Underdog (6 page)

‘I’ve been waiting for this all morning.’

Looking left and right to make sure no-one else was around, he lit up, taking a couple of long pulls before offering the smoke to Tom.

‘It’s alright. I’ll have one later.’

‘You got some joints?’

‘No. Nothing like that. Just fags.’

‘You don’t want to smoke them,’ sniggered Stevo. ‘They’ll kill you. Have a go at this.’

He took another pull and held out the joint. Bluish smoke billowed from its tip. Stevo could see Tom was unsure. He smiled, letting him know it was okay.

‘What is it?’ asked Tom. ‘… I mean, what’s in it?’

‘Just a bit of hash. Good stuff. Get you nice.’

‘I haven’t smoked it before. Much. Are you sure …?’

‘Just try it. If you don’t like it …’ Stevo laughed. ‘All the more for me, then, eh?’

Tom took the joint and put it to his lips, taking a timid drag. At that moment, it felt like every airway in his lungs had slammed firmly shut, scorched by the harshness of the burning cannabis. He coughed in an attempt to catch a breath, his eyes streaming.

‘Easy, mate,’ said Stevo, getting up to pat Tom on the back, amused as he watched him hack away. ‘It can be a bit like that first time. Bit rough. You’ll get used to it. Everyone does.’

Tom straightened himself and sucked in some fresh air. It took a minute before he was able to breathe normally.

‘Looks like you were enjoying that,’ said Stevo, a grin on his face.

‘It nearly killed me.’

‘Try it again.’

Tom put the joint back in his mouth and drew in the smoke. This time it tasted spicy and sweet, almost chocolaty. The next few pulls were easier on his lungs.

‘Steady on,’ piped up Stevo. ‘Leave some for me.’

Tom handed back the joint and Stevo stuck it in the corner of his mouth, letting it dangle there as he picked up the bags.

‘Let’s get going.’

Tom followed him. As the minutes passed, it seemed as if his view was expanding, taking in more that it should have been able to. Everything seemed clearer, colours more intense. The edges of the cars and houses lining the road seemed sharper. It felt like his whole body was gently vibrating, a hum running through his head. The pain in his nose and eye started to drift away as they walked on. Everything was getting uncomfortably bright.

‘I’m feeling really thirsty.’

Tom’s tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. It seemed too large, not fully in his control.

‘Dry mouth, eh?’ said Stevo. ‘I get that too. Usually comes on just before you lose your balance. You’ll be on the floor in a minute.’

He grinned as he watched the colour drain from Tom’s face, wondering if he was going to freak out.

‘Chill, man. I’m only joking. You’re a bit stoned, that’s all. We’ll be at mine in a minute. Get a drink and some food into you and you’ll be fine.’ Stevo smirked. ‘Good gear though, eh?’

‘I’m okay. I feel fine,’ Tom lied as he stumbled on. ‘I’m okay.’

His legs felt heavy. It was as if he was having to think about how to walk, his brain attempting to calculate every motion, making each step he took feel oddly unnatural.

‘Fuck. You’re so wasted, mate,’ said Stevo, laughing when he noticed the redness in Tom’s eyes. He nudged Tom’s shoulder, his voice happy and excited. ‘So am I!’

The way Stevo gleefully belted out the words made Tom giggle. Before he knew it, he was doubled over, his ribs aching as they squeezed the laughter out of him. For a moment he felt incredibly joyful. Like nothing mattered. He wanted the feeling to last forever.

‘I’m wasted,’ he said, getting his breath back. Exaggerating each syllable, he rolled the word around in his mouth: ‘Wa-sted.’

They shambled on, turning off the street onto a smaller, tree-lined road. Stevo pointed towards a tidy white house that stood centrally at the end of the cul–de-sac. The house was set back from the road behind a fenced patch of front garden. A red tarmac driveway ran up to an attached single-storey garage. Tom followed Stevo to the front door.

‘Mum!’ shouted Stevo as he opened it and stepped inside.

He ushered Tom into the bright hallway. The white walls were lined with framed pictures of smiling faces, creating an instant impression of warmth and family. Tom noticed the richness of the spotless wooden floor and worried about his dirty shoes. His mind began to fire on all cylinders as the door shut behind him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable, spectacularly aware of how stoned he was.

‘Mum!’ shouted Stevo again. ‘You there?’

‘In the kitchen.’

‘Let’s get something to drink.’

‘Should I take them off?’ Tom pointed down at his trainers.

‘I’d chuck them, mate,’ joked Stevo. ‘Just leave them by the door.’

He kicked off his own shoes and led Tom through the hallway into the kitchen. It was a large, open space, gleaming white and cool, the cupboards and units all matching. Tom caught sight of the huge fridge standing in the corner, its shiny metallic doors reminding him of the coldroom at work. A large wooden table stood in the centre of the kitchen, surrounded by several high-backed chairs.

Stevo’s mum was sitting at the table with her back to them. She was hunched over a glossy gossip magazine, a cigarette smoking in the ashtray next to her. Sunlight flooded in through the huge kitchen window, which looked out onto a stone patio and a strip of well-tended lawn.

Stevo put the bags down on the table, then headed straight for the fridge, swinging the door open. Every piece of available space was filled. Tom had never seen so much food.

‘This is Tom, Mum,’ said Stevo, his back to her as he pulled out a bottle of lemonade.

Unaware she had a guest, Stevo’s mother swivelled in her chair. Closing her magazine, she stubbed out her cigarette and ran her hands through her bleached blond hair, her long red nails as efficient as any comb.

‘Hello there, Tom,’ she said as she stood up. Her friendly smile displayed a set of perfect, but overly white teeth. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

She was a short, buxom woman, her curves gripped by a tight yellow T-shirt and denim jeans. The heavy make-up lining her eyes and coating her lips made her look prettier than she probably was.

‘What happened to you, then?’ she said, spotting the redness around Tom’s eye and the spots of dried blood under his nose.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘I rescued him at the bus stop. He was getting a kicking.’

‘Yeah, Stevo helped me out,’ mumbled Tom.

‘You boys,’ said Stevo’s mum, her casual tone suggesting she had seen it all before. ‘Always fighting about something. What was it this time?’

‘He fancies this other kid’s girlfriend. They were fighting over her.’

‘It wasn’t like that …’

‘It’s always like that,’ said Stevo’s mum knowingly.

Tom suddenly felt embarrassed. He was sure she must know he was stoned. His hand was shaky as he took the glass Stevo poured for him. He put it to his dry lips, drinking the lemonade down thirstily.

‘Looks like you needed that. Want some more?’

‘I’m fine, thanks, Mrs …’

‘Call me Sandra. Expect you’re both hungry?’

‘Starving,’ said Stevo, looking around him. ‘Is
he
about?’

‘Not back yet.’ Sandra brushed her hands over her T-shirt, straightening it. ‘Did you get to Sam’s for him?’

‘Yeah, he had some good stuff. It’s in the bags. Tom works there.’

‘Good for you, Tom. I’ve been trying to get Stephen to find himself something, but he’s always too busy running errands for his dad. Ain’t that right?’ Sandra raised her eyebrows as she looked over at her son. ‘Take them out to the dogs, love. I’ll get you both a sandwich. Your dad said to do the kennels and then get Roland and Lucas out. Before he gets back.’

‘Come on, Tom. Come and have a look at what’s outside.’

As soon as Stevo began to turn the back-door handle, the barking started. Stepping into the garden, Tom was amazed at the sight that greeted him. Running the length of the garden fence stood a line of purpose-built concrete kennels, all housed within a huge wire-frame enclosure. Each one was partitioned with a clean run to the front. The place looked more like a big cat enclosure at the zoo. Tom counted five units, each with large open entrances for the dogs to come and go as they pleased.

The dog in the kennel closest to them was the one making most of the noise, its deep, guttural bark almost deafening. It was the biggest dog Tom had ever seen. Folds of skin wrinkling its face added to its formidable appearance, as did the stare in its cobalt blue eyes. The muscles twitched beneath its short-haired russet coat, and a gob of saliva swung from the corner of its sagging black lip. The dog barked even more excitedly as Stevo approached.

‘Wow,’ said Tom as he looked him over. ‘What kind is he?’

‘This is Roland,’ replied Stevo proudly. ‘He’s a French Mastiff. The old bastard breeds them big, eh?’

He stopped in front of the kennel and put his hand up against the front of the enclosure. Roland came forward and began to lick at it through the mesh. More dogs began to emerge from the other kennels, loping into their runs. Their tails wagged and they vied for attention, whining and yelping. The noise they made was incredible, so loud it made Tom want to shout. He looked at the dog in the run next to Roland. It was almost as big. Its face was darker around the snout and not as wrinkled, the eyes deep brown, almost black.

‘Does your dad sell them?’

‘He ain’t my dad. He’s my
stepdad
.’ Stevo’s voice suddenly had an edge to it. ‘Why’d you ask, anyway? You want one?’ He smiled, instantly turning back on the charm. ‘Most people do when they see them the first time.’

‘They’re wicked. I love it,’ laughed Tom, secretly wishing he could take one. He knew his dad would never let him; he hated dogs.

‘They’re going to go wild for these,’ said Stevo, looking into the bags.

He inspected each bone, admiring the whiteness of the ball joints and the scraps of red meat covering the shanks. He chose the best one he could find and unlatched the first cage door.

‘There you go, Roland.’

The dog took a couple of steps forward and clamped the proffered bone in his jaws. Roland retreated a few steps and then sank down heavily onto his belly, gripping the bone with his front paws whilst he began to strip away what meat there was. The other dogs barked even louder.

Tom whistled appreciatively. ‘How many have you got?’

‘Roland and Lucas are the studs,’ Stevo replied, nodding at the dark-eyed dog pawing at the door of the second run. ‘They cover the three bitches. Lucky bastards, eh? Minnie had her last litter a month ago.’

He pointed out a slightly smaller dog in the kennel next to Lucas. Her teats were heavy, hanging like udders beneath her loose stomach. A puppy cautiously made its way out from inside the stone kennel. It walked unsteadily into the run and sat down next to its mother. Then another came, and another. They looked like miniature bears, tiny compared to the fully grown dogs, their short golden hair getting wet and spiky when she licked them.

‘She’s got another three in there,’ added Stevo. ‘He’ll make a killing. Seven hundred quid each, he gets. Most of them are sold already. And the other two bitches are both pregnant.’

‘He must do alright for himself.’ Tom tried to work out the maths.

‘He gets stud fees for Roland and Lucas, too. But it’s not all he does. Bastard’s into loads of other stuff.’

Stevo leaned in conspiratorially. He lowered his voice.

‘Where d’you think I get the puff from?’ he grinned, letting Tom in on the secret. He carried on walking down the row of kennels, throwing a bone to each of the dogs. The pregnant bitches were the last to leave the cool of their kennels, and looked slow and tired as they stepped out into the heat. Any remaining barking soon gave way to the sound of gnawing and slobbering as the dogs lay down in the sunlight and set to work on their bones.

‘We can get in and have a go at their kennels, now they’re out. I’ll get the hose and some bags; you get a broom.’

‘They won’t mind us in there with them? Whilst they’re eating?’ asked Tom.

‘As long as you’re with me you’ll be fine. It’s too hot for them to be getting on bad. They’re well lazy.’

Tom enjoyed cleaning out the kennels with Stevo; it took his mind off feeling stoned as he worked up a sweat. The dogs were so focused on their bones, they hardly noticed him wandering in and out to sweep up and bag their mess. His confidence grew, being in there with them. Before exiting the last of the kennels, he stopped to pat the largest of the pregnant bitches. The dog seemed to like the attention and rolled over onto her side, offering him her round, taut belly.

‘She’s awesome,’ said Tom as he knelt down to scratch her. ‘What’s she called?’

‘That’s Holly. She’s getting on a bit now. Might be the last litter we get from her.’

‘What will your stepdad do with her after?’

‘Make space for another,’ answered Stevo. ‘You can have her if you like.’

‘She wouldn’t fit in our house.’ But the idea of it made Tom smile.

‘Shame. She likes you.’

‘My mum used to have a dog. I’ve got a picture at home somewhere.’

It took another half hour to finish off. Once the kennels were hosed down, they stopped to watch the puppies playing together, a mass of fur and yelps as they jumped and rolled over one another.

‘I’d take that one,’ said Tom, singling out the smallest.

‘He’s the runt,’ replied Stevo, bemused at the choice.

‘I like him.’

Stevo put the broom back in the garage and emptied the rubbish into the bins whilst Tom wound up the hose.

‘Let’s get some food.’

The kitchen was empty when they got back inside. On the freshly wiped table was a plate of neatly trimmed ham and cheese sandwiches, next to which stood two large glasses of lemonade. Stevo placed them under the ice maker, the fridge rattling as he topped up each glass.

They sat in silence as they tucked into the sandwiches, Tom still feeling a little out of it. His nose was starting to ache with the chewing. There was a large clock on the wall and he was amazed to see it was nearly three.