The tyres of Elliot's bike bumped over each cobble along the street as he cycled down, slightly pushing up the sleeves of his denim jacket to get a better grip on the handles. He knew it clashed with the grey uniform, but what do you have to do to be your own in such days? Screeching to a stop, he looked at the front door of house number 32, waiting for a decent three minutes before yelling up into the upstairs window.
"McCormick, you lazy prick, get a move on!"
His smile quickly faded as Mr McCormick stuck out his head, a disapproving expression resting on his face.
"Joseph will be out in a few minutes." The window slammed shut, Elliot's stomach sinking in shame and a hint of the usual fear when confronted with Mr McCormick. The front door opened, and Joseph struggled to shove his bike through it, cackling with amusement.
"You twat!" he shouted, smacking Elliot over the head as he finally pulled the bike through. "Stop giving me dad reasons to hate you, ye absolute wanker."
Elliot retaliated with a laugh, and set off cycling. "We're too far through that now, I think I've done the worst."
Fragments of blinding sunlight glinted through the tunnel of arched trees as they cycled through it, sticking their arms out and standing up on the ride. A mighty cry of laughter was audible as Elliot slipped sideways off his bike, and almost careered into a tree, accompanied with the usual shout of 'prick!'. The grey tarmac on this road was far smoother than the cobbles outside Joe's house, making it more enjoyable to skid on - this activity took longer than expected. After this realisation, they set off, finally arriving to their netherworld, the grey building looming over them. Each face set in an expression of disgust, they shared a look and set their bikes against the railings before entering.
"I really don't suppose you would care to enlighten us on the key features of the 1798 Irish Rebellion would you, Mr Morris?"
Elliot jerked his head up from his dreaming reverie, a fraction too late after being jabbed violently in the elbow with a pencil.
"Yes, sir."
Lenny Hadwin's irking laugh was audible from the back of the classroom, resulting in a 'shut up, Lenny' from most of the irritated students.
"You're funny, Morris. How about an essay tomorrow night? Would that get anything into your brain, ey?" Mr Roland quipped, walking between the desks and smacking Elliot on the back of the head with a textbook. A pretty heavy textbook, truth be told. Elliot's lip curled in annoyance as Joe shot him an exasperated look. The door of the classroom slammed open and Gregory Shales walked in, with a dejected sigh, earning a glance from everyone in the room.
"A reason for your tardiness, Shales?"
"Yeah," Greg muttered, hastily pulling a crumpled piece of notepaper from his blazer pocket, and holding it out to Mr Roland, who snatched it with a discreet glare, before skimming it over with his eyes, and lending a small nod, handing it back before continuing with the lesson. Elliot glanced over at Joe, who was also evidently trying to decrypt the small conversing. By break, most people were gathered around Greg in an attempt to find out how he'd gotten away with missing thirty minutes of history.
"Family matter, ain't it," he replied secretively, shrugging them off. "I'm nae licensed to tell."
Disappointed, the gaggle of boys dispersed, and resorted back to whining about maths, as Elliot caught up with Greg.
"Aye, Greg, are you alright? Family matter ain't anything serious is it?"
"Nah, mate, don't fret. Say anything's a family matter, the school steps out of it. It's law, I reckon. Me dad can't make the trip into town, s'all, so he gave me a call. Me mam'll probably force me into church again."
"Oh, tough luck mate, I'm sorry."
"S'alright, a man's busy, eh?"
Elliot nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets and watching the ground as they walked.
"Hey," Greg stopped walking to pull something out of his trouser pocket. "He gave me these tickets, we were gonna use 'em tomorrow, but I can't now. You want 'em? There's two there, I'll not go so you's and Joe can take a cinema trip."
"For us? I can't take them, Greg," Elliot protested, but Greg shook his head.
"Seriously, mate. I was only interested because me dad was gonna take me. It's some Beatles shit, anyway."
Elliot laughed, putting them in his pocket. "What makes you think I'll enjoy a Beatles film?"
"Documentary, actually," Greg corrected him in amusement. "Music. Not that it's your scene. Got geography next, I'll catch up later, aye? Take care w' that."
Elliot waved up a hand in greeting as the blonde boy jogged on down the corridor, running his finger along the jagged edge of the ticket, before shrugging in interest and sauntering off after Greg.
"No way!" Joe exclaimed in thrill, grabbing the tickets from Elliot's hands, as they walked their bikes out of the school. "I haven't been to the cinema in two years, El, me dad never wants tae take me!"
"Well," Elliot responded in amusement, walking backwards in front of Joe, and then slowing down to walk side by side with him. "We're going. Courtesy of Gregory Shales."
"And his no-show dad!"
"Ay, don't be a dick about it or I'll send 'em back to him." Elliot dug his elbow into Joseph's rib, who winced and shot him a look, quickly resuming his beam.
Within three seconds, Elliot had had to grab onto the railings to avoid sprawling on the floor when a shove came from behind him, accompanied by a chorus of high-pitched laughter.
"I'm so sorry," mustered a girl, as she was pulled past him by a group of friends, flashing him an apologetic smile before disappearing into the crowd. Elliot regained his stance, staring after the girl.
"Ha! Wanker!" Joe's voice chimed through Elliot's thoughts, patting him on the shoulder. "C'mon."
As they walked their bikes out of the narrow alley, Joe grabbed a newspaper off the stall, throwing his coins into the pot, and flattened out the headline.
"Shit," he murmured, looking down. Elliot skimmed the newspaper, reading '1970, 3 April. Riots on Springfield Road in Belfast.'
"What's CS gas?" Elliot asked uncertainly, looking at Joe, as he stuffed the paper into his pocket.
"Type a' tear gas," he responded, mounting his bike, Elliot following suit.
"It's going mad, mate."
"Fuck them," Joe muttered, spitting on the ground before cycling off.
On the way back the arch of trees wasn't the same without the sunlight glinting through it, including the fact that more news had come through.
"See you's tomorrow then!" they called, as the crossroads came up and they split directions, merely metres before Elliot's house. He pulled the bike up to the fence, leaning, and padlocking it onto the gate before jumping up the steps into the house and shutting the door.
"Dad?" he called, pulling off his coat.
"Shut up will you's?" his brother snapped, looking through the door. "This is important." He disappeared behind it again, and the sound of voices came up.
Elliot stepped forwards in curiosity, and creaked open the door to the study, to hear a tinny voice emerging from the radio sat on his dad's desk.
"And this wire here, right? It's -" his dad looked up from talking to Frederick and gave a small nod to acknowledge Elliot's presence. Fred gave him a small glare as he dropped his bag off his shoulder.
"Dad -" he started.
"Not now, Elliot."
"Dad, I want to ask you -"
"Elliot!" His dad was more focused on crossing over the two spindly wires in his hand than listening.
"I'll go anyway then," Elliot muttered, kicking his bag with his foot out of the room.
"Go where?" his dad looked up, suddenly with peaked need to know.
"Cinema with Joe, tomorrow night."
"Wha'? Dad, no, that's not fair!"
"Shut up Frederick. What makes you think I'll pay for that?"
"Gregory Shales gave two tickets to me. It's a Beatles film."
His brother immediately broke out snickering, and laughed loudly. "Let him go da', I'm not bothered anymore."
Mr Morris gave Elliot a look for a few seconds, before leaning back in his chair to fetch a screwdriver off the shelf.
"Back by 8, you understand me, Elliot? And when you're back you can help wi' the sink."
"Yeah, dad," Elliot grinned, leaving the room and swinging on the banister on his way up the stairs.
"Bloody hell, I hope he's going for the sake of it. Not for the actual Beatles." His dad fit the wire into the slot, and watched Elliot run up the stairs.
"Or to take the mick," Fred added. "Unlikely. You'd better stop him dad, before 'e buys a guitar."
They shared a look of amusement, and Fred flicked on the radio again.