WHEN WE WALKED THE STREETS TOGETHER
A Short Story by Matthew Adamson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2008
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The bus was jam packed. Every seat was taken. At the front sat the little old ladies with their bags of shopping. Families and commuters came next, working their way up the bus to the back row, which was occupied by a group of rowdy teenagers, music blasting out of their mobile phones.
Mid-way up the staggered seats sat two friends; a girl and a boy. They did not have the luxury of two seats side by side, and so sat across from each other, either side of the aisle in the centre. The newly boarded passengers were congregated at the very front of the bus, almost blocking the doors from opening and closing. This meant that for the last four stops, no-one had been able to get on.
The noise of the passengers; children crying, mothers shouting, music blasting and the low-level “natter” of the elderly people at the front of the bus made conversation difficult for Breagha and Liam, so they sat in silence and watched the world go by.
They loved days like this. Not necessarily the arduous bus journeys on packed, stuffy buses across the bumpy roads of the bus route that were in dire need of resurfacing, but the long summer days; out of bed early, into bed late. They would grab a quick breakfast of toast and cereal and then they would disappear for the day. The 471 to the nearby park, they would while away the hours walking, talking and laughing. They were the best of friends. If possible, they were never alone and they were always there for one another. They were inseparable.
Neither had known their father, both had died in the Gulf War. That was one of the reasons why they became so attached at an early age, conjoined, as it were, by a share sense of loss, muddling together through the adversities of childhood.
And though they would never admit it, they loved each other.
~
Although late August, the heat of the day had been overwhelming and the two friends savoured lying on their backs in the grass, jumpers tied round their waists, watching the fluffy, white clouds rush by in the sky above. Physically they were tired, running up and down hills for hours on end can take it out of your average fourteen year old, but their minds were alive with the joys of summer. School had broken up a mere five weeks previous, and not a moment too soon for Liam. He didn’t have the best of times at school; labelled as quiet and strange, he was disregarded as an outsider by many of his peers, Breagha being the only one who really stood up for him. His teachers were not his greatest allies either; although not stupid, his reluctance to work did not place him very high on his teachers’ Christmas card list.
They got up and slowly walked to the parks entrance and down to the bus stop. As they walked the streets together the subject of school was raised; Liam went quiet and seemed a little dejected at the thought of its imminent re-start.
The bus home in comparison was empty and they sat together continuing their endless chit-chat. They got off the bus and separated where the road forked; one to his house, one to hers. Alone, he walked along the sun-kissed pavement to his house. In the distance, he saw flashing lights.
~
Her body lay still on the warm tarmac. There was a trickle of blood issuing from her left nostril and, behind her head, a small pool of magenta rippled in the breeze. Her long, auburn hair was draped across the road and her pretty face showed no signs of life. She looked about thirty-five, but not older. Police warning tape cordoned the body off from the gaggle of spectators that had gathered at the scene. Two tall police officers were questioning a young woman who had apparently seen the incident take place.
“The car hit her, stopped and then sped off. No-one got out or anything!” she said, in a rushed, shook up voice.
“Did you happen to take note of the registration plate? What was the model of car? Colour?” asked the taller of the two officers, while scribbling rapidly in his black notebook.
“It was silver. Or it could have been white. I’m not sure, I’m sorry. I was more bothered about the lady who got hit; she must have gone twelve foot in the air and landed on her head!”
Amid the questioning of the young woman, no-one noticed the figure of a small boy worm his way through the group of people ogling the body and approach the police tape.
Liam stared at the body in disbelief. The blazing sun, in its sapphire sky, seemed to freeze. The day turned to night and the bright blue of the evening sky melted into black. The people around him disappeared. All he saw was the police tape, preventing him reaching the body on the floor.
“Mum?” he whispered. No-one heard.
Slowly, he slipped under the tape and advanced towards his mother. The gasps from the bystanders fell on deaf ears; he could only hear the beating of his heavy heart. As he got closer to her he reached out an arm to touch her, to help her off the floor, but the only thing to grab his arm was the strong grip of the smaller of the two police officers, previously questioning the witness.
“Son, you can’t do that.”
He heard the words loud and clear, but they didn’t register. He continued to gaze at his fallen mother.
“That’s my mum,” he mumbled.
There was no need to repeat what he had said with clarity. Suddenly a silence had fallen. The police officer let go of Liam’s arm and he walked towards the body. He didn’t touch her; he couldn’t bring himself to do it. A small lady with closely cropped grey hair whimpered and held her hands up to her mouth. Liam’s eyes were full of tears. They began to fall; wetting his mother’s still, warm cheeks. He couldn’t take his eyes off her; once so full of life, smiling everyday come rain or shine, now a lifeless shape that he held so dear in his heart.
He had not noticed, but the ambulance had arrived; the screeching sirens brought him back to earth with a thud. Two paramedics, in high-visibility jackets, ran under the tape and towards his mother and Liam was dragged back by the police officer.
~
The morning newspaper said that she had been pronounced dead at the scene; 17:23GMT. She had been returning from a friend’s house when a white Fiat Punto had mounted the curb and sent Maggie Saunders through the air, landing on her head and dying on impact. According to the news report on the television that night, the registration of the vehicle is yet to been known and the police are urging anyone who may know something about the events of August 25th to go to their nearest police station with any details they may have.
Liam was distraught as you might expect, but Breagha was there for him. As soon as she found out she got on her bike and rode to his Grandma’s to find him curled up on the sofa, asleep. She watched him for a while, tormented by his dreams, and then woke him. As soon as he realised who it was he sprang up and jumped into her arms; there were no tears this time.
For the next week, he didn’t feel too inclined to do anything but sit inside, watching the mind-numbing daytime television shows, that he and his mother so bitterly despised. A week with Breagha by his side had soothed him somewhat; he didn’t know what he would do without her.
It was school tomorrow, and Breagha finally had done enough to persuade Liam out of his bed and to go for a walk. They walked across a field of cows to the old tree house that they used to play in. There and back, they never let go of one another’s hand, and as Breagha turned to leave for home, Liam lent towards her ear and whispered, “thank you.” She smiled weakly and rode home. He watched her down the hill and round the bend. Once out of sight, he turned and walked inside. School tomorrow; what joy.
~
“WHERE’S YOUR MOTHER GONE? WHERE’S YOUR MOTHER GONE!”
At least they had the decency to change it for the appropriate parent, he thought to himself. As usual with the first day of school, the bastards took it upon themselves to sing their welcome song as Liam walked in. Usually it would be concerning his father’s death in the war, but now it seemed they were more up-to-date with his current affairs. As funny as they found it, his heart and soul crumpled at the words and his mind burned with anger; just wanting to take his father’s standard issue pistol to their kneecaps, blasting through them one by one with glee. He marched through the gates fighting back the tears, passed the statue of a Bulldog by the front door, biting his bottom lip to stop the quivering, and into his classroom. He parked himself in his usual uncomfortable, wooden seat and his eyes filled with tears.
He couldn’t take much more of this. He and Breagha did not go to the best of schools, but it was all their families could afford, and she had warned him of what to expect on their return, but nothing hits harder than the truth, and while sticks and stones have broken his bones, words would live forever in his mind.
He felt an arm across his shoulders. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Breagha. She whispered condolences in his ear and placed a soft hand on his cheek. She smelt amazing; her scent wafting under his nose as she spoke in his ear. Although he was not facing her, he could see her beautiful face in his mind. He felt the weight of his heart lift a touch; no-one but she could do that to him. He wanted to say so many things to her, but the thought of rejection and further loss was unbearable. He would rather have her friendship than risk everything and have nothing at all.
He glanced out of the classroom door and saw the four singers had been collared by Mr. Gleeson. The shortest of the quartet caught his eye and dragged a finger across his neck. Liam’s heart fell and he didn’t even notice Breagha throw them the V’s in a defiant gesture of friendship.
By the end of the day Liam was exhausted. He was not used to going to lessons after six weeks away from school, doing his utmost to avoid the singers and successfully so.
He was due to be meeting Breagha behind the shop for a cheeky cigarette before they got the bus home, so he collected his belongs and made for the shop. Reams of students were flocking out of the school gates; overjoyed at the fact the school day was over. He got to the shop before Breagha and so waited.
There was a noise behind him. There stood the singers.
Before he knew it they were upon him. Four hard knuckles crashed into his left temple and sent him dizzy, stumbling on the uneven ground. Four more in the stomach, knocking the wind out of his already weary sails. He was on his knees. A kick to the face sent him flying backwards against the redbrick wall of the back of the newsagents. He was steadied by the wall and managed to open his eyes to see another fist a foot from his nose. He ducked and heard a loud crunch as the knuckles shattered against the wall. An ear-splitting scream issued from the puncher’s mouth.
Two hands grabbed his pale grey jumper at either shoulder, jerking him to his feet, “told you you’d get it!” He opened his eyes, three blurry skinheads were staring him in the face. A fourth was bent double clutching, what Liam assumed to be, his hand. They punched him in the stomach again, and again. He was on his knees once more. A final blow; again to the left temple, sent him to the floor. Everything went quiet and he blacked out.
~
What seemed like minutes later he was lying in his bed; his grandma and Breagha standing over him. Attached to the rafters of his loft conversation bedroom hung the words “Happy Birthday”. He had completely forgotten.
“We had a surprise meal set up,” said Breagha, “just me, you, your grandma and your granddad, but you’ve been out for hours. How do you feel?”
“Sore,” replied Liam, weakly.
“Who did this to you, Liam?” asked his grandma shakily.
“I don’t know.”
His grandma muttered words of indignation and left to fetch him a glass of water.
“If you don’t tell them who it was,” said Breagha, exasperatedly, “I will.”
“Don’t. Just don’t.”
The meal was slightly over cooked, but it was still the nicest Shepard’s Pie he had ever tasted. He devoured it, leaving not a crumb on his plate, mopping up the gravy with a slice of buttered bread. He did not enjoy the fruit salad quite as much, but he was so hungry that the food seemed to diffuse into his body without effort.
Once the plates had been cleared away and washed up, the two friends sat in Liam’s room,
“I’m worried about you,” said Breagha, nervously.
Liam said nothing. He merely smiled at her, returning her gaze. She did not smile back.
~
Liam was defiant in school the next day. People stopped and stared at his black and blue face. He barged past the four boys that had battered him so badly; one of whom had a caste around his hand. It was as though a kind of madness had taken over him. He was still the quiet Liam he had always been, but he did not sit back and take stick off those who had belittled him so often in the past. He laughed in the faces of the singers, who, within the school walls, could do nothing. Unusually inattentive in class, Breagha became increasingly worried. He was almost avoiding her, conversation was sparse and intermittent and there was a look in his eye that she had never seen before. He disappeared throughout dinner and reappeared at the last moment for registration.
At the end of their last lesson, Liam approached Breagha.
“Bee, I’m going to walk home tonight. I need the air and some time to myself.”
“What about those lads?”
“They won’t be hurting me tonight.”
“Are you sure? Let me know that you’re home okay, please?”
“I will.” They hugged. While doing so, he slipped a sealed envelope into her bag.
~
Breagha got home and went straight to her room. She kicked off her shoes and threw her jacket onto the bed. She sat down next to it and tipped out the contents of her school bag onto her other side. She flicked on Radio 1 and sat listening to The Automatic, bouncing in time with the drum beat.
She saw the envelope; cream and, in the neatest of handwriting that could only have been Liam’s, her name across the front.
The news programme started on the radio as she began to read. His words washed over her like beautiful blue oceans. They played in her head like a love song. As her eyes filled up with tears, the widest of smiles broke out across her flawless face.
His love-song letter was interrupted by the news;
“A fourteen year old boy has been found hung in a cemetery in County Durham. The body was found by a local resident, hung by rope from a branch of a tree. Richard Emmott, who found the young boy, said, “I saw something hanging from the tree, swinging from right to left. It wasn’t until I got closer that I realised what it was.” The young boy is believed to be Liam Saunders, who recently lost his mother in a tragic ‘Hit and Run’ incident outside their family home.”