Clinging to the Wreckage

I’ve been pretty much wrecked since I last posted here. With Danny gone it seemed that he hadn’t been so bad after all and I hated myself for turning him in. The police came back to take a statement and I had to make up a story of how he’d just turned up off the streets. Don’t think they believed me, but who gives a shit? One of them, youngish, quite fanciable in a quietish way, kept looking at me sort of sideways. Then he says, all serious, that they’ll need to speak to a parent or guardian as I’m underage. Underage!

‘How the fuck old do you think I am?’ I said, deadly cold. ‘ He stares straight back blank as a concrete wall and says, ‘Twelve, thirteen at a push. You shouldn’t be here alone.’ I told him to fuck off, said I was seventeen and my ‘parent and guardian’ had to work for a bloody living which was why she wasn’t here, took them into her room to see her stuff, which I’d just about finished clearing away after Danny’s crazy. Showed them my student card. That shut them up. I was glad to see the back of them. Then I sort of collapsed and woke up with bloody ‘flu the next morning, didn’t know what day it was for almost a week.

But Marz is back, thank the godless stars. Just rolled in as if she hadn’t been in another dimension for the last who knows how long.

‘Christ Jazz,’ she says, ‘you look as though you’re even less in the world than usual. White as a new tampon and about as appealing – all that’s missing is the tail.’

I ignored that. Marz can be bloody crass sometimes – make that most times.

‘Where’ve you been?’ I said.

She shrugged, got out a ciggy and lit it, taking her time, then looked at me sideways. Evil around the eyes in spite of all the slap.

‘Oh, just some guy,’ she says, ‘you know me.’

I didn’t say anything – what would’ve been the point? She’ll never change, the headstones’ll be shaking when they put her under the ground – she’ll be screwing all the old bods in the graveyard.

She looked around then. ‘Place looks tidy. Where’s Danny?’
I told her the worst, even about the fire that almost happened but she didn’t seem bothered.

‘Just you and me again then, Doll, is it?’ she says. ‘Can’t beat coming home to your own flesh and blood – not that you’ve got much of either.’

I can’t be sure but I think that’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.