STAYIN’ ALIVE
by Michael Keenaghan
Saturday night and I’m out celebrating a scratchcard win. Two hundred and fifty notes. Not bad. Been on the piss for three hours; crawling the West End. Tack fucking city. Plenty skirt about though.
I’m in a sports-bar somewhere near Leicester Square, and I stroll up to this bird who’s at the bar chatting to her friend. Tap her on the shoulder.
-What do you want? she says. She’s a looker. Wants me to work. Get down on my knees and grovel.
-Well, I smile, keeping it suave. -Most of all, I’d like to buy you a drink.. I mean, you’re the nicest girl in this place.
-Piss off… Turning her back to me.
Fair enough, I think. Please yourself then. A little common courtesy wouldn’t go amiss though. Still, as I’m at the bar I might as well get myself another drink. Order some bottled shit. Barman smirking away for some reason. I take a swig, then tap the girl again; silly cow.
-Hey, listen, I was only being friendly you know. No harm in that -
She spins round. Her drink gets me straight in the face.
-Will you fucking leave me alone! Grabbing her bag and strutting off with her friend.
God – my eyes stinging like hell. Faces laughing away all around me – barman most of all. Bastard. I get out of there, head for the Gents, when suddenly there’s a bouncer right in my face. -Right, you. Out. Pulling me towards the door.
-What have I done?
-You’ve been pestering women since you came in here, now move it…
A sly dig in the kidney and I’m pushed out onto the street. Land face first.. I’m stunned. That was fucking out of order. Suddenly I’m on my feet, fronting up to him. We’re face to face.
-Yeah? sticking his chest out. -Come on then, what you gonna do?
….Forget it… I walk away. But when I reach the corner I let him have it. Call him every name under the sun. Bloke just standing there cocky as fuck saying: -Smile, you’re on camera.
-Fuck you! I shout.
The bloke laughing at me like I’m nothing: -Come here and say that, you little wanker… Showing off to a bunch of birds. Winding me up something chronic.
I give him the gun sign. Tell him he won’t be laughing when I’m coming round his gaff with a fucking gun, will he? Nah, won’t be laughing then… I know where you live you cunt! And maybe I’m getting a bit carried away, ranting now about his wife and kids – pure drink – but the bastard’s fucking asked for it. These people think they can get away with murder.
Anyway, he’s not smiling anymore – quite the opposite – so it’s job done, I’m out of there. Laughing all the way. A fucking crack.
Half an hour and a can of Stella later I’m up in Camden. Much more like it. A quick one in the World’s End, then I’m checking out the queue for the club downstairs. Some indie thing… Nah. Bunch of kids. Head over to the Electric Ballroom; a crowd lined up right along the street. Disco and chart shit; pulling music. Now we’re talking. I join the queue.
In the club the music’s banging and I’m cruising about checking out the fun.. And fun it is; real drinkers, a proper party crowd. Legover city, guaranteed. I get about, sink a few beers, then I’m standing by the dancefloor nodding along, catching this girl’s eye as she struts her stuff practically right in front of me. Not bad-looking either. A big redhead dressed up for a night of fun. Suits me. I move in, Stayin’ Alive pumping out of the speakers, put on my dancing shoes, and there we are, we’re grooving together, smiling away. Pure chemistry.
-So, she says when the number ends. Are you going to buy me a drink or what?
Result. Her name’s Jenny. I get her a pint of cider and we get chatting. Spend the rest of the night knocking back shorts and snogging on the seats. Up at the end for a mess-about to some Abba tune and then she’s introducing me to her mate Donna who’s pulled as well, the bloke hardly able to stand; two of them pissed as fuck. On the way out Jenny says there’s a party going on at Donna’s house, flatmate’s birthday or something. Up Ilford way. Asks if I want to come. Silly question really.
We pile into a cab and we’re heading East. Jenny, Donna and her bloke in the back, snogging away; me up front with the driver, a Turkish-looking bloke with an Arsenal logo hanging off his mirror, and me taking the piss as I’m Tottenham, five-fucking-one mate and don’t you forget it, chatting football, having a bit of a laugh, and he’s not a bad bloke as it goes, for an Arsenal fan anyway, cab running through Hackney, Stratford, fuck knows, a scene going off outside a club and the brakes slamming as someone walks straight out in front of the car. Driver shouting and the pisshead showing his arse, and we’re laughing away, heading into Ilford and down the backstreets, pulling up outside some flats, and I’m handing over my dough, see you later mate, party time.
We get in but the party’s well over. Empty cans and bodies crashed all over the place. Donna and her bloke disappear into one of the bedrooms and Jenny heads to the bog so I grab a nice cold Stella from the fridge and have a wander. Check the other bedrooms; all locked. Open the living room door and there’s two blokes slouched back watching car racing on the telly.
-Alright lads, I say, coming in and closing the door. Good party then? stepping over a body or two and parking down opposite. -Looks like I missed it.
Noticing me, they’re sitting up. The big one squinting: -Who the fuck are you? And his four-eyed mate just staring gormless.
-Mate of Jenny’s, I say. We just came in.
He looks me up and down … -Where you from?
-Wood Green, I tell him.
-North London?
-Yeah.
-What team do you support then, Arsenal?
-Nah. Tottenham.
And with this he stops, turns to his silent mate… -You hear that? – and his mate chuckling.
He turns back, glaring at me, a real edge to him now. -Spurs, eh?… A fucking yid.
Oh no. Trouble. Last thing I need.
-Ah, it’s only football, I laugh, shrugging it off… I’m not really into that much, tell you the truth. It’s all just a game really…
No-one else smiling.
-We’re West Ham, the bloke states, stone-faced. And I notice his mate, who still hasn’t uttered a word, starting to grin like a sadist now.
-West Ham? I nod casually. Good… East London so what else? Irons and proud… I mean, er, Hammers…
-You taking the fucking piss?
-No, no, of course not…
He’s staring at me, unblinking. -I think you fucking are mate… strutting in here…?
I don’t like the sound of this atall. I start to rise. -Er, look, maybe I should just get going…
-Sit the fuck down! he says, jumping to his feet. The bastard’s fucking massive.
-Okay, okay…
-Now listen to me, you yid cunt… He lifts up his top: a brutal-looking scar across his stomach.
-See this? he says. This is what one of your lot did last season. Cunt came straight at me waving a knife about, didn’t he. Got me right there.
I’m shaking my head, don’t know what to say to him.
-Yeah. Yiddo cuts into me like I’m a bit of kosher meat, don’t he?.. So what do I do about it, eh? Let the cunt run, do what Spurs do best? Not fucking likely mate. Cut or not I’m straight in there – bam, grab the blade right off him. My mate Darren here holding the cunt down on the floor. Ain’t that right, Dal?
…mate nodding away, well pleased.
-Yeah, you were well in there, weren’t you Dal boy? Dived on the cunt and brought him straight down on his arse. Don’t mess about, I tell you.
….bloke chuckling with his tongue almost hanging out. Has to be seriously mute for definite.
-So…Yid’s pinned to the floor fucking cacking it, and I’ve got his blade, haven’t I?… So then what happens?
Suddenly he reaches in and whips out a large knife… Fuck!.. His mate slapping his knees now, cackling away.
He grabs my face. Breathes in close. The blade right there.
-I cut the cunt from ear to ear, don’t I? tracing the blade a millimetre over my skin. -Leave a smile on the prick’s face for life… ain’t that right? His eyes boring into me…
Then he pushes me back and starts pacing, waving the knife through the air. -Ripped his fucking face apart mate. Bloke screaming like a cunt, I swear it…
The two of them laughing away, while I’m rooted to the seat fucking shitting it.
Suddenly Jenny walks in. Knife disappears.
-Alright, Jen darlin’, he says, kissing her on the cheek; perfect gentleman. -How’s it going?
-Alright, you two, not bad. Then she looks at me, senses something’s up… –Gary…? What have you been saying to him? pointing to me. -Looks like he’s seen a ghost.
-Not unless one of these lot have croaked it, he laughs, pointing to the bodies on the floor. -Nah, me and your little friend here were just talking football, weren’t we mate? putting his arm round me.
She starts asking how the party went, chatting away, but a minute later I manage to coax her out of there. Close the door.
-Those two have got fucking mental problems. Let’s get the hell out of here..
-Hang on a minute. What, Gary and Darren?… Gary was winding you up, wasn’t he?
-Look, put it this way. I don’t think he likes me. Either of them.
-Don’t worry, honestly, she laughs. I’ve known those two for years. Gary just likes a joke, and Darren’s deaf. He’s a sweet thing. Can lipread and everything. I know loads of sign language off him…
Then she comes in close, pressing me against the door. -Guess what this means… jabbing her finger in and out of her fist.
We start kissing but I soon pull away. -Look Jen, seriously…
-Oi, Jenny! – Suddenly Gary’s voice. -Where are ya?
-No way, Jen, don’t go in there. That Gary had a knife out. A blade this big, I swear it.
-Oh that. I’ve seen that a hundred times. That’s his hunting knife, he’s always showing it around. Got it off his old granddad. He had it in the war or something.
-He told me he slashed a Spurs fan across the face.
-Oh that old yarn, she laughs. It was someone from Chelsea last week. I suppose he showed you his scar as well?
-Yeah, he did.
-He got that when he fell off his motorbike… spent a week in hospital… it’s just his sense of humour.
I don’t know though… I tell her I’d rather head to her place. -If that’s okay with you of course…
It is. We go. No goodbyes, and thank fuck for that; heading through a maze of empty streets to the other side of Ilford. Feels good out in the night air anyway. At one stage snogging up against a wall, getting a good old feel of the tits too, and someone’s scrawled: TOTTENHAM SUPPORTERS SUCK CIRCUMCISED DICK… and God, those two cretins back there. Just jealous that I’ve pulled and they haven’t. Typical West Ham. I laugh and we move on, turn up Jenny’s street, get in and head straight for the bedroom…
I wake up and it’s hangover central. Headache, sandpaper tongue, the works. Feels like I’ve done twelve rounds in the ring – which judging from my memories of last night in the sack I probably have. What a goer. I turn round and Jenny’s up on her elbow, smiling away, fresh as a daisy, sucking a bottle of Coke from a straw. -Hello gorgeous, she says… I nod, squinting against the open curtain, doing my best impression of a smile… Jesus. Fucking alcohol. Never learn. I’m rubbing my eyes and she passes me another Coke. -Here, you might want this. It’s cold. I’ve already been down.
I demolish it with gusto. -Thanks. Much needed. Sitting up and letting the old brain cells kick into gear.
I go for a piss and when I climb back in I tell her her gaff is the nuts. Well nice. Must set her back a bit on rent though. -How many do you share with?
-What are you on about, she laughs. -I live here with my parents.
-Oh, right… right… But hang on a minute, are you sure they’re alright about…
-Yeah, of course. I’m a big girl you know. I can bring home who I like. They’re open about these things… her hand stroking my chest, heading south….
We get intimate for a bit – which as it goes doesn’t half work wonders for the hangover – but by the end of it I’m starving, ravenous; so when she mentions bringing me down for a Full English I’m practically running for it. Still not sure about meeting her parents though; but she tells me her mum’s watching Eastenders and her dad’s outside working on his van so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves.
I’m on a stool at the big island-counter bar in the centre, supping a mug of tea as Jenny gets the fry going. Sizzle sizzle. The works. Nice kitchen too. Well plush.
-Have you always lived around Ilford then? I ask.
-Nah. We moved up here when I was about fourteen. Before that we lived in Bethnal Green. Small little place. Nothing like this.
-Right proper Cockney then, aren’t you, I laugh.
-Course I am. But now my dad wants to move further out into Essex. Says it’s gone to the dogs round here. But I want to stay close to London, near the tube and that. I’d probably have to get a flat. But I don’t know though. I think I’d miss my mum and dad too much…
She serves up my breakfast. -Oh, lovely. Cheers – and I tuck in like a wolf..
I’m eating away looking at all the West Ham shit on the fridge when I notice a few old primary-school photos on the wall. Jenny and another girl who is maybe a bit younger, smiling away in school uniform. -Oh look, you’ve got a sister I see…
She looks over. -Did have, she says ruefully.
-What? chomping away.
-That’s little Amanda, she says, gazing over. She died about a year after that was taken. Leukaemia. It happened so fast. She was only seven.
-Oh no, I’m really sorry… I didn’t know…
-It’s okay, it’s not your fault…. it’s, well, just one of those things really. After that, mum and dad didn’t want any more kids. Couldn’t handle it.. That’s why there’s only me…
She changes the subject. -Anyway, how’s your food? she says, perking up.
-Lovely. Really nice. Thanks by the way.
I’m just finishing up when her mum walks in. -Oooh… hello, she says… my gosh, you’ve done well here, girl…
I laugh, put out my hand. -Oh, hello Mrs…
-Butcher, Jenny cuts in.
-Mrs Butcher, I say, shaking her hand.
-Ooh, polite, isn’t he, she smiles… But none of that formal stuff with me, love. Call me Linda.
She sits down, takes out a pack of fags, the three of us chatting and smoking away, and after a bit she goes and calls out to the front. -Steve! Come in. Meet Jenny’s new boyfriend… Hurry up will ya! Coming back in. -Honestly, that man, never has a rest…
Boyfriend… what’s Jenny been saying?
A few moments later I hear her dad coming in the door behind me, patting his hands together -…I’ll have to sort the suspension on that thing, I think it’s had it…
-Steve, you’re here atlast. Meet Jenny’s new fella.
I turn round and feel like I’ve been thumped in the belly with a sledgehammer.
My God… it’s the fucking bouncer from last night…
He’s stopped by the door. We’re staring at each other. Eyes wide in disbelief . There’s a smear of oil across his face, bald head glistening. Shock brewing to pure hate…
-Steve… are you alright? and -Dad? What’s going on?
-New fella, eh? he says quietly as he closes the door…New fucking fella?…. COME HERE YOU LITTLE SCROTE!!!
I’m on my feet and we’re circling around the breakfast counter.
Jenny and her mum are tight to the wall: -What is this? -What the hell’s going on?
-Him! he points. -This little cunt was at the bar last night, weren’t he… giving it large… saying he knew where I lived… was going to come round and shoot us…. shoot every fucking one of us… Now here he is… WITH MY FUCKING DAUGHTER…
Jenny jumps to him. -Dad, no, you’re wrong! You must be thinking he’s somebody else. Last night he was up in Camden with me!
-No, love. Not at half ten he wasn’t. At half ten he was shouting down my earhole.
Shouting about people getting fucking shot… now how he hooked up with you I don’t know. But he’s made a big fucking mistake and he’s gonna fucking pay for it…
Jenny and her mum looking me up and down now… -I thought he was a nice boy… her mum says.
-I… I didn’t know, Jenny says, confusion laced with disgust.
-No, please, listen, I say, looking from one to the other… I didn’t mean any of it, honest…
-You’re getting taught some manners, you mouthy little prick…
Then we all turn as a large black dog appears at the back door, paws up against the glass. It stares eyes-wide for a moment then suddenly goes all-out beserk.
-Ha ha ha… The bouncer finding this funny. -Jenny, he says. Let Elvis in, will you?
-No way, Jen! I shout. Your dad’s gone fucking mad!
-DON’T TALK TO MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT YOU CUNT!!! he rages.
And suddenly he grabs a meat-knife off the sink top, shaking it in the air. -You know what? I’m going to cut your fucking balls off…
The women are holding each other, screaming now. -Steve, no! Put the knife down…! -Dad, please..!
-Don’t worry girls. Leave this to me…
In a panic I grab the nearest thing to hand, my plate, chuck it at him.
-Wha-hey. He ducks and it smashes against the wall. He’s laughing. -That the best you can do? Go on, try again. Let’s see what you’re made of, you little runt…
Dog barking and frothing, throwing itself against the door in a frenzy. -Don’t worry Elvis mate… you’ll have yours.
Then suddenly he lurches across the counter, swinging his knife, shredding a slice through my jacket. -Whoa…!!! I shriek, clocking the ragged tear. –Now calm down mate! Just calm down!
But there’s no telling him, dancing left and right like a boxer in the ring, grinning like a psycho… -No-one fucks with my family, cunt… no-one…
He strains for me again, swinging his knife, but this time I grab an ashtray, loaded to the brim, lob it straight in his face. – ARRRGGGHHH…!!! He’s blinded in a cloud of ash, wobbling on his feet.
-Dad!!! Jenny screams, darting to his aid… then at me: -You bastard, you hurt my dad…!
But I’m out of there – straight down the hallway, ripping open the front door, down the garden path and away, then… WHACK! – I slam straight into someone, a bloke out washing his car, bucket and water flying. -You bloody idiot! he screams, chucking his sponge at me. But I’m off – gone – belting down the street hell for leather… Until I sense something behind… something charging… running with purpose…
I turn… It’s Elvis. Head down, going full pelt… no… No!… The dog launching into mid-air…