Chapter 1:
These are our streets.
We live ‘em. We breathe ‘em. We know everything that there is to know about ‘em. We can walk them like the back of our hands; know all the shortcuts without being caught.
These are our streets.
We own ‘em.
Murphy and I walked down the bleak, dark cobbles, the bottle of cider we had split between us steadily losing volume with each swig we took. The dwindling light from the faulty street lights cast us into shadow, making us invisible to anyone who couldn’t already hear us.
We turned up the alley, steady drips from a broken gutter echoing around us as they fell into puddles.
“I’m gonnae bang that MacTavish bird, Lochie,” Murphy shouted to the skies, “just you pissin’ watch.” I laughed loudly, shaking my head at him.
“She’s no’ gonnae shag you, Murph,” I told him, swiping the bottle from his hand. “Y’know why? Because you’re street scum; just like me.”
Murphy faltered in his movements, swaying slightly as he processed it. I sniggered, leaning up against the damp wall as I watched him. His bright red hair stuck up in clumps from running his grimy fingers through it, his freckles looking dark in the limited supply of light.
“Am no’ street scum,” he mumbled quietly, glancing around. Rolling my eyes, I slapped him on the back.
“There’s nothin’ tae be ashamed of, Murph; it’s no’ like it’s a bad thing!”
He stared at me, his light eyes wide.
Who was I kidding?
I was proud as fuck being from the streets; this was my home. The houses on the estate over the hill were where I was born and raised. There was nothing more satisfying than telling people where I came from, and taking delight in their expressions of disgust.
But there was no denying that that was me marked for life.
The pair of us were always going to be estate kids, street scum, and whatever the hell else people could come up with. It was never going to change. Now, either we could try and fight it, or just accept that it was always going to be this way.
I had taken to the title a bit better than Murphy had.
“Look,” I sighed, passing him back the bottle of cheap cider, “it’s just the way it is; nowt’ll change it.” Murphy pressed the cider to his lips, taking a long drink of it before throwing the empty plastic container to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I grinned; Murphy Callahan was back in business!
“S’ppose you’re right,” he muttered, starting up the alley. I went after him, shoving my hands back in my pockets.
“Course I’m right!” I exclaimed gleefully. “Lochie Briggs is never wrong.”
Apart from in exams, tests and other things that mattered.
Murphy snorted with laughter, glancing up and down the road we had come out onto. It was busier; late night buses and drink drivers zooming up and down the sodden concrete. Already, I could hear the jeers coming from the people sitting at the bus shelter, a steady stream of profanities pouring from their mouth every time they objected to something.
See, they weren’t real estate fodder. They were the ones who acted a certain way and made themselves a bad reputation. They didn’t do anything worth the title. They just sat and pissed away their lives.
Me? I was going places. I was eighteen; I’d slashed my first face when I was fourteen, and stabbed my first body not long after that. There was no point in glorifying it; I’d been shit scared and terrified of getting banged up.
But I’d gotten over it.
You had to in this place. Survival of the fittest, and all that. And it wasn’t like I was the only one; if you spoke to almost anyone who walked about the streets – apart from the clowns with the scabby trainers who heckled young mothers – they were the same; they’d done what I’d done, seen what I’d seen.
It almost became a competition.
Not that Murph had done any of that. He was perfectly content just tagging along, shouting loudly when needed, but never taking the blade and never shedding blood.
It took more guts to say not, than to say yes.
One of the many reasons I respected the hell out of him.
“Ah think ah’ll go hame, Loch,” Murphy muttered, glancing over at the yobs. Brow furrowing and expression clouding over, I looked at him, wondering what the hell was going on.
Was he scared of them?
“You frightened?” I asked, my eyebrow quirking.
He snorted with laughter, looking up at me.
“You stupid?” he demanded in the same tone I’d asked. “Nah; m’just shattered, min.” He sighed, scuffing his trainers along the pavement as he walked. Something was annoying him. Something was getting to his head. But there wasn’t much chance of him telling me. As close as we were, it wasn’t exactly a friendship full of deep, meaningful moments.
“You, um…You okay, Murph?” I mumbled, following along behind him. He nodded evasively, ducking under the broken fence, keeping his face to the right to avoid the CCTV. Doing the same, I straightened up, jogging after him; for a weedy wee bugger, he sure was fast. It was almost as though he was trying to get rid of me, but instead of taking the hint, I continued to copy his gait.
“Lochie, m’goin’ hame,” he groaned. “Y’ken what happened last time y’came back tae mine!”
I grinned at the memory, glancing around the dilapidated houses surrounding us. Did I ever? We’d had the loudest party known to man, not even stopping when the bobbies had barged the door in and told us to get.
No wonder his mam didn’t want me round again.
“But your mam loves me,” I said. “Old Pat an’ her…hat.”
Murphy shook his head at my attempt of a joke, not bothering to berate me about slagging off his mother. I smiled at him, silently trying to convince him to let me come back with him, shamelessly trying every trick in the book if it meant getting a bed that wasn’t my own.
“Y’can kip on the sofa,” he muttered, turning to walk to the end of the crescent. Beaming, I legged it after him, jumping on his back.
“Thanks, Murphy, min!” He stumbled slightly, probably because I was a substantially bigger than him, toppling into the gutter and laughing hysterically.
And so we lay, neither of us caring what anyone thought about us as we decked ourselves on the ground. It was only when we heard Kenzie James’ mam screaming at us to move and get a job, that we finally scrambled to our feet, scampering across the deserted road to Murphy’s house like rats on the run. All I had to do now was convince Patricia Callahan that I wasn’t going to blow her precious council house up in a fit of madness.
It was like she thought I was dangerous, or something.
“Mam, I’m back!” Murphy called, holding the door open for me. There was a clattering from the kitchen as his mam dropped numerous pots into a probably full sink, coming out into the hallway with flushed cheeks.
“Murphy Callahan, where the hell have you been?” she demanded, wiping her hands with her dishtowel. I sniggered, leaning against the staircase. Murphy sighed, hanging his jacket up on the coat hooks.
“We were just out, mam,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes at me.
“And what’s he doin’ here?” Pat hissed angrily, eyeballing me.
“Just stoppin’ by, Ms. Callahan!” I informed her brightly, tipping an imaginary hat at her. “Decided to see how you were doin’.”
If she was at all affected by my charms in any way, she had a bloody good poker face.
Pat glowered at me, glancing at the stairs. I don’t know why she had such a grump on her; I’d apologised for throwing up in her vase the last time I was here. Some folk around her just had no spirit for fun.
Thank fuck she hadn’t passed that trait onto Murphy.
“Get out, Lochan; I don’t want you in ma house,” she stated, folding her arms across her chest. I rolled my eyes; tell me something I didn’t know. No-one wanted me in their house. Not even my own mam.
“Mam,” Murph sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Just let him bunk; he’s no’ gonnae do anythin’ bad this time.” I don’t think I had met a woman who hated me as much as Murphy’s mother; none of my teachers gave me the stink eye as bad as she did.
Instead of wielding a frying pan at my head, she nodded unwillingly, flashing Murph a strained, tired smile as she went back into the kitchen. Quickly, in case she came back out with something hot, I darted up the stairs and bombed it into Murphy’s bedroom. He came up moments later, shaking his head as he laughed at me.
“She’s not as bad as you like to think, Lochie,” he said, chuckling to himself. I raised my eyebrows, pressing against the wall in mock terror.
“That woman is out tae get me!” I declared, flopping down on the bed. I could sense Murphy rolling his eyes at me as he shut the door, leaning against his football poster-covered wall.
“Mam’s just…” he shrugged, his voice sad. “Da’s appeal got pushed back; he won’t be out in time f’their anniversary. She’s upset…”
I nodded, propping myself up on my elbows. It was common knowledge around this place that Murphy’s da’ was banged up. It was also common knowledge that there was no chance in hell of him getting out this side of the millennium, but I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out to Murph; as far as he knew, his da’ was innocent.
Innocent people didn’t pin girls down and take what wasn’t there’s to begin with.
Innocent people didn’t murder said girls.
And innocent people didn’t bury the bodies in the middle of the woods.
Murphy yawned again, sitting down at the end of his bed and staring out of the window. Aw, shite…I was going to have to pretend to be the caring best friend. Gritting my teeth, I leaned forward, awkwardly patting him on the back. This was about as far as it went, to be honest. If he wanted more comfort, he’d have to get his mam to give him a hug.
“Thanks, Loch,” he mumbled.
“It’s nowt,” I replied lightly. He must’ve known it was something though; this was about as close to someone I got without smacking them in the face. I just didn’t do all that touchy feely bollocks.
Apart from sex.
I did sex pretty well…
Apparently, according to my sister, that didn’t count as touch feely, because I never stayed long enough to speak afterwards. I was like my da’ in that respect; didn’t do the morning after, just the night before. It was more fun that way; at least when I didn’t stick about, they couldn’t find out about what a fuck up I was. That way, they could keep whatever illusion they wanted of me, good or bad.
Whatever.
“I’m goin’ tae bed, Murph,” I muttered, lying back on his bed. He glanced at me, probably wondering where the hell he was going to sleep. No doubt he’d end up crashing there; curled in a ball like normal.
The guy was like a bloody cat.
As the booze and pills kicked in, my eyes drifted shut, the unfamiliar warmth of a household that paid their heating bill completely consuming me. People took warm houses for granted. I would’ve given anything for a house as cosy as Murphy’s.
Okay; his house was the same as mine – exactly the same, seeing as mine was across the road – but his mam was only there because the council rehoused her in the scummy part of town after Mr. Callahan lost his job.
It wasn’t like Murphy had been meant to be here.
I was.
There were three generations of Briggs living in my home; my Grandma, my mam, my two sisters and me. They’d never gone anywhere, never lived any life away from the streets. They were content with just staying here.
Like me.
Darkness washed over me, leaving me to dream and conspire in a much welcomed dreamless stupor.
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I really love this story. It was inspired whilst I was coming home on the bus from Edinburgh, and I saw these lads running around the streets of Aberdeen, and I thought..."They must know these streets like the back of their hands, eh?" So that's how this story was born. It's not to everyone's taste, I know, but I've got so much planned for the story, and I've got at least another two chapters already written, and it's actually my baby at the moment.
So, be nice.
Thanks for reading though, and there will hopefully be another chapter soon :) because I've been writing this in my spare time for ages. Literally. My study periods get dedicated to my notebook.