SOLDIER BOY

a novel

DANNY RHODES

For every mother’s son

Table of Contents

Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph

Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18

Part Two
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37

Part Three
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
Acknowledgements
ALSO BY DANNY RHODES
Copyright
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‘Three strong men make a street’

Old Glasgow expression

Part One

1

Scottie and Drew were sheltering under the arches when the army trucks passed, five of them, one after another, muddy lads in uniform huddled in the back, tired faces staring blankly out of the darkness.

‘Poor bastards,’ said Drew. ‘On a night like this.’

Scottie shrugged his shoulders.

‘Serves them right,’ he said.

‘They’ll not even see the game on TV.’

‘Aye, but we’ll be there.’

They were off to watch the Hoops. It was Tuesday, European night. Some side from Scandinavia was in for a hammering – it looked like half the city was on their way to witness it. Only the army trucks were heading away from the ground, heading up Hillside, red tail-lights flickering to nothing, the opposite carriageway full to bursting with headlights, cars and coaches, minibuses by the score, pavements on both sides flooded with people, all of them moving despite the rain, only Scottie and Drew staying put and all because of Mackie.

‘He’ll not leave us waiting much longer,’ said Drew. ‘If he does we’ll just go without him.’

‘Aye, and he’d better have cash with him,’ said Scottie. ‘These tickets cost a week’s giro. Me mam’ll go spare if she finds out.’

‘I’ll pay you Friday. I said I would.’

‘I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about Mackie.’

‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Drew. ‘I said we’d be better just the two of us.’

‘Yeah, but it’s not the same without Mackie, is it? You know that.’

And it wasn’t. That was the magic of it.

Half-time. The Hoops in command. Scottie wolfing down his hot-dog, reading the match programme over the shoulder of the bloke in front of him, Mackie and Drew chugging tea from plastic cups, enjoying their favourite game of ‘predict the advert’ on the electronic hoardings.

‘363Bet.com,’ said Mackie.

‘Nah, Movie Channel,’ said Drew.

They waited for the board to switch. 363 came up.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mackie. ‘1-0.’

‘Lucky,’ said Drew. ‘Right, next one.’

‘Hey, Scottie. You too!’ said Mackie.

Scottie looked up from the programme.

‘I’m eating this,’ he said.

Mackie shrugged.

‘Okay, Loans Direct,’ said Scottie.

‘PS2,’ said Drew.

‘You’re both wrong. Vodafone,’ said Mackie.

The three of them waited, staring at the hoardings, at 363.com, Mackie adding a drumroll with his tongue for good measure, blowing the steam from the tea up into the lights. When the next ad came up it read:

‘Be the Best.’

‘What’s that for?’ Mackie shouted.

‘Army,’ said Drew. ‘I’ve seen the ad on TV.’

‘Barmy army,’ laughed Mackie.

‘Barmy to join the army more like,’ said Scottie. ‘What a joke!’

After Scottie smashed the lad’s face in he made his way to the school and broke in through a downstairs window. Snow was falling again, filling the sky with tiny flakes that moved in flurries on the breeze. The playground was covered in a fresh layer. It settled on the metal hoops of the basketball court, on the five-a-side goalposts and on the scrubby bushes below the bottom-floor windows. It settled on the second-floor windowsills too, and when Scottie slid one open the snow found its way into the classroom.

He watched the snow come down, felt some sort of calm descending with it. The rooftops of the estate were covered, the sky foggy pink, the houses white and shapeless. He fixed his eyes on the playground, checked the covering of snow for fresh tracks, signs that he’d missed something, signs that told him things were getting started at last. But there were no tracks. He couldn’t even see the set he’d made an hour earlier, new snowfall only threatening then, his instincts carrying him onward, leading him to this place, telling him it was the thing to do, the best way of reminding everybody who he was and where he’d been, the best way to make them all sit up and take notice.

There were no spotlights outside, no white TV vans with satellite dishes on their roofs, no flashing blues, no megaphones, none of the things he’d expected. There was no siege, just him in a geography classroom without heating, faded maps on the walls, old textbooks he remembered from his days in the place piled on shelves, the sound of the wind whining, the sound of his own breath behind his muffler, the rifle resting against his good shoulder.

Downtown a lad was spreadeagled in the snow, blood seeping from his head, turning the snow pink, the blood darkening as it flowed. Scottie saw this in the last second before he ran, had the picture etched in his mind, couldn’t get it out of there. It reminded him of the looter, but then everything reminded him of that event. He couldn’t shake it from his being.

He slid the window shut and closed the night out, thought about leaving the school, heading back to his mam’s, but it was too late for that. Besides, he’d done all he could. It hadn’t made any difference. What he’d seen was his girlfriend in the arms of another lad, his mam inconsolable and his kid sister out of her head on drink. He didn’t have it in him to go through any of that any more.

2

Months after leaving school, with nothing happening, Scottie, Mackie and Drew made their weekly trip to the job centre, down Hillside together against the morning traffic, three hunched grey ghosts, to the line of shops and the hairdresser’s where Mel worked. Drew disappeared into the newsagent’s while Scottie and Mackie waited outside on the pavement. Mackie tapped on the hairdresser’s window. An old woman peered up at them from under a dryer and gave them a look. Mel was leaning on the counter reading a magazine. When she saw Scottie she came to the door.

‘What are you doing?’

‘We’re going into town.’

‘Yeah, well it’s a good job the boss is out. She hates you lot hanging around outside.’

‘We’re not hanging around,’ Scottie said. ‘We’re off to the Jobbie.’

‘Off to the dole office more like,’ said Mackie.

‘You might be, but we’re not.’

Mel put a hand on Scottie’s shoulder and pulled him towards her. She spoke quietly into his ear.

‘I’m not being funny. I just don’t want to get in trouble again. It’s not you.’

‘I know,’ said Scottie. ‘I told him not to do it but you know what he’s like. I’ll see you later, yeah?’

She kissed him once and then went back inside. Scottie watched her explain herself to the old woman then turned to Mackie.

‘You’re a real prat. Do you know that?’

Mackie laughed.

‘She was hardly busy, propped up with that magazine.’

‘She’s just training,’ said Scottie. ‘You’ve no idea.’

‘I know you don’t train by sitting at the counter reading magazines.’

‘You have to start somewhere.’

‘It’s like what Andy told me about the call centre. All you have to do is answer the phone and take an order. How can it take a month to learn that? I’ve no patience for it.’

‘Just don’t tap on the window,’ said Scottie. ‘She gets into trouble.’

‘Why?’ asked Mackie. ‘It’s me that’s doing the tapping.’

‘That’s not …’

Scottie stopped talking. There was no point with Mackie sometimes. He wouldn’t listen. He’d been like it all the way through school, driving the teachers crazy, having an answer to everything that was said. With Mackie, the best thing to do was leave things hanging.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Scottie said in the end. ‘Just don’t tap on the window.’

They carried on down Hillside, passing the cemetery, the sky muddy, the gravestones on the other side of the railings damp and mottled.

‘Did you hear about those kids from the north estate?’ Mackie asked.

Scottie and Drew shook their heads.

‘They broke into one of those posh monument things and opened up the coffin inside. There was a body in it.’

‘Mackie …’ Scottie started.

‘No, listen,’ said Mackie. ‘It was mental. They nicked the head off this corpse and started scaring all the oldies with it. Mental.’

Mackie started running around, pretending he was carrying the thing.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Scottie. ‘It’s sick.’

‘Then why are you laughing? See? See? It’s funny. It was a hundred years old. It wasn’t like it was someone’s grandma or anything.’

‘Still sick,’ said Drew.

‘What’s wrong with you two today? You’re a couple of boring farts.’

‘I’m sick of having no money,’ said Scottie. ‘That’s what’s wrong with me.’

‘You’ll get something today,’ said Mackie. ‘There’s always something, even if it’s nothing.’

‘I’m not interested in nothing,’ said Scottie.

Their old school was set back off the road at the foot of the hill. Scottie stared at the steamed-up windows as they passed, at the shadowy forms of the kids inside, kids desperate to be where he was now, outside looking in. They didn’t know the half of it.

Eleven in the morning, six or seven girls huddled together by the wall beyond the gate, smoking, sharing drags and laughing. Scottie’s sister was one of them.

‘Shouldn’t you be inside?’ Scottie asked her.

‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’

The other girls laughed.

‘I thought you told Mam you’d quit smoking,’ Scottie shouted.

‘I thought you told Mam you were going to get a job,’ shouted Claire.

Mackie laughed.

‘You’d best get to lessons before Mam heads this way,’ Scottie said.

His sister shot him the finger and blew a train of smoke into the air.

She shouted to Drew.

‘See you later, Mr Cleaning Man.’

Drew shook his head.

‘See?’ he said. ‘It’s not worth it. All I get is grief. Last night they had me going at chewing gum on the stairs!’

‘I bet it was Claire’s, trying to freshen her breath,’ said Mackie. ‘All ready to give you one.’

Scottie punched him on the arm.

‘Shut it,’ he said. ‘She’s still my sister.’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot,’ Mackie said. ‘Little Miss Innocent.’

‘There’s no way I’m going back there,’ said Drew.

‘At least it’s something,’ said Scottie. ‘At least it pays for your driving lessons.’

‘Aye,’ said Drew. ‘That’s the only good thing about it. The kids just take the piss.’

‘We used to take the piss when we were there. Remember Wilkinson? You were forever giving it to him.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Just because you’re on the receiving end,’ said Mackie.

‘No. They mean it. They’re nasty. We were just having a laugh. We were never nasty.’

‘Mate, you’re getting old,’ said Mackie. ‘Next thing we know you’ll be sorting your pension!’

‘He’ll be getting meals on wheels brought to the shed,’ said Scottie.

It was forever the same, a never-ending cycle, one of the three always on the receiving end. When there was a lull each of them jockeyed for position before the next round began, sometimes Mackie versus the other two, sometimes Scottie, sometimes Drew, never a true moment existing where all three sat equal, never a moment’s respite.

He had run through the snow until he reached the school, smashed the window with the rifle butt, climbed through the space and pushed two sets of lockers in front of the hole to block it. Then he’d made his way upstairs to the top floor, his footsteps hollow in the empty stairwell, his breath showing in the freezing corridors, his whole body aching. He chose the classroom on the corner because it had the best arc of fire, just like they’d trained him to do, and then he slumped to the floor underneath the windows and pulled the muffler to his face.

He’d come a long way, thousands of miles across land and air and sea. He’d come all that way with half a shoulder missing to find out his girlfriend didn’t want to know him any more. His city didn’t want to know him either. He wasn’t the same person as the one who’d left.

It didn’t take a genius to work that out.