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Or is that the Mafia?
Uh…
Hold on a sec…
Did everybody notorious always end up getting wasted?
Couldn’t you be something plain and simple like a notorious doctor (if you hadn’t killed a patient? What about the bloke who created the first test-tube baby? Did he qualify?)? A notorious priest (if you hadn’t messed with a choirboy)? Could you be a notorious…a notorious sweetheart? Yes?
No. It didn’t sound right. A notorious flirt, maybe.
Kelly frowned and tucked in her skirt so the wind wouldn’t lift it and show off her thighs. It was a little short –
Should’a thought of that
– and the fabric was rather flimsy (for something supposedly military
– although she’d never yet seen anyone wearing a mini-skirt in a situation of mortal combat. Except for Lara Croft –
Tank Girl
That pretty cow in Alias…
– and she always did okay).
Kelly was sitting on a wall outside the Elwick Road Villas. It was a high wall facing a main road in Ashford’s town centre. Her brother, Jason, had taught her how to climb it (before they’d put him away. Joyriding. His thirteenth formal offence –
Aw…
Unlucky for some, eh?).
Jason always knew the best route and the shortest cut (it was a fancy wall, built from some kind of rock –
Limestone?
Granite?
– there were bits where you could find a hand-hold and a foot-hold. Where you could pull yourself up).
Kelly took another bite of her celery. A car honked its horn at her. She didn’t look towards it, merely raised her middle finger –
You twat
– and pulled her hood down lower.
Yeah. Notorious slut –
Stop thinkin’ about it
Jason was her middle brother. Jason Broad. Twenty-one last Thursday. Inside for three years solid. Served eight months already. Father of four (two different mothers). At school Billy Sloane – Sloaney – had called him queer; Jase broke his arm in three different places (the canteen, the corridor, the playing fields) and no one – but no one – could ever seriously question his masculinity after that.
Had a heart of gold. He really did. Always took care of her (once shat on the bonnet of the car of a teacher she hated –
Jap car –
Hyundai –
Mr Whitechapel –
Fuckin’ Northerner).
Jason was loyal –
Bottom line
– and you couldn’t put a price on loyalty (as her dad always used to say –
Before he ran off to Oldham with the daughter of that pig who ran the chippie…
To get the police involved!
She was sixteen next birthday – and a slag – everybody knew it
The whole family had been barred from the shop, after –
Dad’s legacy –
I mean we were hurtin’ too, weren’t we?
No decent chippie within a 2-mile radius…
– until Jason finally put the wind up them, and they moved to Derby.
The new people were definitely much better – better batter, her mum said; crispier. And they were cheaper –
Didn’t have no teenage kids –
Not that it really mattered any more, now Dad was out of the picture).
Nope. You couldn’t put a price on loyalty. Kelly cleared her throat (the celery was rather stringy) –
I’ll say as much to Beede when the bugger finally gets here…
‘Excuse me.’
Kelly frowned.
‘Excuse me.’
She glanced up. A young woman was standing to her left, next to the entrance gate. She looked vaguely familiar.
‘What?’
‘Are these your dogs?’
The woman indicated, haughtily, towards two large lurchers which were collapsed on the pavement directly in front of her. Kelly gazed at the two dogs, blankly.
‘Nope,’ she eventually volunteered, ‘strictly speakin’ they’re my dad’s.’
She smirked as she spoke (perhaps a little provocatively). The woman didn’t smile back. She was youngish –
ish
– and quite pretty. Black, with scruffy, nappy, mid-length hair (pushed back from her face by an alice-band, no earrings, no make-up). Square glasses. Arty frames. Dressed like a virgin –
Or Tracy fuckin’ Chapman
Corduroy jacket, grey polo-neck…
Jeans by fuckin’ Pepe or something
Kelly coolly surveyed her body –
Hmmn…
Junk in her trunk
But no spare tyre
The woman scowled. ‘Well could you get them to move for me?’ ‘Why?’ Kelly shot back. ‘You too good to step over ‘em?’
The woman placed her hands on to her hips (Yup. She was class – smart but bolshy – and Kelly could respect that). ‘Of course not,’ she snapped, ‘I just don’t want to stand on them.’
‘They gets stood on all the time at home, mate,’ Kelly dead panned, ‘so don’t you worry yourself, okay?’
She turned her head and gazed up the road. Counted to three. Over the sound of the traffic she could hear one of the dogs growling. Yeah. Right on cue. That was Bud.
‘Excuse me.’
Kelly didn’t turn back straight away.
‘Excuse me.’
She turned and mugged surprise. ‘Man, you still there?’
‘One of your dogs just growled at me.’
‘No!’ Kelly gasped, throwing up her hands in mock-alarm (then plunging them straight back down again as she wobbled on the wall).
‘Did he really?’
‘Yeah. He did. And I’m in no mood for getting bitten, so would you ask them to sodding move, please?’
On ‘move’ Kelly threw her celery over her shoulder (finally engaging fully), pushed her hood back and pointed emphatically. ‘You know what kind of an animal that is?’
The woman folded her arms, boredly. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Well tell me.’
‘It’s a lurcher.’
Kelly nodded. ‘That’s it. A Long Dog. A workin’ dog. My dad used to go coursin’ with ‘em down on the Marshes…’
The woman looked disapproving (but only mildly). Kelly shrugged. ‘Not any more, though. We got five of ‘em at home altogether. My dad’s up in Oldham. My poor mum has to look after ‘em. Costs her a small fuckin’ fortune, it does.’
The woman surveyed the animals, coldly. ‘Well it’s pretty hard to see what she’s spending her money on.’
Kelly straightened her back –
Hoity!
– ‘It’s just old age as makes their ribs stand up like that,’ she explained patiently. ‘Soon as they eat anythin’ they shit it right out again. Only thing different is it ain’t in a can.’
As if on cue, one of the lurchers stood up, stretched stiffly, tottered (Kelly’s rival snorted, under her breath), farted (she winced), put its nose to the pavement, located a scent, and staggered off in pursuit of it. The woman immediately took her chance; leaned boldly across the second animal and shoved the gate – the second dog didn’t object – but the gate was locked.
‘Bollocks.’
Kelly’s eyebrows rose –
Get her
‘So what the hell,’ she asked smugly, ‘d’you think I’m sittin’ up here for?’
The woman didn’t answer. She pressed the intercom.
Kelly sighed, piously. ‘Intercom’s broke. They’re fixin’ it. That’s why the gates are locked.’
She pressed it again, anyway.
‘If you wanna get in you’ll need a key.’
Without warning, the woman kicked out her right foot and booted the wall with it. ‘I’m meant to be visiting somebody,’ she snarled. Then she winced as her toe registered the full impact of the attack.
‘Feel better now?’ Kelly asked, plainly delighted by this flagrant loss of composure.
The woman half-smiled to herself (embarrassed – but she was cute when she smiled). ‘No. I don’t, actually.’
The smile gradually expanded into an apologetic smirk.
