Sweet (9 page)

With Asif it was different. What I said about actions speaking louder than words – well, over in Pakistan, your words can get you killed. It’s not something I’d ever given a lot of thought to, politics and that. Well, I mean I’d seen them Muslims on the TV parading about having hissy fits and thought how mad can they get? But from what Asif told me, when they get to be the government they can get a whole lot madder.

Where Asif came from. I shook my head from side to side on the pillow, like I was trying to shake out all the things I now knew. The thoughts that kept pushing to the front of the queue and hitting me again and again were the eight Christian girls he’d told me about who were taken off a bus and gang-raped while the Muslim girls were left untouched – the ten-year-old Christian girl raped as ‘punishment’ for the war in Iraq – the nine-year-old girl tortured and sexually abused and beaten with a cricket bat because she was a Christian. Girls like my little sisters. Then there were the priests shot dead, the churches destroyed by hand grenades and fire, the people burned alive as they sang hymns. And as Asif explained, because most of Pakistan is Muslim, and the government’s Islamic, nobody does sod all to help the Christians, basically.

After he’d told me all this stuff, I was so grateful he’d got away that I couldn’t even speak, just kept saying in my head, ‘Thank you, thank you!’ over and over.

Not that I think we should let just anybody in, mind you – I wouldn’t trust the sodding Albanians as far as I could throw ’em.

So in a bit, to break the silence, I said, ‘I don’t like Albanians. Do you?’

He held me away from him and gave me this really sad look. ‘Maria. If you had seen what prejudice can do, as it has in my country, you wouldn’t never say that you disliked people just because of their nationality.’

‘I don’t dislike them cos of their nationality – I dislike ’em cos they look at me funny,’ I pointed out. He tried to frown, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh. ‘Gotcha!’ I couldn’t help teasing.

‘Yes. Yes, you have.’ He looked very serious. ‘I don’t know if that’s going to be much fun for you, though.’

‘You’re joking!’ I held his face in my hands. ‘Look at you!’

‘Yes. Look at me.’ He held his arm out against mine. ‘And then look at you.’

‘Like a Benetton ad, innit!’

‘Or a warning.’ He frowned. ‘To stick to your own kind.’

‘What?’ I laughed. ‘Why would I want to do a thing like that?’ It was true, I’d never stuck to my own kind; posh Kim, religious Mark, foxy Oriental Maxine if this thing with Asif didn’t work out, fingers crossed! No, there’s something a bit wussy about sticking to your own kind – like you’re trying to blend in with the crowd. And let’s face it, I couldn’t do that if I wanted to. Which I don’t.

‘Because it’s safe—’

‘WE’RE safe.’ I kissed him. ‘You wanna learn the proper meaning of that word if you’re gonna live here. We’re safe. And sweet.’

It got all nice and sexy again after that, and as I touched him I felt like I was stroking away all the things that had hurt him. But now I was lying in bed by myself, with all that silence like a big blank white screen for me to see all those pictures on, hear all those screams against.

I was grateful for once when I heard the front door open and those little freaks my sisters coming in. I didn’t even mind when they started their caterwauling. Then the words came through, loud and clear, and they sounded so stark, so sad, so savage this time – not funny any more –

‘Then a third girl, called Rajinder, from the Paki shop –’

I pulled the pillow over my head and cried.

But in my experience, there’s nothing that gives sadness a good kicking faster than a good revenge plan, so when I wasn’t giving old Asif a big old dose of sexual healing, heh heh, I was plotting the downfall of those dirty frockers Baggy and Aggy. As I’d already established with young Master Trulocke, a key could be nicked and a collection date could be established and, even better, a pair of scissors and a tube of Superglue can be had in any old corner shop, which frankly I find shocking. I mean, any old champion chav, pram-faced pricktease with a bad attitude and a bit of loose change could get hold of them! But hey, if they’re selling, I’m sure as hell buying!

So I was sitting in the rest room during my break one day trying to decide whether or not I was going to be flying solo on this one. Duane had already made it clear he wasn’t up for it, moaning like an old woman that he ‘owed me one’ so he’d lift a key, but on the other hand – I loved this! – he ‘owed them too’. Well, they’d certainly treated him to plenty of roasts!

I couldn’t ask Asif to be my apprentice either cos of his high moral standards – which admittedly were a little less ‘rigorous’ since I’d seen fit to take him in ‘hand’.

It was at times like this I really missed old Kizza. She’d been a bit of a boffin at first, but I soon had her seeing things my way – crooked! Like that time we maxed her mum’s credit card after Kiz caught her doing the dirty with Dale the decorator and we knew there wasn’t gonna be no comeback. Course in the end we’d pushed the partners-in-crime thing a bit far, but it was good while it lasted.

So I was just resigning myself to going it alone when the Dracules walked in, arguing as usual. Their problem is that they’re Goths who grew up rather than died young, and now they’re having to handle all the shit that getting old entails. Katie’s rather more willing to do this than Josh, because she’s someone’s mum now – a tot who at the age of eighteen months still doesn’t have a name because she wants to call it Luke and he wants to call it Bela. Which they were rowing about as they walked in.

‘Isn’t it bad enough he’s with my parents eight hours a day, four days a week, while we’re working our fangs off in this dump!’ Josh, sorry, Drew was shrieking. It’s true, they do have fangs – little implants, they are, quite cool if you like that sort of thing. ‘My dad’s a sodding VICAR, for Hades’ sake! You want our boy to be called LUKE LAMBIE?! Yeah, that sounds like a real son of Satan!’

‘BUT HE’S NOT THE SON OF SATAN!’ Katie/Drina yelled back. ‘He’s OUR son! And Luke’s a lovely name!’ She looked embarrassed when she saw me. ‘Oh – sorry, Sugar, didn’t know you were here.’

‘Don’t worry – it’s an interesting debate,’ I shrugged. I was starting to think that the thrill-seeking, devil-worshipping side of the Family Dracule might be up for a bit of wanton destruction, and that I wouldn’t have to run amok all on my lonesome. I took two Red Bulls out of the fridge and pulled a half-bottle of cheap voddy from my bag. ‘Workers’ playtime?’ I grinned, waggling it at them.

Well, I’ve never known a Goth not to automatically take the bait. It’s got to be CHEAP vodka, mind you – I’ve actually seen old Goths at parties turn down Absolut if there’s any Vladivar going – and preferably it’s got to be a half bottle, not a big one. It reminds them of their glory days I guess – first shag in a graveyard, first trip to Camden Market, first piercing. The good old/young days, when your Celtic neck tattoo didn’t look like a turkey with a patterned scarf on!

‘Cheers, Shugs!’ grinned Josh, flopping down on to a chair and accepting my proffered gift. He glared at Katie. ‘I s’pose you’re too pure for this now!’

‘Oh, shut your fang-hole!’ she snapped, grabbing it off him and pouring a healthy slug into her tinny before handing it back. She took a deep drink and sighed. ‘Got a fag, Shugs?’

I gave her one. ‘So.’ I lit it. ‘What’s eating you two kids? Tell Sugar.’

Katie hesitated, then plunged right in. ‘Basically, Sugar, it’s a problem that’s not going to concern you for ages – how old are you?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘KATIE! It’s not ever going to concern her, is it! She’s not a fucking Goth, and never has been, whereas US . . .’ I swear his lip trembled; these Antichrists, they’re all a bunch of wusses! ‘It’s been our whole LIVES – it brought us together, that time when our piercings went septic and we had to wait all night at A and E at Brighton General, d’you remember?’

They both go all misty-eyed at this, so I wait respectfully for a nanosecond before enquiring politely, ‘So – what happened?’

‘I’ll tell you, shall I, Sugar?’ Katie glared at Josh, baring her fangs in the process. ‘We had a Goth wedding – on the Vampire Ride at Chessington – no probs. We had a honeymoon in Transylvania – it rained all the time, but still no worries. We came back – got a Goth pet –’

‘– a bat called Boris –’ put in Josh brightly.

‘– and we even found him a Goth vet!’

I nodded seriously, trying not to laugh. ‘So – what’s the problem?’

‘My point exactly, Sugar,’ put in Josh smugly. ‘There wasn’t one –’

‘TILL WE HAD LUKE!’

‘BELA!’

‘Listen to him, Sugar,’ Katie implored. ‘Imagine his first day at school and he’s called Bela! The kids aren’t going to hang around waiting for him to spell it and point out that it’s not a girl’s name. They’re just going to get in there and bully him!’

‘Would that be a bad thing, then?’ I asked innocently. Should have seen the evils they gave me! – two hearts were suddenly beating as one again, thanks to Sugar!

‘What on earth do you mean, Maria?’ says Katie, well posh suddenly.

‘Well, you’re Goths, innit – you like it when stuff goes wrong – and you like evil – so like . . . well, bullying’s evil, innit?’

‘Are you honestly suggesting we want Bela –’

‘– LUKE! –’

‘– our CHILD to be bullied, Maria?’

‘But you like death, you lot!’ I moaned defensively. I didn’t like the way this was going! ‘And death’s a lot worse than having your head stuffed down the bog, face it!’ But I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to back away from the shovel, and proceeded to dig an even bigger hole for myself. ‘So like . . . you know . . . while we’re on the subject, I’ve always been curious – when someone a Goth loves gets really sick, like INCURABLY, do they like it? And if, you know, the worst comes to the worst – I mean, what are your feelings then?’ I made an all-out attempt to claw back some goodwill as the Dracules stared at me in absolute – well, I was going to say ‘horror’, but that’s a term of approval to them, innit! I took a deep breath. ‘What I mean is, do you lot only like death and funerals in theory – or in practice too?’

Well, I finally hit pay dirt with this one because they stopped glaring and looked ashamed instead. I was mystified till Mr Dracule enlightened me.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Sugar –’

‘Really?’ I didn’t!

‘Yeah!’ He sniggered in a self-loathing sort of way. ‘It’s like we said earlier – you’ve got the gift of youth – you look at us and you see sad old has-beens – or never-wases –’

‘No!’ I shrieked, probably with more force than was absolutely necessary – I just found it such a downer seeing the Dracules wallow in self-pity. ‘I don’t think that a bit.’ I was starting to think on my feet now, and I could definitely see a way for both the Dracs and myself to come out of this with benefits. ‘I never think of you two as old – not like the other people here – not like Kath and Kath and Mrs Tribbley – or Nav and Nev even –’ They looked surprised and pleased at this; they both smiled broadly, showing their sweet little fangs. ‘In fact, I was going to ask you if you fancied having a bit of a last – walk on the wild side, I s’pose you could call it. Every great duo goes out in a big way, don’t they, before they hang up their – whatsits.’

‘Holsters?’ asked Josh.

‘Could be!’ I smiled. ‘Thelma and Louise, Bonnie and Clyde . . . um, Frankenstein and Wolf-Features!’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Katie.

I unscrewed the top of my trusty half-bottle of vodkaflavoured paint stripper, and as their eyes went hungrily/thirstily to it I saw their glory days of graveyards, tattoos and suburban wildness, almost gone now, flash up in front of them, and I knew I’d won. I leaned in towards them conspiratorially. ‘It’s like this . . .’

11

It was weird going back up Clifton Hill, with the Dracules giggling furtively in tow, towards the house I’d been in so many times as a friend, this time as a wrecker. Except I never really had been a friend, had I? Face it – people like that don’t actually make friends with people like me. They might pretend to, so they can get something out of you, but it’s all make believe. And you know, you might think it’s a weird thing to say, ‘So they can get something out of you,’ when they were so rich and famous and I was just a poor little nobody – but that’s the one thing rich people can’t buy; the experience of real life. And obviously that was the thing they wanted, to ‘inspire’ them, if you can call it that, for their effing nasty Chav Chic Collection.

As I turned the key that Duane had slipped me, I got a first whiff of the way the house smelt – of ironing and starch and a strong, strange, sort of sad perfume that I knew was Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue. In the days when I’d mistaken them for my friends, it had seemed to sum up how exotic and special they were, but now I could only smell the sharpness and the sourness beneath the powdery flowers, and it made me catch my breath as I led the Dracules into the darkness of the hallway.

See, this is another thing. When we’d been ‘friends’ the darkness of the house, all the draperies and black wood and clutter, made me feel it was a sort of refuge from the mad, loud, blaring, glaring world I was used to – the in-yer-face starkness of being poor and trashy. But now I simply saw it as further proof of how nasty they were – of how much they had to hide. My mum’s windows may have been a bit dirty – well, filthy actually – but she never even bothered to hang nets up because she’s got NOTHING TO HIDE! Apart from the fiddling of her bennies of course, that and the stolen goods. But you know what I mean – nothing BAD. Nothing sinister – like screwing underage kids, for instance, or pretending to be someone’s mate just so you could go on to rip the piss out of them for pleasure and profit. Little things like that.

‘Whoah! They Goths then?’ Josh exclaimed as I closed the front door behind them.

‘No, they’ve just got a lot to hide. That’s why it’s so dark.’ I stood there in the hallway, and I put my hands on my hips, and I smiled in a big way; I felt like a conductor of an orchestra in the moments before the music starts – all the different elements of destruction that I was going to encourage and pull together laid out in front of me. I turned to the Dracules, who were staring at me expectantly.