Ziggy
Ziggy
Ziggy thought back to the days when he’d grumbled about having to get out of bed and dressed in time to leave for school at eight thirty a.m. He’d had no idea how lucky he was.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, his mother left home at five a.m. One of the three jobs in what she laughingly called her “portfolio career” involved cleaning offices before they opened for the day. So, on those mornings, Kylie was entirely his responsibility.
Kylie didn’t believe in staying in bed for as long as possible, like any normal person. Oh no. She’d wake up by five thirty a.m. at the latest and issue an alarm far more penetrating and insistent than any electronic device. Ziggy would then have to get her up and change her nappy. A poo-filled nappy had to be the rudest possible awakening to a new day.
Breakfast, before Kylie, had been a hurried bowl of Coco Pops, eaten with one hand while the other scrolled through Snapchat or TikTok. Now it was an endurance test involving trying to get more mashed banana and baby porridge into Kylie’s mouth than over her face and hair, or on the floor.
But then, just as he’d start wondering, for the millionth time, how he’d let himself get into this mess, Kylie would give him one of her wide, gummy smiles, reach her plump little hands toward him like curious starfish, and say “Dada,” and—for at least the next ten minutes—it would all feel worthwhile.
Ziggy steered Kylie’s pushchair through the estate as though it were a force field. He kept his eyes trained down on his schoolbag, slung over the handlebars, and walked as fast as he could, trying to get out before he was spotted.
It was impossible to survive on Ziggy’s estate without pledging allegiance to one of the rival gangs, who found the local teenagers useful as lookouts, messengers, and couriers. They were less likely to be stopped and searched than an adult and, even if they were, would most probably be released on caution. Before Kylie, Ziggy had found the extra money this occasional errand-running brought him tantalizing. For the first time in his life, he’d been able to afford some of the labels he’d always lusted after, so long as he hid them from his mum. But now the stakes were so very much higher. Being found carrying one of Floyd’s packages might not land him in an adult prison, but it would most definitely lose him custody of his daughter. So now Ziggy did everything he could to avoid being seen, and given a job to do.
Ziggy let out a long exhalation as he made it through to the main road unchallenged, and charged toward Mandel Community Center. Kylie attended the council-funded nursery there five days a week, so that he could finish his final year at school, and his mum could keep working to support them all. He couldn’t be late for registration again.
Ziggy rounded the corner and stared at the community center in alarm. It was covered in what looked like police tape, and a group of men wearing hard hats and high-visibility vests were wandering around with clipboards. It looked like a cross between Kylie’s favorite TV show— Bob the Builder— and his mother’s— Silent Witness . He turned Kylie’s pushchair one hundred and eighty degrees and pushed through the doors with his back, pulling Kylie behind him.
“What the fff-lip is going on out there?” he said, biting the swear word back just in time. Janine, the head nursery nurse, had told him that if he swore once more in front of the children, he’d be banned from entering the hall without a gag. He suspected she might not be serious, but didn’t want to find out, just in case.
“It’s because of that incident yesterday,” said Janine, gesturing toward the room next door. “At the Senior Citizens’ Social Club, on the other side.” The way Janine said “other side” reminded Ziggy of his Liverpudlian grandmother, who’d had a strong belief in the afterlife, where she now resided.
“Part of the ceiling came down, and someone died . They reckon it was a massive stroke that killed her, rather than the ceiling collapse itself. Although I bet the two things were related,” said Janine.
Ziggy kissed Kylie on the top of her head and watched her crawl at high speed toward the toy box.
“Crikey,” he said, using one of Janine’s approved expletives. “Well, at least it didn’t affect the nursery. I mean, those relics must be on their way out, in any case.”
“That’s really not appropriate, Ziggy. Every life is precious,” said Janine, giving him the same hard stare that she used on the toddlers before sending them to the naughty step.
Ziggy cursed himself. That thought had just popped out before he’d had a chance to consider it. His mum was always telling him that if he just paused for a few seconds to think about the consequences before he opened his big mouth, or unzipped his trousers, he’d still be spending his days playing Call of Duty and hanging out at the skateboard park, rather than pushing swings and playing endless games of peekaboo. Just count to ten, Ziggy, honey. Then put it back in your pants.
This was not how Ziggy had envisioned his life turning out. He’d dreamed of being the first in his family to go to university, and then a job in tech—maybe in Silicon Valley, even, where he’d have a house with a swimming pool and a girlfriend with a Hollywood smile and perfect boobs.
Ziggy loved Kylie, obviously. He just wished she hadn’t appeared in his life until a bit later on. Then he might have been able to give her all the things he’d wanted as a child, but had never had. Her own bedroom, and a garden with a swing set and a Wendy house. Nerf guns, a PlayStation, and the latest designer trainers.
“Who are they?” asked Ziggy, nodding toward the men with clipboards.
“They’ve been sent by the council,” said Janine. “They said it’s safe to keep using the hall for the time being; they’ve just taped off one end of the room next door. But I heard them say they might need to close us down for months for refurbishments. What am I going to do? I need this job, Ziggy.”
Ziggy felt sick. It had taken him and his mum ages to find this council-funded nursery place. The few hours of freedom it gave him each day was the only time he got to feel like a normal teenager. Without Mandel Community Center, Ziggy’s former life was pretty much over, and his future was utterly screwed.