Steel......... Louise........... Billy

Steel.

“They always check your pockets,” Billy tells Martin as they push through the glass swing-doors and enter the supermarket, “you just have to stay calm.”
“Cool like Fonzie?” asks Martin.
“No, calm,” Billy says sharply, “it’s not cool to live in the room above your mate’s dad’s garage and hang around with teenagers when you‘re thirty; that’s not cool. What’s cool is having nerves of steel when the security guard is feeling your backside and you‘ve got three Curlywurlys down your underpants.”
“I don’t know if I can go through with this Bill, it doesn’t seem right.”
“A big supermarket chain like this isn’t gonna notice half a dozen bits of chocolate going missing are they?”
“No, but it’s the principle.”
“Listen,” Billy begins, “you didn’t have any principles eating the chocolate I nicked the other week; you’re just too much of a coward to do it for yourself. Well I ain’t doing your dirty work anymore; if you don’t nick it, you don’t eat it.”
Martin is scared-he has been brought up on a diet of television cop shows, and knows that to become a shoplifter is to cross a line, a very clearly defined line, even when no one is hurt and there is no victim, accept maybe a stockholder’s profits. Martin doesn’t want to be a thief, but the thought of reward without sacrifice is a powerful motivating force, especially when his body is crying out for Caramacs.
“Are you listening?” Billy whispers as they amble along the aisle to the sound of ‘Don‘t Give Up On Us‘ playing soullessly on electronic keyboard all around them. “Never put anything in your pockets; if it’s small enough put it in your socks, but make sure it’s secure, you don’t want your stash falling out of your trouser leg.”
“That would be bad,” Martin agrees.
“And most importantly,” Billy continues, “always buy something; a handful of half-penny chews, black jacks, drumsticks-something cheap obviously.. there’s nothing more suspicious than just walking straight through the shop.”
“I haven’t got any money Bill.”
“Don’t panic; I nicked ten pence off Noel.”
“Well he won’t notice that; he’s always got money.”
“Right. Now Mart, don’t mess it up now. Here’s the money, go over to the counter and pick some sweets.. don’t spend it all because you want them to give you change. When they’ve turned around to put your money in the till, pick some bars off the counter and keep them in your hand, but make sure you keep them hidden in your sleeve, you get it?”
“Uh huh.”
“Then get the change, pick up your bag of little sweets, and look around, I’ll be right next to you-then we walk out of the shop together, dead casual like.”
“Where are you going?” Martin asks nervously.
“Don’t worry about me, just do what I‘ve told you; by the time you’re done, I’ll be there, waiting.”
Billy pushes Martin in the back in the direction of the sweet counter, while he disappears down an aisle. Billy passes shelves stacked with sugar and caffeine-soaked fizzy drinks, chocolate biscuits and crisps; he ignores delicacies that would have interested every other eleven year old in the Western world and moves to the end of the aisle to the chilled meats section. A security guard appears from the next aisle, watching Billy closely. Billy turns and sees the guard, and then casually pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, studying it and cross-checking with the array of meats on display before him. Billy has studied his craft well and knows to an adult, particularly a grizzled old security guard, a boy with a shopping list is a boy on an errand, and therefore not considered a menace.
There is an announcement over the supermarket PA by a woman with a cold, about a special offer on steak and kidney pies. When the music returns, it is the theme from the TV detective show, Van der Valk. Suddenly, the guard turns and moves quickly up the aisle out of sight. In the cold, bright light of the chiller, Billy hastily grabs a handful of steaks and chicken breasts and shoves them into his socks; the cold of the meat against his skin causes him to breath in sharply, and when he exhales, his breath is released in clouds of condensation. Billy then pretends to finish tying his lace, stands up and casually moves towards the exit.
As Billy reaches the end of the aisle near the door, he notices that Martin is nowhere to be seen. Undeterred, Billy moves to the exit, desperately trying to hide his anger and frustration that Martin has let him down. As Billy pushes through the doors and touches the pavement, he feels a hand on his shoulder. Billy freezes and waits for judgement.
“Billy.”
It is Martin.
“What the hell are you doing?” Billy explodes.
“I went to find you,” Martin replies sheepishly.
“I told you to fuckin wait!”
Billy turns to confront Martin, but instead his face drops as he sees the old security guard coming through the doors, beckoning the two of them back into the shop. “Stay calm,” Billy whispers, “it’ll be all right.”

Martin and Billy are led through the shop, their heads hanging down on their chests; their eyes looking up under their eyebrows at the shoppers who have stopped to shake their heads at the sight of two boys being escorted to the manager’s office. Billy is collecting his thoughts, thinking of ways to answer every possible question that may be asked. But most of all he prays to the god of shoplifting that Martin doesn’t crack, and they don’t check his socks. Martin holds tightly onto his small bag of sweets; he thinks that he has let down his family and for a split second he pictures his mother’s face. Martin is praying that his dad never finds out, and that he doesn’t piss himself.
“What’s going on?” Billy asks the security guard brightly, as the door to manager‘s office closes behind them. Billy tries to disguise his anxiety, but his mouth is already dry and he chokes, the last word clicking off his tongue. Although he is not furnished with an answer, Billy and Martin are directed to two chairs and told to sit down.
“Brothers?” the guard asks and before Martin can speak, Billy nods his head and pats Martin’s knee affectionately. Martin looks up blankly. The guard nods as the door opens and the store manager strides into the room. He is much younger than the guard, but his face already shows the signs of stress associated with long hours of work away from his young family. Billy and Martin see right away that the manager is the figure of authority here; an adult, not the geriatric security guard who looks like their grandads, but the man in the suit with a sombre expression already frozen on his face. The boys do not consider that he was young once and had ambitions like them, although now unfulfilled, and he certainly never dreamed that he would end up the manager of some shitty supermarket in the suburbs-the years of disappointment and regret are etched on the manager’s face, and have made him cold and heartless. He stares at the two boys, who are much like his own, and shakes his head having already judged and convicted them.. they are just two thieving little bastards from the estate after all. He points at Martin and indicates with his finger that he wants him to stand up.
“Let me check your pockets.”
Martin stands up, his knees shake and his tiny balls withdraw into his body. He lifts his arms up while the manager pats his coat and trouser pockets.
“What’s that in your hand?”
“My sweets.. I just..”
“Yeah, he paid for them,” the guard confirms.
“Okay sit down,” and then to Billy, “you, stand up.”
Billy obeys the command without question, not only because he knows he is guilty and therefore does not want to appear uncooperative, but Billy reacts because he has been conditioned to behave this way-he is a minor and he has been taught that adults always know best, no matter who they are. Billy has learnt obedience through years of canings, cracked knuckles and beatings; this is the age of corporal punishment, a time when kids do not have a voice.
Billy lifts his arms waiting to be searched, his eyes are fixed on a calendar hanging on the wall of the office; the picture for the month of April is of a big-breasted brunette wearing a yellow safety helmet and holding a lump hammer. “Nice nips,” Billy thinks.
There is a moment’s silence while hands move up and down Billy’s clothing. He considers that if he were innocent, how unjust this treatment would be and how little power a boy of eleven actually has. The manager sniffs the air, and Billy suddenly considers the possibility that the raw meat next to his ankles is rotting in the heated office. Billy swallows hard awaiting his fate, when suddenly the door bursts open.
“We’ve got him!”
A boy of nine is led into the room, tears streaming down his little red face. The shop manager turns away from Billy, as one of the security guards pulls up the boy’s T-shirt to reveal half a dozen chocolate bars shoved down his trousers.
“I thought you were packing a bit too much down there, kid,” the guard laughs. “Here, sit down,” and then to his boss, “his mates scarpered, but I managed to grab this little one.”
“You two can go,” orders the manager turning to Billy and Martin, slightly disappointed that his initial feeling about them is wrong.
The two boys step carefully out of the office, and they are half way to the exit when the manager calls them back.
“You two, come back here.”
Billy considers making a dash for it, but although he knows he could outrun the old security guard, the young manager would almost certainly catch them. Nevertheless it is now academic, as Martin has automatically obeyed the command, stopped and already turned back. Billy shakes his head and awaits his fate.
“You left your bag of sweets on the chair,” the manager says.
“Thanks,” Martin murmurs, carefully taking the sweets.
“That was close,” Billy says when they are finally back out in the street, forgetting any argument he had with Martin for failing to follow his usually flawless plan.
“Sorry about that,” Martin whispers, “but when you left me, I saw that security guard follow you.. I went to warn you.”
“Don’t worry; you did your best.”
Martin smiles bashfully and says, “I did better than that Bill.” Martin’s hands are shaking furiously as he retrieves five chocolate bars from within the folds of the right arm of his coat.
Billy laughs loudly and pats Martin affectionately on the shoulder, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Me neither.”
Martin thought that he would feel differently about this; he had considered that his actions would lead to an overwhelming sense of guilt, but instead he feels elated-the sickness he had felt in the manager’s office has now subsided and his initial relief has now turned into pure, unmitigated joy.
“And what did you get?” Martin asks.
Billy kneels down and pulls up his bellbottom trousers.
“What’s that; meat?”
Billy nods, “My dad had some gambling debts to pay, so he didn’t give mum any money for food.”
“You got no food in the house?”
Billy shakes his head. “Mum had no money,” he explains, “all we got is potatoes; any money in the house, dad finds and spends it on drink.”
Martin listens carefully, shaking his head. He cannot imagine a life in which the family completely lacks any kind of basic bond; there is no support, no love.. there is barely any relationship at all. This is something alien to Martin, whose family, although tedious and predictable, is a loving unit.
“I want you to have these,” Martin says finally, placing his stolen chocolate bars in Billy’s hands, “give them to your brothers or something.”
“No, no.” Billy tries to gently push Martin away. “You earned these Mart.”
“Bill,” Martin begins, “I don’t need them; go on, please take them.”
Billy finally concedes, “Okay,” and then, “thanks Martin; really.. listen, I’d better get home before this meat goes past its sell-by date.”
“Yeah,” Martin laughs, “see you tomorrow Billy.”

When Billy arrives home he is surprised to hear laughing coming from the kitchen, a sound usually absent from the house, and the smell of fish and chips. He passes his brothers Gavin and Alastair who are watching television in the living room.
“Mum?” he calls, opening the door to the kitchen, to find his mum and dad sitting at the table eating their fish suppers straight from the newspaper.
Billy’s mum Sheila looks up, slightly embarrassed and says, “We’ve saved you some, but I didn’t know when you’d be back.” Billy looks confused and his mum continues, “your dad had a big win on the horses, love,” she smiles nervously looking at her husband William, “he thought he’d treat us.”
Billy looks at his dad shoving the last few chips in his mouth, and recognises the vacant look in his eyes, knowing that after picking up his winnings he had gone straight to the pub and spent almost all of his money buying everyone there a drink. Billy pictures Will stumbling from the pub to the chippy, and in his inebriated state suddenly remember his loving wife and children. He would then arrive home bearing gifts as if everything was all right with the world.
“Let me get you something together,” Sheila says, picking up some pieces of fish that her two younger sons could not finish, along with a pile of cold chips. Billy then notices that his dad had only bought enough for the four of them.
“Thanks mum,” Billy says, “I got some meat too, we could have it tomorrow now I suppose.” Billy walks to the fridge and kneeling down begins to remove the steak and chicken fillets from his socks.
His dad looks over and choking on a chip he roars: “What the hell are you doing?” Billy does not answer, ignoring his dad. “I’m talking to you,” Will shouts, “where did you get that meat? Have you been thieving again?”
“I got it for our tea,” Billy explains softly, “there was no food..”
“I look after this family,” William explodes, “I’ll put food on this fuckin table; don’t come here with your stinking meat again.“ Will stands up, grabs the meat out of Billy’s grasp and hurls it across the kitchen. “And if I catch you stealing again..” Crack! The force of the smack on Billy’s head sends him flying across the kitchen and onto the floor.
“Will!” Billy’s mum screams. “Please don’t.”
William staggers a little from the alcohol swirling around his body, and holds his wavering forefinger in the air in front of his wife, “Don’t get me started,” he says, “just sit down Sheila.”
Billy remains on the floor and watches his mum back down and take her place at the table. Will remains rooted to the spot for a moment and then turns and leaves the kitchen, muttering to himself.
Sheila remains seated for a moment, unable to look at her eldest son. Billy stands up, rubbing the red mark on his forehead and approaches his mum. She looks down at the floor; her hands are shaking. Billy kneels down and takes her hands in his own.
“I’m sorry Billy,” she whispers, and then, “but he’s right, she shouldn’t steal; it’s not right.”
Billy closes his eyes, fighting back the tears. He wonders how he has managed to disappoint his mum again and tries to work out how he always ends up the villain. He looks up at his mum’s face, but she is looking out of the window.




Louise.

The world is full of pictures of naked women.. and in front of every picture, there is a man, full of admiration and desire, with his hand in his pocket jiggling his testicles.
The world is a breeding ground for sad men of all ages, who are unable to let go of their belief in woman as image (and therefore a controllable commodity) and embrace woman as a human being-a living, breathing, thinking, feeling, belching, farting person, who can smell of sweat and shit as much as anyone, but never like the pages of a freshly printed magazine. Maybe men continue to perpetuate the myth of female perfection (as they wish to understand it), because with the printed image, there isn’t a dialogue between the representation and the spectator, and consequently there are absolutely no risks... so men can portray women in all manner of situations; always good and always fulfilling a fantasy, but never as something foolish or unsexy; whether positive or negative, the image is always there to please and titillate-the whore, the schoolgirl, the cowgirl, the scuba-diver, the nun, the car-mechanic.... created by men, for men, to add to the illusion and strengthen their delusion that they are in some way in control.
Boys have no understanding of the overwhelming battle faced by billions of women everyday, as the female population of the world attempt to make their way through life without having their tits touched or their arse grabbed by strangers, who are still unable to distinguish between the tits on the page and the human being behind the tits.
Martin and Robert are being brought up in a world that promotes the concept that men have complete control and are at liberty to touch, invade and violate with total impunity... and moreover, the women the two boys know of and adore most (conveniently contained within the pages of a magazine) are all perfectly and literally two-dimensional anyway, and consequently they have nothing concrete on which to base their limited understanding of how they should act and react to the opposite sex.. so Martin and Robert exist in blissful ignorance of the gaping holes in their awareness of real women, and are content with the invented image, which sadly, is more complete in the boys’ minds than it could ever be in real life.

It is a day like any other, as most days usually are. A day that always seems better in retrospect, but in fact is ordinary in every sense of the word. Martin and Robert are walking home through the deserted park that borders their estate. They are not unnecessarily concerned when they see in the distance, the pink skin of a naked girl. The two boys unconsciously rationalize the situation immediately; their brains cannot make sense of the information that presents itself-they believe they have been deceived by a strange trick of the late summer light. The girl had appeared from nowhere, a little way off across the park, and then seemed to vanish.
“Did you see that?” asks Martin.
“Uh huh.”
“What did it look like to you?”
“A large rabbit, or a small kangaroo.”
“Yeah, I thought so too.”
“We’d better check it out.”
As Martin and Robert approach the place where the figure had been moments before, they notice a blanket lying in the tall grass covered with dolls, all in various states of undress, along with a pile of girl’s clothes. It has been carefully laid before a thicket made up of a couple of young beech trees and a cluster of thick leafy bushes. Martin rubs his forehead hoping an answer will present itself, while Robert looks all around searching for any signs of life. Suddenly the leaves of the bushes shake and a young girl of about ten emerges from within the dense shrubbery; she wears nothing except a pair a long white socks pulled up to her knees.
“Hello,” she says. “I’m Louise, what’s your name?”
Martin and Robert look at one another feeling as if they have just won the Pools, but are too sick with celebrity to enjoy it fully. Martin quickly checks the horizon to see whether they are being watched-like a man who spies a wallet on the street and picks it up, feeling both elation and guilt in equal measures. Robert then answers Louise, and like a true gentleman stares into the distance, too shy even to keep up eye contact, and too scared in case his gaze should fall across her light pink nipples: “I’m Rob and this is Mart.”
Martin satisfies himself that they are not being watched and he turns to take in the sight of his first live, naked female. He is surprised to find himself not feeling a surge of animal lust bursting through his body, only the tingling thrill of being in the presence of the opposite sex. His eyes wander unchecked up and down the straight lines of Louise’s body-he is intrigued by its lack of dangly bits and its incredibly tidy design. He tries to process and memorize the information being soaked up by his eyes, but is aware that he is staring quite blatantly at a naked girl, and this prompts him to say something to her. However, Louise has lost interest in the two boys and she now sits down amongst her toys, while her small but attentive audience continues to watch every curve of her tiny, undeveloped body as it moves around the blanket.
“This is without doubt the best day of my life,” whispers Robert, cupping his hand around his mouth to conceal the sound from Louise.
Martin nods, but he cannot fully disguise the slight disappointment that is building up inside. He is unsure whether it is because after a thorough inspection, it is obvious that Louise’s body is very similar to his own, or because she is so comfortable with her nakedness that there is no element of sex in their innocent encounter.
Suddenly Louise turns her head and Martin and Robert avert their eyes conspicuously, desperately pretending that they were looking into the distance. She asks the boys, “D’you want to play?” and there is no hint of a double entendre (and although Martin’s eyebrow raises slightly on his forehead, he knows the invitation is clearly anything but of a sexual nature).
Robert and Martin kneel down at the edge of the blanket, careful not to violate her personal space. Louise sits up and hands out two of her dolls. Martin holds his doll by the waist and walks her along the blanket towards Robert’s doll, where he head butts it innocuously. The boys snigger and act out a play fight with the dolls. Louise looks across at them and snatches her toys back furiously. “That’s not the game,” she says indignantly. “If you’re not going to play properly, then don’t play at all.”
Martin and Robert find themselves apologising and asking to stay, only to remain in the presence of this girl. There is something within the two of them that they do not recognise or understand, which holds them there and demands they suffer any humiliation or dull moment, simply to be a part of this girl’s life. To share a few moments in the company of a beautiful girl, so many men would sacrifice so much.. their time, their careers.. their wives. However, Martin and Robert are content only to waste an afternoon watching Louise’s socks slip down her smooth legs, and then watch as she stretches out one leg at a time to pull them back up to her knee. On each occasion, two pairs of eyes bulge in their sockets and strain to see the space where Louise’s thighs meet, and then try to match it to the pictures they have seen in magazines.. but they cannot, as Louise bears little resemblance to those models, whose bodies are fully developed, and innocence, manufactured.

And all the time Martin keeps checking the windows of the houses that back onto the park for anyone that may be watching, while Robert still fails to understand why Louise continues to remain undressed in their presence, without any sign of unease-Robert cannot bear to be naked in company; showers after P.E. at school hold him in constant dread, he will either pretend to have washed, but always remain wrapped in his towel with his pants still on, simply splashing water on his hair and face, or bypass the charade altogether with a forged sick note from his mum.
Robert is ashamed of his own body-his round belly and fat thighs sicken him as they close in around his small willy, and the mass of flesh surrounding his genitals seems to accentuate their stunted appearance. Robert scans the private parts of his classmates and is staggered to notice hair growth around the bollocks of his contemporaries. This knowledge makes him feel more inadequate-and after failing to kick a ball straight, or run for more than a minute, or manage a full press-up, the shower at the end of the lesson is the final humiliation.

Martin and Robert do not understand girls. They are quick to make assumptions and wild generalisations about them before recognising one simple truth; girls are human beings, and as such are as much individuals as they themselves, full of confidence and bravado on some occasions, and sick with insecurity and apprehension at others-desperate for attention one minute and frantic for solitude the next. The two boys watch Louise happily playing, and make snap judgements about her and her kind, based on the women they know best.. their sister and their mother (women they actually know nothing about); so they believe that girls want to play with dolls and plastic babies that piss themselves, rather than with Star Wars figures or Micronauts; they prefer to listen to Abba and David Soul over The Clash or the Buzzcocks; and that they’ve never heard of Asimov or Tolkien or Arthur C. Clarke or 2000AD... moreover, Martin and Robert feel that the world has shown them two types of women, the first are doe-eyed and do their homework, they walk with enormous poise, appearing to the world as if all of their treasures are locked away deep within their clothing, they look away bashfully when a boy‘s gaze falls across them, and they will not engage in meaningless small-talk.. while the second type have the confidence and knowledge to be aware of their sex, and be comfortable with their bodies, fully recognising the power they have over their male peers, they look men straight in the eye and crush them with their lack of attention. Up until this moment Martin and Robert had believed that this kind of woman only exists in celluloid and top-shelf magazines, however, they have discovered this type in Louise-she certainly appears to be at ease with herself and her nakedness, and for this reason she is like no other living girl they have ever met. Louise is like the women in the magazines, she doesn’t scream or giggle or try to cover her modesty with Marks and Spencer’s old granny knickers. Martin and Robert had understood that these women did not live among normal working class people, but there she is, within touching distance.. and this begins to raise questions in Robert and Martin’s enquiring minds, like maybe there is a chance for two small boys with two small willies in the wide world and maybe, just maybe, they will match real-life with the fantasies whirling through their sick little heads...
...and so with this very much in mind they are both surprised and distressed, when from nowhere Louise says with absolute lucidity: “If you don’t go away now, I will tell my mum you were watching me.”
And that’s all it takes to send two small males hurtling across a field, as if their very lives depended on it. A simple request, weighed down by a threat that strikes terror into their hearts. Although completely free of guilt and innocent of any crime, Martin and Robert have judged themselves through the eyes of society; a society which lacks their European neighbours‘ open-mindedness, is unemotional and puritanical, and does not approve of young boys ogling naked girls, regardless of whether the situation is instigated by the girl in the first place. Martin and Robert are being moulded by the world in which they are growing; they respond to their instincts which tell them that: they shouldn’t be spying on little girls; if their mums found out they’d be in for a really good hiding; and most importantly, the boys feel that by obeying their petite naked mistress, they will be treated with similar offerings in the future. What they have yet to appreciate is that Louise has already forgotten them and when their paths cross again, they will again be two faceless, nameless boys. They will soon understand that as submissive males, they are really in no position to make any demands on womankind.
Martin and Robert are faced with a bleak future in which they set themselves up for a choice between women with whom they would not want to share their time, but do anyway, and women who will look right through them, barely recognising their existence.

“Wouldn’t it be great if all girls were naked.. all the time?”
Robert considers Martin’s question for a few moments and then replies: “Nah, I think you’d get bored seeing it on display everyday. Part of the attraction is because the best bits are concealed.”
“Yeah, I suppose.. it is a greater thrill when you finally get to see them, even if it’s only for a while.. or it’s in a porno mag or something.”
“Definitely,” Robert agrees. “Woman’s greatest asset is man’s imagination.”
“That’s good that is.” Martin slaps Robert on the back and laughs as he repeats the phrase in his thoughts, mouthing the words silently. “Did you make that up?”
“No, I read it somewhere.”
“You read too much Robert.”
“You don’t read nearly enough,” Robert retorts.
“Poo off,” laughs Martin.
“See what I mean!”
“Anyway, you don’t need to read to be a marine biologist,” states Martin angrily.
“Of course you do dummy.”
“Huh? I just thought you needed to be a good swimmer and know the different fish and that.”
“And that... and that!?” laughs Robert. “You need to do degrees and stuff.. go to university.. and to get to university you need to be able to read.”
“I can read.”
“Yeah, 2000 AD and dirty magazines.”
Martin considers this while they walk home, his forehead crumpling up as he reassesses his life‘s direction. He had thought that his ambitions were achievable, now it dawns on him that he will have to work to realise his dreams.
“Shit,” he says at last. “Rob? How much do you think those photographers get paid.. the ones from those magazines?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“They make a living though, don‘t they? I reckon that’d be a top job.. and you wouldn‘t need to read to take pictures of fannies would you?”
Robert remains silent, he has something more important to attend to and he pulls his underpants out from the itchy crack of his backside.
“What d’you think Rob..?” No answer. “Hey, are you all right?”
“Martin can I go for a poo at your house?”
“Get lost!” Martin shouts, pulling a face. “I don’t want your massive log blocking our bog. Why don’t you sod off home and have a dump there?”
Robert does not answer, he just sighs, screws up the side of his mouth and looks down at the floor sadly.
“I know your mum can be a bit moody,” continues Martin, “but she ain’t that bad is she?”
“No,” replies Robert, “you’re right.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Martin runs off in the direction of his house and when he is out of sight, Robert ducks behind a bush. Safe within the fingers of foliage and hidden by shadows, Robert lowers his trousers, squats down like a dog and relieves himself.

Louise is not an exhibitionist, although she does crave the attention not lavished on her by her family members. Louise is not completely naive, and she recognises the thrill she derives from being naked, is not wholly innocent. Louise just enjoys the feeling of a cool breeze against her unprotected body, and the freedom that comes from being unshackled from the trappings of a civilised world.
With a wry smile, Louise acknowledges the power she has just wielded over the two unsuspecting boys. She had been in total control and she had liked it; she had manipulated them the way she twists the heads and bends the arms of her dolls.. and most importantly, when she had tired of their company, she had sent them scurrying away with their tails between their legs, knowing that their hearts were aching to remain at her side.
Louise is experimenting; she is testing the water; she is getting prepared. Louise has two older sisters and she has seen them grow up and desert her for young men who have the same sycophantic, fawning facade as Robert and Martin. She has witnessed her siblings rushing to their bedrooms with cheeks stained with mascara from tears cried on the bus home after a fight with their boyfriends. Louise is making sure that she will never be reduced to this blubbering mass of lipstick, hairspray and blue eye shadow.. she will not bow down, she will resist the seemingly unstoppable tide of male control and she will defy her oppressors by making them weak at the knees. She has found that men are vulnerable and she will kick them where it hurts. Louise will stand firm, while her admirers remain flaccid.
And by adopting this clinical approach, she will find her perfect partner-a partner who is capable of matching her on every level; physically, emotionally, spiritually. Much of Louise’s actions are not instinctual; she has learnt from the mistakes made by her sisters and the thought of repeating their tragic errors, both sickens and inspires her.
Louise does not want to be a victim and so she begins to strengthen her defences; and the best way she knows to achieve this is to gain information about her enemy, and Louise is under no illusions that her enemy is man, even when it is in the form of two small and very scared boys, for she knows only too well that these two timid children will one day grow to be men.
Louise is aware of the world around her and the struggle that awaits her, and she is getting prepared.





Billy.

Breathe.. breathe deeply. Focus on life. Concentrate on who you are; where you are; what is important.. Cry. Cry now.. let it out. Control your fear.. and just survive. Survive at all costs. Think about your mum, your brothers, yourself.. the time will pass and you will find one day that you are still alive, but somewhere else-and the strength you feel then, will have been shaped here today.
Billy senses the nausea building in his stomach, feels it moving up through his chest as it rocks his whole body. He sucks air through his nostrils into his lungs, attempting to subdue the sickness by directing his attention to the otherwise unconscious act of staying alive.. breathe in, breathe out, breathe in.
Billy finds himself alone in his bedroom, the red mark across his face starts to fade as the bruise on his belly blackens and begins to ache. Tears roll down his cheek unchecked, but he doesn't sob, he has learnt to weep quietly not wishing to disturb the oppressive silence that develops after another blazing row. Billy brushes the line of teardrops from his face with the back of his hand and stares at his room through bloodshot eyes-he can still picture the afterimage burnt into his retina, and he winces at the unprovoked attack again and again, until it too, along with the pain, has faded.
Billy's mind clears and the process of repair begins. He doesn't try and analyse his beating because he knows from experience beatings are too random and unpredictable to even contemplate. They are usually fuelled by alcohol and carried out in a whiskey haze that clears with the hangover, leaving his father’s conscience clear as the events are never remembered.. except by Billy, who now tries to direct the focus of his mind away from the house altogether, away from his father, away from his own life. He doesn't think about his past, about good times with his family because there are no good times, only a succession of sulks and smacks. Instead Billy lifts his head, turns his attention from the room and gazes out of the window. He stares between the gathering clouds into the deep blue of the sky and out into space. He remembers the detention at school a few weeks ago and laughing with his friends about Uranus. Billy smiles to himself finding some solace in childish innuendo. He says the word out loud, knowing well the sound will vibrate in the stale atmosphere and clear the air.
"Your anus."

There is a tap on the window and Billy wakes from his day-dream. Outside, a tiny stone rises into the air, arcs towards the house and cracks against the glass for a second time. Billy stands up and peers out of the window. His three friends are standing below; Noel is searching for another stone but Martin pokes him in the back when he sees Billy. Robert waves and Billy holds up his hand extending his thumb upwards.
"Shit," he whispers to himself and slumps back into the room away from the window. Billy approaches the long mirror set into his wardrobe and examines his reflection; he is looking for telltale signs of the tears he has cried-he is the leader of his small gang, and any sign of fragility would be seen as a major weakness and exploited by his friends.. so Billy spits on his hand and wipes the marks from under his eyes, ruffles up his hair, pulls on his trainers and opens the window. He hops onto the ledge and lowers himself out of the room. Below Billy's window is the front porch of the house, he drops softly onto its roof, closes his own window and then jumps to the ground, greeting his friends with a wave.
"What's going on?" asks Billy, quickly moving away from the house and out of sight.
"There's gonna be a fight!"
The four boys spread out in a line and fill the pavement, walking down the road with a look of cool arrogance. Noel bounces along like a young Cassius Clay, acting out the fight to come, punching out at an imaginary figure in his way; in stark contrast, Martin walks head down, with his hands wedged tightly into his pockets; Billy strides a little ahead of his friends, both to appear in control and also to keep his red and swollen eyes out of sight; Robert is behind the group as usual, trying to keep up, finding the pace a little uncomfortable for his fat, stubby legs.
"Slow down will you," he mumbles.
"Keep up fat man!" Billy calls back.
Noel turns and faces the group. He keeps up his bouncing and launches himself backwards down the street, throwing his fists towards his friends. "Come on Robert," he shouts. "I can still go faster than you."
Robert tries to increase his speed and huffs and puffs, forcing his flabby legs into action. Noel laughs and looks for a reaction on the faces of Billy and Martin, he notices Billy's bloodshot eyes and directs his derision at this new target.
"Hey Billy," Noel says, "have you been crying?"
Martin looks up from the grey concrete pavement for the first time and examines Billy's face. "Are you all right mate?" he asks. Billy does not answer, but Noel begins to laugh.
Billy's emotions erupt. He looks from the face of one friend to the other-he wants to smother Noel's smirk, or smack it off his stupid mouth, and simultaneously hold Martin to his chest and weep-both friends have touched an all too sensitive nerve; Martin offers support in an otherwise unsympathetic world, and this touches Billy.. Noel is a smug prick, but he is an innocent child and totally unaware of the damage he causes his friend. Billy controls himself, lets his emotions level out and directs his energy to a suitable solution. He wants to answer Noel without betraying his own feelings; he doesn't want his friends to know how fragile he can be. Billy looks across at Martin and nods slowly, he then turns his attention to Noel who is still giggling like a baby and bouncing backwards down the road. Billy smiles-Noel's tiny victory is passing into history; Billy knows he has won now, and his wide grin throws Noel's concentration. Noel did not expect this; a mouthful of expletives or a smack in the mouth maybe.. but not a smile. Noel becomes unsteady on his feet as he continues to bounce backwards and a look of total confusion floods onto his face.
"What?" he cries out. "What are you grinning at?"
Billy glances down the street and now Martin begins to laugh. Noel looks quickly over his shoulder, throws his arms out for balance and then smacks straight into a tree. Billy and Martin double up with unrestrained laughter, while Robert reaches them and winces-the pain felt by Noel as his head thuds against the tree is communicated across the space and rushes up through Robert's legs into his body. "Ooh, I felt that," he says, rubbing his own head in sympathy.
Noel stands up gingerly, steadying himself against the trunk of the tree: "Shit, that hurt!" he says.
"Are you all right Noel?" Robert asks.
"Of course I am," snaps Noel-the embarrassment of the situation far outweighing the actual pain he is feeling.
"I can see stars circling your head." Billy is laughing so hard his bruised ribs begin to ache again. "Or those little cartoon birds!"
"Yeah," adds Martin. "Tweet, tweet!"
"Yeah, yeah," grumbles Noel, "laugh all you like." Noel looks up and returns Billy's gaze; their eyes meet for a split second and Noel looks away quickly, feeling slightly intimidated. He curses to himself and looks up again; Billy is gone, walking away with Robert and Martin. The show is over, the audience are gone, and the star brushes the dirt from his trousers and hobbles onward.
"Wait for me!" calls Noel, his voice is sugar-coated now, suggesting a sweet appeal, an apology.. a rapid withdrawal of an offensive statement, but remorse is only implied; Noel is far too young and stubborn, and too boyish to offer a full and frank retraction. The nearest any of them ever get to saying sorry, is a rare, hushed "Soz!" followed by an awkward silence.
"Where are we going?" asks Billy after they have been walking through the maze of streets of their estate for ten minutes.
"We heard it's gonna happen down there by the football pitch," Robert answers, pointing to an empty field in the distance.
"And where did you hear it from?"
"Noel's big sister," replies Martin. "Tell him Noel."
"Yeah," says Noel, "a couple of blokes from Ruth's class were expelled for fighting."
"They smashed up the classroom," interrupts Robert excitedly.
"I was getting to that!" Noel barks. "Anyway, they're meeting tonight to finish the fight."
Billy seems unconvinced.
"No word of a lie," adds Noel.
"But I don't see a fight," Billy says softly. "I don't see a thing..."
The football pitch lies below them, naked and unused. The goalposts stand bare, their nets lost or stolen. The chalk line of the six yard box has long since been eroded by the feet of boys and men, leaving an intermittent mark like a message written in Morse code. Much of the grass is dead, and the earth has been left battered and scorched; lifeless...
"Maybe we're early," offers Martin.
"Well let's walk down there at least," says Robert "they might just be keeping out of sight."
The four of them begin walking down the hill towards the deserted football field. In the distance police car sirens wail. Noel turns to face the far off sound, trying to determine their direction.
"Are you sure it's this field?" asks Billy again moments later. "There's definitely no-one there." Billy stops walking. "This is stupid," he says and turns to face Noel, "where exactly did your sister say the fight would be?"
Billy, Martin and Robert all turn on Noel, their eyes questioning-their body language threatening. Noel is silent as he looks from one friend to the other.
"I dunno," he replies at last, "well, not exactly.. but she said it was here, somewhere." Noel swallows hard, as his best friends try and swallow his story; unconvincing as it may be.
Billy finally says, after surveying the field one last time: "But it's not here Noel."
"Then I don't know where.."
"That's not very helpful," Robert interjects.
"Piss off!" shouts Noel. "You didn't seem to mind before, you said it was a good idea."
"It seemed like one.." retorts Robert, and then adds, "..at the time."
"Sod this, it's a waste of time. I'm going back," Billy says and begins to walk away.
"Oh come on Bill," pleads Noel, "let's try the park then; maybe Ruth meant the field there." Noel begins to walk after Billy, he grabs at his jacket, trying to pull him back. "We can't miss this fight, it'll be brilliant."
Billy looks around and brushes Noel's hand from his jacket. "Yeah, yeah," he says, "I'll come."
Noel looks at Robert and Martin, awaiting their own decisions. They shrug their shoulders, look at one another and then say together: "Okay then."
As the four of them reach the outskirts of the park, Robert laughs to himself. Martin looks over at his friend and says, "What's funny?"
Robert ignores Martin, and rushing to catch up with Noel, laughs again.
"What?" Noel asks. "What are you laughing at?"
"I was just thinking," Robert begins, and then changes the tone of his voice to deliver his gag: "Hey Noel, are you looking for a fight?"
Noel's face creases up into an image of confusion and he looks for help from Martin and Billy. "What's he talking about?" he says, and then to Robert; "Are you taking the piss?"
Robert laughs again and says, "Don't you get it?"
Noel looks deep into Robert's eyes and says with a conviction that leaves Robert shaking: "One day I'm gonna bust your head fatman."
"It's a joke idiot!" calls Billy, coming to Robert‘s aid for once.
"I know," Noel says indignantly, "he's just getting on my nerves."
Robert is silent, still a little stunned by Noel's outburst, and he stares at his feet. Martin steps in to defuse the hostile situation.
"Look," he says, "down there." The three boys forget their argument for a moment and turn their attention in the direction of Martin's forefinger. Noel smiles.
"There," he says triumphantly, "I told you."
Beyond the rusting metal and rotting wooden frame of a run-down roundabout, past swings strung up by their own chains and wound around the crossbar leaving them out of reach, stranded and useless.. along from the deserted slide, stained with saliva, piss and birdshit.. there, on the far side of the park, huddled together like conspirators, stands a group of boys.
Noel turns to his friends with a supercilious smile dancing on his lips. Martin and Billy shrug their shoulders not at all interested that Noel is right, just that they have finally found the fight. Robert quietly follows his friends as they run to join the others, his heart still pounding ferociously in his chest.

"What fight?"
The smiles on the faces of the four boys droop and wither, and then straighten out into frowns and scowls. Billy puts his hands on his hips and sighs. The small crowd gathers around him, all ears pricking up at the magic word.. fight. The lights behind a dozen pairs of eyes flicker on, awaiting a response. Billy is silent. He just stares at the faces before him and then at the floor. He pictures the brutal face of his father, and it is reflected in the eyes now focused on him. There is something sinister about the sensation of joy felt by the male sex at the prospect of watching two men beat the shit out each other.. it is something primeval, yet wholly barbaric.
"There is no fight.." Billy finally whispers and pushes his way through the crowd, trying to distance himself from an atmosphere bristling with hatred.
"What does he mean, no fight..? You just said there was a fight..? What are you talking about? Where is the fight anyway?" The questions fly as the excitement builds, but Noel, Robert and Martin begin to feel deflated and withered like balloons after New Year's Day-the expectations of great things that have kept them motivated up until now, have rapidly turned to disappointment.
Wild rumours circulate through the crowd quickly about where the fight is taking place, who is fighting, when it is taking place.. stories spread by boys berserk with the possibility, however remote, of watching two of their contemporaries beat each other senseless.

A hand clenches to form a fist and simultaneously rises in the air. Drawing back, it gains momentum and then crashes forward with enough force to knock the boy to the floor, where he remains, adopting an air of submission, only to be dragged to his feet again. He raises his hands to protect his face with open palms, but they are brushed aside with ease and the bruised skin above his eye splits as bare knuckles plough into his head once more. Bloodstained fingers withdraw from the swollen face, and the boy's eye closes with the pressure from the swelling. Again Billy sinks to the floor as his knees give in and he breathes deeply and carefully, praying to his omni-impotent God for deliverance.. or at least for a minute's peace from his father‘s drunken fury-but the answer he receives is silence, interrupted only by his own laboured breathing.

Billy breathes heavily as he walks away from his friends, and the sound of his breath roaring through his body fills his ears, blocking out everything else around him-the shouting from the boys as arguments break out within the group; the soft pad of Robert's feet on the grass as he breaks away from the bickering crowd and follows Billy; and the sob trapped in his own throat that squeaks as he tries to suppress it. The cry has choked Billy since the moment his father crashed into his bedroom and showered him with punches.. now Billy is ready to spit it out and unleash his pent up emotions on an unsuspecting world. He is desperate to rid himself of a sickness in his stomach that is sucking the life from his very being. He wants to spew out the bile that represents his painful position in society of the abused child.. he wants to shout out 'Help me.. fucking help me!' but although he despises his father and wants him out of his life, Billy, like his mother, knows his family wouldn't be a family without him and Billy does not want to be responsible for the break up of his nearest and dearest, picturing his brothers separated into foster homes or taken into care.. so he holds himself together, hoping the pain will pass, but it doesn't.
Robert runs to catch up with Billy, calling his name as he reaches him, but Billy's mind is clouded over and he cannot hear his friend at all. Robert taps Billy gently on the shoulder and Billy wakes with a start, the pain he feels quickly turning to anger. Billy's fist clenches defensively and he turns and swings blindly at Robert, his knuckles impacting on Robert's cheekbone with a thud. Robert's knees crumple and he drops to the ground like a felled tree, his arms still at his side.
Billy is suddenly consumed with a dreadful mixture of embarrassment and sickness. He is embarrassed by the brutality of his unprovoked attack, and feels sick as he stands over his friend and watches the shock drain the blood from Robert's face. Billy wants to apologize and comfort Robert, but he is aware of the group of boys across the park who witnessed the punch and is now moving quickly towards them, hungry for more.
"What was that for?" Robert mumbles.
The word sorry, hangs on Billy's lips, but to express regret would only confirm his mistake and he is not about to lose face before so many of his peers. The crowd of boys has descended, headed by Noel and Martin who stare at the scene in disbelief.
"Shut up!" Billy spits out at Robert. "Stop following me around."
A murmur begins in the throats of surrounding boys and builds to a chant.. fight, fight, fight, fight. They have found it at last. The blood rushes through their veins and they are desperate for Robert to stand up and retaliate, especially if they can watch him being knocked to the floor again; and suddenly without notice, the boys lose their grip on their inherent humanity and their understanding of good and bad. Their pack instinct causes the blood lust to escalate out of control, and suddenly two boys become a focus of extreme hatred if the fight continues, and especially if it does not; expectations raised, and then so cruelly let down.
Billy raises his hand to Robert and the crowd gasps: hitting a man while he's down.. this just gets better and better! But Billy extends an open palm not a fist, and he pulls Robert to his feet. Disappointment roars through the veins of every boy, and little by little their humanity returns, but it is tainted by cynicism and frustration.
"I'm really sorry," Billy whispers, finally giving in to his better nature. He then turns and walks away, deaf to the taunts from the crowd.
"What happened?" Martin asks Robert as the crowd begins to break up.
"I dunno." Robert shakes his head and presses a soft hand against his aching cheek, "I dunno."

Billy feels ugly, inside and out. He feels the influence of his father beginning to shape his emotions and his actions, and he hates himself for being so weak and easily manipulated. He feels the lines around his mouth and at the corner of his eyes, stiffen and straighten out as he becomes hardened to a brutal way of life.
Billy walks home, his life altered. He has yet to have any control over his circumstances, but he is more aware of his place in the world and he is beginning to understand he does have a choice-to care or not to care. And beneath Billy's sometimes cold and harsh exterior, he does care; his problem is hating to admit how much he does care and wishing to uphold his 'hard man' mask, mistaking it for a show of strength when it is nothing of the kind. The strongest amongst us are the ones who are not afraid to show their real selves and stand exposed, aware of their merits as well as their faults, and are still confident. Billy will understand this one day, but at present he has a more immediate problem ahead-getting through the weekend without another beating.
Billy is a survivor. He has seen and taken enough shit in his first decade of life to give him a deeper understanding of the world; he has no illusions, he knows the sting of reality and this is his major strength, if he only knew it.