Stay Here (Short Story)

This is a very early short story when I began my sabbatical. I can’t remember why I wrote it but I know for certain it wasn’t a niggling, everyone has to read this story or I’ll die type of thing. It reads more like a Twist in the Tale type of thing but I never submitted it anywhere. Maybe it was a competition I came across on the net. It’s a bit weedy, but has a seed of those BBC bittersweet dramas which I was heavily into around that time.

STAY HERE

By Christopher Stanley

   ‘Happy birthday, chap,’ said Mart, handing over a pint of Stella laced with two shots of Southern Comfort. ‘You might as well have your usual now you’re legal.’

   Danny grinned, a swimming, lop-sided, half-pissed smile. They’d been in the pub since half eleven, watching Sky Sports News and eyeing up the barmaids. Every now and then one of them would pass the table, and Mart would tell her it was Danny’s eighteenth, and she would smile politely and hurry back to the optics.

   Danny was short for eighteen, but tough. He worked as a builder for the council, and underneath that sun-burn tan and weathered complexion was layers of developed muscle. He didn’t use them for fighting, but was a handy mate to have. Mart was slightly jealous of him, being married with a kid, and the wrong side of thirty. He made up for it by being generous with the drinks.

   ‘Cheers, bud,’ replied Danny, slurring the latter half of the sentence.

   ‘Well, now you’re eighteen, it’s time to give you the facts of life, son,’ began Mart, laying a sarcastic hand on Danny’s shoulder. Danny grinned again. His real father had run off when he was seven, and until he worked with Mart and the rest of the lads he’d been off the rails. Mart was like a brother and a dad.

   ‘When you’m with a girl,’ Mart said in the broadest Black Country, ‘You’d better wear a Johnny or do her up the wrong’un ‘cos I don’t want wanna see no babbies until the Baggies win the Premier League.’

   ‘Doh worry, Dad,’ shouted Danny, playing along. ‘I’m a chimney sweeper anyway!’ He let his wrist bend, flapping it up and down.

   ‘Good lad!’ shouted Mart, and they clinked glasses. Mart got up for a slash, leaving Danny messing with his mobile.

   Mart bought some more drinks back. He was showing signs of wear and tear, a few capillaries broken in his nose, and his nose had long been broken anyway. ‘What you gonna do with the rest of your life then, chap? Plannin’ on bein’ a builder forever?’ Even though Mart made fun of their relationship, he did feel responsible for the lad. He could see a lot of himself in Danny.

   Danny belched some lager up and gulped back a small quantity of alcohol that had made its way up his throat. He shrugged. ‘Porn star.’

   ‘Gay porn?’

   ‘You know it…’ They both grinned. Danny loved women, or the company of.

   There was a silence. Mart wanted to be serious but Danny wasn’t the type to think about things too seriously. He coasted, but it worked for him. Life was sweet, because Danny was. He didn’t want to hurt a thing.

   ‘Thing is, Danny, you could do things.’

   ‘Leave off, Mart. I don’t fancy ya, okay?’ Danny laughed, and Mart smiled benignly.

   ‘I don’t mean that, tit. You could go back to college. You’ve got a brain in yer head. Use it, kidda.’

   ‘I couldn’t do it, Mart,’ began Danny. ‘I couldn’t do it at school, so why should I do it now?’

   ‘You didn’t give it a chance, that’s all. You got in with them twats, robbing and stuff. ‘Member when that mate of yours came to work with us for a week? I sent him away for some elbow grease and he came back with fuckin’ margarine.’

   The memory cracked them both up.

   ‘I dunno. I want a decent job, to be somebody. Summat me mum can be proud of.’

   ‘Got anything in mind?’

   ‘I dunno…’ he said hesitantly. ‘I’ve kind of been thinkin’ of the army.’

   ‘Could do worse. Could do worse.’

It was almost midnight when Danny rolled home. Marie, Danny’s mother was still up, lying on the sofa in her nightie. She’d been dozing, waking with a start when she heard the door.

   ‘Happy birthday, love.’

   ‘Cheers, mum.’ He leant over to kiss her.

   ‘Jesus, you reek of the pub! How much have you had?’

   ‘Nineteen pints. I think.’

   Marie sighed. ‘Well, it’s not every day you turn eighteen, I suppose.’

   Danny’s mother always carried an air of permanent relief. Danny’s father had been brutally abusive, and had hit Danny on occasion, although she doubted he remembered it. Danny had got himself back on track after a spell in a Young Offender’s Institute, over near Leicester. Now she had a recovering son and a decent council house, she was careful not to rock the boat.

   ‘I’ve got great news, anyway, Mum.’

   She handed him a box wrapped in silver paper. ‘Here y’are.’

   ‘Cheers.’ Danny tore at the paper and could see straight away it was a CD player for his car. ‘Aw, wow! Thanks, Mum.’ He meant it; money was always tight. The lounge needed papering and the carpets in the house were outdated and filthy, but Danny felt he could take on the world if his mum was there for him.

   ‘So,’ she said, settling herself back on the sofa. ‘What’s this great news, then?’

   ‘Oh, yeah.’ He reached into his denim jacket and pulled out a thick booklet and some leaflets. ‘I’m gonna join the army.’

   Marie sank back into the leather. It sighed; she was overweight and unhappy about it, but the ideal didn’t come easy. ‘No, Danny. Tell me you’re joking.’

   He stared towards her, but past her head to the wall. ‘Yeah. I reckon I’d be good at it. And they could teach me a trade.’

   ‘You’ve got a trade, Danny. You’re a builder.’

   ‘I’m a trainee, Mum! I need to get out on my own.’

   ‘No, son.’ She spoke softly; her original Yorkshire accent bubbled to the surface when you strained to hear. ‘I really don’t want you to.’

   ‘It’s my life, Mum!’ Danny was on the verge of tears as he sank to the floor. It looked as if he was begging her. ‘I want to do this. How would you have felt if your parents had stopped you doing something? Besides, I’m an adult now.’

   Marie reached out and took his hand. ‘Danny, listen to me, love. I’d never stop you doing owt if I thought you were doing what you wanted, but I don’t think it is. If you join the army, something terrible will happen to you. You’ve had a second chance already. Please, for me, just think it through.’

   Danny was sobbing in front of her. Through an ever-increasing pitch he cried ‘I just want you to be proud of me. I’m a failure, Mum.’

   She held his head to her warm stomach. ‘Danny, love. You could never be a disappointment. I love you too much for that.’ Marie started crying too. ‘I never want to have to visit you again. I want you here.’

   Three days later, a dreary Monday morning, and Danny was back with his workmates doing up a block of low-rise flats. The morning banter was always great, seeking the crack over the first brew of the day. Graeme, the painter, had issued them all with fume masks in time for Jason showing up. Jay was a trainee spark who cut the most violent, virulent farts.

   ‘Maybe we should get him a bell n’all,’ suggested Mart, and they all creased.

   Later in the day, when Mart and Danny were up on the top level repairing a burnt out ceiling, the older man took the chance to quiz Danny on his plans. Danny explained what had happened the night of his birthday.

   ‘That’s tough, dude, but I can understand it.’ Mart scratched at the thinning hair on his head. ‘She’s been through a lot with you.’

   ‘Yeah,’ sighed Danny, grabbing a plank behind him. ‘S’pose I’ll have to think of summat else. Chuck us that bag of nails, kidda.’

   Mart handed him the bag and Danny laid the plank across the gap. ‘Be careful, chap,’ advised Mart.

   ‘I will, I will,’ Danny replied, but as he got to the middle there was an ominous crack and the end of the plank, itself laid on rotten, damp floorboard, came loose. Danny wobbled and disappeared. There was a dull thud before Mart could even scream.

   ‘DANNY, NO!’

   Mart scrambled down the stairs and kicked out at the marigold coloured door between himself and the kid. Danny was laid on his side, in a parody of the recovery position, with blood seeping out of his mouth. Mart rushed over to his friend, looking for signs of life, but he knew as soon as he clattered down the steps Danny was probably dead.

   Mart was still holding his friend’s lifeless body as the paramedics turned up, desperate for Danny to stay for just one more day, one more minute, one more second. There was blood in his lap as he kneeled there. Sometimes, there just aren’t enough tears in the world.