Disraeli Avenue by Caroline Smailes - HTML preview

/ Home / Fiction / Disraeli Avenue

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

but she told me what she was there for and we had a laugh about it.

We even talked about how nice it’d be for them to grow up together,

joint birthday parties and stuff like that. It turned out that both of

our babies were due on exactly the same day, 23 July 1984. Rita

said that they were practically twins.

Mrs Curtis from number 20 reckons that she’s a bit of a psychic.

She reads tarot cards, she has a crystal ball in her front window,

plays whale music at 11:27 am each morning and seems to like

passing on doom and gloom. Someone told her about mine and

Rita’s babies being due on the same day and she came around to my

house to bless my stomach. She started mumbling on about a whole

load of superstitious stuff, that I didn’t really understand, then she

left saying that there was nothing else she could do and she wished

Caroline Smailes

me luck. She said that she hoped I would be the one, because she

thought I wanted it more. I had no idea, at that time, what she was

going on about.

I miscarried at eleven weeks. Rita didn’t.

Mrs Curtis was the first one to visit. Rita had been round to tell

her about my losing the baby. Mrs Curtis told me, It’s the way that

it should be. One baby was always going to die. No two babies,

conceived in the exact same postcode, can be due on the exact same

day.

Her words didn’t comfort me in any way. I screamed at her to get

out of my house.

I watched Rita getting fatter and fatter. I watched Bill’s bairn Jude

always alone, neglected. She was such a sad bairn. I couldn’t figure

out why they had been chosen over me. I couldn’t figure out what

made their baby better than mine, more worthy of life. I couldn’t

figure out what had made them more deserving.

My baby didn’t make it into the world. Rita’s baby did.

Crystal was born 25 July 1984.

I’ve looked out from my window every day since she was born. I’ve

kept my distance so as not to scare the lass, I’ve watched her grow.

That child that I had growing inside me is Crystal. Sometimes I

Disraeli Avenue

think that it’s been a mistake, that Rita simply carried my child for

me, that there was an error, a trick, witchcraft, deception. Crystal is

beautiful, not at all like her mam. Crystal is the child that I should

have had.

When I see Crystal, through my window, I shout out Elizabeth. But

she never answers.

I miscarried three more times before my husband left me and got

himself a woman with a womb that worked.

Now it’s just me, alone, watching my Elizabeth.

Number 17

Mr Lewis

Yellow front door

Green garage door

No car

The old man in the queue

They stood in the Dewstep Butchers, which was also New Lymouth

Post Office, and proudly displayed a smiling pig’s head in the

window. There were huge queues, as usual, it was pension and

benefits day. A cold grey rainy Tuesday.

Mr Lewis stood in front of a younger woman whom he had

never seen before; she wasn’t from Disraeli Avenue. Beside Mr

Lewis his female companion stooped towards him. She was arch-

backed and her hair was a mass of grey tight curls, nestled under a

plastic rain hat.

‘It doesn’t matter how healthy you are or how much money

you have,’ Mr Lewis stated. ‘When your time’s up, death will find

a way.’ He spoke loudly, his voice bouncing along the queue. His

companion nodded, she agreed.

The younger woman, directly behind the old couple, couldn’t

help but listen. She thought about Mr Lewis’ words. She wondered

if talk of death was a sign of old age. She wondered if the old man,

who was almost touching her, was waiting for death and longing

for death and even perhaps needing death. She shivered.

Caroline Smailes

The queue was long, slow moving and soon Mr Lewis’

companion began to flutter. She had to leave.

‘I need to catch the bus to Coastend to buy some fish,’ said the

old woman.

‘What about your pension?’ Mr Lewis’ words wafted

past unheard.

‘There used to be a fish shop near this post office you know?’

Mr Lewis nodded.

She continued, ‘Asda fish isn’t that fresh, you know?’

Mr Lewis nodded. After a moment of indecision, she hurried,

flustered, out from the post office, trailing her canvas trolley on

wheels behind her.

The younger woman turned and watched Mr Lewis’ female

companion barging herself through the queue. The younger woman

found herself smiling. She willed the little old lady to hurry, to catch

the bus, to buy fresh fish for her tea. The younger woman wondered

if the old lady was actually in the queue or merely sheltering from

the cruel weather. As she turned back towards the post office counter,

Mr Lewis was staring at her, searching for eye contact.

‘See that lady,’ Mr Lewis pointed out of the shop and in the

direction that the old woman had exited. ‘That’s Betty. She used

to collect ticket stubs at the old Odeon cinema. I used to go there

when I was a laddie.’

The younger woman nodded, not a patronising nod, just

enough movement to support his words. Mr Lewis had finished his

sounding and then turned his back on the younger woman, facing

the counter, waiting.

Disraeli Avenue

The younger woman was left wondering what had happened

between Betty and the young version of the old man standing in

front of her. He had a sour smell, he was shrunken and his skin

was slack, hanging from his cheeks. He was old. She tried, but she

could only see the old. She wondered what images were jumping

around and making the old man smile and jutter so much. She tried

to think of him as young, full of life, living life. She tried and she

tried, but she couldn’t. She could only see the now, the old man

waiting for his tiny pension, waiting to die.

She hoped that Betty would have enough money to buy fish.

Number 18

Mr and Mrs Andrews

Yellow front door

Yellow garage door

Green car

MYG 55 3W

Dear Diary

9th August 1993

Dear Diary,

So much has happened and I’ve been really crap

for not writing it all down in here!

I’m home from the caravan and have been for

four and a half weeks! I had a lush time. Joe came

home two days ago from his holiday in Blackpool

but we finished before he went away so I didn’t get

a present. It’s a bit shit seeing him around and he’s

got a new lass now who’s right stuck up and lives

on the Coast Road.

I met up with James Douglas (number 8). I’d

been bumping into him loads of times around

Brian’s newsagents, cos he’s got a job there for the

holidays. We went out every night for eight days or

so! He was canny great and we got on well, but he

had a lass and was always off his face on dope and

Caroline Smailes

Diamond White. I’ll probably not see him again

apart from when I’m in Brian’s. He’s got my Pulp

CD which really pisses me off cos I really want it

back. I should just go into Brian’s and ask him for it

or I could ask Zander to do it for me, but then Joe’d

find out about me shagging James Douglas. Why is

life so complicated? Why am I even bothered what

Joe thinks about me?

Anyway what I wanted to write about is that

I’ve to make probably the most difficult decision

ever. I’m pregnant! Yes me! I’m still in a state of

shock, what the hell do I do? Nobody knows except

for Joe and Zander. I told Zander and he told Joe

for me, cos Joe and me aren’t speaking proper. Joe

wants me to have an abortion and I feel like he’s

being canny selfish. It’s not like we’re even together

anymore. I can’t talk to him about it, cos he says

that it’s not his problem and that from what he’s

heard I’ve been shagging around. I reckon Zander’s

been telling him stuff, cos Joe reckons it could be a

number of different lads.

I don’t even think that I’ve got the possibility of

having the baby and I’m feeling shit scared. I’ve

no idea what I’ve got to do next. Zander says that

I should go to the doctors, but I could do without

mam and dad finding out.

Gill x

Disraeli Avenue

29th October 1993

Dear Diary,

Sometimes I really frighten myself. I realise how

easily I could commit suicide. I’m totally alone.

Today I’ve been thinking about my baby. I

wouldn’t be alone… I’d always be loved if I hadn’t

done what I did. Who am I? How could I kill the

thing that would love me more than anyone could?

I really hate myself. I really hate what I’ve

done.

Zander came around before. He’s in love. He

didn’t admit it, but it’s so obvious. He’s seeing

some lass from Campbell-Bannerman Road and he

can’t get enough of her. I’ve been seeing Joe around

and he gives me so much bullshit that nothing’s

happening between him and Lucy Johnson. Lucky

for me Zander’s told me everything and now I know

that Joe and Lucy are shagging. She’s a stupid cow

and he’s a bastard liar.

Life is fucking great!

How should I kill myself? Paracetamol is too

awful.

God I’m screwed up! I haven’t felt like this for

ages.

I’m frightened.

I need to die,

Gill x

Caroline Smailes

7th December 1993

Dear Diary,

Today’s my last day being eighteen. I’m leaving

home and moving in with my new boyfriend. His

name’s Les and he’s really gorgeous. He works the

shift in the Findus factory in Longbenton and gets

ten French bread pizzas for a quid.

It’s ten in the morning and I’m waiting for Les

to come around and get me and my stuff. He’s got

his own car, but we’re going to be living with his

mam. My mam helped me pack and even got us

a bag of food. She’s being canny lush about it all

and has told me that I can come home whenever I

want. I’m pretty frightened and a bit nervous cos

it’s all new and I’ve never lived in Coastend before

and I’m going to miss seeing Joe around.

Les says that I can get pregnant if I want to. He

reckons that we’d make canny parents and with a

bairn we’d go straight to the top of the housing list.

I kind of want to be pregnant again cos I really

want to piss off Joe but I’m being grown up and

trying to wait for a bit. I’m making sure that I go

straight to the bog after we shag and Zander told

me that if I don’t come then I can’t get caught.

So long Disraeli Avenue, it was nice knowing

you.

Gill x

Disraeli Avenue

29th December 1993

Dear Diary,

I shagged Joe. I didn’t mean to it just kind of

happened. I came around to see my mam and I

bumped into Joe. We went to the park on the other

estate and shagged under the slide. I love Joe so

much, he’s like my first love and everything. Him

and me have taught each other everything there

is to know about sex. Joe says that he still thinks

about me and that I’m a canny lush shag. He knows

that I’m living with Les and his mam and Joe said

that I should come home and we can start courting

again. Joe said that he was sorry about telling me

to have an abortion and that he was just pissed off

with me for shagging James Douglas.

I didn’t tell Joe that I was pregnant again. I

haven’t told anyone yet cos I only found out the

day before I shagged Joe.

I’m pregnant again! Yes me! I’m in a state of

shock again! and now I don’t know what the hell

to do. I could tell Les and I reckon he’d be really

happy about it and we could put our names on

the housing list or I could wait a bit and tell Joe

that it’s his, even though I know that it’s Les who

I got caught with. I might have another abortion

instead and then come back and live with my mam

and start seeing Joe and tell Les about killing his

Caroline Smailes

baby. My head is spinning with it all.

I don’t know what to pick.

Gill x

Number 19

Mr and Mrs Johnson

Green front door

Green garage door

Yellow car, same as Mr Clark’s

DEW 664T

Loose change

Seventy-five 1p coins.

Thirty-seven 2p coins.

Nineteen 5p coins.

Fourteen 10p coins.

Thirty-seven 20p coins.

Eighteen 50p coins.

Seven £1 coins.

Caroline Smailes

Disraeli Avenue

Caroline Smailes

Disraeli Avenue

Caroline Smailes

Disraeli Avenue

= 75p

Not enough. Sheh’d be insulted if Ah gave her a couple of handfuls

of me pennies.

2p + 2p + 2p + 2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p + 2p +2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p + 2p + 2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p + 2p +2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p + 2p + 2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p + 2p +2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p + 2p + 2p + 2p = 10p

2p + 2p = 4p

Total 2ps = 74p

£1.49 in total.

Still not enough. Ah need to have a look down the sides of the sofas

an in me secret stash.

5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p = 50p

5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p + 5p = 45p

Total 5ps = 95p

Caroline Smailes

£1.49 + 95p = £2.44

That’d get me a kiss without tongues if Ah’m lucky, but sheh won’t

be best pleased with is.

10p + 10p + 10p + 10p + 10p + 10p + 10p + 10p + 10p + 10p = £1

10p + 10p + 10p + 10p = 40p

Total 10ps = £1.40

75p + 74p + 95p + £1.40 = £3.84

This is fuckin ridiculous. Ah’ve got nae money. Ah’ll have te raid

the bairn’s piggy.

20p + 20p + 20p + 20p + 20p = £1

20p + 20p = 40 p

Total 20ps = £7.40

75p + 74p + 95p + £1.40 + £7.40 = £11.24

That’s more like it. That should be getting is a blowjob at least.

Now Ah’ll see what the other bairn’s got.

100

Disraeli Avenue

50p + 50p = £1

Total 50ps = £9

75p + 74p + 95p + £1.40 + £7.40 + £9 = £20.24

Fuckin fantastic. That’s going to get is a blow job one day with

the promise of a shag the next. There’s nought quite like thrusting

into her when sheh’s resting her arse on the cistern. Sheh wraps her

thighs around is an Ah can practically come before Ah’m right in.

An now Ah need to nick some of them pounds from wor lass’ secret

stash.

£1

101

Caroline Smailes

£1

= Total from £1 coins is £7

75p + 74p + 95p + £1.40 + £7.40 + £9 =£7 = £27.24

Ah reckon Ah could stretch that oot over a few days. An Ah could

ask wor lass for a couple of quid for a pint.

Clink

clink

clink.

Sheh likes the sound of me loose change filling up her tips’ glass.

Sheh changes any notes to coins later, so Ah know it’s best to give

her coins. It makes her smile when Ah hand over a great big pile of

coins, like Ah’ve really thought about her an made an effort.

Sheh once said that sheh liked to hear the rattle and the clink clink

clink. Sheh said that it made her wet in her pants.

102

Disraeli Avenue

Sheh had sex in the toilets. Sheh did most things in the toilets.

Though sheh once gave is a blowjob behind the pool table when it

was a quiet shift. Ah think it was a Thursday afternoon.

Clink

clink

clink.

Of course word has spread around the regulars and the neighbours.

They know that if you gave wor Jude a few quid sheh’s up for it, but

not always a shag. It depends on what wor Jude fancies.

Sheh’s right grand at blow jobs, the only thing being that sheh won’t

swallow, even if Ah offer her a few quid extra. Sheh said something

about being on a diet, not that sheh needs to lose any weight. Ah

wonder how much sheh’d charge to let is see her without her clothes

on. Sheh doesn’t like wanking, says sheh prefers is to shag her hard

Disraeli Avenue by Caroline Smailes - HTML preview

You may also like...

Stranded

A Flock Leaders Journey

Them and Us

The Reincarnated Dragon Slayer