smelled of lip balm working title

Tasted of lip balm, cigarettes and autumn, lips that had been kissed too many times. He felt her tiredness there and her shyness. Leaking from a doorway were students and noise, coloured light .Out to sea, the moon , whispering behind a cloud . Between the clamour of  a late Saturday night and the gentle hush of  waves on shingle they generated a low electricity , at first awkward and hot in his pants then fluttering in her heart and his. He took her hand and she barely recognised the tenderness there. His right arm ached but he resisted moving it at all. They had nowhere to go .With the navigation light shining on her no colour hair they struggled up the shingle  and onto the sea wall. They faced the darkness with their senses stretched, he standing behind her with his chin resting upon her head relishing the thud and the hiss of tired waves falling to the stones. She noticed for the first time that far away lights shone in the sweep of the bay like warm and distant stars. They walked, stood , walked again , all the time their slow steps taking them away from the clamour of small town Saturday night. When their hands coyly found each other they fitted perfectly and inside each of them grew a feeling of homecoming.
“Fuckin’ cold”
“do you wanna go in somewhere”?
“no”
The sea wall ended  with  a shed that  during the daytime housed the man that operated the railway that took people to the top of the cliff. It was quiet like a sleeping fairground ride. Normally Baz would have got in there. First to show off and then as a shelter while  they screwed . He would have smashed a window or just forced the door. They would have writhed, still clothed  in the damp shed, the sex given an illicit thrill by the circumstances but brutal and uncaring and over with the zip of a fly and the balloon of conquest deflated. He offered a cigarette.
“light it for me”
It was quiet enough to hear the paper burn as he sucked deeply. He wondered if something very beautiful was happening as her smoke filled his lungs. He passed the cigarette to her and as their fingers touched again there was current.
“Where’s that” , she was pointing at the distant lights ?
“New York”
“can’t be New York”
“Why”?
“cos you can’t see the statue”
“you’re fuckin’ stoned”
She turned to him and with eyes brittle as stars studied his face.
“No I’m not but I’m fuckin’ high though, as a fuckin kite”.
He kissed her  longingly, considerately, beautifully. She responded and for both it was as if kissing was a new and wonderful thing that they had found. Unfamiliar words burst into his mind and tripped across his tounge so that he was barely able to suppress them. It was as though colour and lust and heat and love and sound and smell and words and taste and joy were drowning them. She pulled away breathlessly
“don’t Fuckin stop” she said
Some deep frost began to melt. Their eyes drilled  each other. His left leg trembled uncontrollably and phrases tumbled through his mind like the surf.
“lets go somewhere” . He was thinking maybe the bus station.
“where though ? she was thinking India.
A coach sighed to a stop outside one of the shabby seafront hotels and in an instant the lateness of the night became the earliness of the morning. Beige creatures from another world struggled through the front door with trolleys and cases. They stood in a gaggle, waiting for direction. A gull dropped from a roof.
They walked back in a vague dog leg. He knew the estate where she lived but not the road. The sky threatened to grow pale. His right hand ached to hold her left but swelled uncomfortable in his pocket instead. She stopped at a cul de sac, the university a mile of grey roofs away in the next valley.
“This is my road” . It sounded like ‘ so this is it’ something like a deep breath or a short sigh escaped him. He felt like a trapped animal, already cursing himself for the things that he didn’t say at this moment. His need for a final kiss was almost violent but the moment had escaped. Had run away across the wasteland and the shingle beach. Was hiding in a shop doorway but magically she saved it. She lightly kissed his cheek and then tossing inadequate words aside she made the gesture of an explosion in her head then turned away. Left on the pavement he looked around. "shes fuckin’ perfect."



First there was the dullest and softest of thuds. Baz’s toes found the hole in his mattress but he had not found sleep. Sunlight warmed the curtain. Then there was a voice. The sound of someone mumbling into a pillow three rooms away . The voice rose and fell, , it  carried anxiety through the walls. A radio was turned on somewhere in the house and someone thumped heavily down the stairs. Baz could hear his mothers voice high pitched, loud and taught as a wire and then his step fathers morose and low in contrast. He stared hard at the ceiling, his heart still warm from the night before, his nerves jangling from the fading amphetamine high. Suddenly a peircing scream from the twins' room next door. Then a pause for a deep shuddering breath and then a full torrent of crying of the kind that could strip wallpaper. Baz buried himself under his covers his pillow over his head and with his eyes tight shut and his loins tingling he thought about her. His door was violently flung open and he recognised his step fathers deep and sarcastic bass without actually hearing what he said. He waited for the door to slam shut then lifted his head. The crying continued but further away in the house. A deep wave of misery broke over him as he contemplated the start of another day. He listened for a sound from the bathroom. Once satisfied that all the noise was coming from downstairs he slid from the bed, dressed quickly and tip toed to the door. Opening it an inch allowed the wordless, muffled angst to become an argument and although he could make no sense of the words it meant business as usual and if he was quick he might get to the bathroom without being heared. At the bathroom door he stopped and listened again. One twin still bawled but with less enthusiasm than before and the other was gabbling nonsensicaly to herself. The radio still blared and the television also seemed to be on. Above this he could hear his stepfathers voice spitting out words of which he could make out only the few that were spat with particular venom, and then his mothers whining sarcastic replies made in a teeth curling falsetto.
"---------- ---------- ----------- fuckin twat.-------- ------ wipe his own fuckin arse"
"And  who- the - fuck- do you think you are ? fuckin' ------------ -------------- all the fuckin time.------------ -------- house this is ? -------------"
He opened the door and went in as silently as he could. caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he passed and visibly cringed at the site that met his eyes. listenend again, the noise level was the same. He turned on the hot tap, cupped his hands and splashed some luke warm water into his startlingly red eyes. Looked into the mirror again for curiositys sake." Oh fuck !"
The stairs and the hall were the dangerous bit. He waited until the argument downstairs had reached its seventh wave with his mother and step father both yelling at the tops of their voices, both knowing that neither was listening. He quickly tip toed downstairs . At the bottom the argument had paused for breath. He waited until his mother spoke, this time tired, resigned, tearful.
"he's seventeen! What the fuck do you want me to do about it ?"
Baz had his hand on the front door handle. Rivlets of condensation ran down the glass. He hardly dared to breath.
The door behind him opened.
"There he is, the fuckin' twat"
He opened the door ,ran down the path and Jumped the low wall rather than open the gate.
"Come here you little shit"
"Fuck off you fat bastard"
Bazs' mother was attempting to hold his stepfather back but there was no way that he could haul his twenty stone bulk after Baz.
After thirty yards Baz knew that he was safe. He put his hands in his jacket pockets, half turned. Ray filled the whole of the front door. His face betrayed a mixture of emotions. Angry yes but exasperated mainly and even faintly amused. There was suddenly no need for words and Baz turned and walked away.
Alone in the quiet street baz felt his body rebel against the excesses of the night before. His heart beat felt erratic and his skin crawled. He passed silent houses with their curtains shut firm and plastic toys playing with themselves in the garden. Something between sea mist and drizzle began to sweep in and obliterate the rolling hills beyond the acres of tiled roofs. Gulls made plans to raid the bins then made off with cake and sandwich crusts. It took ten minutes to reach the spot where they had parted three hours before. He half expected a plaque but there was nothing to show that they had been there. He fantasised that a cigarette end was hers but then realised that there were hundreds of them. He walked on, feelings draining from him. Across the kids playground and past the scout hut he was at big tony's house. It was shuttered and silent. He stared up at the window and thought of throwing a stone but walked on instead just as a downstairs curtain twitched. He pushed through a hole in the fence and walked vulnerable across the freight yard tracks. Over the  fence on the other side and he was in the railway station car park and then at the door of the station cafe. It shuddered and then opened when he pushed and  warmth issued like steam from a kettle.A smell of toast crumbs and marmalade and newspapers. In front of him Mary the bag lady fumbled in her purse at the counter. She looked up and right through him
" Hi Mary"
"She never comes"
"That's tragic Mary"
"Never, ever, ever"
Malcolm in his white coat polished a  cup with a cloth. They called him lucky luke for reasons that noone could remember. He cast pure disdain towards his two customers but neither noticed or cared.
"What can I do for you Mary" his voice over loud and his head leaning right over the counter towards her"
"Fuck off and die" her expression unchanged she scrutinised her purse as though she was trying to get into it.
Baz laughed openly but he put his arm around the old lady and gently led her to a seat. He went back to the counter and brought the tea that Malcolm had already poured. The cup rattled conspicuously on its saucer. Mary looked up at him with a smile devoid of teeth.
"she's a bitch you know. A real nice lady. Cuts my 'air for me tuesdays".
Even Lucky Luke recognised the kindness that Baz was showing and the frost between them melted slightly.
"What can I get you young man"
"He man, coffee, toast"
"He man, coffee, toast please malcolm"
"I'm not three years old Lucky". The veil came down once again.
Baz took a seat by the window and let his eyes go zero staring into the condensation.He thought about her but his thoughts were ragged and confused, vague figures passed on the pavement and he could hear Malcom chatting, clinking teacups, the drool of the radio. The next thing that he was aware of was someone giggling behind him. His head was on the table. His eyes had been closed for what felt like a few seconds. He  slowly focused on an empty breakfast plate smeard with egg and beans right in front of him. Behind him there was a snort of laughter. He raised his head and something fell off and onto the plate in front of him. It was a mop head. The audience behind him laughed out loud.
"Your breakfast was nice baz"
Baz turned stiffly to see three of his mates sitting on the table behind him. Nigel, Animal and Big Tony. Nigel was finishing Baz's toast.
" Very funny boys. I needed that breakfast. It had medicinal properties that could have saved my life"
"You do look pretty shit Baz. What is it, liver failure?"
Baz shivered. he wasn't in the mood.
"Have you been in here all night Baz"
"Did you pull ?" nigel nodded towards Mary as she got up to leave"
Baz closed his eyes "get lost"
Where did you go last night baz? I saw you in the Bridge trying it on with that student"
"What student ?"
" You wouldn't leave her alone. You were all over her man"
" Fuck off"
"She was sweet"
"She was was with her boyfriend"
"I know where he went". It was Tony.
" How was it Baz" ?
His smile grew like a weed. " get me another breakfast"
"I will if you tell us who you were with"
"Fuck off , I went home"
"Who was he with Tony"
Tony looked up. It was a fine balance .
"I saw him with Lucy May"
Baz's shoulders fell.
Oh shit Baz, you didn't?
"Was she good "?
"She should be, the practice she gets"
"Fuck off I went home"
"Yeah"
"Yeah".
Baz's eyes told them that they had gone too far. His smile had faded. He looked at the floor.
"get me another breakfast"

Days were long in Aberystwyth but not long enough. With cse's in maths, cookery and roadcraft Baz had left school at sixteen. He had hung out for the summer until his mother had told him to pay for his keep or get out. He knew that Ray had put her up to it and he hated her for a few hours and then Tony had got him a job in the sawmills driving a fork lift truck. He soon found that although he hated work in general he had a gift for driving the battered truck around the yard and stacking bundles of fence posts. The boss was a dark sullen man with a wall eye that seemed to effect his whole body down one side but after two months of watching baz from his office window he came out and told him that he was to be in charge of the tanalising unit. Baz stood in the draughty shed that housed the pressurized tanksand was shown how the bundles of fence posts were stacked onto a little train five at a time and then shunted by hand into the tank. The huge steel door shut with a satisfyingly industrial clang and was then locked with a wheel like a door on a submarine. Every surface was slick with the greasy brown  tanilith. Every peice of steel was crudely sawn and welded and everywhere there were leathal burrs and jagged welds that looked as though they could slice through you. One corner of the shed was filled with the reservoir tank of tanalith and it's gauges and pipes and wheels.Once the posts were in the tank and the door secured there was a sequence of valve openings and closings and the tanalith drained from the reservoir into the tank with a grand shudder. Then there was another sequence of opening and closing valves and the tank was pressurized. He was told to check the pressure gauge. It was yellow with age like everything else and as the  needle shakily moved around the dial it reminded baz of  casey Jones. After a few minutes the sequence was reversed.Twenty men worked in the sawmills and they were all as dark and sullen as the boss. The noise of the equipment ruled out any kind of conversation and during breaks they sat in damp sawdusty corners and chewed silently through their sandwiches.Baz caught his breaks between batches so he usually ate alone on the stacks of dripping timber watching the slanting rain and relishing it's thunder on the tin roof. The pay was poor but the hours were long so on a Friday Baz had hands that were stained brown and cash in his pocket.
By seventeen the boys never considered that were legally too young to drink. Baz took to getting to the pub as soon as he was cleaned up and way before his mates arrived. By the time that they did he had often reached his euphoric third pint. The one before speech began to slur and things started to slide down hill. Before they got into town they would huddle in the toilet and snort white powders up their noses through rolled up fivers. God knows what it was but it made their eyes water and gave them a buzz. Baz found that he loved everyone for a few hours and then suffered days of sleeplessness and regret. At least when they were snorting powder they were less inclined to get into fights. Filled with beer and queing for a club someone was always fighting. Students were fair game some of them were big fuckers but they lacked the  raw aggresion for a friday night scrap. They would be drawn in to what they thought was going to be a debate on where their rightful place was in the line  but before they knew it they were sitting in a doorway with a crying girlfriend and a bloody nose. In the pubs and clubs their animal instincts were exposed by beer. Aggression and desire danced hand in hand. They were arseholes, fuckers, kings of the world. It made them feel good when girls looked at them but the looks were knowing and wary. The girls wanted sober men. Men with cars. Men, rather than boys. Occasionally one of them would find a girl that was drunk enough or desperate enough to allow a snog and a fondle on the way home but mostly they walked home in small groups with chicken and chips and a a lary attitude.
Baz had had enough but knew of no way to escape from this wheel that he had grown up in. He wanted to have an interest, to go places, to care for someone. He wanted to be out of his mothers house with it's crying and arguing. For a few weeks he looked out for Lucy. He bought some new clothes, went out later, stayed sober but he didn't see her. Actually he saw her all the time. At the bus station, queing for chips, in a group of girls strolling the seafront but it was never really her. One night he was in a scuffle at the burger van and when his mates all piled in in support he found he had renewed his taste for it. They were always there with sarcasm and wind ups and put downs but they were always there. He could rely on them. They were closer than any brothers that he knew.
                                       The days grew short and the leaves grew melancholy and fell from the trees. Baz bought firworks and they  lit a fire on some waste ground and drank some cans while they set them off. They were pathetic. Animal walked a girl home from town and told them that he had fucked her on the kitchen table while her parents slept upstairs. Baz walked the same girl home two weeks later. He had his arm round her shoulders all the way to her road but when he tried to kiss her she had sobered up and told him to leave her alone. They had a great laugh about it the next day.
                                       Christmas was something to look forward to. A few days off work and a small christmas bonus. Girls that were more drunk  and in a much better mood than usual. Christmas eve was an opportunity that could not be missed. The pubs in town were packed. Girls wandered about in fancy dress. It just racked everything up a notch or two. more beer, more desire , more aggression. The group had included some of the guys that Baz knew from work but as they trawled from bar to bar it began to fragment. For a moment Baz found himself alone at a table. A crowd had just left the bar together and so it was suddenly quiet. The christmas lights blinked and the bar staff took time to clean up a bit before the next crowd. Nige and animal came in. Animal got the beers in and nige sat down next to Baz.
Whats up?
There was nothing up.
"Gabs next". Gabs was a club.
"It's too early man"
"you won't get in later they close the doors at ten on Christmams eve"
" Fuck it's ten to ten now. Drink up or we won't get in"
Baz looked at his pint and he couldn't face it. The others were necking theirs and getting up.
" save me a place, I'll catch you up"
The door banged shut, the lights blinked, a flurry of freezing air swept across the room. Baz knew that he wasn't going to Gabs. He sipped at his drink and allowed himself to feel withdrawn, staring at his pint and thinking. He was thinking about his mother, about how much she must have been through with his father, with Ray, with the twins with himself. He realised that this was the first time that he had ever considered her in this way. All the crying and the screaming, the fights and arguments had been something to escape from but somehow with Christmas washing over him he began to see things from her point of view and realise how selfish he had been.He had a tear in his eye as he swirled the last inch of beer around the glass. When a group of middle aged couples came it he took it as a cue to leave.
         The street was freezing and noisy. Paper streamers littered the damp road. A smashed glass, someone being sick, a couple arguing. Baz hunched his shoulders, put his hands in his pockets and took a short cut to the sea front. He retraced the steps that they had taken months ago although he was only vaguely thinking of her. The waves were sullen. They  thumped lazily onto the shingle beach. The line of surf shone in the street lights. He walked along the breakwater to the little hut, looked out to sea and then turned and walked back into the wind.Back into town he couldn't make his mind up where to go. He went down some side streets umtil he found himself at the back of the knightsbridge. There was a band playing upstairs. There was always a band at the knightsbridge but it wasn't Baz's scene. It was only two quid to get in but some of the bands were absolute shite. He went up the back stairs anyway. He could only hear the drums and the crowd when a song finished. He was about to leave when the back door opened and a couple came out. They stood back to let him pass so he went in.

                   Later. Much later. She tried to tell him about khama. He knew that there was a part of him that could not get over what had happened. They were lying in bed smoking , calm, looking at the ceiling but as was often the case she was picking up some tiny nuance that allowed her to share his unspoken thoughts and she had blurted it out into the silent room.
"if it hadn't happened like that, it might not have happened at all. You know I was thinking of going away. Leaving Aber. For good. If that night hadn't been so fucked up everything might have been different.
He had looked at her long and hard. Absolutely bowled over in love. " How the fuck did you know what I was thinking witch"

                   The knightsbridge was heaving. It was only a tiny room upstairs and the heat created by the crowd  was intense. He braced himself and pushed through to the bar. if he was going to stay here he was going to need a drink. He was ignored at the bar but eventually got served. He turned but there wasn't an inch of space so he stayed with his back to the bar and his pint glass held under his chin jostled and pushed from everywhere. Christ this was shit. It was either get to the front of the crowd and see what the band was like or fuck off home. He pushed his way through getting angry looks as he splilt peoples drinks. The band were earsplittingly loud . Rock and roll, Chuck berry, Johnny B Goode. Not his kind of thing. He finished his pint and turned to leave. There was a line of girls standing on the benches on one side of the room. They were dancing and singing, wringing with sweat, going crazy and there she was. Suddenly his mouth was dry, a cold shudder went through him from his thighs upwards. He turned away but their eyes met for a period of time too short to measure but in that time some message was tranfered.He turned back to the band feeling shaky. He could be cool and leave. Act as if he hadn't seen her. If she felt like he did she might follow him and say hello. Or he could stay and try to get her attention. Buy her a drink. Where he was standing the crowd were near hysterical. It was impossible to stand upright as they swayed one way and then another. He got rid of his pint on a table and found himself jumping up and down with all the others. They surged forward and fell backwards. Between Baz and the band there was a group of boys about his age but they were bigger and softer than Baz with floppy hair and good looks. A surge forward pushed him right into them and they in turn toppled into the bands mic stands. In an effort to stop themselves the whole group pushed back and Baz was pushed flat to the floor.
                   Baz had instinct. A young man is like a wild animal. Testosterone, adrenalin, alcohol, desire, aggression. He was on the floor in the midst of a hungry pack. Alone. Helpless. He could fly or he could fight. He couldn't fly. The speed with which he pushed himself up from the floor propelled him back up into the group and without meaning to he was face to face with the biggest of them. He had already done the sums as soon as he had walked in the door. It was his instinct for violence. This was the guy that was going down. He was a foot taller and two stone heavier than Baz. Too well fed, beautiful blonde hair that fell the right way, polite, considerate, well spoken. Baz grabbed his shirt and had his head back ready for a headbut  as there was no room to swing a punch but something else happened. It happened too quick. It happened in slow motion. Baz had got his sums wrong. The room turned sour. The blonde boys reactions were super fast and the punch that he landed was executed to perfection. Baz felt his legs crumple. Lights were spinning, he was on the floor, he couldn't get up. Strangely, the blond boy was bending down, apologising, trying to help him stand up. Someone behind him lifted him to his feet and he was pushed and pulled towards the door. The band stopped playing, people stared at him as he was taken to the door his nose bled, his eye started to close. He was pushed outside onto the top of the steps. He had to hang on to the rail with both hands to get down  and at the bottom he felt sick so he sat on the bottom step. The door opened behind him. He prayed that it wasn't Lucy. It wasn't. A couple pushed past him roughly and went on up the street. He was shaken but slowly coming round.' Shit that was a hell of a punch'. He breathed deeply, staring at the floor.
" You twat. You fuckin' twat. What the hell were you thinking of ?
She had appeared silently in front of him.
" do you know how stupid you look ? People don't fight in here. It's not that kind of place."
He was shaking his head "leave me alone"
" Fuck you" she sat down on the step next to him.
" He hit me"
" don't be so pathetic. You were acting like a prat. You deserved it" her voice was now softer than her words. She faced him and looked closely at his damaged eye. She gently brushed it with her fingers and then left her hand there as if to heal it. It was the most tender and beautiful thing that anyone had ever done to him. He was turned inside out. He felt her warmth to his toes.
"come on. I'll get you cleaned up."
He looked at her squinty. Felt like crying. Looked down at the floor. She held her hand out to help him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He took it and didn't let go.


Grey curtains of unseasonably warm and heavy rain swept in from the Irish sea and turned the town into a cross hatch of charcoal.Cars turned on their headlights and people caught outside turned up their collars and ran between doorways. Drains failed to cope. The little roads out of town were awash. Puddles quickly become floods . Higher up in the hills the cloud blew into shreds and the rain was  coming in shorter bursts. Occasionally there was a glimpse of a lighter grey behind. Four miles from the university and a mile from the main Newtown road a gravelly track led into a plantation of conifers. The track was rutted and bramble strewn. Unused. You wouldn't see it if you weren't looking but in the gloom between the trees there was a caravan. There was no light on but white smoke came from a chimney on the side. Two hens paddled in the mud. A figure emerged into a burst of rain that was spattered by the tree cover. He collected wood from a pile and went back in. Inside it was warm and damp. The figure dumped his load of logs and hung up his waxed jacket on a hook. he opened the door of a little iron stove and shoved in some logs. A coffee pot on top gurgled to itself. The living area of the caravan was cluttered with files. They occupied every shelf that was large enough to cram them in and piled onto every surface. The man poured out a large mug of coffee from the pot. He sat down at the cluttered little table and and opened a file. The light above him was dim and sickly yellow so that he had to lower his head to a few inches from the page that he was studying. He wore spectacles but after a few minutes of intense scrutiny he took them off and began chewing the end. He stretched, rubbed his neck and then picked up a magnifying glass the size of a side plate and began his scrutiny again. His face was jowly and stubbled his dark eyes small and intense. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, the light flickered. He place the sheet that he had been studying to one side and continued with the one underneath. The tin roof was like a drum but the roar in the damp little caravan was inside the mans scull. There was a large leather covered scrap book on the table and when he had looked through several sheets of paper in this way he put them back in the file and opened the book in the middle. The pages were dog eared and shabby both sides had full page  head and shoulders photographs of young girls. When they had been taken the girls had been smiling but you could only see it in their eyes as the area around their mouths had been grotesquly cut into large round holes. The man shook uncontrollably as he looked at the pictures but the roar in his head manifested just one tiny bitter tear.