Ostrich Boys (12 page)

“Will you get a free go, then?” I asked Gus. “Seeing as you’re working here. D’you fancy giving it a try?”

He dropped his cigarette and scuffed sand over it with
his toe. He had to lean back to look all the way up to the top of the platform. He shaded his eyes. Then sucked his teeth, shrugged and went into the hut with Joe.

“I’d do it,” Kenny said. “If I hadn’t lost my money.”

Sim and I didn’t bother to answer him because we didn’t believe him.

“Yes I would,” Kenny said, knowing full well what our silence meant. “I’m telling you: if we had the cash to spare, I’d do it.”

“Lucky for you we don’t have the cash, then, isn’t it?” Sim said. “Makes it kind of difficult for us to call you a chicken-shit liar.”

“Would you do it?”

Sim shook his head. “Not if my life depended on it. Not even if
your
life depended on it. Have you heard how much you can die from bungee jumping?”

“You can only die the same amount, can’t you? Surely.”

“You know what I mean. I heard you can yank your legs from their sockets. The pressure can make your eyes burst. And they reckon you can even pull your spine right out of your arse.” He made a sound like a spine being pulled out of an arse—it wasn’t pleasant. “It’s for nutters, and nutters alone.”

I watched the next nervy jumper being taken up in the lift. I let my eyes travel all the way up to the top again. It would have been nice to pretend I was that brave, but … “Not something you’re ever going to see me doing, that’s for sure.”

“No need to go feeling bad about it, man,” a voice said from behind us. “I doubt I’ve got a bungee cord strong enough for you anyway.”

I spun round to see Joe and Gus with a real weird guy, about the same age as them, but taller. Bacon. He prodded me in the belly and laughed through his nose. He was skinny, wiry—streaky. With sunken cheeks and Shredded Wheat facial hair. He wore a red and black skull-and-crossbones bandanna tied tight around his head. His white sleeveless T-shirt had
BUNGEE! BLACKPOOL!! BUNGEE!
written in faded orange across the narrow chest. He waggled his eyebrows and grinned like a dirty uncle.

I counted to make sure—but I was right. Out of the six of us, he was the only one who thought he was funny.

He seemed to realize and started apologizing. “Hey, look, sorry, man. Didn’t mean, you know …? Not the best thing to say. I know that now. I’ve learned, yeah?” He held out his hand for me to shake, to prove there were no bad feelings. And he grabbed my hand even though I didn’t offer it, pumped it hard. “Great. Awesome. Friends again.”

“I didn’t realize we’d been friends in the first place,” I said.

Bacon took a step back from me. “Wow. Bad vibes from the big guy. Heavy, man. And not just on the outside.” He was grinning, but his eyes were hard.

Joe stepped in between us. “Leave it out, Bacon. He’s a good kid.” Which was almost as insulting as what Bacon
had said. Then to us: “The closest station’s just behind Pleasure Beach, apparently. Me and Gus’ll get you there if you want.” He turned to Gus. “Then it’s time for us to start looking for another job, right?”

Gus didn’t look happy.

Bacon put a skinny arm around Joe’s shoulders. “Look, man, really sorry, yeah? I know what I said. But business, it’s just no good right now. Look at him, that guy about to jump? You know, he’s only the ninth person today. Not even double figures, man.” He looked at Kenny, Sim and me. “Hey, but what about you dudes? Experience of a lifetime, yeah?”

I curled my lip at him. Sim shook his head. But Kenny asked, “How much is it?”

“Forty. Total and absolute bargain, man. Hundred and sixty meters up, so that’s only a quid for every four meters. Used to be fifty, used to be forty-five, but just forty for friends of Joe’s. And you listen to me when I say no roller coaster can give you the kind of thrill this baby does.”

Kenny shrugged a poor man’s apology—something he didn’t often have to do—and looked awkward doing it.

Bacon threw up his hands in fake despair. “See what it’s like?” he said to Joe. “I drop my prices so low it hurts, man. And they still don’t bite. You can see it with your own eyes: I just can’t take anyone else on right now, yeah?”

“Yeah, no worries. We understand, don’t we, Gus?”

Gus didn’t look very understanding about anything from where I was standing.

“Stick around, Joe, yeah?” Bacon said. “If it picks up, man, you’ll be the first to hear.”

“Not really got the money to stick around with, Bacon.”

“If the punters come,” Bacon said, “you’re top of my to-call list. That’s a gold-standard Bacon guarantee.”

“You should advertise.”

Everybody turned to look at Kenny. Sim and I rolled our eyes at each other.

He cringed, tried to hide his head by burying it in his shoulders. “Just an idea,” he said. “Just, you know, a thought.”

“Good thought,” Bacon said, throwing an arm around Kenny’s shoulders now. “Great idea, man. But d’you know how pricey that advertising malarkey is?” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “Mucho moolah.”

I said, “Come on, Kenny. Let’s go.”

But Kenny stood his ground. “You just need a big sign or poster people can see from up the road,” he said. “We didn’t even know it was a bungee until we got close. Just get a really good image that sticks in people’s minds.”

I was as surprised as anyone that Bacon seemed to be taking him seriously. “And you’re the kind of dude that knows about this kind of stuff, yeah?”

Kenny shrugged. “We did it in business studies at school.”

“Wow, business studies, man. I just knew I should’ve gone to that one.”

I was lost. Was he taking the piss? Was he serious?

“So, Mr. Business Studies, dude, give me an image. Something cool, something awesome. Something
Bungee! Blackpool!! Bungee!”

Kenny looked at Sim and me, but we weren’t going to help. “Someone jumping?” he asked.

Bacon scratched at his stubbly chin. “Well, now. I see what you mean. I see where you’re coming from, but—and I don’t want to crush your creative spirit, man—but that’s—”

“Someone who you wouldn’t expect to be jumping, I mean,” Kenny blurted. “Someone funny, or weird. Like a businessman in a bowler hat waving his umbrella.”

I think it’s fair to say that we were all a bit stunned. Who knew Kenny had it in him?

“I like it,” Bacon said. “You’re the dude!” he told Kenny. “You’re the
man
!”

Kenny beamed.

Then Bacon turned to me. “But how about you?” He prodded my belly again. “I can’t get my hands on some business dude with a bowler hat, but you’d look good on a poster. And you get to jump for free.” He tried to prod me one more time.

But I slapped his hand away. “Are you for real?”

“Now don’t you go thinking it’s all about you being fat,
okay? No bad vibes from me. But who’d expect someone like you to jump? I can see it now. Yeah, man. Awesome poster.”

“Piss off.”

He opened his hands wide, palms up. “Free jump and fame. Hey, what more can I give you?”

“A wide berth,” I said.

He laughed. “So cool to see you digging the fat jokes, man.”

I picked up my rucksack and started walking away.

He wouldn’t give up. “You jump for me, let me take a picture, and I’ll give you the forty quid. How’s that for deal or no deal?”

“Which way’s that train station?” I asked Joe.

Kenny and Sim followed me up the beach. I was fuming. I was burning up. Joe and Gus told Bacon they’d be in touch, then followed along too.

“Honest, Blake, take no notice,” Joe said. “He’s a fart on the surface, but scratch underneath and he can sometimes smell a bit better.”

I didn’t laugh.

“And he just told me he meant it. If you let him take a photo of you jumping, he’s serious about paying you.”

“He’s an arsehole,” I said.

Joe nodded. “Yeah, okay, you got me. He’s an arsehole. But there’s a lot of them about.” He nudged Sim. “Hey, what do you call a bunch of arseholes?”

Sim thought about it for a second or two. “A stench,” he said.

And at least that cracked us up.

I didn’t talk on the way to the train station; all my goodwill had pretty much drained away. I was embarrassed and annoyed that Bacon had managed to push my buttons so easily. When Joe parked up outside the station entrance I told Kenny and Sim to go in and check the train times, and to see about Kenny’s ticket. I stayed in the back of the cab.

“Better check our tickets are okay too,” I called out the window after Sim. “Last thing we want is some conductor thinking of kicking us off because he says it’s a bit of a weird way of getting from Cleethorpes to Dumfries.”

Joe was still uncomfortable about what had happened with Bacon. “Look at it this way,” he said. “Who’s going to tote
Bacon’s
ashes around in remembrance? But you know one thing for sure: if it was you in that urn and not your mate Ross, he’d be doing the exact same thing for you. Kenny and Sim too.”

I nodded, thanked him. Partly because he meant it, but also because I reckoned it was true.

When Kenny and Sim came back they didn’t look happy. “Good news, bad news,” Sim said. “There is a train, so we can get to Dumfries tonight no problem. It goes at five to six, gets in at quarter to ten, and no problems for me and you with our tickets either.”

“So the bad news is …?”

“They won’t give me another ticket,” Kenny said. “They say I’ve got to buy one.”

“Do we have enough? How much is it?”

“Thirty-nine pounds fifty,” Sim said.

I could have laughed at the spitefulness of the world. In fact, I did. But there was no relish in my voice when I said, “Looks like I’m going to be taking Bacon up on his offer after all, then, doesn’t it?”

Long way down. Blackpool spread out on one side, the sea on the other. Stunning view of the whole Golden Mile. I was gripping the safety rail hard enough to put kinks in it.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Bacon said. The tail of his red and black skull-and-crossbones bandanna fluttered in the breeze. “That’s what a hundred and sixty meters down looks like. You’re as high as the tower, dude. But you’ll fall it in less than five seconds. Hey, you never know. Maybe you’ll even make it in three.”

I couldn’t help taking a step away from the edge, and he laughed at me.

The worst part had been getting weighed. No, that had just been humiliating. The worst part had been the consent form.

Bacon’s cramped little hut smelled of sweat and weed. It had a small counter with a computer and printer. He’d
printed out a crisp new consent form and had flourished it like it was the Magna Carta or something.

“Ready to sign your life away?” he’d asked, smirking.

I’d read the form with a frosty stomach despite the heat. Kenny had been peering over my shoulder. “Oh my God, look at all that stuff that could happen to you. I’m telling you: that’s scary shit, that is.” I’d given him a sharp elbow in the ribs to get him to back off. But only because he’d been right.

That’s exactly what the form was: thirty types of suffering. Thirty injuries, afflictions, traumas. And I had to sign it to prove that no matter how neck-whipped, shoulder-wrenched, leg-yanked, knee-twisted, bowel-slackened, spine-snapped, back-cracked, heart-attacked I ended up, I wouldn’t blame
BUNGEE! BLACKPOOL!! BUNGEE!
and try to sue Bacon or his dad.

“There was some bloke in America who died, wasn’t there?” Kenny said. “I read about it somewhere. The cord snapped and he hit the ground. I mean, he wasn’t killed straight off, but he was all messed up and couldn’t talk and had to crap through this tube. It was really gross. But his mum—”

“Kenny! For Chrissake …” I gave him my rucksack and said to Joe and Gus: “Take him outside and bury him in the sand or something, will you?”

Which at least just left Sim to witness my embarrassment on the scales.

“Sorry, man,” Bacon said without meaning it. “Gotta weigh you. Need to get the bungee cord adjusted to your weight. And we’ve got to get it just right—it’s a precision job, dude. If that crazy bungee’s too long you’re gonna smash face-first into the beach and be like that American dude Mr. Business Studies was talking about.”

Kenny deserved one hell of a big punch, that’s what I was thinking. If he hadn’t lost his bag … If he hadn’t gone on about posters …

Then, when I was on the scales, Bacon had checked the reading, but sucked in a long breath and shook his head.

“Don’t know if we’ve got a bungee strong enough.”

“If you’re trying to wind me up—” I’d said.

“Hey, no. Come on, man, would I?” He used a big felt pen to write my weight on the back of my hand. “Show this to Dunc at the top so he can adjust the bungee, but make sure he knows it’s not a joke.”

I’d been quick getting off the scales. “Let’s just do it, okay?”

And I wasn’t stupid, I knew what he was doing. Everything he’d told me, every word he’d uttered, it had all been aimed at frightening me. Because a scared face was going to make a better picture than a happy one. But I’d signed his form, and allowed him to wind me up some more, and then we’d taken the cage-lift to the top. We’d stood facing each other—there was no room to sit. And it had rattled and clanked all the way up. I watched the crowd on the ground
getting smaller and smaller. I tried to focus on Kenny in the middle of it all—he was easy to spot because of his orange T-shirt. I eased my nerves by thinking of how much I’d enjoy punching him when I was back on terra firma again. And we went up a long, long way. It seemed to take forever.

The two speakers at the top were small, but they managed to beat out music bass-heavy enough to keep your heart thumping. The lift had shuddered to a halt and we climbed out onto the narrow gantry. There was the hint of a breeze off the sea. My legs felt weird. Not weak, but springy. If I stepped too heavily maybe I’d bounce like an astronaut on the moon and fly right over the edge. I didn’t think I’d ever been so high. There were seagulls
below
me. The gantry didn’t feel wide enough, stable enough, safe enough. Left, right, up, down—there was nothing around me except clear blue sky. It felt horribly easy to fall. That’s why I was holding so tight to the single rail.