There was sleet falling. It fell straight down in the windless, chill air but the boys ignored it. They were standing outside the Off-Licence at the Cuckoo's Nest, hoping to borrow money off someone for a few cans. Andy felt the unhappiness grow in his chest again. It was heavy and he fought against it. No, he said to himself. No. He held his arms up and out in front of him and made soft, crooning, engine noises.
"Fuck sake," Stevie snorted at him. "Easy Rider! You're full of shite, Andy."
"Won't be long now, Stevie Wonder. I'll have a job soon - I will - and I'll start saving ... "
Andy dropped his arms and sat on the wall.
"What do you say, Stevie?"
Stevie threw the butt of his cigarette on the ground and watched it roll into a puddle.
"I wish there was more than tobacco in that smoke, that's what I say - real Easy Rider stuff - they say that was good stuff they had, the very best ... God, it's freezing."
They walked up and down, their fingers squeezed into the pockets of their jeans and their shoulders hunched and they thought about riding bikes on the straight, endless, American roads with the sun hot in the sky and their walkmans loud in their ears.
"We're never going to have them bikes," Stevie said.
He nudged the rolled-up poster tucked under Andy's arm.
"That's as near a bike as we'll ever get. They cost a fucking fortune - even if you do have a job ... and you've got Sandra and the kid ... any smokes left?"
Andy lit a cigarette and dragged on it before passing it to Stevie. Stevie worked for a milkman. Deadly, he said it was, getting up at three in the morning, the streets all dark and no traffic and then the day to yourself. He wanted Andy to come too but Sandra wouldn't let him - said she'd be scared on her own at night, even though them birds were in the downstairs flat. She hated them birds. Andy didn't think much about them - sometimes he looked at them as if they were on a television.
The sleet began to fall faster. There was no one they knew coming or going and Andy could feel the cold going into his bones.
"I'm off home," he said. "It's too bleedin' cold to wait. See you later, Stevie."
He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over his knuckles and curled himself around the poster. One of his runners was letting in and he tried to bend his foot away from the wet spot. The Greenhills Road had never seemed so long. He crossed the foot-bridge to Millbrook Lawns at a half-run and paused for a minute to spit through the rails at the cars passing below. It was only a habit now; he didn’t try to see where the spits landed any more.
Back at the flat, he stood for a minute staring up at the window trying to guess if Sandra and the baby were in or not. He opened the front door and listened. There wasn't a sound, and then he heard laughing in the downstairs flat and the door swung open. Shite, Andy thought.
"Hi," he said, looking towards the stairs, mopping at the wet hair on his forehead.
The girls stopped at the sight of him. Their faces were bright and their blonde hair bounced on their wooly scarves.
"Hello."
"There's nobody up there."
"We'll make coffee for you if you like."
"Yea - we're not in a hurry - come on in."
The door was pushed open again. "We'll warm you up - you look like an icicle."
Andy bolted for the stairs.
"No, thanks," he said. "They'll be home ... I'll ... I'll have to ... "
He sniggered quietly to himself at the thought of what Sandra might do if she came home and he was in there. They might have cooked something and they'd have a fire lit ...
He went into the kitchen and edged past the table to the kettle, batting the onions out of his way. They were strung from hooks in the ceiling. Sandra had seen that once in a movie and insisted on stringing them up although she didn't eat onions - didn't cook anyway. Water rattled into the kettle and Andy shivered with his hand on the freezing tap. There was bread and milk but nothing else. Maybe Sandra would bring something home from the Chinese - she did that sometimes if her mother gave her a few bob.
In the bedroom he knelt on the floor and slowly unrolled the poster. The bike was red - shiny, roaring red except for the wheels and handlebars. He weighed down the corners with Jessica's bricks and then he looked at the wall to see where would he put it if he was let. But Sandra wouldn't let him. He knew she wouldn't. She'd say it would frighten Jessica.
Andy felt the heaviness creep up on him again. No, he said to himself. No. He sank onto his side and closed his eyes. In a minute he'd get up and make tea and then he'd go out again. Everybody kept saying there were loads of jobs but he couldn't see himself frying chips or cutting sandwiches ...
Andy's eyes flicked open and he raised his head. They were home - Jesus! She'd kill him! He got off the bed and pulled his sweatshirt straight. He scrubbed at his face with his fists. What'll I say? What'll I say? He couldn't think ...
"Andy!"
"I'm in here, Sandra - you just caught me - I came home to change my top ... "
Sandra stood at the door with Jessica on her hip. She was very pale and she was rubbing at her face with a towel. She looked at him, at the bed, at the poster still pinned to the floor with Jessica's bricks and she pressed her lips tight together.
"There's a job," Andy started again. "Stevie was saying there's a job ... "
He sat back on the bed, his hands smoothing at the bedspread.
"Don't mention that faggot to me," Sandra hissed at him.
She marched straight across the poster and leaned over him, Jessica clutching at her neck. "Get yourself a fucking job. Nobody's going to hand you one, Stevie or nobody else."
"Jesus, Sandra." Andy tried to stand up. "I'm going out now. I only came in to - "
"You only came in to lie down. That's all you do. You lie down and sleep and dream about fucking bikes, and your daughter - your daughter - "
She thrust Jessica onto his lap and he grabbed her before she fell. The baby's eyes were red from the cold and the sleet.
"We haven't any dinner. I was in the Square and I opened my purse - " Sandra began to cry - loud, angry wails.
"Ah for fuck sake, Sandra. Don't cry. Would you not ask your mother - "
Sandra let out a louder wail. She hit the wall with her fist and Jessica jumped. Oh, Jesus, Andy thought, trying to breathe calmly. He pressed his feet against the floor to stop himself from jumping up and running out of the room. His eyes fell on the poster. Sandra stood on a corner of it, wrinkling the smooth, shiny surface. He wanted to move her off it.
"I'll get a job today. Sandra, honest to God I will. I won't come home without one."
Jessica began to struggle and whinge and he tried to hold her still.
"Chrissake, what are you like!" Sandra blew her nose and slapped away the baby's reaching hands. "Comb your hair - change your jeans - how would anybody give you a job? Sometimes I really hate you!"
Andy put Jessica into the cot. He ran down the stairs and out into the sharp, bitter air. The sleet had stopped but the sky was still low and dark. He pulled his sleeves down over his knuckles and wondered where Stevie was. He might have money for the chipper.
"You look like shite, Andy. You're in bits looking."
Andy stood in Stevie's mother's kitchen and watched while Stevie poured boiling water over the noodles. The smell of beef curry rose, steaming.
Andy forked up the noodles and swallowed, feeling the heat hit his stomach.
"Thanks, Stevie," he said, gobbling and swallowing. "Jesus, I'm starving."
"It's Friday night," Stevie said.
"I know. Another Friday night and no bleedin' wages."
"Double run tonight. Double money, Andy. Will you not come? The other fella's fecked off somewhere. If I ask the boss he'll take you. He said he would before."
"I know, Stevie but Sandra doesn't like being on her own at - "
"That's a load of me shite." Stevie threw his empty carton into the sink. "Does she want you to work or not? She'll be all right. Aren't them birds down the stairs if anything happens?"
Andy sucked up the end of his noodles and thought of flying round the streets in the milk-van in the dark and money in his pocket going home and not feeling guilty. Stevie gave him a cigarette and a cup of tea and they stood quiet in the kitchen looking out the window.
"You're a wonder, Stevie Wonder." Andy flicked ash into the empty packet. "I will go. Sure, feck her. She'll be glad when I come home with the money . . . "
Andy stood outside the door with the plastic bags dangling, cutting into the tips of his fingers. He had spent nearly all the money and he had enough smokes for a week. Maybe they could have a few cans tonight. It was Saturday - a few cans would be good - yea - and a bit of decent hash and they could get "Easy Rider" out ...
Andy smiled. He had enjoyed the night - the silence and the dark and the quiet voice of the milkman. The job was his next Friday night again if he wanted. He had the key in the door before he heard the fighting inside. He could hear Sandra's voice, loud. He set down the bags and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened the door their faces turned to him. Sandra stood on the bottom step of the stairs, her arms tightly folded, her face red and twisted and wet-looking. The girs leaned against the wall, half-smiling. They started to laugh when he lifted in the bags.
"Here's the man of the house."
"Isn't he gorgeous? Come down here some night if you're - "
"Youse bitches - youse fucking . . . "
Sandra ran at them, her fists up and the girls shrieked and laughed and disappeared. Andy could still hear them laughing as he followed Sandra up the stairs. She was crying loudly - she hadn't even looked at the bags.
"Sandra, Sandra," he called and called her. "Look what I've got for us. Look - "
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"
"We can have a fry - chips as well."
Andy tumbled the packets onto the kitchen table. He tried to sound happy. He tried to smile but his limbs were heavy and he wanted to lie down. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered. It was all shite.
Sandra paced up and down by the window.
"Them bitches!" she said. "They said the baby woke them. Shut up!" she yelled as the whinging started in the bedroom. "Where the fuck were you?"
Jessica cried out again and Sandra marched into the bedroom. Andy reached a hand to the sausages and rashers and then let it fall. There was a cake too, a sponge with jam. He heard the slap and the sudden silence and then he heard paper ripping. He moved quickly.
"Ah, Sandra - ah, Jesus!"
He pulled at her hands and shook her but she pushed him back and went on ripping.
"I was working, Sandra. I was - "
"You were out all night! And I was here on my own and them bitches banging the ceiling."
She pushed the torn strips towards him.
"You can mind the fucking baby now. I'm off out - I've had enough."
It was very quiet when she left. Andy knew it was useless but he tried to put the red shiny pieces together again. The edges were uneven and shredded. He felt the heat of tears and watched them drop. He lifted his arms up and out and made soft, crooning engine noises and then he rolled onto his side.
"Oh, God, oh, God," he said.
He began to doze but it was cold and the weight in his chest was like a stone. He became aware of small sounds. Jessica had dropped her soother and was straining against the harness trying to reach it. Andy bent and kissed her head and undid the straps. He picked her up and held her tightly against his chest. Her bottom was wet, the clothes damp against his arm. He rocked her and smoothed her hair and touched the soft, hot cheek with his own. She breathed snuffily and relaxed and slept.
Andy laid her gently in the cot and covered her. He went to the kitchen and put the stool beneath the onions. The knots were tight and it took him a while to get them undone. The onions fell to the floor with a clatter. Andy climbed down and up again with the orange twisted rope of a clothesline. He tied one end to the hook and then he tied it around his neck and jumped.
Copyright © Joan Sloey 2001. All Rights Reserved
