So this is the very first part of my NaNoWriMo novel. This is the ONLY part I will be publishing on this blog. It’s basically a teaser. If you want to read more, donate (no amount is too small) here to get access to my NaNoWriMo blog.
I woke up under a pool table. I didn’t know it was a pool table until I sat up and hit my head on the bottom of the table. In fact it took me several seconds to register where I was… in the home of Saffron Redling, a place where I didn’t belong. And asleep next to me, snoring in a way that one wouldn’t expect from such a tiny little blonde princess, the hostess herself. I was torn for a moment between just getting up and sneaking out, because god knows, that’s what Saffron would have wanted, and elbowing her into consciousness. I went for the latter.
“Hayes, are you still here?” she said.
“I’m still here,” I said.
“Well you better leave,” she said.
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“Well last night I had had a hideous amount of absinth to drink.”
“I know,” I said. “You passed out on top of me.”
“It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep me awake,” she said.
“If you’re that dissatisfied with my skills, why did your ring me at 3am, once again?”
“Oh for fuck sake,” she said. “That’s why I always regret ringing you at all. The aftermath is never worth the actual event. Did anyone see you last night?”
“No, dear,” I said. “I arrived via the servants’ entrance, as always. None of your little party guests even know I was here.”
If I knew why I do this to myself, I would tell you but I really don’t. Saffy Redling is a grade A bitch. She’s like everyone else who goes to my school. She wouldn’t even acknowledge that I existed if I passed by her in a corridor and yet here we are doing this again and again. She calls and I arrive. I do whatever she says, because in this I have power because if I tell anyone, it will destroy her and so I have a hold over her and in a world where I don’t have much, well it’s something,
“I think it is time for me to go,” I said. “Wouldn’t want mummy and daddy to know that you’re bringing home the scholarship scum, now would you?”
“Go out the back, Hayes,” she said.
“Always, darling, always,” I said.
I crawled out from under what appeared to be the pool table’s dustsheet. In fairness, large parts of the previous night’s happenings were an absolute blur. As much as I couldn’t care less what Saffy or her minions thought of me and I was being snuck in like a burglar, there was no way I was walking into one of their little house parties sober and so I had taken the last bit of money I managed to scrape together from my EMA and bought a bottle of Tesco Value vodka for the journey to Hampstead. By the time I got to Saffy’s infamous backdoor, I could barely stand. Fortunately, she could barely care, so we made the perfect pair.
I found my jeans and my jumper. No pants, hadn’t bothered, and finally my coat. The coat was actually relatively new but already it didn’t fit and so it was just one more addition to my collection of stand out traits. The sleeves were way too short and it heaved across the shoulders, the fabric straining.
“Your coat’s too small,” chirped Saffy from under the pool table.
“Your bra’s too small,” I commented back. “But that’s never stopped you has it?”
She looked down at her chest, spilling out of her push-up bra.
“Fuck you, Hayes!”
“You already did,” I said with a wink.
“Just get out!”
“Gladly,” I said.
I was starting to regret the vodka decision. Not only did I have a headache that made my brain feel like it was attempting to escape out of one of my years, but I now had no bus money, which meant a five mile walk back to Harlesden in the middle of I winter in a coat that didn’t fit and with no vodka to warm one up.
One of the things that always amazes me about London is how rapidly the scenery changes from one little hamlet to another. From massive mansions to council flats to rows and rows of terraced houses, up and down little high streets that are barely distinguishable from each other… chicken shop, drycleaner, Starbucks, Curry house, off-license, charity shop, charity shop, charity shop. I imagine the pickings in the charity shops in Hampstead must be pretty good. In Harlesden, I managed to find… this coat… which took an impressive amount of airing before it stopped smelling of old man.
I fished in my coat pocket and found just about enough tobacco to roll a cigarette. Thank god for small mercies. I was getting closer to home now and the variation in the scenery had stopped changing. There’s nothing particularly pretty in Harlesden and even at 6am, there’s always a bunch of kids on their bikes hanging around the off-licence getting ready to stare you down. With them, you just walk, no matter what they shout as you walk past… doesn’t matter how many posh twats you’ve knocked out, the stakes are different.
I took out my keys to unlock the front door and found out that I didn’t need them. My mother had left the front door unlocked… again. She was in her usual spot on the couch, passed out, with an overflowing ashtray on the coffee table in front of her and a series of empty glasses on the floor around her, bits of tinfoil. I stopped to look down at her sleeping. She must have been beautiful once, in fact I remember thinking when I was little how beautiful my mother was and I suppose there were still traces of beauty behind her slightly yellowed skin and the pockmarks on her cheeks.
“Mum,” I said.
She didn’t move.
“Mum!” I shouted a little louder.
Still zero movement.
“Police! I shouted.
My mother instantly started and sat right up, looking around.
“Oh, Eric,” she said. “It’s you. I can’t believe you keeping pulling that police bullshit on me.”
“I can’t believe you keep falling for it,” I said. “I also can’t believe you left the front door open… again.”
My mother scrambled around on the stained coffee table, took a cigarette out of a crumpled packet and it it.
“So what I left the door open?” she said. “Point out one thing to me we have worth stealing and you can keep it for yourself.”
“Um, my cello,” I said.
My mother laughed. “No one here wants your cello, dear heart. Where the hell is anyone going to pawn a cello in Harlesden, plus the thing is impossible to transport.”
“Never mind the cello,” I said. “Where’s Kayla? You can’t have the front door open and her in the house!”
“Goddamnit, Eric,” my mother suddenly snapped. “Stop fucking lecturing me. You’d think you were the mother. She’s probably sleeping like a little princess in her bedroom, okay?”
I opened the door of Kayla’s bedroom and found her angelic as always in her bed fast asleep. Her room was the only vestige of normality in the house. I had done everything I could to at least do that for her and so I had begged, borrowed and very occasionally shoplifted to give her the perfect, pretty pink bedroom. A sanctuary from the rest of the house.
I left her asleep and went back to the front room to try and create some kind of order out of the carnage my mother had created. There was no way she was alone here last night and so as I picked up the glasses, I kept an eye on the door all the time. My mother’s latest boyfriend was the worst we’d had in a long time. Gary. Good old, Gary. He hated me even more than they usually hate me. He never stopped asking my mother loudly in front of me when the fuck I was going to move out. Kayla was absolutely terrified of him. The last thing I needed was him to appear, hungover and start on me.
“Where were you last night,” said my mother from the doorway as she watched me pile up glasses into the sink.
“I wasn’t aware you’d noticed me leave,” I said.
“Gary saw you leave,” she said.
“I went to a party,” I said.
“You know I don’t like you partying with those rich kids, I don’t trust them.”
“Don’t worry mum, I’m not going to be bringing them around here any time soon.”
My mother gave a sharp little laugh. “You think you’re so smart, Eric.”
“Do we have to do this now?” I asked. “I’m tired. You’re strung out. Let’s just have peace.”
“I am not strung out,” my mother said, pointing angrily at me with her cigarette.
“Oh come on,” I said. “The tinfoil all over the kitchen counter isn’t from a roast chicken. You keep lying to yourself but don’t bother lying to me.”
“Self-righteous, little bastard,” said my mother.
“That’s me,” I said.
I retreated to my room, the smallest, darkest corner of the house. It’s almost bare. I’ve never seen any point in decorating it in any way. I picked up my cello case and opened it. I ran my fingers over the polished wood. It was still the most beautiful thing I had ever owned and I never stopped being in awe of it. I took it out of its case and flexed my fingers before picking up the bow. Bach today, definitely Bach. It wasn’t long after I started playing that Kayla appeared at my door.
“I’ve come to listen,” she said in her very grown up little voice.
“Excellent,” I said. “Do you know what it is?”
She screwed up her little face in concentration and said. “Bug?”
“That’s right, kiddo,” I said. “Definitely Bug. Get into the bed so you don’t get cold, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
