Authors: Fay Darbyshire
T
he small, dark alleyway at the back of Labyrinth nightclub is littered with rubbish and drug paraphernalia. Situated on the outskirts of Leeds city centre amongst various lock-ups and storage units, it perhaps isn’t the first place you would expect to find a bustling venue that is full to capacity. However, Labyrinth’s popularity amongst the student crowd is obvious, and at 2am, many of them are spilling out into the street, staggering drunkenly arm in arm and falling into the back of waiting taxis.
Away from the vibrant scene in the shadow of the alleyway a young couple lean against a wall, kissing passionately as the dull beat of the music pounds through the air, but their stolen moment is quickly interrupted as the nightclubs service door flies open, slamming loudly and startling them into breaking apart. They turn and run towards the high street without stopping to look back, as a group of men come crashing outside.
Alex Matthews pulls himself to his feet and throws another punch at the baby faced skin head he is fighting, hitting him hard in the jaw and knocking him to the ground. The young thug struggles to get up and Alex kneels over him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling his face menacingly close as he shouts in a strong Irish accent.
“If you ever, EVER cross me again… you will be fucking sorry, do you understand me?” The skin head nods fearfully and Alex head butts him, knocking him out cold.
This isn’t the first violent altercation Alex Matthews has ever had; far from it. In his early 20’s the buzz he would get from a good fight would last for days after. That initial charge of adrenaline as the tension built between him and his opponent… the excitement, that feeling of being alive when so close to harm, it was what he lived for. But that was then - and even though Alex is only 28 years old, he feels like he has already lived a lifetime. The problem with that much violence is you soon become immune to its affects, the good and the bad. It becomes a regular occurrence, an everyday event, and the thrill soon fades. Although his anger still drives him, there is now a stronger, underlying feeling of inconvenience whenever he is forced to take action against someone who has wronged him. Despite his irritation, the option of walking away or letting it go would never even cross his mind. He will never be weak.
Alex can’t help feeling a little envious towards his close friend Liam Dobson, as he undeniably still relishes the thrill of the fight. Only being 18 years old, it is to be expected. Liam, a dark haired, almost angelic looking boy, slams the man he is fighting head first into the wall and watches with a smile as he drops to the floor. He dusts himself off, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand as he turns to witness his best friend, Nathan James, collapse to the ground, shielding himself as another of the skinheads over powers him. Without hesitation, Liam reaches down and picks up a large plank of wood, smashing it over the back of the man’s head. There is a sickening crunch and he slumps to his knees.
“Are you alright man?” Liam holds his hand out to Nathan, pulling him to his feet.
“Yeah… cheers…” Nathan coughs in response, as he leans forward and spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor. As they steady themselves against the tall wire fence, a pretty, blonde haired girl appears at the end of the alley, holding a cigarette in one hand and her shoes in the other.
“GUYS… COPS!”
“Shit…” The three of them quickly sprint towards the opposite end of the secluded alleyway and jump the fence into an empty business park, doubling back towards the road and hiding in the shadows, as distant police sirens get louder and closer.
“Jesus, there’s gonna be police all over the fucking street, there’s no way we won’t be seen…” Liam always manages to think the worst in any situation; perhaps that is down to his age as well? Alex however, knows it can always be worse and he knows that from personal experience.
“Well we can’t exactly double back…” He states, calmly. “I doubt our skin head friends will be too happy to see us and I bet more of them will have shown up by now…” He casually lights a cigarette and leans against the wall.
“So what do we do?” Nathan, easily the quietest of the group, always keeps it together, at least on the outside. Alex likes him a lot - he is a good friend - but there are times when he can’t help feeling that he doesn’t quite fit in with their chosen lifestyle. He is shy with those who don’t know him, articulate, well-spoken and incredibly smart. Alex always felt that he would have done more with his life had he been blessed academically, but maybe intellect isn’t always enough? Not if you’d got a crappy start in life. Nathan is definitely the rational one, and even though he too is only 18, he is wise beyond his years. He and Liam have known each other since they were kids and they are definitely an unlikely fit for best friends, but then that is probably why it works so well. Liam’s hot-headed nature is in stark contrast to Nathan’s maturity, which seems to create a balance between them. Whatever the reason, they are incredibly close.
The loud, piercing screech of a speeding car startles Alex and he is instantly on guard, reacting before Liam and Nathan have even acknowledged the sound. They begin to back away as a black Vauxhall flies through the entrance of the car park and comes to an abrupt halt in front of them. Leaning out of the smashed, driver side window is Tom Warner. He too is in his late 20’s, but could easily pass for older. He is stocky, well-built with dark spikey hair and a far too confident attitude. Alex always felt that he could be the poster boy for what a stereotypical cockney lad should look like. They had originally met in London, where Alex first settled after he moved over from Ireland with his Uncle, and on his move up to Leeds a few years later, Tom quit his job and came with him. Alex didn’t ask him to, but he certainly didn’t complain either. Tom is the closest person to him, his best friend who he trusts completely; even if he does drive him crazy at times.
“Care for a ride ladies?” The drunken passenger, 25 year old Darren Blake, stands up and leans out of the sun roof, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a bottle of vodka in his right hand. He pushes his shoulder length brown hair back in one swift movement and rests his heavily tattooed arm on the roof of the car. Darren is the one person who hardly ever fails to make Alex laugh, but he ignores his question and marches towards them, pointing at Tom, accusingly.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Nice to see you too, sweetheart, are you getting in or what?” Tom looks incredibly pleased with himself as he smiles up at Alex, and he winks, knowingly antagonising him for his own amusement. It is something he does quite often, but he is the only person who can. He is the only person who can get away with annoying Alex Matthews and escaping unharmed, or with a dead arm at the most.
Liam climbs straight into the back seat, laughing at Darren as he loses his footing and drops back into the car, miraculously without spilling a single drop of vodka, despite how drunk he is. Nathan, ever cautious, follows a little more reluctantly.
“Where did you find this piece of shit?”
“A couple of streets down…” Tom taps his hand on the steering wheel, impatiently.
“Well who’s is it?” Alex laughs at Nathan’s question, as he walks over to the front passenger door.
“Jesus Nate I don’t know, I didn’t stop to fucking ask did I?! Come on!” Nathan shakes his head but dutifully climbs into the back seat next to Darren and Liam, and as the door slams shut, Tom floors the accelerator speeding off into the night.
Janet Miller stands with her hands on her hips, trying hard to remain calm as she assesses the chaos around her. Boxes and furniture are piled high in every corner of the bright, open hallway and removal men stagger through the door in turn, carrying even more of her family’s belongings.
The large, semi-detached house in Meanwood stands in a leafy cul-de-sac, aligned on both sides with beautiful, weeping willow trees. Built from Yorkshire Stone with pale blue windows and a pale blue door, it is picture perfect, exactly what Janet had hoped she would find when she started looking for a new place to live. She had been so excited about the move, counting down the days in anticipation, but now, standing in the overcrowded hallway not knowing where to start, the excitement has all but vanished and the reality has very much ‘hit home’.
“Where do you want this to go love?”
“Oh… that needs to be in the kitchen please…” She calls after the removal man, but he is out of sight before she barely has time to answer. Why did she think this was a good idea? As if she hasn’t been through enough lately, the added stress of moving house surely isn’t going to help. She rubs her tired eyes and glances at her reflection in the grand, iron mirror that is hanging on the wall to her right. She is tall and slim, with cropped blonde hair, perfectly styled. She is incredibly attractive for her age, yet she certainly doesn’t feel it. ‘Looking old girl’, she thinks to herself. ‘No wonder he left’. Her dejected train of thought is suddenly broken as her 24 year old son saunters into the house, casually surveying the hive of activity around him.
“Nice to see you helping out Peter…” She remarks, sarcastically.
“Don’t blame me. Every time I try and help I’m told I’m getting in the way! So I thought I’d just wonder about, casually observe and you know…”
“Get in the way?!” Janet raises her eyebrow knowingly, with a half-smile on her face.
“I was going to say help if I’m needed…!” He laughs.
Although his cheekiness is infuriating at times, Janet adores her son. The way his light brown hair sweeps across his green eyes and his huge smile. He got away with murder when he was little, all he had to do was flash her that smile. But he is a grown man now and has matured so much lately. What with their family going through the most difficult thing imaginable and then some, he has really stepped up and supported her, helped her through the worst of the pain and stood by her. She will be forever grateful to him for that. Perhaps more than he will ever know.
“How are you holding up?” Peter asks - and once again Janet’s thoughts are interrupted as she notes his look of concern.
“I’m fine. Really I am. I’d just forgotten how much work was involved in moving house. I mean look at this place… there’s so much to do…” Her voice trails off as she stares anxiously at the pile of brown boxes that seem to have doubled in size in the last 5 minutes alone.
“Don’t worry, it might be a bit overwhelming but we’ll get it done…” Peter steps forward and puts a reassuring arm around Janet’s shoulders.
“What on earth would I do without you…?” She asks.
“You don’t ever have to worry about that!” He smiles in return, kissing her lightly on the head before lifting two boxes that are on the floor by his feet, “See… witness me… helping!”
He staggers over towards the kitchen, struggling a little under the weight, and as he reaches the door another removal man comes charging through it, almost crashing straight into him.
“Watch out of the way mate…” The man shouts in frustration and as he pushes his way past, Peter turns towards Janet with an exasperated look on his face. ‘See!’ he mouths, and Janet breaks out into laughter.
There was a time when she had almost forgotten what it felt like to laugh, but lately she has found herself smiling a lot more. It is still hard, but she doesn’t feel quite as guilty as she once did. Things are definitely improving and Peter is right, no matter how huge a task it might seem they will get the house sorted, then they can start their new life together, a new beginning for the whole family.
As she shakes her head in amusement at her hopeless son, Janet’s attention is drawn to two more boxes stacked over by the front door. They have ‘Abbey’ scrawled across them in bold, black marker and her smile falters a little as she takes a breath, and with a slight reluctance but a strong feeling of hope for the future, picks them up and climbs the stairs.
The pale cream walls and bare laminate floor make Abbey’s new bedroom look cold and uninviting. Besides a bed, a wardrobe and a small chest of drawers, the room is empty and unfamiliar. Abbey stands by the window, trying to imagine living in this house and calling this room her own. Surely once she has all her belongings unpacked and organised around her she will feel much more at home? At least that’s what she is hoping, because right now, everything feels totally alien. There is a light knock on the door and Janet peers round.
“Can I come in?” Abbey nods, but Janet is already in the room and walking over to her regardless.
“These are yours… ” She places the boxes on the floor by the foot of the bed.
“Thank you. I’m almost done in here for now… I’ll come and help downstairs when I’m finished…” Abbey’s voice sounds unnatural and far too formal - as if she is talking to a complete stranger - but it is something she has become more than accustomed to. She can barely remember talking to her mum with a natural ease, just the two of them having a friendly conversation without a care in the world. That feels like a different life.
“There’s no rush, I have your brother doing all the heavy lifting. Proof that there are actually odd occasions when he can be quite useful if he wants to be…!” Abbey manages a half-hearted smile at Janet, who is clearly trying hard to break the tension between them, but she isn’t in the mood for jokes. All she wants to do is try and make this shell of a room even slightly resemble the bedroom she once loved. The bedroom she was forced to leave behind. She doesn’t respond, and a moment passes in awkward silence.
“Well… I’ll leave you to it then…” As Janet turns toward the door, Abbey feels a strong pang of guilt, but not enough to speak. This is all so new to her. She is in a strange house in a strange neighbourhood, where the family have moved because apparently it was in ‘everyone’s best interests’ to do so. Abbey doesn’t agree. She was much happier staying put in the house she grew up in. She wanted to stay at the school she knew with the friends she loved, but no. Apparently her opinion hadn’t counted. Her feelings were a moot point. Everyone else had agreed and she was left with no other option.