Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2006 09:13:53 +0100 (BST)
From: Mike Arram <mikearram@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: The Son of the Chav Prince - 17

Danny Hackness sat once again in his own bedroom in Castringham Crescent
and found it an alien place.  It had not been a happy homecoming.  He
probably had not helped things along, either.  He had stiffened when his
mother went to hug him, and had simply stared coolly at his father, who
would not meet his eyes.  His sisters had hung back and his brother was not
at home.  He had walked through them and gone into the kitchen and put the
kettle on.  `Tea anyone?' he had asked, in the authentic British reaction
to any emotional crisis.
  So they had sat round the table, and Danny had desultorily answered the
questions as to where he had been and what he had done.  He had not been
particularly forthcoming.  What perhaps he had failed to realise was how
intimidating he was now to the Hackness household.  He had come back
neither needing their approval or wanting it, a man in control of himself.
He was more of an independent adult than his big brother in the eyes of his
family, and they had no idea how to react to him.  None of the things that
needed saying had been said.  Eventually he had retreated to his bedroom
without a word.
  Danny tried Gus on the mobile.  It had been turned off, but he left a
supportive message on voicemail.  He got up and looked over his shelves.
He went down to the kitchen, where all went silent on his appearance, and
picked up a handful of black sacks.  He began filling them up with stuff he
had grown out of, and schoolbooks he would never need.  The room looked
strangely empty when he finished.  He put the bags down by the bin.
  `Where's Wes?' he asked his mother, when he came back in.
  `I think he went over to his friend Chris's in Haddesley Village.'
  `When will he be back?'
  `He didn't say.'
  Danny grunted.  He knew that he had to sort things out, and it was Wesley
he most wanted to talk sense into.  It was a warm July evening.  He knew
where Chris Mattingley lived, in a former railway house just around the
corner from the gates of Haddesley Hall.  He didn't like Chris much -- the
bloke had a reputation as a pisshead -- but Wes had been his mate since
before he could remember.  Danny got on his bike and made the three miles
to Haddesley in less than ten minutes.
  Danny chained his wheels to a post and walked round the back of the
house, from where he could hear young male voices.  Wes was lying flat on
the grass, and it was pretty obvious that he was out of things.  His eyes
were open but unfocused.  The reason was being currently puffed out of
Chris's mouth.  But what really caused Danny to stop and stare was the
third member of the group -- bloody James Underwood.
  Grinning with delight, James prodded Wes with his foot.  `Wake up
Wesley,' he said silkily, `it's my brother's boyfriend come to say hello.'
  But Danny was no longer intimidated by James.  `Wes, what you doing
hanging out with Lord fucking Lucan here?'
  Wesley came into a vague sort of interface with the world.  `Hey ... `s
fairy boy, my little brother!  How ya doing, arse bandit?'
  `A lot better than you, Wes.  Get up.  It's time to leave the opium den.
I'll take you home.'  Danny marched over, grabbed an arm and used his not
unimpressive upper-body strength to lever his brother to his feet.  Wes
swayed amiably in a nonexistent breeze.
  `Doan wanna go.  These are me mates.  Aren't you, mates?'
  `Wes, if these fuckers are your mates, I wouldn't want to meet your
enemies.'
  James intervened.  `Run along Daniel, don't you see that Wes wants to
stay with the grown ups?'
  Danny sized up James Underwood coolly.  Something of the calculation in
his eyes caused James to stiffen involuntarily.  Yes, said Danny to
himself, a coward as well as a bully.  He's scared of me.  So Danny smiled,
and leaned up close.
  `Get away from me, homo!' a suddenly disconcerted James blurted
nervously.
  Danny gave a low laugh.  `James, you seem to be making a habit of coming
between me and the people I care for.  It's a habit you should break,
before I break something of yours.'  He stayed leaning in close long enough
to cause sweat to come out on James's forehead.  Then he turned, taking his
brother's arm and leading him round the side of the house to where he had
left the bike.
  He pulled Wes along, walking his bike for a mile before he got fed up
with propelling two inanimate objects.  They had come up to a roadside
pond, dark under some trees.  Danny backed up a swaying and unresisting
Wesley till his brother was in the right position on the edge of the pond.
Then he pushed.
  There was a great splash and a floundering in the shallow and muddy pool.
`Jesus Christ, Danny!  Waddya do that for?'
  `It woke you up didn't it?  When did you start taking drugs, you fucking
dick?'
  `About the same time you started taking dick!'
  `And you're hanging out with that complete arsehole, James Underwood!  I
thought you'd have more sense.  He's a sheep so black he'd stand out in a
blind fog at midnight!'
  `We got poofy brothers in common.  Leads to a certain bond of sympathy,
dunnit?'
  Danny took a deep breath.  `Look, you're gonna have to get over the
gay-brother thing, Wes.  It isn't gonna go away, and I can't really see
your problem.'
  Wes was now fully in focus.  He sploshed his way out of the pond and
stood dripping in the road.  `Can't see the problem?  What universe do you
live in?  You're out of school, you jerk.  Me, I've gotta live with my peer
group for another year before I escape to university.  Having a bumboy for
a brother is no asset where I am.  But I don't suppose you think of that.'
  `How come you assume I'm not going to university?'
  `What?  Don't change the fucking subject, which is about you being bloody
insensitive enough to come out as a gay, without giving a monkey's for the
brother who's been looking out for you for years!'
  `You mean I had a choice?  Well, damn me, why didn't someone say?  Have
you forgotten the fight you had in the pub with James?  He was the one who
outed me and Gus -- James Underwood, that good mate of yours.'
  `It's not something I'm gonna talk about.'
  `Well fine.  You put up with me being gay, and I'll put up with James.'
  They stared at each other.  It was Wesley whose grim face cracked first.
`Oh fuck it.  Why did you have to push me in the pond?  I may have picked
up horse leeches.'
  Danny had to laugh.  `Let's get you home and find out, Wes.'
  Wesley smiled.  `Missed you, little bro.'
  `Yeah, well I missed you, at least the old you, not the homophobic friend
of James Underwood.'
  `So tell me what you got up to, and how you got away from home.'
  It took the rest of the two miles to Castringham for Danny to tell his
story to his brother.  When they got to their house, they were in a fair
way to being friends again.

***

The intrepid commandos settled comfortably deep into Haddesley Hall's
undergrowth.  Both of them had found ski masks, a little on the big side
perhaps.  They were carrying backpacks.  Captain Oscott was armed with a
stick, masquerading as an assault rifle, and Captain Macavoy had an
expensive digital camera that had been left around the cottage lounge and
obviously therefore belonged to anyone who might pick care to pick it up.
  Mattie had been nervous about going into the Hall grounds again, but
Damien had reasoned that James had got his arse kicked good by his dad so
he wouldn't come near them, even if he saw them.  Having decided they were
SAS commandos, they had taken some spy shots, which currently amounted to
three pictures of Damien's finger and four of Mattie peeing.  It had caused
them great amusement when they had viewed their artistry.  But now they had
settled into an observation post they had constructed by bending small
branches and ripping up a damp old cardboard box.
  `When you goin' home to ... where is it you live, Mattie?'
  `Cranwell.  Gotta be back there to start school in a couple weeks.  Where
are you goin' to school, Daim?'
  `Goin' to the village school at Castringham, Dad said.  Wass school
like?'
  `S alright.  Boring a lot of the time.  But my teacher next year's Miss
Allen.  She's cool.  My old teacher juss asked girls things.  Hated the
boys.'
  `They only got three teachers at Castringham.  I get Miss Williamson.  I
met her.  She comes to the garden centre a lot wiv her bloke.  I had to
smile at her and be nice, or Nathan said he'd hold me upside down in the
garden gnome pond.'
  Mattie chortled at the idea, then smothered the noise as adult male
voices reached them.  They ducked right down.  Their hide was on a corner
of the woodland with a fine view of the Hall and lake on one side and, on
the other, an overgrown and disused drive that once led to the east lodge.
  Damien hissed into Mattie's ear, `Iss that fooker James.'
  `Keep your head down,' Mattie hissed back.
  `Wass he doin'?'
  James had emerged from the drive in company with two men.  They didn't
seem to want to be seen.  The men were foreign-looking, well built and
wearing black leather jackets.  One of them carried a small white plastic
sack.  James was counting cash into the fat hand of the other man.  Damien
had by then mastered the zoom mechanism and -- checking his finger was out
of the way -- started clicking the camera with great enthusiasm.
Eventually, James and the two men parted.  With a sly look around, James
headed back up to the Hall.
  `Pig-face James is a spy!' whooped Mattie.
  `Shhh!  Nah, he's a fookin terror-wrist.  An' we got the evidence.  He'll
fookin end up in an orange suit at Guano Bay wiv Osma Bin Liner.  Fookin
good riddance too.  Let's go and see where them men are going.'
  The two crept silently through woodland paths known only to them, and
indeed so narrow and twisty that only small boys could follow them.  A
whiff of cigarette smoke told them the men had stopped.  They found the
strangers smoking and chatting, sitting on the bonnet of a large silver
Chrysler parked at the gate of the decrepit lodge.
  Damien signalled Mattie to stay in the woods, but he crept further on,
along a fence right up to the car.  Its boot was open, and its floor was
scattered with a number of small plastic packets, just like the one the two
men had given James Underwood.  Damien grinned to himself under his ski
mask.  He darted in and out again, cradling a packet he had snatched from
the car.  Quick as thought, he rejoined his friend and dragged him back
through the woods towards Haddesley Cottage.
  `What you got there, Daimey?'
  `Iss evidence.  Gonna send that fooker James to Guano Bay for sure.'
  `No.  Come on.  What is it?  Is it explosives?'
  Damien stopped and took off his ski mask.  The two boys sat down in a
small clearing, the packet in between them.  The plastic was heat-sealed,
and the only way into it was to make a hole.  Damien got a twig and poked
the packet till he had made a small tear in it.  Crystalline white powder
sifted out and on to the dead leaves beneath.  The stuff was all too
familiar.
  `Oh fook it,' he gasped.

***

Gus Underwood found himself returning all too readily to the old patterns
of his life.  He hid in his room with his books.  His father and mother had
sat him down in the drawing room that first night.  Sir Philip had begun,
adopting an exaggeratedly reasonable tone.
  `So here you are back again, Augustus.  I will not say that you haven't
caused us a great deal of trouble and expense, but your mother and I are
very glad to have you safely back home, so ... least said soonest mended,
eh, old chap?'
  Gus mumbled something inarticulate.
  His father continued, `School term begins in only three weeks, and it
seems to us that it will be for the best when you go back to Medwardine.
No more nonsense, eh?  Get stuck back into school work, meet your old
friends, plenty of rugby.  Just the ticket.'
  Lady Underwood was twitching to intervene by then.  `The point is,
Augustus, that there is no future at all in your ... connection with that
Hackness boy ...'
  Gus lifted up his head at this point and his voice gained in strength.
`Daniel.  His name is Daniel.'
  `Yes ... Daniel.  He's a boy without aspirations.  One of those chavs
they talk about.  But you are intelligent and will go places.  I'm sure it
all seems very romantic at this point, running away and avoiding the
police.  But real life has to be faced sooner or later.  You will go to
Oxford, take your degree and occupy the sort of place in society that your
birth and upbringing have fitted you for.  In two years time, you'll look
back on this incident with Daniel and it will all seem so silly.
  Gus by then was roused.  `Not at all, Mother,' he said evenly and with
perfect clarity.  `These weeks with Danny have changed my life.  I have
learned about love and my own feelings.  I don't think that in two years
time it will seem in the least silly.'
  His father moved on quickly.  `We accept that you may well be a
homosexual, Gus.  Of course, there is less difficulty about that today than
there would have been when I was your age.  Hmphh!  The very thought!  But
dear fellow, you'd do better even nowadays to keep it to yourself.  I
suppose the press attention will mean that your disappearance can't be
brushed under the carpet at Medwardine.  I'll just have a word with the
Head.  I'm sure he'll be able to keep a lid on things.'
  `But Father,' stated Gus with absolute determination, `I shan't be
returning to Medwardine.  My plan now is to go to the sixth-form college
here.'
  There was a stunned pause, followed by a rising tide of horrified
exclamations, contradictions and counterarguments.  Despite all the fuss,
Gus was still maintaining half an hour later that he was not going back to
Medwardine.  Realising he was getting nowhere with his parents, he retired
to his room and took up his old amusements.
  The next day at breakfast he bumped into James for the first time since
returning.  He got a sneering welcome.
  `It's Danny's little Gussie.  Welcome back.  I saw your boyfriend last
night at Chris Mattingley's, come to pick up his druggie brother.  Nice
sort of family you've married into there.  Tell me Gussie, when you two
have sex, who fucks whom ... are you the girlie queer?'
  A whole range of emotions rushed through Gus's head.  First was the stab
of fear that his brother had inspired in him for years now.  But that was
instantly swamped by a rising tide of resentment that James could do this
to him.  The crude insults were neither here nor there.  It was mostly
annoyance that he could have let this ineffectual, good-for- nothing shit
make his life a misery.
  `Do you know, James,' he eventually responded, `there is nothing like a
period of time away from home to give one perspective.  What I've learned
is that you really are a sad case.  I'm not going to trade insults with
you.  There is simply no point.'
  Gus smiled in his usual vague way at his brother and reached for the
bread.  The nonchalance of the response caused a red flush to colour
James's face.  He bunched his fists.
  `You patronising little queer.  I'll teach you some respect, I'll ...'
  But he was dealing now with the Augustus Underwood who had taken down
Julio Ahmed.  As James drew back his arm for a punch, Gus's knee came up
directly into his brother's genitals.  James's eyes and mouth widened, and
there was an audible pop from his groin.  Then he fell squirming very
satisfactorily on the floor, keening in pain.
  Gus stepped over him and put bread in the toaster.  `Amazing what you can
learn in just a few weeks, isn't it?' he observed to his prostrate brother.
`Care for some toast?'