Prologue #3
Shot with tension, I eased the magazine out from my jeans. It was a little wrinkled and bent up, but it’d come right. I shoved it under my pillow.
“He’s gone t’ the pub,” I replied. “Said t’ tell ya.”
I heard my ma muttering under her breath. I knew she was filled with the same dread that plagued me whenever Da went to the pub after work. We never knew what version of him would be coming home.
“Y’hungry, darlin’?” she asked, hefting the box of food onto her hip.
“Aye, feckin’ starvin’,” I replied, grinning when she cast me a disapproving glare for swearing.
“I’ll get the tea on the go, now. Won’t be two ticks.”
We didn’t cook our meals inside the caravan – it wasn’t the done thing. Travellers liked to keep their possessions spotlessly clean, and that included the facilities inside our homes. Ma would cook our dinner over the coals outside with the other women in the camp.
The door slammed shut behind Ma and I was finally alone. I waited, holding in a breath as I listened to her footsteps crunching away through the gravel. When I was sure it was safe, I slid my hand beneath the pillow and pulled free my magazine.
Flicking through the pages in that wee shed had been exciting, but something about being here, at home in my bed, hit differently. I found myself gazing at that particularly appealing centrefold once again, equally ashamed and titillated when my body began to respond.
I was a teenage boy, I knew how these things worked and was well practiced at the art of cracking one off, but even I was surprised by how quickly I’d bricked up. It usually took a little more persuasion than this.
I worried my lower lip, scrambling to peek out over the edge of my bed towards the front door. Ma wouldn’t be back for at least half hour and that was ample time for me to explore these strange new feelings.
I finished up in record time and with a force that had left me shaking.
That had never happened before. No amount of titty mags or porno films had ever invited such an intense reaction from me and that made me feel sick with worry.
I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying this. It wasn’t natural. Did this make me a wee bender?
Cheeks hot with shame, I cleaned up and shoved the magazine back down my jeans.
I hopped out of my bed and practically jogged from the caravan, straight to the bins at the far side of the camp.
Several large, stinking dumpsters were lined up there and I needed to get rid of this magazine before it got me in any more trouble.
I opened the lid, wrinkling my nose and groaning as the stench of rubbish hit me like a wall.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I tugged the magazine out.
I held it over the bin, willing my hand to release it…
but I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye to the promise of more of that eye rolling pleasure.
Muttering and cursing under my breath I slammed the lid back down, returning the magazine to its hiding spot before heading home. If I was keeping this mag, I would need to find a real good hiding spot. It didn’t bear thinking about what my da would do to me if he ever found it.
The discovery of that magazine had only been the beginning. It was like a lightbulb had gone off inside me.
I started noticing attractive fellas everywhere.
My talents at football vanished – painfully distracted whenever it was time to play shirts versus skins.
Even my relationship with Declan had changed.
He was still my best mate, and I didn’t fancy him as such, but puberty had treated him well.
He had always been a good-looking fella, but as he grew taller and broader, it was getting harder for me not to notice it.
I still felt dirty every time I found myself digging down the side of my mattress for that bastard magazine, and yet I seemingly couldn’t resist. Before I’d discovered it, I’d been able to summon a vague interest in fantasising about girls, but now?
Even when I wasn’t looking at the images in that magazine, I was thinking about them.
No matter how I tried to keep my mind on girls, I’d always resort to fantasies of fellas to get myself over the line.
I lived in constant fear, convinced that my dirty little secret was written all over my face. Could my mates tell what was going on with me? I didn’t dare guess how much sleep I’d lost over it. Whenever I was at home I was sat on my bed, guarding my dark secret from the watchful eyes of my parents.
Time ticked by in a haze, my fifteenth birthday coming and going with little consequence.
Every day was spent either working with Da or dossing about with Declan and the others.
Summer rolled around once again, and my family began making plans to attend Appleby Horse Fair.
It was arguably one of the biggest events on the traveller calendar.
Appleby-in-Westmorland was a wee village in England, but for a weekend in June it became a hive of activity, drawing travellers from near and far.
It was one of my da’s favourite events and we rarely missed it, even though getting there was a bit of a ball ache.
It would take us about six or seven hours all told, including a ferry ride, but it was always worth it when we hitched up in Appleby and joined in with the revelry.
Declan and his ma had made a wee tradition out of attending the fair.
This would be the first year he’d been without her, and I was quick to invite him to join me instead.
At first, he’d been hesitant, worried that he was somehow disgracing his ma’s memory, but he’d come around when I suggested we do something special when we got there to commemorate her.
That seemed to cheer him up no end and he eagerly got to packing.
Our family caravan wasn’t the most spacious and I knew that inviting Declan meant we’d end up sharing a bed.
Declan was my mate. Nothing was going to happen.
We’d sleep top to tail, just as we had done as kids and so long as Declan didn’t go hunting around underneath the mattress, I didn’t foresee anything going wrong…
but that didn’t stop me worrying about it.
What if all that fantasising about fellas had broken me?
What if I couldn’t stop my body responding to Declan being so close? How would I explain that?
Unfortunately, I needn’t have worried about Declan because there was something far worse in store for me.
It had been another carefree summer day.
My da had given me and Declan the day off ahead of travelling to Appleby in the morn.
I’d spent the whole day playing football and mucking around with my mates.
We’d swam in the river, set a small fire and some of the lads had even brought their dirt bikes.
We’d had a great time, whizzing around on them in the park despite the disapproving glares of the locals.
Everyone was in good spirits ahead of Appleby Horse Fair.
I said my farewells to Declan and the others, kicking a football all the way home. At the door to the caravan, I toed of my shoes and leapt inside. What was waiting for me turned my stomach.
My ma had been crying, that much was clear. Her face was red and blotchy, eyes glassy. When she looked up at me, she sniffed and started bawling anew, wrapping her arms around her body. My da was sat opposite her, off his tits with a face like thunder.
“The feck is goin’ on?” I asked with a frown, startling when my da leapt up and grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt.
“Why don’t y’tell us, now?” he snarled, breath stinking of booze.
I hissed in pain when he forced me to sit down at the table opposite my ma. Time slowed down, the noise of my own heart hammering in my ears suddenly drowning out everything else. My da slapped the jazz mag down in front of me.
“The feck d’ya call this?!” he roared in my ear.
I froze in place, adrenaline pumping. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the magazine. Once a source of pleasure, it was now anything but and I cursed myself for not getting rid of it when I’d had the chance.
“I– I, uh—” I floundered.
My da made a whimpering sound, mocking me. “What? Y’need a wee reminder?”
I watched in horror as he ripped page after page from the magazine, laying them all out in front of me. My heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder I was still conscious. My ma howled, turning away from the images before getting to her feet and rushing away to the opposite end of the caravan.
“Y’see what ya’ve done, y’wee prick? Made your own ma sick t’ her stomach,” Da snapped, still ripping out pages.
Soon the entire table was covered in gay pornography. Laid out like this, the images seemed vile, unnatural and I sank my teeth into my cheek until it bled.
“What have ya got t’ say f’yourself?!” Da shouted.
I couldn’t find the strength to respond. My throat ached and I prayed with everything that was in me not to cry. That would only enrage him further.
“No son o’ mine is gonna be a wee, dirty faggot.” Spittle flew from my dad’s mouth, his face so close to mine that I felt it speckling my cheek. I forced myself to remain still.
“It’s not like that Da, I swear—” I was cut off by my da grabbing hold of my shirt and dragging me off the chair. He threw me down onto the floor of the caravan and I scrambled to get out of his way.
“Colm!” Ma screeched, seemingly snapping from her trance.
“Y’stay outta this!” he roared. “Or ya’ll be gettin’ what’s comin’ t’ ya an’ all!”