The Fields (11 page)

Gary starts sobbing his heart out, no shame at all, right there in the yard. To save us both from a massive slagging, I rush him round the back of the bike sheds, wheeling his bike with one hand and kind of guiding him with my free elbow. After bawling for ages and gagging on his snot and mucus, he eventually says that Mozzo and the Villas gang mugged him on Saturday night. He says that they dragged him from his bike and gave him the biggest wedgie he’d ever had, ripping his pants elastic right off and hurting his balls like nothing on earth. A few of them then kicked him in the ribs and told him that he was a fuckin biker queer.

But you went home? I say. I saw you leave.

Gary says that he didn’t go home but instead did a loop round the estate and came back and spied on us sitting round the fire, drinking HCL. And when Mozzo’s gang went queer-bashing he followed them, thinking that I was still with them, thinking that I might need some help. He followed them right down to the long grass by The Sorrows canal where they turned round and jumped him.

When I get home Mam is hopping with excitement, saying that she has some great news. She sits me down and says that she met Fr O’Culigeen in the shopping centre and that he had nothing but the highest praise for me. He said that I had the voice of an angel and had done my country proud at Donohue’s hoolie.

A voice of an angel, she repeats, and looks at me while shaking her head lightly like she can’t believe she’s so lucky to have such a son. I shrug, but don’t say anything coz I’m still thinking about Mozzo and Saidhbh and what I’m going to do at our
meeting tonight. I move to get up out of the kitchen chair when Mam says, even more excitedly than before, And there’s more!

I sit back down.

It seems that Fr O’Culigeen is considering me for a place in the church choir.

Can you believe it? Mam says. Not just an altar boy but part of the choir itself!

Cool, I say, flatly, and rise out of my seat.

I get as far as the kitchen door when Mam says, And he wants to see you tonight, straight after tea!

Siobhan buzzes through the kitchen holding an empty plate covered in cake crumbs.

Nice going, Aled Jones, she says.

My plan is this. I will cycle to Saidhbh’s house, and sit down in front of her and Mozzo and ask them both, straight up, if the Gary story is true. I’ve hugged you both, I’ll say. We’ve sang songs together and jumped around the room. We’re like the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. So tell me now, is it true?

Then, depending on their answers, I’ll go along with them to see where the queer biker was done, after which I’ll dash off, full speed, just in time to audition for O’Culigeen.

It’s getting dark, and I’m speeding down The Rise on my yellow racer with no lights. I’m out of my uniform and back into the stunning Vision in Grey. Fiona made a big deal about it when I was leaving the house, asking me in front of everyone if I was going to see my lover, Saidhbh Donohue. Mam answered for me and said that I was, in fact, dressed up to see Fr O’Culigeen.

Is that right? said Fiona, winking at me on the sly.

I turn the blind corner up into The Avenue and see Mozzo sitting on the wall outside Saidhbh’s house. Straight away I smell a rat.

He’s wearing his long red Iron Maiden T-shirt and black combats. His legs are dangling down, he’s kicking his Doc heels against the brickwork and he’s slugging from a can of HCL, bold as brass in front of anyone who wants to have a look. He sees me coming, leaps off the wall and takes about five strides towards me, blocking me from getting to Saidhbh’s house.

What’s up? I say, breathless.

Nothing, he says, smiling at me like a charmer. He swigs back the dregs, shoves the can down behind the Donohues’ hedge and says, Let’s go!

I look over his shoulder towards the house. What about Saidhbh? I ask.

He smiles again, but not like a charmer, and repeats my question in a boozy whisper, What about Saidhbh?

I shrug casually, She’s coming with us?

No, says Mozzo, really cold, but she asked me to pass this on to you.

And with that he holds out his middle finger, and pushes it towards my nose.

Go on, he says, have a sniff! It’s fresh!

What is it? I ask.

Fanny juice, he says, shoving it right against my lips. Sniff!

I look at him, I think of Saidhbh and her miniskirt, and I know I shouldn’t, but I sniff it anyway. Just to check.

Mozzo’s finger stinks of ciggies. He bursts out laughing.

Ye little fuckin pervert, I never knew you had it in ye. Fuckin perv! He punches me on the shoulder and tells me to hurry up coz we don’t have all night.

But what about …? I say, nodding towards Saidhbh’s house.

Grounded, he says, marching off down the road. Smoking in the jacks!

I follow Mozzo’s gallop, wheeling my bike beside me, trying not to chop my shins against the pedals. I’m nervous, but still I
ask him right then, no messing, about Gary’s story. Mozzo’s cool as anything. He pulls on his hair and says that yes, they did bump into Gary late on Saturday night. But that Gary ran off crying when Mozzo joked in front of everyone that Gary was a pillow-fucker.

I’m telling ya, he says, like it’s a crying shame, that fella needs to get a fuckin sense of humour. Eh? And as he says it he nudges me with his elbow as if to say, Not like you and me coz we’ve got one!

I think it over for a second, and then I agree. I feel relieved that Mozzo isn’t a mugger. In fact, I’m so relieved I tell him about Gary crying his heart out in the yard today. Mozzo shakes his head like it’s still a shame and says, That’s just the sort of bollocks I’m talking about.

I know, I say, you shoulda seen him. All over the fuckin place!

I’ll bet he was, says Mozzo, resting a hand on my bike.

Mozzo has me pinned down to the ground with his hand around my neck. We’re in the long grasses by the canal and he’s kneeling on my chest. His teeth are flashing, his nose is wrinkled back and his eyes are kind of mad like.

Think you’re too fuckin good for me, he says, squeezing my throat. Is that it, little fuckin queer?!! He’s gritting his teeth and he looks like he’s going to take a bite out of me. Little posh queer!! He’s screaming out loud and I’m sure he can be heard for miles.

Heno, Macko, Hylo and Stapo are jumping around us like mad rabbits in bomber jackets.

Go on, says Heno, give him a fuckin dig!! Little bollix! Fuckin queer bollix!

My grey denims are covered in grass stains. Fiona’s grey grandad shirt is wet. Mam is going to kill me. I am late for Fr O’Culigeen.

Mozzo has me pinned good and tight to the ground.

Too good for me, are you? But ye want me bird? he says, leaning right into my face, close enough so I can gag on his boozie-ciggies breath. Is that it?

But he’s a fuckin queer! says Hylo, confused and excited at the same time.

That’s right he’s a fuckin queer, says Mozzo. So what’ya want with my fuckin bird? Eh?

I am silent because I am terrified. But I manage to say, I just, I just, I just.

You just what? says Mozzo, like Spits McGee when he’s taking no shit from Steven Casey. You’re just a fuckin little posh queer who thinks he’s too good for the likes of me but wants to ride me bird to show you’re not a queer, is that it?

I just, I just. I’m like a record stuck.

Or maybe he wants to ride YOU, Mozzo! says Stapo, adding fuel to the flames.

You want to ride me? says Mozzo pushing himself away from my face as he says it, but squeezing harder with his hand as he does so. You want to fuckin ride me, queer? Is that fuckin it? Bender boy?

Go on, shouts Heno, thrilled, give him a fuckin dig!

Mozzo lifts his fist up and back as if to dig me and I flinch. They laugh together, Heno, Macko, Stapo, Hylo and Mozzo.

See, says Mozzo to the lads, too fuckin easy!

Wedgie! shouts Hylo. Fuckin wedgie him! Rip his fuckin cacks off!!

You want your cacks ripped off, do you? says Mozzo. Is that it, queer? Is it a wedgie you want, queer?

Mozzo had barely said a word the whole way to the canal. When we arrived at the back of the school the Villas lads were already there guzzling HCL. They started crowding in around me and making me nervous with their blank smiles and winks and
nudges. Mozzo had more booze and told me to relax and stop worrying about the time. He brought me to the place where they caught the last biker queer, and there hanging from the bushes, with a last few pale bleeps left in it yet, was Gary’s UFO sweat-band. It was at that point that everyone started shouting queer and pulling me down to the ground.

Mozzo decides that I’m going to get the biggest most painful wedgie of my life. Normally you get wedgies in school on your birthday. What happens is that someone finds out early in the morning that it’s your birthday. Then, for the rest of the day you’re followed around by groups of three and four lads together with mad expressions on their faces. They’re always looking at you, sneaking peeks over their shoulders, trying to get the perfect time when there’s no teachers about. When they finally get that time, maybe just before afternoon classes, they scream Wedgie! at the tops of their voices. Then anyone who can lend a hand pushes you up against the wall and grabs at your waist. There’s hands coming in from all sides, pulling at your belt and at your buttons, scraping at your skin. Eventually some lucky fella will catch hold of your underpants elastic and pull it high above your trousers. From here on it’s pretty easy for everyone else to grab their own private bit of elastic, and before you know it there’s about eight sets of hands all holding on to your jocks, all reefing them up high, trying to stretch them over your head while the tough piece of material in between your arse-cheeks turns to cheese wire.

As they’re giving you the wedgie, the fellas, who are red-faced with excitement, are going happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday!

If you get a wedgie when it’s not your birthday then you can get a few digs on top of everything just for being a bollocks. This is the type of wedgie Mozzo wants to give me.

Still kneeling on my chest, he leans back and reaches behind, trying to grab my underpants in one swift move under my belt. Luckily, Fiona’s grey grandad shirt is so long that there’s miles of it tucked down inside my trousers, so Mozzo’s really struggling to get a hold of anything useful.

Fuck sake! shouts Heno. Stop fuckin feelin his mickey and give him a fuckin wedgie!

Up on your feet! he says, furious at Heno but barking at me as if he’s a soldier and I’m his prisoner of war.

He lets go of my neck, rolls off my chest, and stands back to let me get up.

There’s a gap between Heno and Hylo.

I run for it.

It’s dark, and the long grass is up to my knees, trying to trip me, grabbing me by the ankles, but I know where I’m going. Away from the canal and across the hockey pitches, down towards the back gate that opens out on to the Ballydown Road. I can hear Mozzo thumping along behind me as I break free from the long grass and hit the gravel pitches. He’s screaming, I’ll kill ya, ye bollix! while he’s running.

I can’t hear anyone else. No other footsteps, no shouts and taunts. Heno, Stapo, Hylo and Macko couldn’t be arsed. They’d much rather crack open some more cans and smash my bike to bits.

I’m running as fast as I can, head down, legs pumping away like Steve Austin, and have nearly cleared both hockey pitches when I suddenly notice that Mozzo’s paces have faded far behind me. I can barely believe that he’s given up already, and am reluctant to slow down. I think that it must be my unbeatable bionic pace that’s put him off. Either that, or the car that’s revving away loudly by the gate.

I stop dead in my tracks and look behind me. Mozzo is gone. If I squint hard I think I can see his shady outline limping towards the canal and into the safety of darkness. I look over at the gate and see a familiar car, lights on, engine revving, passenger door half open.

My mind freezes, jammed between relief and confusion. Like the gears on a bike when the chain sticks between two cogs on the back wheel. Now that he’s gone, and now that I know I’m safe, I feel like I’m in total shock. My brain isn’t working. I don’t know if I can move my aching legs. There is only one thing going through my head, and this thing is whizzing around again and again like a strange taped voice on a mad deafening loop. And what it’s saying is that I’m on the exact spot where Helen MacDowell was standing when she got hit in the face by the hockey ball.

THWACKRUNCH!

I’m still in a bit of a trance when I make it over to the car. O’Culigeen reaches over from the driver seat and pushes the passenger door fully open.

You’re late, he says, inviting me into his flash red Capri. And look at the cut of you!

I get into the car and kind of grunt at him as he speeds off down the road, gripping the steering wheel with his leather driving gloves and sending gravel bullets flying in all directions.

We had an appointment, he says, as we whore along the dark and deserted Ballydown Avenue and on to the main street, straight up past the shopping centre.

I got mugged, I say, thinking of Gary and not knowing how to make it up to him.

Is that what they call it nowadays? he answers, winking at me and dead proud of himself for making a crap joke.

Hmmm, I say, the best I can muster. I know that my face is covered in sweat and that my heart is still beating like a bastard, but I feel cold. I look down at my grey but now mainly green-grass-stained denims and try to replay what happened in my head.

O’Culigeen does the final homeward sprint at around eighty. He passes Murray’s chemist, Hagan’s newsagents, and Foley’s hardware shop in one roaring blur. He pulls into his driveway and comes to a stop by skidding dramatically along the loose pebbles, right up to his garage door.

How’s your singing voice? he says, suddenly all businesslike, as if we’re about to have a board meeting. Are you up for a quick performance?

I don’t answer. Instead, I think for a second.

How d’you know where I was? I ask, suddenly confused.

O’Culigeen says that when I hadn’t turned up he phoned Mam to see what had happened. She was shocked and told him that I had gone ages ago. He pauses and tells me that, by the way, I’m in big trouble when I get home.