The Journey of the Magi draft 6 – short version

 

 

I’m skinning up as the phone goes. It’s Cherry.

            “Where the fuck are you?” she says

            “Home.”

            “Well you should be here. Honey’s had her baby and you’re the fucking godfather, remember?”

            “How am I meant to know when she’s dropped? Magic?”

            “Just shut up and get here. I don’t want her to be alone. I’ve got to get back and feed the kids. Responsibility. You know about that?”

            “Fuck off, Cherry”

            “I’ve got to leave in an hour, got that? Just be here.” She rings off before I can answer back.

            I finish the spliff and light up. Fuck, well, Honey’s dropped her kid and she wants me round. That means she’s going to get into her heavy stuff, you know, the way women do and there’s just no answer to it. I can’t deal with that sort of shit on my own, so I phone Dave. He agrees to come along, but thinks we should bring Simon too. Between them, they cost me half my blow for the pleasure.

 

***

 

We head down Chargeable Lane, the pavement snarled up with parked cars, curtains drawn across living room windows. This whole mad shit of having babies is something I can’t get my head around. Why do we do it? What’s so fun about sitting in front of the telly night after night having rows and eating the same crappy meals that would make you want a kid? I mean, what’s it going to end up doing that’s so new? It’s fucking madness. There must be more to the world, but I ain’t ever found it. Maybe you need to be rich, or on TV.

            “What is it with this godfather shit anyway?” asks Dave. “You fancy her, don’t you?”

             “Like fuck. We’re just friends. We talk and that.”

            “Talk? You just want to get into her pants but she won’t let you. Instead you’ll end up changing the nappies on some other bloke’s baby. Mug.”

            “Aw fuck off man. She’s alright.”

            “She’s taking you for a ride. That friends shit with women doesn’t work.”

            “Where’s she live anyway?” asks Simon. “I need the loo.”

            “One of the tower blocks on the A13.”

            “Them? Fuck! I’ll never make it.”

            “Go in someone’s garden.”

            “I can’t man, I need a shit. It’s a monster, like I’m gonna give birth myself. Can’t we stop in the pub?”

            “We’ll be late.”

            “Just for one.”

            We head down onto Barking Road and into the Golden Lion.

 

***

 

I am still pretty pissed with Dave after what he said about Honey, so I make him go to the bar. Honey isn’t like Dave said. For a start I know where she’s coming from; the whole Father thing, she got smacked about too as a kid, pretty bad. She can act fucked-up but she’s okay, really. But I didn’t get it when she told me she was pregnant. If she had it so bad when she was young, why’s she having a kid? You’d think people would know better.

            Simon’s back, and he’s spotted one of those Chinese DVD sellers in the corner of the pub. “That’s what the kid needs – a gift!”

“Oh fuck off man, we don’t have time.”

But it’s too late; Simon has gestured the bloke over. “Something it can watch when it’s older, point it the right way in life. What is it – a boy or a girl?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “What?” 

            “Cherry put the phone down before I could ask.”

            “Oh. Better get a selection then.”

            We sort through the DVDs. Most of it is porn – sells pretty well in pubs, the Chinese bloke says. There’s other stuff “for the wives”, which is what we look through. We settle on ‘Commando’ if it’s a boy, ‘Four Weddings’ if it’s a girl and ‘Shaun of the Dead’ just because it’s a good film. I give the bloke his money and he moves on to the next table.

            “Well, now we’re sorted,” says Simon. “Anyone want another drink?”

 

***

 

We carry on drinking until we run out of money and have to leave. We cross Barking Road, following the direction of the plane lights overhead. The terraces give way to the backside of the Canning Town South estate, its square tower blocks like upturned cardboard boxes. In front of us the service room doors have been smashed, the bins taken out and overturned. Rubbish spreads everywhere like one of the pictures you see of a massacre, with flapping rags of stuff laying in mangled heaps. Music slams out from rival apartments, making the air shudder.

            Aeroplanes pass over. I imagine all the business people staring down and seeing beautiful constellations of lights below them, and really it isn’t anything but us.

            It’s serious shit what Honey’s done, because I know that while some kids grow up to be footballers and have it all, what the fuck else is there? A job at McDonalds on Barking Road or the Pura factory on the Lea. She’s hoping it’ll be different but it won’t be: it’ll be the same as her, stuck here and miserable, wanting a baby to make her happy; the same as her dad, or as my old man, beating up everyone over whatever shit; the same as all of us, looking for something we can’t have or that isn’t here. Oh God, to have the power to pull her out of this. With a few pints in me I think that Dave’s right and maybe I do have a thing for Honey. I don’t care that it’s someone else’s baby; if she asked then I would say yes, and I would do anything I could. But I know that she won’t. She doesn’t fancy me, doesn’t want that from me. So what can I do?

            I find the door to the right block and enter the code. We are let in. The hallway smells of piss and there’s something scrawled on the wall telling everyone to fuck off. This is the kid’s welcome to the world.

            We get in the lift. I hope she knows what she’s doing, because I sure as fuck don’t.

 

Jethro Perkins

03/01/05

Minor rev 07/01/05

Minor rev 2 18/01/05

Canning Town