The Dead

As usual.

Well done, Brooke.

She told herself she’d make an effort tomorrow. Especially as it now looked like they were all going to be staying together. She’d never held out much hope for Willesden. She didn’t really care if she never saw the dump again. There was nothing for her there, after all.

She looked across at the sleeping bodies of her friends, slumped against each other. Not a care in the world. What did they know about anything? Brooke had had to get used to sickness and death long before they ever did.

There it was. Every night she came back to this place. Thinking about her mum.

Missing her mum.

She’d been sixteen when she’d had Brooke. She was still at school, though she left soon after. Brooke had never met her dad, and Mum never talked about him, just referred to him as ‘the tosser’. Brooke and her mum had been very close, sharing everything, having a laugh, the two of them against the world. She was more of a sister than a mother. She’d been very pretty, always a new boyfriend on the go, with a flashier car than the last one, more money to throw around. They couldn’t ever believe that Brooke was her daughter. One had even tried it on with her, but Brooke had told her mum and she’d never seen him again.

Mum was like that. She looked after Brooke, always took her side, always believed her. Not like some of her friends’ mums. They could be right cows. Mum had been tough and fu

People said she was very brave. But it didn’t help. She had surgery and every kind of treatment the National Health could throw at her.

And eight months later she was dead.

Nothing had been right since then.

What use was all that love when the person wasn’t there no more? It just went bad. Brooke had turned hard and mean and nasty, not caring what she said to anyone. Not caring what anyone thought of her. Except her friends. They were a kind of family now, the three of them. Brooke was the dad. Aleisha the mum, always fussing over them, too nice for her own good. And Courtney was the grumpy teenager, moody and moaning about everything.

She didn’t love them the way she’d loved her mum, though. She didn’t think she’d ever love anyone ever again, not like that. She was never going to let anyone get that close to her, because people died, and there was nothing you could do to bring them back.

She missed her mum so bad. All that Brooke really wanted in the world was for someone to wrap her up inside their love. She’d cried when she saw Greg settle down with Liam.

Some people were just luckier than others, she supposed.

Greg was still holding Liam tight, and murmuring into his ear, his voice low and soft, the voice he used to tell Liam bedtime stories. He always made them up himself, didn’t really like story books. He was good at it; he made the stories really exciting, doing all the voices and sound effects. A lot of the stories were based on the war films they’d watched together, but he also told Liam about history: Nelson and Wellington, the British Empire, the Charge of the Light Brigade, battles won and lost, about brave soldiers, about Iraq and Afghanistan and somewhere called Wootton Bassett. Liam didn’t care what the stories were about; it was just nice being alone with his dad in the cosy darkness, and having him all to himself.

Greg wasn’t telling a story tonight, though. He was trying to make Liam feel safe and unafraid. Dad would have made a good soldier, a brave captain or a general, looking after his men.

It felt good, hearing his voice, the same as all those nights for as long as he could remember. ‘I love you, Liam,’ he was saying. ‘I wouldn’t never let anyone hurt you. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘You’re mine, see? My boy. And out there. Out in the world, there are people who want to hurt you. But they can’t as long as you’re with me. Nothing can ever hurt you. I’m your dad, Liam. That means a lot – a boy and his dad. Haven’t I always done well for you, looked out for you? Haven’t we always had a laugh together, eh? Going to the Arsenal, sitting side by side. Wish I could have taken you back when it was standing. What a crowd that was!’

‘I’d like to have seen that, Dad.’

‘Yeah. I remember going with my dad. The two of us, squashed in, but I always knew I’d be OK, ’cause he was with me, watching over me. That’s where a son should be, Liam, by his dad’s side. That’s why you had to stay with me when your mum walked out on us. She would never have known how to look after you, bring you up proper, bring you up to be a proper man like your dad.’

‘No.’

‘Only dads know how to bring up boys.’

Greg coughed, and as he did so his arm tightened about Liam’s neck.

‘It’s my job as a dad,’ he said when he’d recovered, ‘to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you.’

‘Yeah … actually, Dad, you’re hurting me a bit now.’ Liam gave a little laugh. But he was serious. Dad’s arm was choking him.

‘Nah. I ain’t hurting you, Liam, you silly sod,’ Greg said, and he too chuckled. ‘I’m holding you. That’s all.’

‘Yeah …’

‘Everything’s all right. See? I’m just holding you by my side. Where you belong. You’ll always be by my side. A boy and his dad. You and me, eh, Liam?’

Greg groaned and dropped his head between his knees. He was shivering, although he felt almost too hot to touch. Liam was sweating himself where his dad’s body was pressed against him.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Dad?’ Liam asked quietly, the words falling heavily.

‘I’ve got a real bastard of a headache, son. Feels like my head’s splitting open. Makes it hard to think what’s the right thing to do, but I’m OK. I always do the right thing, don’t I? Always do the right thing. Always look after you. My little whassname … whassname … God. Forgot your name for a moment there, son. Silly old fart. Losing my memory in my old age. Losing my marbles. Cuh, there’s words in there, son, slippery as eels. I’m just trying to catch them. Eel Pie Island. Yeah …’

Greg fell silent and Liam didn’t know what to say. Dad was acting strangely, not making sense. His arm felt heavy as lead across his shoulders. For a long while Greg said nothing and didn’t move, just sat there, breathing heavily. Liam wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

He tried to move his dad’s arm away.

‘Leave it,’ Dad mumbled. ‘I’m protecting you, Liam … See! I know your name. Lee Am. I need to keep my arm round you, so’s you’re safe. Nobody is ever going to hurt you as long as I’ve got a breath in my body. The world was always a bad place and it ain’t getting any better, but at least it’s getting simpler. There’s not so much to understand, just kill or be killed, survival of the fittest, eat or die. Meat Is Life. You know that, don’t you? It’s written on the front of my, whassname, ship.’

‘Your shop?’

‘Yeah. We don’t have to worry no more about taxes and laws and the congestion charge and Newsnight and Question Time, you won’t never have to learn French at school or maths – I’ve always been good at maths; you have to be if you’re a shopkeeper – and inflation, that don’t exist no more, or the credit crunch or sub-prime mortgages or nucular war. You don’t have to worry about books and instructions and how to upgrade your phone and all that rubbish, none of it means nothing no more, just be strong and eat to live. I’ll be strong for you, Liam. I know you find it hard to be tough, to be a little man, and maybe if we’d kept up with the footie training you’d have got good at it, but none of that matters no more now. All that matters is … What’s the matter? What’s the, er … Yeah, what matters is that you can’t be hurt no more, you can’t be scared no more. You can just lie there asleep in my arms, Liam, where you’ll always be safe …’