She promised. Trish promised. She fuckin' promised. Get two single tickets. Aberdeen, she said. She reckoned we'd be in Jockland in three hours. No-one would find us there, she said. Bloody trains. Fuck. Should've been here ten minutes ago. Kings Cross, fuckin' shithole this. All these faces. Blank. Looking up at this bloody board, waiting to be taken somewhere. Anywhere.
Me and Trish was teenage sweethearts, years ago now. Just kids really, seventeen, eighteen. It never worked out. Never does at that age. When things was really bad with Laura, I'd remember how Trish used to hold me, tell me she loved me. She was the first to do that, except me mum of course. When me and Trish split up, I met Laura, and well, that was that.
I bumped into Trish in the market a year or so ago. Her marriage was going nowhere, like mine. Had a bloke that hit her all the time. She said he weren't bad, just lost it every now and then. In my book, any bloke that hits a woman deserves a fuckin' good hiding. She begged me not to do anything, but I wanted to. I'd have torn his fuckin' heart out if she'd asked me.
Things with Laura was really shit at the time and I needed a friend. So did Trish. We sort of started seeing each other, on the sly, like. It was just mates first of all, you know, someone to talk to, catch up on old times. Cheered us both up, to be honest. One thing led to another and soon it was like the old days again. She made me feel so young. She made me feel like a man.
I'm sure Laura suspected something, she always did. The worse things got with her the more time I spent with Trish. Her bloke was pissed all the time, couldn't even be bothered to get off his arse to give her a clump any more. She'd had enough and so had I.
Telling Laura was easy. She knew it was coming. Had been for a long time. She weren't a bad old girl, not really. Nagged a bit, but then what woman don't? Ripped me to bits telling the kids. Lisa's little face, looking at me, smiling like she don't understand. Course she don't, she's only two, but I wanted to tell her anyway, do the right thing, you know. Sean was different. He's nearly seven. Cried his bloody eyes out, kept hitting me, little kid slaps, like a woman does. I put my arms round him and squeezed him tight, hugged him like I'd never see him again. Didn't want to let him go, not ever.
Trish weren't going to tell her bloke. Said she'd just pack a few things and go. She even bought the tickets. Told me she kept hers in a secret pocket in her purse, along with a photo of me. Then I gets this text from her this morning, says she can't do it. She can't leave him. I leave my fuckin' kids for her and she can't leave some fucker that beats the shit out of her. Fuckin' bitch. I gave up everything for her. Fuckin' everything.
Train's still not here.
Shit. Crowds moving, something's happening. Coppers. Bollocks. Loads of them. Probably went through her purse, found the ticket and the photo. Should've took my time, been more careful. Didn't think they'd get here this quick, though. Body must have still been warm when they found her.
© Ian Ayris 2024
The Rise & Demise of Fat Kenny
Fat Kenny was an arsehole. No-one ever doubted that. Not even his own mum. I remember in the Bell and Bucket one time, Bethnal Green, Kenny starts giving it the biggun, getting all intimidating like, just 'cos some kid's bumped his pint. Next thing, his Mum comes over, grabs him by the ear and twists it hard as you like. She kept twisting 'til he apologised to the kid for scaring the shit out of him. Kenny was almost in tears at the end. So was we, it was fuckin' hilarious.
Andy Rivers
Andy Rivers has been a Butlins barman, pretend chippie on a Spanish construction site, coach holiday rep, mobile sandwich salesman and outdoor traffic cone washer to name but a few of his eclectic 'career' choices. Originally from Byker in Newcastle he now lives on the Yorkshire coast where, as well as following Newcastle United around the country, he p…
Great read.