THE IMAGES

MONDAY DECEMBER 6th 1976
DANBRAY - ALL SAINTS SCHOOL : LUNCHTIME
The ‘Monitor Room’ was an old decrepit Latin Classroom - or was once at any rate. It had been generously supplied to the All Saints School Monitors only when they threatened to go on strike and withdraw their essential services such as Lunch Duty, Corridor Patrol and all the other trivialities the teaching staff were either loathe to undertake or too understaffed to maintain. It was rather small. dark and near functionless as a classroom due to the growing sizes of classes within the ever expanding school populace which was currently bordering around 1,300 – that and the fact that Latin was no longer the essential foundation course for language it had been twenty years ago. The room contained one large table with drawers and one smaller one without, a couple of broken desks and a half dozen antique chairs that Tom Brown might have recognised from his schooldays. The Monitors and Student Council vainly tried to get better basic facilities, ever hopeful and always unfulfilled.
The room itself was adorned with a mass of posters brought in to make the cracks on the walls look more tolerable. Mott the Hoople, Rod Stewart, Bowie, Wishbone Ash. Genesis, Black Sabbath, Queen, The Rolling Stones and even the latest addition, The Sex Pistols, made the room look just a little more palatable, but only a little.
To the left of the door three long haired sixth formers, McHart, Tausner and Mainse, were jamming some obscure Eric Clapton track on Fender and Gibson acoustics, the fringe benefits of well off parents who would sooner invest money than time on their children. Harris nodded to them as he entered, mentally hating the note for note way they adhered to their blues, he doubted that Blind Lemon Mudlark would’ve approved. They were all decent enough guys and good guitarists to a man but they never played their own stuff, it was always someone else’s songs that were faithfully reproduced. Harris just didn’t get that.
Two large windows faced the door, composed of a mass of small framed glass panels about a foot square. On the wall to the right there hung a well used dart board and at the bottom of it lay a small mountain range of plaster where the less expert dartsmen had completely missed the board. Another mound lay at the bottom of a Marie Osmond poster, but this was because the darts had accurately scored, leaving a sizeable speckled hole between her legs. The room was dull, invariably cold and had many cracked windows, but was still one of the most pleasant rooms in the school.
There were about ten people in the old classroom, mainly just chatting to one another, aimlessly milling about or listening adoringly to the guitar squad. Sto sat crossed legged on the large old table reading last week’s ‘Melody Maker’ whose front page advertised an exclusive interview with Rod Stewart and why he was conquering America. It was not an unusual way for Richard Storey to be found – he was always in the room before anyone else and always filling in time aimlessly.
On seeing Jonn and Dave enter he grinned like someone cognitively impaired, inconsiderately tossed the music paper into the air as if dismissing it as a piece of useless shit, and shuffled off the table. The three exchanged mindless greetings with one another, grunting like troglodytes and jarring each other for no significant reason. No one else paid too much attention, they simply tried to carry on with whatever they were doing. It was a pretty typical lunchtime - bored and cold on the inside, while outside it was dull and wet.
Richard Storey, ‘Sto’ to his friends, was an extremely likeable and outgoing character who was inclined to the unconventional side of life. It seemed that he was born out of time, he should have been young during the height of the psychedelic era in the late sixties when his laid back cool and neo-hippie idealism would have truly been in vogue. Sto was drifting towards nineteen and the oldest of the five friends, coming over to Danbray from Edinburgh at the start of third year. He was well built and above medium height with long, bushy fair hair and enormous sideburns like a Las Vegas Elvis, adding years to his youthful gait. His face was pleasantly and warmly constructed – with the most prominent visual feature being his quasi ‘SS Officer’, octagonal glasses which seemed to be an intrinsic part of him, that and his overbite orientated teeth. Sto's eyes were a deep blue, spaced neatly beneath thick, near blonde, eyebrows. By nature Sto appeared to be a happy and generally carefree type of person – most of the time at any rate.
Picking up a few of the blue darts from the table, Harris threw them towards the dartboard. Striking the outer bull he spoke to Sto without turning round.
"When did you get out your bed then, sonny?"
"About half an hour ago, after Play School and all that had been on. I was bloody exhausted."
Dave sniggered at Sto, "That's cause you can't handle your booze!"
"Up yours, Dave, you Pratt. I could handle more than you in my sleep never mind anything else. Anyway, it wasn't because of booze that I was exhausted… Clare puts too much strain on me. I think she's developing genuine nymphomaniac tendencies." Sto said as he fell into a mindless heap of laughter at his own witticism.
The ex-Brummie smirked in response, “Don’t you think there’s something wrong with boasting about having sex with your mother, Sto?”
“Ha ha, very amusing… but it’d really worry me if it was with your mother, Bozo!”
Harris sniggered at the pair.
Dave simply shook his head at Storey’s response, mentally reflecting that even if his mother went blind, deaf and dumb, she’d still copulate with a donkey before choosing Sto,
"You heard anything from Rosser?" Dave asked.
Sto shook his head. "Zero. It'd be easier to communicate with the dead!"
"There's not much difference at the best of times!" Harris suggested cheerfully.
"He's up to something, I'm telling you!" Sto interjected. "Rosser's been off the radar for too long, he's found some hunky guy to hump!"
Dave shook his head and Harris turned round with an incredulous look as he spoke.
"You ever think you might just be a bit homophobic, Sport?"
"No, never thought about it. I just don't like the fact that my friends are all a bunch of botty bashing faggots!"
"You can judge a man by the company he keeps, Sto!"
"Are you implying I'm a bender?"
"If it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck… ergo, etcetera!"
Sto considered the statement. "Are you asking me out, Harris?"
Harris laughed. "Listen, Sport, even if I ever went butter side down I could do better than you, Charlie Chimp - get a fucking shave!"
Dave elbowed Sto, "Yeah and start on your back, anybody who can do a middle parting on their spine needs to get a trim!"
"Spin!" Sto retorted flicking a finger into the air. "Mummy bought you your first razor yet, Baby-face?"
Harris and Macklin laughed at Sto's obvious discomfort.
"And so the pain begins once more!" Harris stated.
With admirable discretion, Dave merely terminated the lunchtime slag-fest and looked round the shabby room with distaste, attempted to sit on one of the feeble seats then declined in favour of taking his chances on the small flimsy table. Picking up an old copy of ‘The Sun’ he lost interest in the proceedings and became engrossed in the cheap scandals and copious breasts which always seemed to grace the daily retards rag.
Bored with the darts, Harris turned to Sto.
"So, Sto, do you fancy a trip into the heart of darkness?"
"We're going to see Joseph Conrad?" he deliberately misinterpreted.
"You know, Sto, one day you're going to be unable to stop getting simple things like this wrong. You'll end up with a One-One from Oxford at that rate! Rosser, visiting, heart of darkness, Bellstree, alive or dead, us, going to?"
The other pulled at his bushy sideburns in contemplation, assessing whether or not to go to Chemistry later. As usual, his non-academic side won and he tacitly surrendered to Harris's suggestion.
"Yeah, sure, you just had to be clear and concise like that - I get it now!"
Dave rolled his eyes in profound pity. "Include me out, I can't miss any more of my exciting classes!"
Sto and Jonn looked at one another and nodded.
"Newspeak for… I'm going to meet Pam later at Hermitage lunchtime and after school - kissy kissy kiss kiss!" Harris laughed.
Dave merely smiled patiently and ignored the implication, his brows still knitted in concentration from reading the paper. Anyway, all of them knew meeting a girl for lunch or visiting Rosser was an absolute no-brainer.
"Well," Harris stated, "not much point in spending any more time here… we're just distracting Macklin from mentally taping Pam's head onto ‘Page Three’ girls. We shall bid you adieu, Monsieur Dave!"
Sto nodded, standing like an accident waiting to happen. "Adieu!"
Dave and Jonn looked to one another and rolled their eyes like the parents of a simple-minded Goit as they gazed at Storey.
"Bye bye!" Dave smiled cheerfully.
Sto and Harris left the cold room and stepped into the even colder corridor leaving Dave to his own Pamela orientated devices for the rest of the day.

The rain fell half heartedly that afternoon as they walked slowly to Bill's house, some three miles from the school, far over the river. The two made a curious sight as they wandered along the road towards Bill's homeland, for they seemed to contrast so greatly despite being about the same height. Harris appearing tall and thinly erect in the brown duffel coat which adhered tightly to his slim frame compared to Sto's adopted slouch and stagger that his oversized parka merely enhanced. They both seemed even more out of place as they entered Bellstree and got nearer to Bill's house.
The area itself was less than desirable and generally the housing looked as though it was in need of repair even if it didn’t. It was not purely the fact that the entire area appeared to be rundown which aroused an unappealing response in them, it was more that this was another of the hot-zones where they were active targets of unpopularity for the local youth populace. Bellstree wasn't really just a seedy area, it was a depressing and deprived one, apparent even to those visiting it for the first time. The most prominent feature of the housing scheme was the grey drabness of the zone, it pervaded everything even at the height of summer and all other colour was absorbed and consumed by the tomb-like feel of the entire area. The 1950’s houses were set closely together and their shadows overlapped each other, restricting the sunlight to a regulated minimum. Sporadically, sprayed on many walls, were the mindless gang slogans and symbols of the 'Chimes', local hoods who lived in and terrorised the area. The good, the bad and the ugly were here - all with little free choice in their movements since they were now trapped within the expanding frames of their very own self-inflicted system.
Bellstree was a cold and morbid looking housing scheme that was probably once a benevolent county planner's great pipe dream which went wrong simply because anyone who designs these ghettos has never lived in one. It was a living tragedy since its' style and reasoning were obsolete long before construction was begun. But like anywhere else, there was life in the urban zone and perhaps an occasional sense of community not to be found in any of the high rise flat systems which now spanned most of the country in an attempt to become the dominant strain. There was still this sense of belonging which no Tin God planner could rationally explain in his scheme of progress, and still the sense of proportion which the common man could just about grasp in the ghetto estate. Never the less, Harris still felt uneasy in the area and didn't like coming here much – they all had too many enemies on the Bellstree estate.

The pair passed their time gibbering about musical trivia as they walked towards the small cul-de-sac where Bill lived, they could see up ahead the little shopping centre that served this part of Bellstree. On the other side of the street they passed a small, corner shop which was once someone’s pride and joy but was now a minimum investment business that regularly changed hands as each owner moved onward and upward to more salubrious venues. As they did, a tall, pretty, long legged, blonde haired girl appeared from out of the doorway of the shop carrying a large plastic carrier bag. She was about five feet nine or so with bright, natural blonde hair which bounced freely as she ran along the road to avoid getting too wet. Her flimsy white cheesecloth shirt was held fast against the smooth curve of her body, rain sinking into it and plastering it to her. Her short, tiered skirt danced from one side to another as she shook her hips running for the safety of her nearby doorway. Unexpectedly she looked across at the two boys on the other side of the road, waved briefly and then disappeared into the calm of her house.
Sto lunged across to the house in mock lust, obviously impressed, then faced Harris with an unspoken but obvious question. Harris's slight grin spread across his face as he watched Sto burn with curiosity.
"Because we're just friends, that's why!" Harris patiently intoned. "Don't any of you ever get tired of the same question?"
"No - Tell me again!"
"She's over eighteen, called Christene, Michelle’s best friend, a non-native, lives here with her mother since the parents divorce some three years ago, works in ‘Pattersons’ the chemists on the High Street, likes sophisticated men and hates bad manners, favourite colour is black and you’ve been to at least half a dozen parties that she’s been at!" said Harris in the monotone, computer readout voice which he occasionally adopted.
"Shit, she's really crisp! I just don’t get why you’re not all over that? You really keep that whole thing too quiet. Sneaky! Very nice! Very, very nice… Listen, since you’re too iron hoof to bother with her, if she's ever looking for a handsome guy…" Sto said with a tightly spread grin.
"Other than me, who do you know fits that description? Anyway, she seems to be a little guy-shy these days!”
“Oh, man… don’t tell me she’s started batting for the other team – because that would be such a waste! She’s not nailing Michelle, is she? Although that would be better than the last Ali fight, I’d love ringside seats for that pussyfest.”
“Yeah, that’s you all over the back, Sto. Christene and Michelle doing the do with you as the entire audience, right? Nah, ‘fraid not - it’s not like that anyway. Christene’s just not had a lot of luck over the past couple of years. She was the girl I told you about, the one who had the bother at Stevo’s do.”
"It was Christene? You just said it was some girl that you got your face kicked in for. That was the weekend I was over at Edinburgh, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah – you miss all the good stuff, don’t you, Sto?”
“Hmm,” he replied stroking his stubbled chin with a professorial affectation, “I spent two days of carnal rapture with Clare Mills and you got your arse kicked all over the shop with no sex later… Oh yeah, really wish I’d been you getting all the good stuff that weekend!”
"Uh-huh, you really are a humanitarian underneath that uncaring exterior aren’t you?" said Harris as he fell against Bill's doorway. Sto was nodding and still smirking as he pressed the small blue button above the nameplate with ‘Rosser’ on it.
They heard the sound of Bill's jangling doorbell fade and the squeal of his dog barking in reply. Sto released the button and waited for Bill to answer the door.
"It sounds like 'The Hound of the Basketballs' is awake at any rate." Harris moaned.
"That thing would raise the dead… so there's a reasonable chance that Rosser will get out his coffin and come to the door." the other laughed.
“It’s 50/50, Sport!”
The door opened slowly and Bill stood there resplendent in black cords and grey crew neck jumper. His face broke into a wide smile, obviously pleased to see his friends however unexpectedly.
"Enter, Droogies" he said standing back from the door to let them in.
Bill was the shortest of their crew, a powerfully built youth with an occasional, slight stoop which only became more prominent the more dejected he felt. His head sat squatly at the top of his long, broad neck, running into a tangle of muscular tissue that spread out to his square shoulders. Bill's face just oozed character. It was vaguely rounded and offset with a mop of fuzzy brown, side-parted hair, cut to give his face even more of a defined shape than it already had. The bright steel blue eyes had a hard, vicious tone to them and were predominated by a sharp nose which was made more prominent in comparative contrast to the more curved features of his face. His high cheekbones were significantly counterbalanced by the rounded cheeks and broad jaw that was neatly disguised with long, cropped sideburns. A small but full mouth added a surly look to him and the small cleft chin completed the baleful image. He had a wild and rugged sort of ‘street’, good looks that had drawn many an unwary girl easily into his eager clutches.

They walked along a dim corridor decorated with family photos covering three generations to the warm living room where the big stereogram blared out one of Thin Lizzy's albums, while the figures on the afternoon TV screen acted out their roles in mute silence - unaware that their audience were ignoring the innovative cartoon wit of 'Wait Till Your Father Gets Home'.
It was a large room with two grey couches and three matching armchairs, an old wooden dining table with a white lace cloth spread diagonally across it, a beautiful display cabinet and a large black and white television. The room was immaculately tidy except for the obvious influence of Bill’s debris, and clearly devoid of all of the rest of the Rosser clan as evidenced by the yellow Fender Telecaster beside his chair and the empty beer cans in the bin.
“Nobody home, I take it?” Harris enquired, almost sarcastically.
The host indicated for them to take a seat as he shook his head.
“Nope, Mama and big sis are at work and Dad’s at some ‘Jobsearch’ seminar at the Jobcentre - total fucking waste of time!”
Bill flopped down on the chair near the small booze cabinet and mutely offered them a drink, which Sto readily accepted but Harris declined. Throwing a beer to Sto, Bill sat back in eager anticipation and donned a mindless smile.
"So, what's new then?" he asked. "How's school these days? As good as ever?"
"Yeah, Walls is after your blood," Harris announced.
"Oh, fuck him. I've only been off for two weeks and I'll bet the little turd's threatened to have me thrown out if I don't turn up."
"You should do a mind reading act. Well, let's say he's less than pleased with your attendance. You know what he's like, he’d put the whole world in his register if he could. He probably thinks you're purposely trying to lower his attendance averages so the other teachers will look down on him as a second class citizen. Freud made a whole career out of fuck-ups like him… Freud even uses Walls’ picture as a visual definition for ‘anally retentive’!"
“Our shit-hole school really is a centre of universal love, isn’t it? Tea and sympathy, anyone?” Rosser inquired.
“Oh yeah, Mad Jack was screaming you were missing Football Training and being injured wasn’t a good enough excuse. Hey, don’t look at me that way, I’m just telling you the updates! And you would know this if you hadn’t slipped off the radar screen for the past week or two… hey, it is your fault we’re playing the Blame Game!”
Sto had already almost finished his beer as if it were the only liquid he’d had access to in a month, carelessly flicking the ring pull top across the room before finally engaging in the conversation.
"You’ve been up to something haven’t you? Does it have anything to do with how you really hurt your back? Just strain yourself trying to get off it?" he asked with a wide smirk.
"Very witty, Storey. Actually I pulled my back when Crazy Edith wanted to try a few new hot-lurve positions not featured in your version of the Karma Sutra… which for some fucked up reason seems to feature the Wombles illustrating the text! Do you want me to get some filmed footage of us at it, for you to study later?” Bill smiled triumphantly.
"Quick, Jonn, phone the News of the World, Rosser's giving his sexual confessions. See what they’ll pay for the story. Anybody giving more than a quid gets the whole sordid tale and two life-sized dolls to act out the situation for themselves."
"What a curse jealousy is, Sto! But one day you shall learn to look with scorn upon the sin of envy, my son.”
"I'll be jealous of you when pigs learn to fly, and I don't mean the Ecilops in blue uniforms either!"
He paused for a moment while Bill merely wobbled his head in response.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah - so, how did you do it? I mean, really – because I don’t believe the official line of gang attack!”
"The truth is stranger than fiction… I woke up one morning with a mild hangover, walked to the top of the stairs to go down for breakfast and fell all the way down to the bottom. It was very inconvenient because I'm missing all my lovely lessons."
Sto mimed a crying jag and waited for Bill's retort.
"I’m in some serious bloody discomfort, which I’m sure is merely incidental to Walls but it isn’t doing my sex life any good. What does he want me to do, crawl off my bed and ask for final absolution from him?"
Harris slowly turned from the raven haired beauty gazing up at him from an open copy of Penthouse lying on the floor near Bill and a flicker of irritation crossed his face, "Well, aside from the fact that your house doesn’t have any stairs to fall down… Walls wouldn't give you it. That little spunk-burglar would only be disappointed if you didn't die from a fall like that. Probably thinking it was all a plot to get his hopes up and then destroy his flagging morale. That way it’s one more down and three left to go."
“Used to be five to go before Palmer got smart and left school – whoever thought he was the wisest of us all?” Sto asked rhetorically.
“Dream on frizzy-boy! Little Mhic probably spends as much time avoiding Catweazle Hall’s finger fudging as he does selling records in that blast from the past! School is utter shit but I’d sooner be there than defending my arse in that Record shop day in and day out!” Bill chuckled.
“Homophobe, anyone?” Harris inquired sarcastically.
Sto stood up and helped himself to another beer, looking down at the sick man as he walked past.
"You don’t look very ill, Bill! In fact, I think you look better than normal – such as that is!" he sneered from beneath his glasses.
"Yeah – Total Skiver!" Harris chipped in, looking up momentarily from Bill’s copy of Richard Allen’s ‘Skinhead’ which was folded open at one of the many base sexual encounters that regularly appeared in the violent novel.
"Listen to Laurel and bloody Hardy. I'm scared to insult you two subtly in case it goes right over your heads."
"Chance'd be a fine thing. And who taught you the word ‘subtle’?" Harris replied with a grin.
"Look, I got a serious fucking kicking later the same night as that couple were jumped in the Park. Oh, and did this occur to anyone? We were at the old pond in the Glenleven Park that night too, maybe those cunts were looking for us – whatever was happening, there were two or three big crews roaming that night and they were on the hunt for something. Maybe we were very lucky, even me!" Bill said with irritation. "And on the subject of swinging the lead… I've got doctor's papers and I may as well use them while I can. I doubt I’m missing much and I’m not gonna cripple myself just to hang out in Hell House… and aren’t you two meant to be at PE or something right now? So unless you two have turned into school loving nutters recently, don't tell me you wouldn't do the same thing - so get off my back, eh?”
"Sorehead, we just don’t like sports and that’s our excuse!" Harris laughed at Bill’s unintentional pun while he avoided the empty beer can thrown at him. "But I suppose you're right – I mean, fuck me, the school certainly doesn't use up much of our brain power – it’s no wonder we’re the Bored Generation!”
“You should be writing headlines for the Sun!” Sto suggested helpfully.
“Christ, I literally slept through, well metaphorically slept through physics this morning – that droning whinge about velocity and inertia kept me from actually managing to doze off!” Harris continued.
Bill nodded in emphatic agreement. “Zoonie’s a major dick – he doesn't even try to teach you anything, just stands at the blackboard and talks to himself. So much for that cunt living up to the text-book title ‘Physics is Fun’!”
The other two sceptically laughed at the thought that any of them cared enough to be taught Physics.
“Y’know I sometimes wonder if there's a secret competition to find out who's the most apathetic, the teachers or the pupils.” Sto chipped up.
“Well, they don’t care and we don’t care - so one's as bad as the other. It’s a damn shame we weren’t all left to get on with something more interesting than playing the roles some other wanker’s written for us all. Six whole years wasted and that's all it'll leave in the end – a wasteland! A barren and empty wasteland." Harris muttered with a sad shake of his head.
“A bit like Storey’s mind?” Bill inquired innocently, mentally smiling as his target blanked the jibe.
"Well, there's not much else to do is there? You might as well go to school rather than work in some shitty, minimum wage job. Do you think I'd hang round 'All Saints' if I didn't have to? No fucking way! As soon as I get my Sixth Year Studies and some more Highers, I'm off to Nursing College where at least I'll be interested in what I'm doing. Maybe getting to work at something constructive for a change!” Storey spat with heartfelt contempt.
Bill grinned stupidly and gave a mild laugh, "You'll look sweet in among all the girlie nurses won't you? Do you get to wear the same cleavage flashing uniform, because you’ll need to shave that forest down a bit to pull a Doctor… Nurse Storey!"
"Fuck you! At least I won't be a crawling bastard, Bill, working in some crap factory looking for the nearest arse to lick so I can get on a bit. Will I?”
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Rosser shouted with a suddenly sensitive irritation.
"What do you think it means? It means I think you're an utter brown-noser! You know damn well that you got the School Captain's badge by crawling up Quinn’s arse. Always being there when he turned around, doing anything you could to help him, pulling up all those scum-fucks. So spare me the ‘holier than thou’ shit!”
Bill became mad and embarrassed at once, conscious both of the allegation levelled at him and the insult to his aims.
"So fucking what if I did, at least I got it. Is that a crime? The school stinks but you've got to make the best of it and that's how I do it. I pulled up those creeps because they deserve it – how many times had those cunts jumped you… in or out of school. They were tugged because they deserved it, not to get a stupid Gold Badge. It might not be the Vietnam War but it’s as close as we’re gonna get to one. And, just as a by the way, that’s how I ended up on my fucking back for the last two weeks! How many times have the fuckers jumped you at night again? So you can stick the brown nosing shit right up your arse, Sto - if you don't like it then that's tough, you know what you can do."
"Hey, I don't give a monkey's if you become the fucking Headmaster of the Super-Saints School and end up ‘Teaching the World to Sing’ the Coke advert. You knocked what I wanted to do as though you had the ultimate solution or something. You don't and I don't even fancy what you want – I want to do what I want to do and I don’t need your golden seal of approval!"
Bill opened his mouth and then slowly closed it again, pausing for a few seconds and eyeing Sto with serious study,
"Fuck’s sake, Sto, I’m just taking the piss not looking to get into a debate on who’s got the best future planned! Shit, I'm just edgy sitting around all the time – don’t go fucking wiggy on me, man!"
The other two mocked sobbing but Bill rambled on, ignoring them.
"Yeah, great, but remember this, at least I get what I want and I do not care what I have to do to get it! I need to have some paper when I leave – I don’t want to end up like my Dad, time served and being jammed on the Dole for years because there’s no work for anyone over forty!”
Sto and Harris exchanged a fast glance at one another and then nodded non-committaly as an uneasy silence manifested.
“So, do you know who was in the Boot Crew that jumped you?” Harris finally asked Bill as a change of subject.
“I’m sure of Burgess and fuck knows who else, maybe some of the older Chimes crew - and the years out of school haven’t mellowed them any. The fuckers, I never even saw it coming - I thought I was just ambling home on another Saturday night and then whammo! About half a dozen of the bastards jumped out from round the side of Toni’s. All joking aside - I got real lucky, because if the Ecilops hadn’t been hunting for the cunts that jumped that couple, I’d probably have been sharing ICU with that crippled dude today! The town was hoaching with Feds, thank God, and next thing I hear is some Panda zooting down the road - all lights and sirens! Little bastards just bailed before they could do me too much damage! I reckon the Chimes and Hill were going to go head to head in the Park that night and that couple just ran into one or other crew. Fucking evil whoever it was!”
Sto nodded in sympathy. “Well, I can’t imagine you letting that go!”
“No way, boy from Santa Fe – I’ll find them one by one if I have to!”
“Listen, not to diminish your justifiable vendetta psychosis… but, can we stop the Thin Lizzy rock pain for a while? A whole album or even one side of that stuff is three sides too many – you’ll end up playing guitar like that long haired gonk, Gorman at this rate.” Harris complained as he stood hovering about the stereo.
“Sure.” Rosser replied with some sadness.
Disposing of Phil Lynott’s earnest work and putting on another album, Harris returned to his seat and relaxed as 'Pin-Ups’ buzzed into life – it was a crap cover versions album but it was still Bowie and Ronno. Flicking his long dark hair back from his eyes, he gave Bill a cursory glance.
"Well, back to updates. You're missing absolutely nothing good at school anyway. They're still trying to tighten up discipline in the hopes of gaining a good reputation for the school again, two weeks before the Christmas holidays. Demento or what? All to combat the editorials the local rag is putting out dealing with the ongoing vandalism and violence in our school!"
"Although writing off the train to Levenvale does tend to attract a bit of press, admittedly! That was quite an achievement for the dead-heads." Sto laughed.
"And there’s something going on with the Beaks… Big Lyons was yapping to Fanny Furlong the other day, something about a stack of them maybe leaving next term.”
Bill nodded “Well I won’t be hurrying back to school this year, thank you – not until my ‘Death-Wish’ hit list has slimmed down a bit.”
“Can’t say I blame you, dude!” Harris agreed.
“Funny though,” Bill replied. “When you think back to some of the ‘Good Guys’ who were teaching us in First and Second year… they might not have made learning fun but they didn’t make it the bloody torture it is now! I used to think the upper school had it cushy when we were back in George Dunn’s English class."
"The school's probably going to be on its' last legs in no time - I wouldn't fancy being in first or second year now. That would be a real nightmare. Thank God we won’t have to stay there for very much longer." Sto said, draining the second can of its' Tartan contents.
"The thing that gets me is that we go to school supposedly to be educated, to prepare us and mentally equip us for life in the big bad world. But it's just the preparation blueprint for going to work in an office or some other crap job – the last thing any of these walking rectal passages wants is to have some smart bastard who asks questions either in school or in some shitty job. The only way they could make all this shit any worse is compulsory lobotomies so they would be guaranteed to have a generation that didn’t ask ‘why’!” Harris spouted with his hands following in a dismissive gesture to add emphasis to his vitriol.
“Mmmm, didn’t you kind of avoid the whole ‘Private School’ trip to go to ‘All Saints’? I think you’re getting the education concept thing mixed up here! Private Schools, like the one my father Headmasters, have to give you what you pay for – this comprehensive shit is supposed to churn out workers. You know all this, Jonn, why are you always surprised by it?” Sto said as he watched Harris with some interest, because he always had a hard and fast opinion about everything.
“So what? There’s no surprise in that. But getting smart shouldn’t depend on whether your family can afford to send you to some overpriced, mass production factory, should it? What about all the smart kids from shit areas who never get the chance to shine and just end up sucking cock in a crap office run by some fucking Nigel who can’t count to twenty one without getting naked – but he got the job because of the old school tie network. I hate both systems but for different reasons… I just happen to hate the notion of being part of some fee-paying elite more than I hate being an elitist little shit in a stinking Comprehensive!” he replied sincerely but with a twist of wit.
From behind his glasses and with a mischievous twinkle Sto smiled at Harris with a stupid, rapier cut grin, "Very philosophical, next it'll be the relevance of man in contemporary society again!"
"Hell's teeth, that's as good a question as any – is technology by its very definition going to make the common man obsolete within the means of production?" Harris deadpanned, realising he was being more than a little intellectually indulgent again. "And next on BBC2, it’s the ‘Plato and Socrates Show’ with special guest star Groucho Marx and his brothers Karl and Skid!”
The other two grinned unwillingly and just stared at Harris who simply wouldn’t bite at their ‘let’s see if we can make Kid Psycho uncomfortable’ stance. There was an aura of silent tension for a few seconds until Storey stood up and then fell over the table as he found one of his legs had gone to sleep. Harris and Bill looked at each other as if nothing had happened and then began talking as though continuing some conversation they were not in the middle of.
Bill slurped at a stale can of beer and then spoke. "How's Dave getting on with…eh, Pam, isn't it?” he asked casually.
"Nice, Bill, like you don't remember her name. ‘Eh, Pam, isn’t it?’ Shit, the way you were nosing into her admittedly formidable cleavage last time, I'd think you could identify her skin tone at ten paces!"
"Me?" he said innocently, grinning as he reflected on Pam's very noticeable assets.
"Actually, I think he's doing okay. In fact he's probably pawing her little warm body right now as we speak - while I'm stuck looking at your ugly mug! I'm sure that's why he bailed on coming with us on our health visit today!"
"Mack just never picks wisely though, she's serious heartbreak trouble!"
"Maybe, but he was pleased enough at the adulation he received from her the night of Stevo’s party – Pamela was all over Super Dave like a rash, while I was lying with my brains rattling around inside my skull.”
"Mmmm, hurt did it?" Bill asked. "Serves you bloody right for being the big hero!"
"Instead of you being Superman for a change, you mean? We all know which sexy, blonde haired, cutie’s pants you'd desperately like a shot at!"
"Come on, she probably led the guy up the garden path… and in this case literally since that’s where he kicked you around for a while. She was teasing that dickhead all night - if she was drunk enough she'd probably be anybody's" Bill muttered.
"Yeah?” Harris’s face reflected his unpleasant tone. “I heard she knocked you back yet again before I arrived, guess she hadn't had enough to drink!"
“Bowl of milk, boys?” Sto asked as he stood between them putting a halt to the Christene banter and refusing to rub his leg where it hurt from the fall.
Harris and Rosser looked to one another with some tension and then just finally shook their heads - criticism from anyone except ‘Mr Noodle Doodle’ was tolerable, but Sto only had a tenuous grasp on reality at the best of times.
"Hey, stick the other side on, Sto!" Harris ordered, laughing with Bill as his spectacled friend bent forward and almost mechanically obeyed.
"Hey, fuck you! What did your last slave die of?" Sto grunted as he paused just before the stereogram.
"Well, I can tell you this, it certainly wasn't hard work anyway!"
Storey's lips turned down and he flipped the record over, clicked the switch and sat down again.
"Good Boy!" Bill laughed encouraging his human doggy, making Sto silently flip up his 'spin' finger again.
Harris threw a cushion at Bill to get his attention again.
"Right, Mr Rosser, let’s get down to the ugly nitty gritty. What's the real story of what you've been up to. In nearly six years the only time you've gone off the radar for so long is when you're up to something you shouldn’t be. You missed two rehearsals and I know it's not down to playing gigs with Sawbones. Spill it!"
"Nothing, just sitting at home studying!"
Harris and Sto guffawed, shaking their heads and unable to speak.
"What?" Bill asked "Really!"
"Right!" Sto sneered, hardly able to believe Rosser’s face. It almost looked as if he believed he wasn’t lying.
"Oh, very right indeed!" Harris agreed, "So, you're keeping it shut then? Must be something special, something very special maybe… something ultra good?"
"Nothing, honestly!"
Sto looked over to Harris, "That's proof, you know when he says 'honestly' there's a lie coming!"
Harris agreed, eyeing Bill suspiciously. "I smell kitty kat!"
"I think you mean pussy!" Sto corrected.
The other nodded at the vocabulary correction and waited for Bill to spill, but he merely sat with a demented look of innocence.
Harris leaned forward, “I’ve phoned half a dozen times and you’re never in, so that demonstrates for a fact that you’re up to something!”
Sto exchanged a brief glance toward Harris then smiled as Rosser looked blankly and shrugged his shoulders.
A couple of minutes passed in absolute conversational silence until Bill finally held his hands up, "Zero, nothing's going on. End of story, Storey!"
Harris and Sto just shook their heads again, giving up - Rosser was uncharacteristically remaining tight-lipped. Finishing his beer Bill extracted another couple of cans of Tartan, surreptitiously shaking one can before throwing it across to Sto’s eager hands.
“Guess who I saw on Saturday?” Rosser offered as he opened another afternoon beer.
“Jimmy Hoffa? Ted Heath? Jim Morrison?” Harris asked helpfully.
“Not on Saturday!” Bill replied.
“Your boyfriend?” Sto giggled as he tugged the ring pull back unleashing a fountain of froth that cascaded out and over him in a messy white flood.
Bill and Harris fell about helplessly, laughing like drains.
“You utter prick, Rosser!” Sto shouted, “You’re a real dickhead sometimes!”
The other two were incapable of responding, still cackling at their comrade’s misfortune as they watched him angrily wiping the wet patch from his crotch.
“Bladder weakness, more common in the young than statistics indicate.” Harris giggled.
“Fuck you!” the victim retorted.
“Here,” Bill laughed as he threw an old T-shirt to Sto, “clean yourself up – you’re a fucking embarrassment.”
“Sure, I’m gonna wipe the stench of beer away with the smell of your sweaty old top. Thanks for fuck all.” came the reply closely followed by the offending article.
“Just trying to help… ” Bill said almost sincerely before rising to fetch a cloth from the kitchen.
Harris was still shaking his head as the laughter jag faded, spasming again as he watched Sto wipe up without letting go of the can. Inevitably he spilled the contents over himself yet again in tandem with a scream of anger that made the other two fall to the floor laughing.
The indignant one finally cleaned himself up and ignored his friends’ laughter with one of his cynically patronising smiles to thank their consideration. Harris and Rosser exchanged brief glances that made them chuckle again and again but were clearly trying to avoid antagonising the damp creature sitting grumpily on the sofa swilling what was left of the beer.
“So,” Harris began as Bowie’s ‘Where Have All The Good Times Gone?’ hammered out powerfully in the background, “…who did you see on Saturday?”
Bill looked away and replied, “Gerry Simms.”
“Gerry? Where?”
“We were playing the Dial Inn on the Saturday night and Gerry was going into the Odeon with another couple of OTC types.”
Harris mused for a moment and said nothing. Sto was still too huffy to contribute to the conversation as he rose to select another album, carefully placing the beer on the table before moving.
“He looked pretty healthy, Jonn.” Bill added.
“Fucking miracle, Angeline still won’t speak to him… or so I hear.”
“That’s bad shit, his sister? Well, he looked pretty healthy and the other dudes definitely weren’t waster types. Maybe he cleaned up?”
“Maybe…”
All the while Sto pawed his way through Rosser’s LP’s, taking no part in their debate.
“Are you sure this is your collection, Rosser? Did you borrow it from the longhaired Fender kids from school? Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Thin Lizzy, more Led Zeppelin, The Who, Free, Rush, Cream, Lindisfarne – Lindisfarne? …how the fuck can you listen to all this shit?”
“Sheer good taste! Why? Are you disappointed that there’s no hippie crap for you to groove to? Allman Brothers, Doobie Brothers, Isley Brothers, Johnny and Edgar Winter brothers… Mike and Bernie Winters brothers! Fucking hell, you’re the only guy I know who buys Elton John albums – faggot!”
Harris interrupted their mutual admiration society, “He also likes Harry Nillson and Fleetwood Mac… the non Mick Green ones…! Simon and Garfunkel, Cat Stevens and lots of other great artists.”
Bill mimed a limped wristed Storey without getting a rise from him.
“Spare me, Harris, your collection of music is even more frightening than Rosser’s. Jesus, you’re a specialist in Pish-Pop - Slik… Slik! The Arrows, The Sweet, Angel, The Glitter Band, Pilot – Ho Ho Ho It’s Magic, and David Essex… David fucking Essex?”
“Yeah, Sto, and you’ve still got my ‘Rock On’ album – so get it back pronto! And I like Pilot even more than I used to because they managed to retain a level of dignity after their humiliation at the Wings gig in the Apollo last year!”
“What was that?” Bill asked.
Harris smiled, “Well, there was a queue round the block for the McCartney gig – Venus and Mars tour – and the doors were still shut about 45 minutes after they were meant to open so, needless to say, there were a lot of unhappy fans waiting to get in. Next thing this huge stretch limo rolls up and everybody assumes this is the band, making a grand entrance… saying hi to the fans as some kind of ‘Pauly’s still a man of the people’ thing, all that shit! Anyway, out pops Pilot, fellow EMI label mates, all in satin with big smiles and friendly waves… ready to walk straight in ahead of everyone when some bright and handsome guy chips up with ‘Hoy, do you think having a couple of hit singles means you can jump the queue. Join the fucking line!’ Needless to say they weren’t too impressed as about a thousand people laughed their arses off and began singing ‘Oh Oh Oh You’re Tragic’. They were clearly a little humbled and disappeared inside with no more big smiles and waves, post haste… Made me smile!”
The other two chuckled.
“One of your finer moments, Mr Harris!” Sto grinned as he placed The Monkees first album on the deck and flicked the switch. “…and it was a great fucking gig as well – obviously except for the Wings problem!”
Bill was momentarily puzzled, leaning forward for the explanation.
Sto grinned and shook his head, “What do you call a pig with wings?”
“Linda McCartney!” the other two chanted before falling into another laughter jag.
Suddenly Jonn's eyes were drawn to the television screen, "Shit, 'Marked Personal' is on, now that Stephanie Beecham chicky is serious trim - not as cute as Caroline Munro or even in that region of sex-kitten cutie but she's still got that ring-a-ding thing to me!"
Bill and Sto shared an ugly look to one another making Rosser rise and switch the TV off.
"Thanks a fucking lot, you two, I'll bet if it was the 'Six Million Dollar Man', ‘Arsey and Crutch’ or 'Alias Smith and Jones' your faggy faces would be welded to the screen. I tell you how shaggy some nubile is and it's epilogue time! You two are real J Arthur's!"
"Thank you!" the other two chanted in tandem.
"Come on, afternoon TV is a thrill, shit when we were kids it was twelve hours of Test Card. Flip the switch, Rosser, it's only on for a half hour!"
Bill shook his head, "No, looking after your mental health. You need to build up to your weekly fix of 'The Kids From 47A'!"
Sto giggled at the sight of Harris's face turning from upset to reflective.
"Arse! That’s on Wednesdays. But actually, once again, the big sister's not a sexpot but she is very yummy! Like Susan Saint James was on 'Macmillan and Wife'!"
Bill pointed and hooted without saying a word.
Sto helpfully offered a critique, "You only like Susan Saint James because she reminds you of that friend of Mar… eh, that Anthea cutie you used to play spit-swap and home press-ups with!"
"Unfair!" Harris retorted, ignoring Sto’s near reference to the tragedy, "She was Italian not American - at least get it right, Bozo!"
The other two held their bellies in mock laughter.
"Fuck you pair. I'm orft back home then, if I can't watch my girl then a leisurely walk to Casa Harris in time for 'The Sullivans' will be in order… anyway, Storey's not eaten for about 28 minutes so the walking garbage disposal unit will be getting peckish and I really don't want to be an entrée on his menu!"
Bill looked quizzically, "Does that mean you're going then?"
"Bravo, Brain-death!"
"Just checking. Right, let's go!" Bill said grabbing a jacket "I'm off to the shops anyway!"
“Hey, we’ll do a Park afternoon tomorrow? Full crew – make some plans?” Harris suggested.
Rosser nodded with a smile. “Listen, if you’re not too busy with The Sullivans and avoiding climbing all over Blondie for the night, I’ll take a jaunt down to yours tonight. We can do some new songs and discuss that stuff we were talking about a couple of weeks back. That okay with you?”
“Sure – cool!” Harris replied ignoring the ‘Blondie’ reference again.
Storey shrugged with disinterest and followed them down the corridor. "Hey, Harris, will we stop in at Christene's? She might have something good to eat!"
The other shook his head and looked back in disgust, "Nothing she'd let you chew, Quasimodo!"
Bill had the front door open and was grining widely as Sto responded with a little hurt in his voice, "Only asking! I only arsked!"

The rain was spitting a little heavier as they traversed the grey streets, still swapping mindless banter. The little shopping centre wasn't too far from Rosser's home but it was where all the flotsam and detritus tended to amalgamate, Toni's chippie being the major night stop for them. As they turned from the cul-de-sac they saw four of the local hard-boys walking their way.
"Chimes scum at twenty paces!" Harris hissed.
"Burgess and his boyfriends" Bill clarified, an ugly grin painting his face.
Sto looked quizzical, "Shouldn't they be in school or something?"
Harris elbowed Bill, "Irony really is outside his grasp, isn't it?"
The youths were already nudging one another and spreading themselves across the pavement as the other three approached.
In less than a minute they were face to face, neither giving an inch.
Burgess was well built, a hard faced looking kid with cropped hair, tall and with a big army anorak over his bright green parallel trousers. "Move, poofs!"
"Sorry, handsome, we just want to watch how you fruits walk after you've arse-rammed one another!" Harris laughed.
One of the scum moved back a little as if debating whether to bail or not as the older one, Mogga, sneered at the three. "You fucks are on our turf, move or we'll…"
The big mouth never got the chance to finish his threat as Bill whacked him with a right jab that sent him down before he even saw it.
"Next!" Bill said defiantly.
Burgess moved forward and Harris kicked at his knee, knocking him to the ground. Bill booted the struggling body hard in the midriff, adding a second kick just to make sure.
Sto smiled at the remaining two, dressed in well worn Crombie coats. "Mummy's calling you - oh shit, of course, you little bastards don't know who your mothers or fathers are. Oh well, best just fuck off then!"
The pair looked at one another, said nothing and helped Burgess up.
Harris mentally rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.
Bill kicked Burgess in the crotch and felled him again. The other two stood back, unsure whether to help their headman back up once again or just to drag Mogga out the way.
"Leave!" Harris ordered. "Now!"
The two faceless youths paused only briefly before they trotted back the way they came and Bill crouched down beside Burgess.
"Hi, Mick, feeling a couple of extra Adam's apples? Who else was on me that night? Names!"
The youth was still semi-gagging as he watched Mogga, the last of his team, feebly stagger off to head down a side street to safety. "Get fucked!" Burgess managed to say.
Bill whacked him again, paused and hit him once more. Burgess moaned in pain.
Harris stared down. "Shall we wait to make sure you don't break the little cunt's neck?"
Bill shook his head, dragging Burgess to his feet. "Nah, we're just going to pop down the alley for a little chat. Somewhere we won't be disturbed!"
"You sure?" Sto asked although he already knew the answer.
Bill just shook his head and dragged the incapacitated body behind him.
Harris and Sto shrugged and grinned, it was the price of violence in a violent world.
They merely mouthed their farewells before they trudged into the distance along the damp street, blundering through the puddles and splashing one another as they went. The boys were small dots in the distance when Bill got down to the interrogation properly.
The Wintry dusk was already beginning to fall and the street lamps came on illuminating the grey roads with a cold yellow light. It was such a natural veneer for Bellstree that the locals no longer noticed the grey ugliness they lived in.
Storey pulled up his Parka hood while Harris dug his hands deep into the duffel coat pockets and the two of them disappeared round the corner.