Intentionally Homeless

[Richard WH]

Right then folks; just popped over from the beginners poetry forum, as its always been prose until recently that has grabbed me.
As the rules said "probably" 1000 words I have been a bit cheeky and doubled that - not to be rebellious in anyway but because that covers my first chapter and I really cant see any other place to finish.
Any comments welcomed.
PS - I definitely checked my puncuation and grammar before posting.


Intentionally Homeless by Richard W Hardwick

Two weeks before me sixteenth birthday I went flying over the handlebars, smashed into the windscreen of this car coming round the corner. It wasn’t even a decent car. It was an old banger, full of rust and that; but I told the lads it was an Audi TT. I was going round the shops to get some tabs for me Mam. She let us have a couple if I went for her. I didn't go through the windscreen. I bounced off it, smacked onto the bonnet, landed on me back on the pavement; got up on me elbows, shook me head, looked at the car. The blokey and wifey sat there like they couldn’t move, open mouths, not hurt or nothing, just shocked, like they’d seen a fucking alien or something. Maybe they thought I was gonna get up, pan their heads in for knocking us over; but they was wrong if they did. I might be a charva but I’m not a fucking radgee.

The bike was on the road, buckled. Not that it mattered; I never paid for it. Ten seconds later the blokey got his head together, came out the car. I sat up, said sorry, worried he’d want us to pay for any damage, tell me dad. Then I got up proper, stood there with shaky legs, realised the money was still in me hand, clenched tight. I had a sore head for a while, but that was it except a few cuts and bruises. They tried to get us to go to hospital but I refused point blank; had to get the tabs to me Mam or she’d go off it. And I was desperate for a smoke more than ever after what just happened. When Micky heard he told everyone he knew, told them how the money was still in me hand. I showed them me cuts and bruises and they called us Captain Invincible; after that, just Captain.
A few weeks later, just after me sixteenth birthday, me mam kicked us out the house. I didn’t even have time to get any of me stuff. She pushed us out the door while me dad stood there watching, smoking a tab. She'd had enough she said. Smoking tac and the polis coming round looking for stolen bikes was the last straw she said. She had two others to think about, not just me.

It wasn’t true.

She had two others yeah, but that wasn't why she kicked us out. We'd just had a row; I'd called her a stupid fat bitch. That was what made her mad. Me dad bent down, picked little Jimmy up who was screaming. Then they stood there, watched us walk down the street with nothing, and with nowhere to go.
The polis hadn't even found nothing. They'd picked the wrong place. The bikes were round Micky's in the greenhouse, in his back yard. As for the tac, there was kids down the street, absolute radgees, off their faces on drink and blues, kicking the fuck out of each other every night; a pure riot. And their mams hadn't kicked them out had they? And what about me dad? Coming home mortal every Friday night and if he was in a bad mood we'd all get a slap. But that was different wasn't it? She wasn’t gonna tell him to leave was she? While there’s me, evil old me, most the time in me bedroom listening to music, smoking tac; either that or down Micky's playing on his decks, not harming nobody, not even doing nothing except for the odd frisk now and then.
She said me mates were all bad lads. What the fuck did she know?
Eddie; a bad lad? He's only been nicked once in his whole life and he’s nineteen for fucks sake. And what about Harrison? Never been in no bother ever; a good lad not a bad lad. Okay, yer wouldn't wanna mess with Minter; he'd fucking lace yer all over. But he wouldn’t ever start nothing, just finish it off, and that's the type of person yer need on yer side isn't it?

Still…

I went to stay at Micky's. It wasn’t bad. In fact it was better than being at fucking home. It wasn’t that far away either, just next to the cemetery, more like Elswick than Benwell. There was only him, his mam, his little sister Toni.

It was quieter there, definitely less bother. Toni went to some special school, had something beginning with 'M', couldn’t use her legs, her arms were all floppy. There was nothing wrong with her brain and that but she was in a wheelchair, used to moan if yer didn’t get her a drink when she wanted one, when Micky wouldn’t take her to the toilet.

"Micky”, she shouted. ”I'm gonna piss meself"

While everyone else nearly pissed themselves laughing at her

I didn’t mind her that much though, felt sorry for her. When the others left I sat in her room, listened to her shite music, pretended I liked it. She’d talk to us and that, tell us how bad it was when yer couldn’t move yer legs. Micky had an older sister as well, Lorna, but she was never there. She was one of them people, one of them lasses, who’s beautiful don’t get me wrong, really beautiful, but a right grumpy bitch as well. Micky said it was cos she wasn't getting any. But I’ll tell yer what; fuck knows how. They must’ve been queuing round the block to give her one, honest. She could’ve had her pick Lorna could, even if she was a fucking grump.

Anyhow, we got stoned every night at Micky’s, played on his Playstation or his decks. His mam wasn’t bothered about us smoking tac; pretended it never happened. On Friday night we could have anything we wanted from the Chinky's, except King Prawns obviously cos they were too expensive. She even bought us a few cans of beer each. We'd sit downstairs with her, watch a DVD, eat our grub, drink some beer, then go upstairs, do a bucket and blast our heads off; either that or just have a joint, listen to music and chill. Out of all the things I remember about that house, the one thing I remember most is that compared to ours it was dead quiet, dead calm. I thought; that’s what it must be like when your mam’s alright; when yer haven’t got a dad. I was always jealous of Micky. Sometimes when his mam was out we necked a few swigs from her whisky bottle, played football in the living room with a tennissy. The kitchen door was the goal. A couple of times there was four or five of us, getting stoved into each other, falling all over the place. I won the first game with a volley that rebounded off the wall, cracked the goalie on the head and went in. The second game, I tried to do the same, knocked a plate off the wall, smashed it on the coffee table. It had a picture of Spain on it, Costa del Sol written in yellow, a big sunshine with sunglasses. We looked everywhere for super glue but couldn’t find any. Toni said she’d grass cos nobody would take her to the shop to buy her kets so I gave her a mars bar to shut her up. Then, when his mam came back, Micky said it was him that done it. He was always a good mate like that.

Then after two weeks his mam kicked us out as well. She found out Micky was supposed to be on training with the Young Offenders. He said it was crap, he never wanted to do painting and decorating anyway but his mam went off it. She said it was cos I was there, that he couldn't be bothered. She was probably right. Plus she couldn't afford to keep feeding us.

"Yer mam gets child benefit for yer. She should be giving yer money to buy food, not me"
I had to leave by Monday. And when Monday came, even though I had nowhere else to go, she kicked us out as well. I walked to me mam's, up Elswick Road, down Benwell Lane in the rain; past loads of boarded up houses, ones we used to climb in when we bumped off school, smash things up, make a fire to keep warm, do a few buckets. By the time I got there I was soaked to the bone; banged on the door. Couldn’t just walk in could I? I was banned.

Me mam answered.
"What do yer want?"
"I've come for me child benefit"
"Yer've come for what?"
"I've come for me child benefit. If I'm kicked out then you won’t be needing it will yer?"
"Yer cheeky little bastard"
She was stood in that pink dressing gown that hadn’t fitted round her belly for about ten fucking years; hadn’t even bothered trying to tie it up cos she knew there was no point. Her belly stuck out the front like she was the one drinking eight cans of beer every night; food had dripped down it, yesterdays by the look of it.
I glanced back up at her face. She looked like she was gonna crack us one so I stepped back, rain dripping off me nose.
"The money’s mine, that's what Micky's mam said. If I'm not living here yer should give it to us"
"Aw right, Micky's mam said that did she?"
"Yeah"
"Is that where yer've been staying like?"
"Yeah"
"Well yer can tell Micky's mam this"
Pointed at us like I was a sack of shite
"Child benefit goes on food, not on drugs, so yer not getting it right? And if that greedy bitch thinks she is then..."
"She's not getting it is she?" I shouted. "Cos she's fucking kicked us out as well"
“And yer know what Danny?"
Leaned forwards, right in me face.
"I'm not fucking surprised"
I felt like cracking her one; but yer don’t hit women do yer? At least real men don’t. Men like me dad might but they’re scum. I stood there instead, shook with rage, felt like crying but there was no way I was doing that in front of her.
“What am I gonna do now then?”
"Yer should’ve thought of that before"
“Before what?”
“Before yer started taking drugs, before yer started stealing from people”
"But I haven’t got nothing"
I hated begging, hated meself for doing it.
"Can I get meself a bag of clothes at least?"

She looked at us a few seconds, tutted, let us in, watched over us like I was burgling the fucking house as I chucked me football kit out me Adidas bag, filled it up with clothes from the kitchen floor, stuffed them in, not even thinking. They were still dirty, still where I’d left them two weeks before the lazy bitch. When I’d finished I stood up, put the bag over me shoulder. Our Jimmy was on some plastic tractor thing, hadn't even looked at us when I’d walked in, just kept smashing it off the wall over and over again, a look on his face like he was trying to smash the whole fucking wall down. Normally me mam would’ve gone off it with him, would’ve gone off it with the mud off me football boots going on the floor as well. But she didn’t that time.
Then our Stacey walked in.
"Danny"
A smile on her face; she must’ve been off school again.
Our Stacey was alright, two years younger, a bit of a divvy, but alright.
She noticed me face, stopped smiling, turned to our mam.
"Is he moving back in?"
"No"
"Why not?"
No answer. She didn't have a fucking answer, that's why.
She started to cry; our Stacey that is. Me mam told her to shut up, got pissed off with little Jimmy trying to knock the wall down, started shouting at him. That’s when I noticed me granda’s watch and compass on the top, near the kettle me dad bounced off me mam’s head. He’d given them to us just before he died. They were mine, should’ve been in me room. Me dad must’ve taken them to pawn them or something, get more drink. I taxed them quick before me mam turned round, marched us to the door, her hands on me shoulders like I was gonna try and squirm me way back in again.
Knocked them off
“Don’t fucking touch us, I’m going, don’t worry”
Our Stacey followed us out.
“Yer’ve got me hat on”

She took it off, handed it over. It went straight on. I walked down the path, reached the front gate, stopped, put the bag on me shoulder, turned round. Me stomach was knotted, killing us. I felt sick, like when I was six, drunk that stuff to put on the garden, make the grass grow. I leant on the gate, lifted me feet off the ground, swung like I did when I was little. Had nowhere to go; what else was I supposed to do?
The gate made the same noise it always did.
"Right then"
Mam left Stacey crying at the front door; went inside.
"Behave yerself. Yer'll make me fucking start"
"I don't want yer to go"
“I don’t have any fucking choice do I?”
Came out with her purse, came down the path, gave us a tenner.
"Take it. It's all I've got"
Didn’t find it easy but wouldn't let it show; went back up the path as quick as she could, stood next to our Stacey in the doorway.
I put the tenner in me pocket, still leant on the gate, watched our Stacey wipe her tears away. If there was one poor cunt I felt sorry for, other than meself, it was her. At least our Jimmy didn’t know any fucking different. I was about to go, walk down the street, but me dad appeared in the doorway. Lazy twat had probably been sleeping on the couch all morning.
"Get off the gate"
"What?"
"Get off the fucking gate. Yer'll break it"
I stayed on.
He came down the path, grabbed hold of us.
I kept me hands clenched but he managed to get us off.
Swung me bag at him; missed.
Stacey ran down the path, shouted and screamed, ran straight in-between us.
He stepped back, stared at us, stinking of drink, just a bit further than a punch away. In a couple of years, I thought. In a couple of years I'll be able to take yer.
"Just go", me mam said.
"Yeah, go on", said me dad. "Piss off"
I took the tenner out me pocket, scrumpled it up.
He walked back up the path, looked over his shoulder like I was gonna run over, jump him.
"Right then, I fucking will"
I brought me arm back, threw the money at them.
"And yer can shove that up yer fat fucking arses as well"

He bent down, picked it up. It wouldn't go back to me mam; he'd be fuming she gave it to us in the first place. It’d go on beer and tabs like always. Or horses he knew fuck all about. He shoved me mam, our Stacey, inside the house, shut the door. I felt like smashing the fucking windows in, the whole fucking lot of them. But I turned round, put the bag on me shoulder, pulled me hat on even tighter, walked back down the street, kicked the fucking puddles instead.

[barrie]

I'd like to see how this one develops - it held my attention throughout, interesting conversational style.
Just one thing - I think you should make it clear who gave you the tenner. Initially, I wasn't sure whether it was Stacy or the mother, it only becomes clear later.

nice one

Barrie

[Richard WH]

Thank you sir.
I've had other feedback on that too so should change it to make it clear.
As for the 'developing', I've already written 123 thousand words and have sent it to a few publishers. Beautiful Books have since requested the full manuscript but I'm still to hear back from them.
I may well post two other shorter chapters on here (from further on in the book) for comments if its worthwhile or wanted
I appreciate your comments so thanks again

[David]

Finally got around to reading this. I don't normally find the prose section of the site that rewarding, but I thought this was really good. You've got a voice, Richard.

Is it a bit like Alan Sillitoe? Or do people not read him any more?

Very good, anyway.

Cheers

David

[Richard WH]

Never heard of Alan Silitoe but perhaps I should go and find out.
It wasnt written in the style of any writer but the style of many of the young homeless people I have worked with in a hostel. I think thats why its genuine and why I have a voice; because it genuinely is genuine.
Anyway, thanks for your kind comments. It helps to hear them

[Elphin]

Richard

Like David I don't often comment on the prose but this did hold my attention when i read it a few days back. I actually can visualise it as a book for older teenagers - they are not well served with real life stuff.

My one thought was whether you could sustain the voice throughout and whether as a reader I would get irritated by it.

Good stuff and good luck with it.

elphin