziness, had one leg through it when he heard Micks’ brays from the other side of the car park. He didn’t appear to be using words. Danny ducked his head down through the gap and felt a tug at his neck–his yellow Nike T-shirt was caught on one of the cut wire prongs. Micks was running across the car park, sending up little flurries of stones as he ran. Danny yanked the rest of himself through the fence and heard the T-shirt rip. He legged it over the field. It sloped down over the course of a few hundred metres onto Monkey Lane, which ran alongside the Glencrest estate. Clambering over the gate at the bottom of the field, he paused and glanced back up the hill. Micks was standing behind the fence watching him. When he saw Danny look back, he waved, perfectly normally, as if he was waving him off from his doorstep. It was terrifying.
Danny made as if to walk down Monkey Lane
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