‘Is Helmet comin’?’ I ask. God, I hope not, cuz I want the main part.

  ‘He’s away seein’ his Ma on his holidays,’ Sheila says. I haven’t seen him about for ages. Normally I would hate him cuz he can afford a holiday, but I actually feel sorry for him cuz after they’ve seen me act he’ll never get another part again.

  I step onto the stage. A cold, tingly wave makes its way up my legs and arms. This feels right. This is where I belong. I hear someone come in. Briege. With a smile on her face that I don’t like. Briege’s Ma appears behind, her arms folded over her apron like she’s in Coronation Street. A huge man fills the doorway.

  My tongue has turned into a sponge suckin’ all the wet out of my mouth. My heart goes like a dinger.

  ‘What’s yer name, son?’ the big man says, in a gravelly voice, the way Da sounds with a hangover after smokin’ 200 Park Drive.

  Can’t answer. Systems down. Briege and her henchwomen stand with their arms folded, starin’ at me with big smiles. I should have known.

  ‘Girls, it’s time for ye’s to leave.’ The man sits at the back where I sat to watch the play.

  ‘Can I not stay?’ Briege asks her Ma who looks at the man.

  ‘This is not a game, love. Off ye go now,’ he says.

  It’s not a play. It’s not a game. What is it? Somethin’ very, very bad.

  Briege leads the girls out. At the door, she gives me a smile on only one side of her mouth, like that Charleen in Dallas.

  ‘Stay close and let me know if anyone comes,’ says Briege’s Ma, closin’ the door. She stands beside the man. They both stare at me. I shuffle to the edge of the stage.

  ‘Where are ye goin’?’ the man says. ‘Stay where ye are.’

  I stop dead.

  ‘Right, now,’ says Briege’s Ma. ‘Tell the man what ye shouted all over the street.’

  A sound happens in my throat. If my Ma was here . . .

  ‘Tell the man!’ she shouts.

  My lips open. ‘I . . .’ is all that comes out. I can feel a wave goin’ down me now. My head emptyin’, my chest, arms, legs. I could faint on stage. I’d be good at it.

  ‘What’s yer name, son?’ says he.

  I still can’t speak.

  ‘Tell me yer name!’ he shouts.

  ‘His name’s Mickey Donnelly,’ Briege’s Ma says.

  ‘Paddy Donnelly’s brother?’ says he.

  Oh no! Every time I met a new teacher at school I’d hear that. Followed by hope you’re nothing like him.

  ‘Yes,’ I croak. I clear my throat with a cough. I could pretend I’ve got TB.

  ‘D’ye know who I am?’ says he.

  ‘No, Mister,’ says me.

  ‘Do ye know why I’m here?’

  ‘No, Mister.’

  ‘Now, we’ve been tol’ ye’ve been actin’ the big lad . . .’ says he.

  Me! I can’t believe that someone thinks I’m that good at it. I’ve only been rehearsin’.

  ‘A Ginny-Ann more like . . .’ says Briege’s Ma. She shouldn’t be allowed to say that. It’s not fair.

  ‘Who do you know in the IRA?’ says he.

  ‘I . . .’ Wait, is this a test? Are they seein’ if I loose talk? ‘No, Mister, sure I don’t even know anybody who’s in the IRA,’ says me.

  ‘Ye know who’s in jail but, don’t ye?’ says the Briege’s Ma.

  ‘No, I don’t even know anybody in jail,’ says me.

  ‘And ye didn’t shout all over the street in front of everyone that my husband was in prison for stealin’ sausages?’ she says.

  I look down at my feet. All I can do is wait for this to be over.

  ‘Well?’ says he.

  ‘Yes, Mister,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t ye realise that ye could get into serious trouble for talkin’ out of turn?’ he says.

  ‘Who told you that anyway? About the sausages?’ she asks.

  ‘About the IRA. Did ye hear it in the street?’ he asks.

  ‘Or did ye hear it in yer house?’ Briege’s Ma says.

  I always thought I’d be brilliant if I was ever interrogated. That I could be a hero.

  ‘D’you hear me talkin’ to you?’ says he.

  Say nothin’, Mickey.

  A long silence.

  ‘Mr McAnally is a soldier,’ says he. ‘A man who has fought hard for his country and who’s sittin’ in jail for it. And, for your information, Mr McAnally is in jail for robbin’ that factory cuz he was sent there by the Irish Republican Army,’ says the man.

  They wanted him to steal sausages? Why? Were they hungry? And could they not just buy them from the butcher’s like everybody else? There’s no way I’m ever gonna join the IRA if that’s the kinda missions you get sent on.

  ‘Now, son, this is how it works. The first time we have to talk to you, it’s a wee chat, like this. The next time we’ll come to your door and it’ll get serious. Do ye understand what I’m sayin’?’

  They call it a community beatin’.

  ‘Yes, Mister,’ I say.

  ‘Just keep your mouth shut in future. Remember that. Don’t ever have me callin’ you in again. Do ye understand?’ says he.

  ‘I won’t, I promise,’ says me.

  The Man stands up and goes to Briege’s Ma. ‘OK, Mrs McAnally, anymore trouble, ye come straight to me,’ says he to her and heads out.

  ‘Is that it?’ she says after him, ragin’. She stabs her finger at me. ‘You tell yer Ma to watch her mouth too or she’ll be next.’ The door slams behind her.

  The door opens again. The room fills up with people, talkin’, gettin’ out their sweets, all in great form.

  ‘Yes, Mickey Donnelly’s in it. He’s the Explorer. He wrote it himself. The queue’s right round the street. Everybody’s dying to see him,’ says Sue Ellen from Dallas.

  ‘I paid £100 for my ticket,’ says Pamela Ewing.

  ‘That’s nothing, I paid £200!’ says JR.

  ‘I paid £1,000,’ says Bette Davis. ‘It’ll be worth every penny to even be in the same room as such a great talent.’

  They’re all really famous actors. John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John. Wonder Woman, the Bionic Man, the Bionic Woman, Judy Garland and Toto. I’ll have to tell Judy she’s not allowed to bring dogs in. Toto changes into Killer. Judy Garland is lookin’ after Killer in Heaven. The lights go down. Everyone goes quiet. Spotlight on me.

  ‘Thank you all for comin’. It’s so wonderful to look at this audience and see so many of my dear, dear, close friends.’ Doris Day blows a kiss. I catch it and slap it on my cheek. ‘This story is very special to me. I wrote it last night and I was doin’ changes til the wee hours.’

  Rustlin’ and whispers.

  ‘Thank you.’ I bow. A huge round of applause and then silence. You could hear a Black Jack bein’ unwrapped.

  I – Explorer – walk in the big wind. Hailstones the size of gobstoppers. I fall to the ground, reach out to the audience, like Helmet Head did but much better. Bette Davis reaches out to me. My actin’, so amazingly brill, she thinks it’s real. I collapse. Death by enormous hail. I juke up. I see a tear roll from Olivia Newton-John’s left eye.

  The Dolls, clumpin’ towards me, wake me up. They grab me, holdin’ down my arms and legs. Queen Briege of the Dolls stands over me. Her head Exorcists round and instead of the back of her head, it’s her Ma’s face. She leans forward to eat me, her head turnin’, the audience gasps. Wind blows the curtains lettin’ light shine through the windows onto her and the Dolls. They let go of me and put their funny hands over their eyes. They can’t stand the light.

  I know what they are. I know what to do. I grab my hatchet from my belt and chop Queen Briege in her chest and her ribs split like sticks. She screams and the Dolls scream too. Smoke comes from the Queen’s mouth, and nose, and ears. She sizzles. She melts, like the Wicked Witch of the West. I look round at Judy and wink – she knows what I’m goin’ through. The Dolls melt too cuz they can’t survive without her. All of them disappear, leavin’ just their clothes.

  Martine comes runnin’ out from behind the counter in a nun’s outfit like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. ‘Mickey, oh my God, Mickey. You’re alive.’ She raises her hands to Heaven. ‘Thank you, Jesus.’

  Martine rips off her habit. Underneath she’s wearin’ the dress Sandy wears in Grease when she turns into a dirty bitch.

  ‘Mickey, I can’t go on as a nun any longer. I love you. And I know God won’t mind me leavin’ the convent, cuz I know now that God has put me on this Earth for one thing and one thing only. And that’s to give all my love to you.’

  She little kisses me.

  ‘Enough of these little kid kisses,’ I say.’ There’s somethin’ I wanna show you, Martine.’

  I grab her and lumber the face right off her. The light fades to black. The audience are on their feet shoutin’, cheerin’, cryin’ and clappin’. ‘More!’ they shout. ‘More!’ But we just keep on lumberin’. Even after the lights come back on. I push Martine off me. I have my audience to think of. I stand before them. Martine looks like she’s goin’ to faint.

  ‘Thank you. Thank you all so much,’ I say. I take Martine’s hand and pull her in front of me, so she can get some applause. But she doesn’t look at the audience. She can’t keep her eyes off me.

  Briege is at the door. ‘There’s definitely somethin’ wrong with you,’ she says. ‘Get out and never come back. You’ll never get in here again.’

  I walk scundered to the door. Outside, I hear her shout behind me, ‘And your Da isn’t in America. My Ma saw him yesterday at the bookie’s.’ I feel sick. ‘So you’re not goin’ to America. But I am. I’m gettin’ sponsored because my Da’s in jail for his country.’

  I can’t say anythin’. She’s won me. Forever. I can never win that back.

  18

  ‘IS THAT IT?’ says Martine, turnin’ her nose up, lyin’ back on the grass.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, lookin’ across to the mountains. ‘Have you been up to Cave Hill? The view is amazin’. And you can watch the boats. They go all the way to America. I’m goin’ to go there one day. Get out of Ardoyne forever.’ I want to take her with me.

  ‘Why do you want to do that?’ says she.

  Can she really mean that? I look at her. The longer I stare at her face the more different she looks. Maybe cuz I’ve never been with her this long. She’s still gorgeous but not her.

  ‘Show me again,’ she says.

  I roll on top of her, close my eyes and go in, mouth open, tongue out. Her lips are really soft so I’m really gentle. Her tongue, slimy and horrible. It doesn’t feel any nicer than lumberin’ Teresa McAllister, except in my head.

  She breaks off. ‘You’re not gettin’ hard.’

  I near swallow my tongue. My Martine isn’t like that.

  ‘I mustn’t be doin’ it right,’ she says.

  The poor thing. She’s just worried about what I think. ‘You have to keep doin’ it,’ I say. ‘Once more and I bet you I will.’

  I go for it again. I lumber her a bit harder this time. Not even a semi. I open my eyes to see her. That feels better. She opens hers. I close mine, scundered. I lean off her a bit cuz I don’t want her to feel nothin’s happenin’. I see Girl’s World in my brain TV. And me kissin’ it. There’s a wee throb down there. I think of the Girl’s World cool, plastic lips. Tiny hard lips. No slime. No tongues. No weirdness.

  A wee twitchin’. ‘Look.’ I roll off and press my shorts tight over my hardner to show her.

  ‘I did it right,’ says she. ‘Thanks, Mickey.’ She kisses my cheek.

  ‘So, will we go and tell everybody?’ I say.

  ‘What?’ she says with a scrunchie face.

  ‘Not that we were lumberin’,’ I laugh. ‘I mean, that we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.’

  ‘You can’t tell anyone we did this. You promised.’ She looks scared.

  ‘I won’t. God, I wouldn’t do that,’ says me. ‘Are we goin’ out in secret?’ That could be cool. But I’d rather everybody knew so they’d be dead jealous and stop callin’ me names.

  ‘No, Mickey.’ She shakes her head and stands up, brushin’ the grass from her dress. ‘We’re not goin’ out.’

  ‘But . . .why?’

  ‘You know why. How could we? Nobody likes you, Mickey. And the way you get on like a wee girl. Are you gay, Mickey? I won’t tell anyone.’

  My heart’s bein’ hit with a hammer. How could she say that to me?

  ‘I have to go. Remember your promise.’ She runs down the hill.

  I sit up. I can’t think of anything to say. Did she . . .? She’s a user. I hate her. ‘I didn’t even like it,’ I shout, as she crawls through the fence. ‘And there’s more I haven’t even told you!’ She runs down the Bray. I thought she was different, but she’s just like everybody else. I hate her. I hate them all.

  I kick the grass. Stub my foot in to bring up the dirt. I look up at those bloody mountains. I’m goin’ to run. Run til I get to them. And then run up them. And . . . and run over them and I’m going wherever it is that’s on the other side. Out of here and away from them all forever. And I’m never comin’ back.

  I run. Double speed. Down the hill. Bang into the fence and through.

  Triple speed. 400 billion, trillion miles per hour . . . per minute . . . per second.

  At the top of the Bray. I look down the gigantic, deep slope.

  Will I do the run of certain death?

  Yes.

  Let’s see you try, gay boy!

  I’m not bloody gay. I will run down it. Then you’ll see. You wouldn’t run down there if you weren’t a real boy.

  I run down that hill like someone not scared. Like an Ardoyne big man. Yeah.

  Faster, faster! Fly, ye little fairy.

  Shit! I can’t keep up with my legs.

  ‘Come in Legs, are you receivin’ me? Over.’

  ‘Brain is that you? This is Legs, you’re breakin’ up . . .’

  My legs aren’t gettin’ the message. I can’t control them.

  ‘We’ve lost him, says Mind Control HQ.

  I lose control and slow motion kicks in. I am Steve Austin.

  Crash! I hit the ground. I feel nothin’. And again. Still nothin’. I’m the bouncin’ bomb, like in that movie. I hit the ground again. This time it connects with my knee and I feel it. I hear somethin’ crunch. Tinglin’ all over my body.

  Roll, roll, roll the gay, gently down the Bray.

  Dead stop. Stop dead. Dead. How many lives do you get?

  Mickey Donnelly – a boy barely alive. But we can rebuild him. We have the technology to make the world’s first Bionic Boy.

  My T-shirt is ripped. My shorts are piggin’ dirty. My elbows and knees are scratched and bleedin’. I can’t feel my lips and my head hurts.

  Someone walks down from the Eggy. I don’t want them to see me. I try to get up. I can’t hold my knees straight. Everythin’ hurts. A girl is lookin’ at me. I try to run, but my knees won’t let me. They keep givin’ way so I’m runnin’ like Egor.

  You rang, Master?

  ‘Are you alright, Mickey?’ It’s Teresa McAllister. On her way from Glue World.

  I hobble off through the back entry of Havana Street.

  My T-shirt’s ripped – my American flag T-shirt! My do-you-for-the-whole-summer-holidays T-shirt. Ma’s gonna kill me. She’ll murder me, then murder me again. It’s the best T-shirt I’ve ever had in my entire life. The one that makes me look like a big boy. The one that makes people jealous of me.

  Nobody wants to be your friend, Mickey.

  All the boys and girls are playin’ in the waste ground as I come out of the entry. They can see me cryin’. Evil Briege and User Martine.

  ‘Mammy!’ Even though I know she’s at work I call her anyway. I hear laughin’.

  ‘Mammy!’ I get to our big door. It’s closed. Why’s our door closed? It’s never closed. Everythin’s against me. I bang and bang. It opens. Measles.

  ‘Mammy!’ I scream into the livin’ room.

  ‘Oh Holy Mother of God!’ Ma jumps from the chair.

  ‘Mammy, you’re here.’ Thank you, God. A miracle.

  ‘Oh Holy Christ, look at him. Paddy!’ shouts Ma.

  ‘Whaddye want me to do?’ Paddy looks out from the kitchen then goes back in. I fall onto the floor cryin’.

  ‘Mammy, Mammy,’ I cry. Ma holds me. All she keeps sayin’ is ‘What happened? What happened?’

  Wee Maggie starts cryin’.

  ‘Look at my good T-Shirt, Mammy, it’s all ripped.’

  ‘Who cares about your T-Shirt?’

  ‘I do, Mammy. It’s for the summer, Mammy.’

  ‘But sure the summer’s over, son. You’ve school next week.’

  ‘Next week?’ Oh God. ‘Don’t make me go, Mammy, please! Please! I can’t go to St. Gabriel’s.’

  ‘Look at his hands. What did you fall on? Wood?’ says Ma.

  ‘The Bray,’ I cry.

  ‘But your hands. Jesus, Mickey, son.’ Ma starts to cry.

  I hide my hands behind my back.

  ‘Oh Mary,’ cries Ma, ‘take him into the kitchen quick, I can’t . . .’

  I hop into the kitchen and see Paddy out in the yard puttin’ somethin’ in Killer’s box. Again! I can’t believe it. I’m goin’ to tell Ma. Remember the IRA man warned you, Mickey. Yeah, but Paddy wouldn’t hand me into the IRA. Would he?

  ‘Here, Mickey, sit down here,’ says Measles.

  ‘Is it really bad?’ I ask.

  ‘You’ll be alright,’ says she.

  Paddy comes in with a look of utter disgust on his face. ‘Cryin’ like a wee girl.’

  I hate him. He’s the worst of them all. ‘So, what are you?’ I shout. Don’t Mickey! Don’t! ‘You’re just a big murderer.’

  Freeze. I’m in the doorway of the kitchen. The only thing movin’ is Ma’s eyes between me and Paddy.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22