Ash

I’ve eaten the Bolognese that Mum left. I couldn’t be bothered to boil any pasta, so I had it cold on toast instead. And right now I’m lying on my bed, eyes closed. Not sleeping, just vegging out before Rabbit gets here.

I hear a noise. A ringing phone. I keep my eyes closed, try and ignore it for a while cos it’s not my phone and it’s not the landline. But it keeps ringing. And I realise that it’s coming from somewhere in my room. I open my eyes and sit up. The ringing is coming from the corner of the room, near the wardrobe. My heart starts racing. I get up from the bed and walk to the wardrobe and all the while the phone keeps on ringing. It’s one of the basic ringtones that you get on every mobile, a bring-bring sound. And as it rings again, I realise it’s definitely coming from inside my wardrobe. I open my wardrobe and stare inside, trying to work out where on earth the ringing is coming from. And then I realise. The bag. There must be a phone in the bag.

I pull all the clothes off the shelf in my wardrobe and let them fall to the floor and then grab the bag and pull that down as well. I carry it over to my bed and drop it on top. Then I listen again. There are zipped pockets at either end that I didn’t even notice last night. And the ringing is coming from one of them. I unzip the pocket just as the phone stops ringing. I take the phone out. It’s a cheap one. A really old and clunky blue one.

On the screen it says, You have 1 missed call. I press the green button to see who it’s from and see that it was another mobile number that called. I think about calling the number straight back to see who it was. I might be able to find out who the bag belongs to. But I don’t do it. Instead, I open up the contacts. There are no names in there. Not even one. So I go to the text messages. Nothing there, either. I sigh, switch the phone off and put it back in the end pocket of the bag.

I look through the rest of the pocket. There’s half a packet of mints in there. I put them back and rummage around again to see what else there is. But it’s empty. So I turn the bag round and open the pocket at the other end. I shove my hand inside. And right away I feel something. Hard and cold. I wrap my fingers around it and take it out. And even before I see it, I realise what it is with a sinking feeling. A gun. A black handgun. I stare dumbly at it for a couple of seconds, like my brain’s working in slow motion or something, before I realise what I’ve done. I’ve just got my fingerprints all over it. Shit. I start to panic. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what to think.

I hold the gun up to the light and look at it. There’s a company logo on the handle. Pietro. Beretta. On the barrel there are some words engraved: Made in Italy and 9mm. There’s an Italian word as well, Gardone. I don’t know what it means. Maybe the name of a place. I put my finger on the trigger and then look down the barrel, aiming at my wardrobe. I’ve never held a gun before in my life. I never thought I would. It feels strange. One pull of the trigger and someone could die.

The gun feels heavy and powerful. I get an urge to pull the trigger right now, just to see what happens, what it feels like. But I don’t. Instead I lower my arm and look at it. I’ve seen people use guns like this a million times in films and on TV and stuff. I could probably name every part of it. But it feels weird to have a gun right here in front of me. I wonder whether it’s loaded. I fiddle around and the magazine slides out. I count the bullets. Six. It chills me, seeing the bullets, thinking that any one of them could end someone’s life. I slide the magazine back in. I look at the gun again, at the safety catch. I flick it off and then back on. I sit and stare at the gun for ages, trying to make sense of it all. My heart’s beating like mad. I don’t know what to do.

I close my eyes and try and stop my heart from pounding so hard. And then I try and rationalise this. Because the simple fact is, nobody knows that I have this gun. Not even Joe. And as long as I hide it, no one will ever know it exists. This doesn’t change anything. I can deal with it. I just have to stay calm and not do anything stupid. All I have to do is keep it hidden. And then dispose of it somehow.

Downstairs, the doorbell rings. I sit up with a start. I stuff the gun back into the end pocket and zip it back up. The doorbell rings again, impatiently. I grab the bag off my bed and take it over to the wardrobe, reach up and put it on the shelf, just as the knocker on the front door goes. I shove my clothes back in front of the bag and then shut the door.

I leave my room and run down the stairs. I take a second to compose myself and then open the front door.

‘Ash!’ Rabbit says, barging past me.

I close the door and follow him through to the lounge, where he’s already sitting on the sofa, taking a bottle out of a blue carrier bag and inspecting the label. It’s white rum.

‘You got any glasses?’

I ignore his question. I take a second, just to stay calm. And I realise I have to act completely normal, so Rabbit doesn’t think anything’s up. ‘What you drinking that shit for?’ I say, smiling.

Rabbit opens the bottle and takes a swig, makes a face and then grins. ‘Because, my friend, it was in my dad’s spirit cabinet. And it gets you wasted. Fast.’

‘It’s what girls drink,’ I say.

Rabbit laughs. ‘Nothing wrong with being in touch with your feminine side,’ he says. ‘As long as you’re getting wasted!’

I smile. ‘All right. I’ll get some glasses.’ Because I need a drink right now, even if it’s this rubbish.

We sit and shoot the shit about music and girls and all kinds of stuff. And we down the rum quickly. And pretty soon I’m starting to feel pissed. I start to feel better about the gun. Cos I can deal with it. I will deal with it.

After a while the conversation turns to next weekend.

‘You coming to mine Friday?’ Rabbit says. ‘My dad’s in London all weekend.’

I smile. ‘Course,’ I say. ‘I’ve invited everyone I know.’

Rabbit laughs. ‘What, your mum and dad?’

‘Yeah. Very funny,’ I say. I take a gulp of neat rum. It tastes disgusting. ‘No, seriously. I invited a few people. You don’t mind, do you?’

Rabbit shakes his head. He drains his glass. ‘Nah.’ He picks up the bottle and peers at it. It’s already nearly finished. He takes the cap off and pours the rest out, some into my glass and the rest into his.

‘Down it?’ I say.

Rabbit nods and smiles. ‘Down it!’ he says, holding his glass up.

So we do, at the same time. Down in one. It makes me shudder. But when it’s down, I get a warm feeling in my stomach. And the world starts to feel fuzzier.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘More booze!’

Rabbit smiles. He’s starting to look a bit drunk.

‘My dad’s got loads of whisky. Want some?’

Rabbit nods his head. I go over to Mum and Dad’s drinks cabinet and take out a half-full bottle of whisky. I’ll buy them some more tomorrow. It’s not like I can’t afford to. Not that Dad would notice anyway. He gets through loads of the stuff.

Me and Rabbit start to get through the whisky damn quick ourselves. Shot after shot of the stuff. And pretty soon we’re completely wasted. Wankered. Rolling around the floor. Slurring. Talking rubbish.

I get up and kind of stumble over. I laugh.

‘You’re pissed!’ Rabbit says.

Which is a bit rich, seeing as he’s also lying on the floor.

‘Come with me,’ I say.

Rabbit grins. ‘Where you going?’

‘Upstairs. My bedroom.’

Rabbit starts to laugh like a madman. Eventually he manages to say, ‘No way, bender boy! I’m not into all that!’

I shake my head. ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ I say. ‘I’ve got something I want to show you.’

He starts laughing again. ‘Listen, Ash, if it’s your dick, I don’t want to see it!’

I shake my head. I start walking towards the door. ‘Stay here if you want,’ I say. ‘Just means there’ll be more for me.’

I start walking up the stairs. And sure enough, after a couple of seconds, Rabbit starts following me, falling all over the place. ‘So what is it?’ he says. ‘What you got up here?’

I push my bedroom door open. Rabbit follows me inside. He sits down on my bed.

‘What is it?’

I don’t answer. I just go over to my drawers and pull out a bag of weed. I take it over to Rabbit, chuck it down in his lap.

His mouth falls open. ‘No way!’ he says. ‘Jesus. Is that what I think it is?’

I nod my head. ‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘And it’s good stuff as well.’

There’s a massive grin on Rabbit’s face. ‘Well, don’t be shy,’ he says. ‘Let’s have a smoke!’