"No matter where I roam, I will return to my English Rose, for no bonds can ever keep me from she."
- the jam, english rose, 1978
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"i'm very sorry"
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I couldn't believe it. I was going to have to move. I'd lived in Liverpool for most of my life and now I had to go, on my own, to live with my auntie, the sister of my father who I hadn't seen since I was 10. It wasn't his fault, he moved to Sheffield for work after him and mam split up, and although he couldn't get down to see me all the time, he still sent me a letters and phoned almost weekly.
Mam said that this arrangement was going to be easier for everybody. I'd be able to see dad more, and that maybe staying in Liverpool would be more of an option if I would stop being horrible to Martin, my mam's boyfriend, and my bratty half siblings. Katy, who was about 9 with big blue eyes and glossy black hair, and the littlest, Sean, age 4, who had his sisters same eyes and a mop of curly dark locks.
Sean, being the spoilt little shit he was, had a tendency for tantrums, and he'd scream and hit the floor if he didn't get his way. It was easier to ignore him, but I tended to shout back, as there's only a certain amount of screeching one can take before losing their shit. Katy on the other hand, was far worse, not so much whiny like Sean, Katy was fucking evil. She stole things, then hid them in my room for Martin to find. If I tried to blame her, all she'd have to do was blink those big blue eyes and flutter her long eyelashes. After the events of last week, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise I was being sent away.
Even as I sat on the train I struggled to comprehend it. I'll admit, I had put up a fight at Lime Street station. Despite the arguing, here I was, on the train from Liverpool to Manchester.
Next to me was an dodgy looking man in a cheap 70s suit. He had brown hair with streaks of grey, a balding patch at the back of his head, and was both short and thin. He was currently lying with his head tipped back, asleep, mouth slightly open, showing his yellowing teeth and multiple fillings. If that wasn't unpleasant enough, he also smelt of stale coffee, cigarettes and the same scent of the men's bathroom. He was uncomfortably close, leaving me pressed right into the window. To make matters worse, his arm was still touching mine, and I couldn't move in fear of waking him up.
A group of football lads sporting Manchester City shirts were rowdily cheering and shouting nearby, obviously chuffed to bits with the victory against Liverpool. There were the signature big fellas, with short back and sides hair, some skinny lad in trackies, an alright looking one who lets himself down with a diamond earring in his right ear, and one who looks like he should probably be playing football rather than just watching it and eating crisps. The fatter guy, who seemed to be appropriately called Spud, was currently having his man boobs wobbled by a pair of the other boys, to loud chanting of his name. I sighed. I was far from unused to similar spectacles back home. It was hard to focus on looking at all the sheep and stuff out the window, with all the loud antics of chavvy hooligans, and the scabby man next to me being so close. I wish I wasn't going to stay with my aunt Maureen.
I leant my head against the hard glass of the window, Quadrophenia playing through my Walkman. My breath misted up against the cold surface, clouding at the bottom of my vision as the rolling fields quickly flashed into the dark interior of a tunnel.
An uncomfortable 2 hours later, I finally arrived in Manchester, suitcase in tow. Mam said just to pack the essentials, as the rest of my stuff could be moved at a later date, and it was pointless to have a lot anyway, as Maureen's house was really quite small. I got off the train, and went to stand outside as instructed. Maureen would pick me up from outside. It was raining, very heavily. I stood under a bit of shelter, arms in my Parka, wrapped around me.
People hurried in and out of the train station. Families and people going to work, and I felt them looking at me as they hurried past. I put my suitcase on its side and sat on it. It had been 15 minutes and still no sign of Maureen. I was getting sick of all the patronising glares. I knew I looked homeless. I might as well have fingerless gloves and be eating spaghetti hoops out of the tin. I had no money for the phone box either. Then I had an idea.
"Excuse me sir do you have any change?"
"Ma'am 'av you got a few coins?"
"'scuse me I couldn't trouble you for some change could I?"
Although most people ignored me, I ended up with enough to make a quick phone call. I put in a few coins and punched in the number scrawled on the back of my hand. The phone didn't ring for very long, then a woman with a Mancunian accent spoke.
"Hello?"
"Hi, err, I'm at the train station," I told her nervously.
"Shite! Oh I am sorry Elizabeth! I've gotten me days all muddled! I'll be there in ten minutes tops, I am sorry love," she explained hurriedly. I heard the phone line go dead and dropped it back onto the receiver.
I decided to go back inside the train station and wait, as it was both warmer. I saw a seat where I could both sit out of the way of any questionable looks, and also be situated close enough to a window to still have a clear view of the car park and bus station.
Before too long a battered red Vauxhall Astra pulled up next to the station and I waved at Maureen. She smiled at me and made a gesture to come on. I picked up my suitcase and put my Parka back on. Once I was outside I had to rush over to avoid the rain that was now pouring fast and heavy. I had to struggle to open the boot so I could chuck my suitcase in the back. By the time I'd got into the front seat the water was dripping off my hood and down my nose.
"Sorry I'm so late duck, I must 'av 'ad the wrong fecking day," she apologised profusely, pushing the cigarette light on and pulling out a tab from the glovebox. "D'you smoke?"
"Nope, never," I lied.
"Good answer, but I know that's not true, here we are, 'ave one of mine," she offered me the packet and I looked at it confused. There must be some sort of trap involved. The people who look after you aren't supposed to let you smoke, let alone give you fags.
"I can hear the cogs in your head turning, go on, it's nat a trap, luv, I won't tell yer Mam."
I took a cigarette and put it in between my lips. The cars cigarette lighter popped out its socket with a click, and Maureen and I lit up.
"Thanks, Maureen,"
"No problem, but call me Mo, only me mam has ever called me Maureen,"
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It only took a few days before I was due to go to school. The Barlow Roman Catholic High School, although it never gets called that, was only a stones throw from Mo's house. I was terrified to leave. I'd never been in the school before, I didn't know anyone, no one knew me. I begged her to not make me go. The uniform was the standard. White shirt, red tie, awful knee length skirt, as well as a pair of odd socks and my 1461s. I stuck all my badges onto my school bag. Mo gave me a couple of quid for dinner and I went off down the road, keeping an eye out for other students in the same uniform to avoid getting lost. By the time I had reached the school itself, all the nerves had bubbled up in my chest. I felt a bit sick actually, a slightly queasy feeling in my stomach. I walked into the reception area, told them who I was. Without much thought the woman behind the desk handed me a timetable and a map of the school.
"You should be with Mrs Charker, you'll find her class in H3," she said, carelessly.
Fifteen minutes later I was walking round the corridors in panic. I couldn't understand the map for the life of me.
"Oi!"
I spun round quickly in panic. A group of about three lads came toward me. It was the middle one who had spoken. He had blue eyes and was wearing a snorkel parka, although it was unfastened over his uniform. Another one was wearing trousers a size too large, that draped over his dirty old trainers, trimmed with dry mud. The third was slightly shorter than the other two, and had darker hair.
"Who are you then blondie?" the boy in the parka asked.
"Liz, it's my first day."
"Yer a scouser?"
"Yeah?"
"So you support Liverpool?"
"'Course I do," I replied snappily.
"She's a fucking idiot then Liam," the shorter boy added.
"Fuck off!" I replied. "I didn't come her to be teased about what fuckin' team I support."
"Wanna come on a rekkie with us?" Liam asked me.
I thought for a moment. I could either go to a lesson with no one I knew, or make mates with a bunch of scruffy Mancunian lads. The latter seemed the better option.
"Alright then."
We went and got chips. It wasn't exactly what I thought would count as a rekkie, but it's what we did. They were fucking good as well, although I had to feel slightly bias toward the chippy on the corner back home. We wolfed down the food and stopped for a smoke, loitering round a bus shelter. Mo had done me the favour of going to the shop to pick me up a packet of Benson & Hedges. The boys were rolling their own. I lit the cigarette and found myself a seat next to Liam.
"Y'shouldn't smoke y'know," he grinned, having finished making his cigarette. "Those ones are much worse for you than rollies."
"Cheers for that like, I won't keep it in mind," I replied in a jokey tone, taking a drag on my ciggie and exhaling through my nose. Liam laughed and put a friendly arm around my shoulder and gave me a pat before retracting it. The fella with the baggy trousers, Simon, gave Liam a jab in the ribs with his elbow.
"Stop makin' moves on the bird then, don't forget she's a scouser."
"Piss off Si, Lennon was a scouser and he's still a legend."
"Am still here y'know, and none of yous are gonna be makin' moves on me," I interrupted, not pleased about being talked about as if I wasn't there.
"Alright then girl, give us one of your fags then," Si replied, holding a hand out. I fished around in my bag for a second and took one out the pack, handing it to him. The shorter fella was leaning against the edge of the bus stop as he smoked, but now he turned to the group.
"How come you're here then and not in Liverpool," he questioned.
"I'm living with my auntie, it's so I can see my old man more, an' also 'cause me mam and I can't get on."
"Family problems eh? Well, we've all been there," Simon added reassuringly. "Who's your auntie then?"
"Mo McAvoy," I replied, as Si tried to squash himself on the small seat at the bus stop, next to me and Liam.
"Fuck off! Mo's your auntie? She's mates with me mam!" Liam exclaimed quite excitedly.
"Oh I know Mo," the shorter bloke added, coming inside the shelter to chat.
"So does half of bloody Manchester, Mick," Simon interrupted. "Mo the mad, that's what my mam calls her."
"Sod off, she's absolutely sound," I snapped defensively.
"Sorry, just repeating what I've heard."
"What's on your timetable next then love?" Liam started tactfully. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled paper.
"Maths," I told him as he peered over at the page. "In 15 minutes."
"Oh you're in the same maths class as I am," Liam pointed out, only to be interrupted by Simon.
"You're as thick as Liam is at maths then love."
"Fuck off Si, you are just coming across as a knob, she don't think you're cool," Mick scolded him. He was half right. I did think Si was a knob, but I liked him for it. I could tell he wasn't saying stuff to upset people, or to seem cool, he just blabbed everything. I respected that, he was very real, he didn't seem like he was purposefully being a dick, he just had no filter.
"Come on then Li, I've already missed the first lesson of the first day, I can't get into even more shit," I said, shoving my timetable back into my pocket. Liam stood up to follow me back to school. I waved goodbye to Si and Mick. "In a bit lads."