It was good to be back at school I suppose. At least it was familiar. I had decent enough friends there. My best friend was Gillian. She had dark hair and permanently rosy cheeks and a quiet strength. You wouldn't mess with her. There were plenty of hard girls at my school and Gillian fitted in pretty well with them but she was different from them. You could tell she was going places with her life. Her dad was a bank manager and she was naturally academic. She wasn't afraid to rebel or get into trouble and was curious about drugs and sex but teachers liked her. She spoke her mind but didn't shout it. She didn't need to. She never really spoke unless she had something to say anyway. You wanted to listen to Gill.
From what I could tell Gillian had a nice, stable home. Her mum was a stay at home mum and was great at cooking and sewing. Gill had inherited her mum's artistic flair more than her father's facility for maths, though she was generally academically bright. We weren't in a lot of classes together though so we tended to hang out together at break time. Gill had started smoking and spent a good deal of her time in the smoker's corner now. She still broke into a grin when she saw me but she had more friends than me. I was never popular. i never had more than one group of friends. I counted myself lucky to have friends at all.
I went to the music practise rooms whenever I had nobody to hang around with. Sometimes I would play the piano, sometimes I'd just do last minute homework, usually maths. Mr Harris would just sit quietly at his desk scribbling in a notebook, planning lessons I imagine. He could tell I was a sad kid but he never pressed me on it and just gave me a 'you can tell me if you want' nod every now and again. I remained tightlipped but appreciated the gesture. I hated people knowing my business. I preferred for him to stand behind me and turn the pages for me when I played piano, wirey black hairs sticking out the end of his shirt sleeves and under his watch strap. So gross.
Home wasn't a happy place anymore. It was lonely. And tense. I never knew what state dad would be in when I got in so I dreaded opening the door. He was often dozing in his chair, drink in his hand, cigarette smouldering down to his fingers. I don't know how he didn't burn the house down. I used to bring Gill home at lunch time a lot as our house was closer to school than hers. We'd eat tuna sandwiches and contemplate vegetarianism and she'd put her Doors tapes on. She was convinced Jim Morrison was still alive, living in the jungle somewhere. It's the sort of romantic story you love to believe when you're thirteen. I didn't invite her round anymore as I was too embarrassed. Her family was so nice and sensible. Mine was trash. We'd barely made it out of a housing scheme and now dad I never knew when dad would be drunk. One day when I was walking home from school I got to our from gate and saw dad sprawled drunk on a bench across the street at not even four o'clock in the afternoon. In broad daylight. There were dozens of schoolkids walking past. Thankfully I was on my own, I would have died if any of my friends had been with me. But I was so ashamed. And let down. What was he thinking? What a piece of garbage. I wanted to cry but all I could feel was anger and shame. Having friends round just now was out of the question.
I just got on with it. I shuffled through the day at school and shuffled home. I had Dr Martens boots now which were excellent for moody shuffling. It was more than being moody though. I was beyond sad. I was really in a state of despair and had nowhere to turn and no one to talk to.
Between the high school and our house was a rather rough lane that I rarely went down. The police were often down there and it wasn't the nicest past of town. I often saw a scrawny man with a bad limp come out of there. He wore a battered baseball cap over his balding head. He looked like a gimpy Phil Collins. He seemed to be hanging around when I was walking home from school. He nodded at me a couple of times and I just grunted hello and kept going.
It was a wet afternoon. It had rained constantly. I had maths then biology, my two least favourite subjects so I was pissed off already. I went to the music room after to avoid going home for a bit. I played some Chopin, my favourite composer. Mr Harris had already left for the day but the cleaners were there so they let me stay. I think they liked hearing me play as they worked. When they got the hoover out it was just annoying so I said goodbye to them and began the trudge home in the rain.
I was crossing the road at the top of the lane and I heard a voice. I looked around. The skinny guy with the limp was sheltering by a hedge. 'Hey,' he said. I looked around.
'Me?' I pointed at myself.
'Yeah you,' he said. 'C'mere, quick. You're getting soaked.'
I stood where I was, taking it in. I looked left and right, assessing the situation.
'Jeez,' he said, 'I'm no a paedophile. C'mere.'
I pursed my lips and went over to him. I folded my arms. 'What do you want?' I asked, curtly.
'I see you about all the time,' he said. 'You always look really sad.'
'I.. wut.' I wasn't expecting this. He really took me by surprise. I instantly started breathing harder. Tears started pricking my eyes. Don't cry don't crydon'tcry. I tapped my toes petulantly in little puddles formed on the pavement.
'Look, it's alright,' he went on. 'I'm not having a go at ye, far from it. I just reckon I can help.'
'Oh-ho really!' I said, suddenly rearing up, annoyed at his presumption.
'No, I don't mean I can guess what's wrong. That's none o my business. But I do know what can help right now,' he said calmly.
'What do you mean?' I said, curiously.
He pulled his hand carefully out of the pocket of his ratty black coat and showed me what I thought was a joint cupped in it.
'Ah,' I said.
'A wee smoke really helps. Does you no harm. I've been doing it for years. Helps me deal with the pain in my leg.' He nodded towards his twisted calf.
I breathed out. 'Where? I'm not going to your house,' I told him.
'Don't worry, you just need a couple of puffs to see if you like it. We can go in here.' He gestured towards a garden gate. A high white pebble dashed wall surrounded a leafy tree lined lawn. 'They're no home, their cars are never here until about seven o'clock, we've got ages.'
'You're very observant,' I said, following him into the garden.
'That's right,' he said, sweeping his sleeve along a flaky white wooden bench to wipe away the raindrops. He gestured for me to sit down. I gingerly took a seat and immediately felt dampness creep through my school skirt to my underwear. Such a gross feeling.
He took a clear red plastic lighter out of his pocket and put the joint in his mouth. I was starting to feel excited. He flicked the lighter and held the flame to the twisted end. He sucked gently and it glowed as it took the flame. He exhaled a stream of white smoke. It smelled herbal, sort of like pine needles.
'There you go,' he said, handing it to me. 'Just take a puff, hold it for a few seconds in your lungs, then breathe it out. Easy.'
I was smothering a grin. I didn't want to look uncool but I couldn't believe I was sitting in a stranger's garden smoking a joint with another stranger. I held the joint between my thumb and forefinger like I'd seen on tv and placed it between my lips. I sucked in and felt the smoke go down my throat into my lungs and it felt like being kicked in the chest. I managed to restrain myself from coughing. I held it in for a few seconds, it felt like something solid inside my lungs. I breathed out and an unimpressive cloud of smoke sputtered out of me. I had always envisaged this moment as being sophisticated but it was more like steam from a kettle. was disappointed.
'Have another go,' he urged.
I looked round at him. Who even was this man?
I put the joint to my lips and did the same thing over again. I felt less urge to cough this time. I felt something hit my brain that made me feel dizzy. Not in an unpleasant way.
'You starting to feel something?' he asked. 'It should help you relax and care less about the bad stuff.
I took another puff. My arms were feeling relaxed. He was right, it was nice.
'Look,' he said, 'you best be getting off home now. We don't want your da sending out a search party for you.' He stood up.
I blinked a few times then realised it was my queue to leave. I got up and slipped my schoolbag back on my shoulder. As we headed for the garden gate he slipped a piece of paper into my hand. It had a phone number written on it in blue biro and the name Jim.
'We can do this again if you want,' he said. 'Or I can get you some more any time you like. Just give me a call and let me know.' He slipped out the gate. 'Oh and Virginia,' he added, through the wooden spars, 'I don't need to tell you this is our wee secret.'
