Fresh (19 page)

Sean got up and went into the kitchen. He stood next to Maggie. Archie moved his head like a weightlifter loosening up his neck. But all the time he stared into Sean’s eyes. His arms were at his side and blood ran down his hand and dripped off the end of his finger onto the lino. He didn’t seem to notice. Sean pointed at the blood.

Ye’ve cut yer hand.

Archie lifted it up and looked at it. He put it back down.

So fuckin what?

Ye’ll bleed to death said Maggie.

Archie laughed.

Shut up ya stupid hoor.

Maggie went into the airing cupboard and took out a tea towel.

Let me sort out yer arm.

Archie held his wrist in his hand.

Fuck off.

She threw the tea towel on the table.

Please yerself, but it’s there if ye want it.

He grabbed it and pressed it to his wrist. He looked at Sean.

Why d’ye stick me in?

Sean shook his head.

Ah never.

Archie lips curled. He whispered.

Grass.

Ah swear on it.

Archie kicked one of the chairs so hard it broke.

Yer a lyin cunt.

Maggie went to the kettle.

Why don’t yeez both calm down and Ah’ll make some tea.

Archie looked at her. He breathed a couple of times through his nose.

Two sugars and milk.

Archie pointed to a chair next to Sean.

Sit down.

Sergeant O’Grady felt the rope dig into his wrists as he sat in the circle of prisoners. He knew there was nothing to look forward to but a short tortured life before he joined the half of his platoon that were already dead. He sat with his back straight and looked the chief savage in the eye. The savage growled.

What the fuck are ye lookin at?

Sean realised he was on his own. He took his eyes from his brother and settled them on the curtains. Archie nodded to Maggie.

Sit down.

Maggie stayed standing up. Archie sat down across the table from Sean.

Go on hen, take the weight off yer feet.

Maggie sat down. Archie grabbed a fag out of her packet and lit up. He nodded at the packet.

Ye don’t mind, do ye?

Maggie folded her hands over her stomach.

What d’ye want?

Archie took a long slow draw on his fag before he nodded at Sean.

Why don’t ye ask that cunt?

The kettle started to boil. Archie nodded at Maggie.

Are ye makin that tea then or what?

Maggie got up and went to the worktop. Archie took a long drag on his cigarette and nodded after Maggie.

What are ye doin with this prick? Ye could have a better life with a real man.

Maggie didn’t even turn round.

Ah’ve got a real man.

Archie flicked ash on the table.

Sure ye have doll.

He pointed his fag at Sean.

So why did ye do it?

Ah don’t know what yer talkin about.

He gave Sean the disappointed look Albert used to give them when they were children. Then he took a puff and smiled and nodded.

Are ye havin a fag?

Sean reached across the table and Archie grabbed his hand. He felt his knuckles click together and Archie’s
nails dig right into his skin. He tried to pull his hand away but Archie held it fast. Archie stared into Sean’s eyes.

Why the fuck did ye grass me up?

Sean knew what was coming and struggled to get away but he was held tight. He got up off the chair and had nearly twisted free when Archie crushed the fag into the soft part of his wrist. He screamed.

Ah didnay want to do it.

Archie let him go and he pulled his burnt wrist to his mouth. Maggie shouted at Archie.

What the fuck are ye playin at?

She pushed Sean to the sink and ran cold water on his freshly branded arm. He looked over his shoulder at his brother.

Archie twirled the broken cigarette between his fingers and threw it to the floor. He stood up like a workman with a job to do and sauntered over to the sink. He put his hand on Maggie’s chest and pushed her out of the way. He grabbed Sean by the tee shirt. Sean felt his chest hairs being pulled out as his shirt was twisted round Archie’s fist. Their faces were so close they touched noses. Spittle flew from Archie’s teeth as he spoke in a loud whisper.

Ah’m goin to fuckin kill ye ya wee cunt.

The edge of the sink unit dug into his back as Archie pushed him against it. Sean flinched as he waited for the worst kicking in his life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maggie holding up a mug.

D’ye no want yer tea Archie?

Archie turned to her.

Stick it up yer arse.

Maggie threw the tea into his face. He roared and put his hands up too late to protect himself. He shook his head like a boxer trying to blink the sweat out of his eyes. Tea dripped off his chin and onto his jacket.

There was a moment of stillness before he pounced. He ricocheted off the table and the cooker on his way to his target. She was forced into the corner before he got his hands round her neck. He lifted her up and shook her so hard her feet banged against the wall.

Ya dirty fuckin slut.

Sean gripped the back of Archie’s jacket and tried to drag him off. The big bastard didn’t stop throttling Maggie. Sean looked round and saw a knife amongst the dishes at the side of the sink. He snatched it up, and with an over-handed arc sunk it into his brother’s back. Archie grunted and bucked, but he still didn’t let go. Maggie coughed like a dying woman. Sean gripped the collar of the jacket and jerked the knife free. He pulled the denim down as hard as he could and stabbed into the unprotected neck. He stabbed and stabbed till Archie slumped like a battleship in a frothing sea of blood. Sean backed away as the big man hit the floor.

Ya dirty cunt ye.

Maggie started to speak but just coughed some more. She rubbed her throat and tried to stand up. Sean stepped over Archie, took her by the wrist, and pulled her upright. He stroked tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

Are ye alright?

She nodded and wrapped her arms round him.

Sean held the back of her head as he looked at his brother.

Ah’ve fucked it now.

Archie twitched like a baby falling asleep.

Thanks are due to the following people and organizations:

The AHRB for financial support that enabled me to write this novel.

Staff and classmates at UEA for constructive criticism.

Andrew Cowan for encouragement and guidance.

Michal Shavit, Georgia Garrett, and Francis Bickmore for reading my drafts and helping to form them into this novel.

Mark McNay was born in 1965 and brought up in a mining village in central Scotland. After a failed electrical engineering course and fifteen years doing odd jobs, Mark joined the UEA creative writing course in 1999. He graduated in 2003 with distinction.
Fresh
is his first novel, and won the Arts Foundation New Fiction Award 2007.