He slapped his hand against the back of my head and I flinched, sinking my teeth into my tongue until I could taste blood.
“After all I do f’ya, aye?!” Another slap. “More money down the feckin’ drain!”
I wanted to argue, to tell him we’d have more money if he didn’t drink away every last fucking penny he earnt, but I didn’t. I let Da berate me a while longer, standing stock still until he told me to get out of his sight.
As soon as I was permitted to leave, I hurried to the opposite end of the caravan, clambering up onto my rickety bed in the roof. There was no door, just a curtain and I curled up on my bed, forced to listen in as Da turned his rage on my ma. She did her best to placate him, but it was no use.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I hid my head under my pillow in a bid to silence the noise of their arguing. I hoped Da wouldn’t be dragging Ma to bed this time. Her crying and begging was still scalded into my memory from the last time he’d overpowered her and taken her against her will.
I screwed my eyes closed, praying over and over for an end to this nightmare.
Life continued on, just as it always did. When the winter rolled in, tragedy struck. Declan’s ma got sick. A lingering cough turned to something much more sinister and claimed her life quicker than anyone could have expected. Declan was a mess, but the community pulled together just as it always did during dark times. Even though he was just a wee kid, Declan refused to move out of his ma’s caravan to live with any of the neighbouring families. The women around the camp did their best to pop in with hot meals and collect his laundry, taking care of him from a distance when that was all he would allow. He was heartbroken, but I knew Declan. He was also tough. He’d pull through.
After my run in with my da, he’d decided enough was enough – I was done with ‘dossing about with my finger up my arse’ and it was time I started earning my keep. Despite only being fourteen, I hadn’t been in education for a year or two. I’d managed to stick out primary school, but when the application for secondary had shown up, my ma had ripped it up and told me it was a waste of time. I’d learnt all I needed to – reading, writing, arithmetic – what good would more schooling do me now?
Da told me I was to join him at work and start learning the ‘tricks of the trade’. I went along with it, not that I’d have had any choice in the matter and spentmy days helping out with his wee landscaping business. Da was still a bully and took every opportunity he got to berate me or tear me down in front of his work mates, but we brushed along well enough. I worked hard, growing stronger every day, and did my best to give him as little ammunition as possible.
When Declan had finally broken free of his all-encompassing grief, he’d felt up to a bit of fresh air and a change of scenery. I’d invited him along to work with me. He was a natural and soon enough, Declan was joining me and my da most days. I was glad to have my best mate working alongside me and my da certainly hadn’t questioned it, chuffed to have another pair of young, strong hands working for free.
By the time spring had sprung, the landscaping gig was in full swing. It turned out the ‘tricks of the trade’ were nothing to do with hard work or competence and everything to do with cutting corners, scrimping on materials, and getting one over on settled folks.
We’d landed a job at an elderly fella’s place, trimming hedges and laying a new patio. The stupid, old bastard had no idea what we were doing most days and Da left me and Declan to our own devices. So long as we had a tool in hand and were putting on a show of doing some work whenever the old buffer came out with a cup of tea for us, Da told us to string the job out as long as possible. Every day we spent on site was another day of labour we could charge the client after all.
It was on one grey, overcast day in that old buffer’s garden that the course of my young life changed forever.
“‘Ey, John-Francis?” I heard Declan calling for me from the front of the property. “Y’mind gettin’ off ya hole f’two minutes an’ helpin’ me movin’ these patio slabs, now?”
I smirked, pushing off the fence where I’d been resting my laurels. “Aye, comin’ boss!” I replied sarcastically, laughing when a string of curses came in response.
Tugging my thick work gloves on, I strode up the long, winding garden path towards the small area of patio we were laying. We were currently in the process of lifting the old stone before replacing it with new and half of them were already pulled up, stacked in a pile ready to be dumped in the back of my da’s van.
The patio was located beside an old shed at the far end of the old buffer’s garden. I wasn’t sure what had caught my eye, perhaps the light glinting off the tools meticulously laid out along the walls inside the small, wooden building but as I glanced in through the murky panes, my eyes were drawn to a magazine on the tool bench.
“The feck…” I muttered, brows furrowing into a scowl. With a quick glance over my shoulder towards the house, I wiggled the lock on the shed door and slipped inside.
It was exactly what I’d thought – a pornographic magazine. I’d seen a jazz mag or two in my time, of course, but nothing quite like this one. There wasn’t a naked woman in sight on the cover, instead a heavily muscled blonde man, laying back against a leather sofa with his long, hard cock proudly on display.
I scrubbed my glove over my mouth, eyes glued to the magazine. I held my breath, straining my ears for any signs of Declan returning before creeping closer and cautiously flipping through the pages.
“Feckin’ dirty, old bastard,” I muttered to myself. The gent who lived here had clearly forgotten to stash his mag after he’d snuck into the shed for a wee wank. I wondered what his Mrs would think if she ever found out about this. That in itself was nauseating, and yet as I scanned the pages before me, I was alarmed by howinterestedI was in what I saw.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and I pressed my lips together, turning page after page. I faltered, taking a moment to study a particularly detailed centrefold spread of two handsome fellas going at it.
Terms like ‘gay’, ‘bender’ and ‘faggot’ were slung around the camp relatively frequently, especially when groups of teenage boys were showing off and postering for one another, but until that moment I’d never really thought about what it meant to be a fella who liked other fellas. I’d naively assumed they were that way because it was convenient – like, when you were hard up for a girl to spend your time with, another fella would help you out some and wouldn’t make you marry him after you were done. Maybe you’d give each other a wee handjob, or at most maybe a blowie… I’d never considered that two men could fuck one another like this.
A plethoraof emotions flurried around inside me. I was confused and a little disgusted by my reaction to the images before me. Ilikedwhat I was looking at.
“Oi, where’ve ya got ta, y’fat langer?”
I flinched, fear splintering through me as I heard Declan calling for me. Without thinking, I folded the magazine in half before lifting my t-shirt and hooded jacket, jamming it down the back of my jeans. I hastily righted my clothes before taking a breath and strolling back outside.
Declan was just approaching the end of the path, and he cast me a quizzical frown. “The feck are ya doin’ in there, like?”
I shrugged, praying my guilt wasn’t written all over my face. “Noticed there was no lock on it, now. Was just havin’ a wee nose.”
Thankfully, Declan took the bait. “Oh, aye? Anythin’ worth swipin’?”
Only the magazine that was down the back of my trousers. I rubbed my neck.
