The Writers' Circle

Chapter Seven


'Is he dead?'
'Probably.'
'Kick him, I dare yer.'
'No, you do it.'
'No, you - I dared yer first.'
'OK.'
Graham winced as the kids' boot met his groin.
'What the fuck?'..
'Oi, pack it in.'
He forced his eyes open to look at the three little kids standing round him.
'We thought you was dead.'
The biggest one grinned at him.
'Sorry mister.' 
'Fuck off, go on.'
'You aint dead then?'
'Course I aint fuckin' dead, now sod off.'
The kids laughed and ran off, pushing and shoving at each other as they ran.
'Bleedin' kids'..
Gra' rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms and legs stiff from sleeping on the ground. 
He felt inside his jacket, the cash was still there - thank fuck for that.       

Gra looked at his watch, 12.45pm. he had time to get home for a quick drink and a wash of sorts before he had to meet Ferret by the Red Lion.

2.00pm and Gra sauntered off towards the town to meet Ferret, feeling pretty chipper having eaten and found his parents out, so no hassles from the old chap either. 
To top it all, he'd got 285 notes from the chippy job. 
Yeah, all in all, a good nights' work, he decided to bung Ferret a tenner on top of the radios for the wheels. 

He loitered in the alleyway by the Red Lion, impatiently waiting for Ferret. 
He looked at his watch checking the time with the Church clock across the road, 2.35pm. 
C'mon, where the fuck you got to?'
A hand on his shoulder made him jump, he turned swiftly, fist clenched ready to slap whoever it was - 
'Hey man, sorry I'm late...' 
Ferret, breathless and red faced appeared from nowhere.
'You got the wheels?'
'Course I have, just down there.'
Ferret indicated towards the backs of the shops.
'C'mon then.'
Gra shoved Ferret and followed him to where he'd parked the Escort ghia, grinning with approval as he eyed the bright red car.'Hey man, I'm impressed!'      he two lads got into the car; Ferret wired it into life. 
They roared off through the town and up towards the estate.
'Where we going - exactly?'
'Fat Dave's place, you know it?' 
'Yeah, no probs.'
Gra' stretched his legs, putting his feet up on the dash as Ferret expertly threw the car around the winding roads on the estate, screeching to a halt near Daves' back gate.
'Keep her running, I'll be back in a couple of minutes.'
Ferret grinned, revving the car every few seconds as Gra made his way over and around the piles of crap and junk in Dave's back yard, avoiding the dogs that were tied to the washing line post with blue tow ropes, and knocked on the door.
Norm shuffled through the kitchen and yanked the back door open.
'Thought you weren't coming son.'
 Norm looked up at Gra' as he fidgeted with his braces trying to get them to sit comfortably on his sloping shoulders.
'Got held up mate.'
'I see you got a motor, have you got me cash?'
Gra' held the wad up to show Norm.
'Straight ton, that's what yer said.'
'OK son, come in then.'

Gra' followed Norm through the shit hole to the room where he'd got the boxes of knocked off gear. 
He opened the two boxes that he's set aside and peered in. Yeah, the bat was still there.
'Ok mate, give us hand to the motor will ya?'    
Norm held his hand out.
'Cash first son.' 
Gra' deposited the wad in Norms grimy hand, watching as he licked his index finger and carefully counted every note before shoving them deep into his trouser pocket.
Smiling at Gra' he lifted one box and began walking through the room towards the kitchen.
Gra' picked up the second box and followed Norm out through the house, down the back yard and through the gate to where Ferret sat revving the car.
Norm put the box down on the pavement opened the rear car door and turned to Gra'. 
'Nice doing business wiv yer; you know where to come if you want anything else?'
'Cheers mate.' Gra' replied, depositing the boxes on the back seat and slamming the door shut.
Norm shuffled back up the garden path as Gra' and Ferret roared off through the estate and round to Gra's place. 
They unloaded the boxes of radios and CD players in Gra's room, and Ferret, chuffed with his extra tenner, decided to go for a few pints down The George before losing the motor.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Now that he had some space, Gra' sorted the boxes of CD players and the remaining car radios before stashing them away in the back of his wardrobe. 
He took the baseball bat and tossed it onto his bed, then went off downstairs to fetch something to eat and a beer from the fridge. 
Back in his room Gra' sat on the edge of the bed, drinking and idly rolling the baseball bat around in his hands.
It wasn't particularly clean but he couldn't see any bloodstains on it either, he wondered again if J had dreamt his story about fat cow Reynolds.and what he should do next - he'd promised J he'd destroy it.
Gra decided to burn it, yeah, it would burn ok, it was made of wood - p'raps he ought to break it up first though, he didn't want any mistakes, and if this was the murder weapon, it had to disappear without a trace of evidence .Gra' studied the bat, mulling over the options for disposal.
The more he thought about it, the more appealing burning it became.
He glanced at his alarm clock - 3.45pm. 
He had plenty of time before his folks came home. 
Picking up the bat, he tipped the remainder of the crisps from the packet into his mouth and jumped to his feet. Swilling the dregs of the beer around before drinking it and tossing the can into the bin he then wandered downstairs, pausing to pick up a few newspapers from the kitchen and the shed key from its' hanger on his way through to the back garden.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Gra' looked around furtively as he walked swiftly down the garden path towards his fathers work shed. 
Tossing the bat and the newspapers down, he pushed the key into the padlock, opened the door and slid inside the shed pulling the door shut behind him.                                                                              
Acclimatising his eyes to the gloom he squinted as he scanned his fathers' array of tools, some placed neatly on the workbench others hanging along the walls of the shed. 
'Saws, chisels, screwdrivers, hammers, socket set, pliers, boxes of screws and nails, washers, odds 'n' sods . where the fuck's the axe?' 
Dropping to his knees, Gra' peered underneath the bench, groping around blindly as he attempted to locate the axe, muttering to himself as his hands fumbled around amongst the neatly stacked piles of wood and various bits of plastic pipes.
Pushing his arm over and behind a pile of flat sawn wood he swung his hand to and fro, fingers outstretched and searching for the axe.
'Yes!!' 
He grasped the axe handle firmly and carefully manoeuvred it from its' hiding place, holding his breath, not wanting to give the game away by disturbing anything.
He took the axe and cautiously opened the shed door, peering around the garden and across the fence, checking that the neighbours were out.
No sign of anyone - ok, he could get on and destroy the bat.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Picking up a large stone from the rockery he rested the bat at an angle on the stone and wedging it firmly between four old bricks that he'd found near the compo heap  attacked it, jumping away as the axe slid down the solid, shiny wood towards his feet.
'Fuckin 'ell!'
Gra' looked down at his feet. 
'Shit, nearly got me'.
He decided to try from another angle, and stood side on to the bat. 
Lifting the axe above his head he drew a deep breath before slamming it down on the narrow end, which resulted in a satisfying splintering sound.
Sighing with relief Gra' lifted the bat once more against the stone and repeatedly attacked it with the axe and as much force as he could muster. 
Splintered wood flew around his feet and legs as he repeated the procedure time and again until the bat was demolished.
Gra' scooped up the pieces of splintered wood and took them to the far end of the garden where his father had an old metal bin that was used for burning rubbish.
He threw the pieces of wood into the bin, nipping back and forth across the garden collecting the bits of splintered wood that were strewn around the shed.
Picking up the newspapers he tore them into strips and mixed them up with the wood and a few handfuls of fallen leaves and twigs, plus some broken bits from his mums' old kitchen table before flicking his lighter.
Gra' watched intently as the paper began burning, willing it to burn faster, to blaze into oblivion. 
His face took on a look of disbelief as the paper burned out, leaving the wood virtually untouched with just a few wisps of smoke drifting up from underneath the leaves.
'Shit, now what?'
Gra's mind began racing - he had to get rid of the bat, burning it was the only way - it was wood, so why wouldn't the fuckin' thing burn?
He stood staring into the bin, wondering what to do - how could he get it burning? 
It needed to be done before his folks got home, he didn't want any questions being asked - 'Petrol!' 
Gra' sped across the garden towards the shed and grabbed the red plastic petrol container, shaking it briefly to check the contents he ran back to the bin where he liberally doused the wood, leaves and twigs with almost four litres of petrol. 
'Now burn, you bastard!' he said to himself with a satisfied grin as he took his lighter from his pocket, reaching into the bin to ignite it.
'Fuckin' 'ell!'
Gra' jumped back, screaming loudly as the flames engulfed his arm.
Frantically he waved his arms around trying to douse the flames, barely noticing that the bin was visibly beginning to glow from the fuel induced inferno inside it.
He threw himself onto the grass, rolling his arm this way and that as he tried to stop himself from burning - his sleeve was all but gone and the flames were eating into his flesh.
'Oh fuck me .'
Graham was almost in tears as he raced back to the house and into the kitchen. Running to the sink he turned the cold tap on as fast as he could and plunged his arm under the gushing water.
Finally the flames went out; he turned the tap off then slumped into a chair - shocked and dazed, looking at the mess that was his left arm.
His hand was black and charred, bits of his clothing were stuck to his forearm flesh and he picked tentatively at them, trying to pull the remnants of his jacket sleeve away from the burned skin.             
Graham sat staring blankly through the open back door of the kitchen, not knowing, or even thinking about, what to do next.
The only thought that occurred to him was that his arm didn't hurt - 'weird'...
His head was light, like he was tripping, but not tripping, just distant, vacant.
His stomach began to churn; he leaned forward and threw up over the kitchen floor.

Half an hour later, the sound of a key turning in the front door brought him back to his senses. 
His mother screamed as she walked into the kitchen, smelled the burned flesh and saw Graham ashen faced and charred, slumped across the table.
He sat up with a jolt at the sound of his mothers' voice.
'Oh my God! What on earth has happened?'
'Dunno.'
He didn't care, he felt like shit.

Mrs Parker picked up the telephone and called an ambulance, her eyes almost popping from her head as she suddenly spotted the inferno raging in the bin at the bottom of the garden.
'What the hell have you been up to?' she demanded of Graham, not waiting for an answer as she dropped the phone and ran outside to look at the fire.
About five minutes later the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of the ambulance crew. 
Gra' ignored it. 
His mother came rushing back into the house, cursing him as she went to open the front door.
The Medics followed Mrs Parker into the kitchen where Gra' sat, shocked and dazed.
'Do you need me to come with him?' enquired Mrs Parker, as the ambulance woman examined Gra's arm.
'Probably best', she eyed him quizzically, 'is he under 18?'
'Yes.'
Mrs Parker sighed. 
She could murder a cuppa, it had been a hard day at work but now she had to traipse off to hospital with her son, and goodness knows what time she'd get back. 
She sighed again, and began filling the kettle.
'Cup of tea, anyone?'
'No thanks, we'd better get your lad off to the hospital.' 
The ambulance woman smiled at Gra' as she addressed Mrs Parker. 
'I'll follow on, shall I?'
Mrs Parker was determined to have a cuppa.
'If you like, he'll be in A & E, but don't be too long behind us.' 
The ambulance man helped Gra' to his feet as he replied.
'Come on son, you'll be ok - we'll get you to hospital and they'll soon have you sorted out.' 
 Gra's legs had turned to jelly, the medics supported him as they led him slowly outside to the waiting ambulance where they loosely strapped him onto a bed in the back before speeding off. 
Gra' just allowed it all to happen around him, let the medics take over, his head was swimming, his mind coming and going, he didn't give a toss right now - he was out of it.
Betty Parker poured the now boiling water over the tea bag in her mug; absent mindedly she gazed around the kitchen shaking her head in disbelief at the water splashed up the walls and over the drainer, odd remnants of her sons' jacket sleeve reduced to charred black rag lying in the sink, over the table and on the floor amongst the semi dried puddle of vomit. 
The smell of burned flesh mingling with burned material permeated her nostrils from the air around her. 
She began furiously spraying air freshener around and then opened the back door wider to rid the kitchen of the smells, she shook her head once again as she fished the tea bag out of the mug and threw it into the bin. 
Stepping over the mess on the floor Betty Parker sat at the table and sighed, she took a mouthful of tea and then realisation suddenly struck her.
Graham, - her son Graham, had been taken to hospital - he must be badly injured . 'Oh my God!'  

Jumping up, she grabbed her car keys, rushed out of the house and into her car, driving off erratically with tyres screeching towards the hospital.