Chapter 1:

These are our streets.

We live ‘em. We breathe ‘em. We know everything that there is to know about ‘em. We can walk them like the back of our hands; know all the shortcuts without being caught.

These are our streets.

We own ‘em.

Murphy and I walked down the bleak, dark cobbles, the bottle of cider we had split between us steadily losing volume with each swig we took. The dwindling light from the faulty street lamps cast us into shadow, making us invisible to anyone who couldn’t already hear us.

We turned up the alley, steady drips from a broken gutter echoing around us as they fell into puddles.

“I’m gonnae bang that MacTavish bird, Lochie,” Murphy shouted to the skies, “just you pissin’ watch.” I laughed loudly, shaking my head at him.

“She’s no’ gonnae shag you, Murph,” I told him, swiping the bottle from his hand. “Y’know why? Because you’re street scum; just like me.”

Murphy faltered in his movements, swaying slightly as he processed it. I sniggered, leaning up against the damp wall as I watched him. His bright red hair stuck up in clumps from running his grimy fingers through it, his freckles looking dark in the limited supply of light.

“Am no’ street scum,” he mumbled quietly, glancing around. Rolling my eyes, I slapped him on the back.

“There’s nothin’ tae be ashamed of, Murph; it’s no’ like it’s a bad thing!”

He stared at me, his light eyes wide.

Who was I kidding?

I was proud as fuck being from the streets; this was my home. The houses on the estate over the hill were where I was born and raised. There was nothing more satisfying than telling people where I came from, and taking delight in their expressions of disgust.

But there was no denying that that was me marked for life.

The pair of us were always going to be estate kids, street scum, and whatever the hell else people could come up with. It was never going to change. Now, either we could try and fight it, or just accept that it was always going to be this way.

I had taken to the title a bit better than Murphy had.

“Look,” I sighed, passing him back the bottle of cheap cider, “it’s just the way it is; nowt’ll change it.” Murphy pressed the cider to his lips, taking a long drink of it before throwing the empty plastic container to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I grinned; Murphy Callahan was back in business!

“S’ppose you’re right,” he muttered, starting up the alley. I went after him, shoving my hands back in my pockets.

“Course I’m right!” I exclaimed gleefully. “Lochie Briggs is never wrong.”

Apart from in exams, tests and other things that mattered.

Murphy snorted with laughter, glancing up and down the road we had come out onto. It was busier; late night buses and drunk drivers zooming up and down the sodden concrete. Already, I could hear the jeers coming from the people sitting at the bus shelter, a steady stream of profanities pouring from their mouth every time they objected to something.

See, they weren’t real estate fodder. They were the ones who acted a certain way and made themselves a bad reputation. They didn’t do anything worth the title. They just sat and pissed away their lives.

Me? I was going places. I was eighteen; I’d slashed my first face when I was fourteen, and stabbed my first body not long after that. There was no point in glorifying it; I’d been shit scared and terrified of getting banged up.

But I’d gotten over it.

You had to in this place. Survival of the fittest, and all that. And it wasn’t like I was the only one; if you spoke to almost anyone who walked about the streets – apart from the clowns with the scabby trainers who heckled young mothers – they were the same; they’d done what I’d done, seen what I’d seen.

It almost became a competition.

Not that Murph had done any of that. He was perfectly content just tagging along, shouting loudly when needed, but never taking the blade and never shedding blood.

It took more guts to say not, than to say yes.

One of the many reasons I respected the hell out of him.

“Ah think ah’ll go hame, Loch,” Murphy muttered, glancing over at the yobs. Brow furrowing and expression clouding over, I looked at him, wondering what the hell was going on.

Was he scared of them?

“You frightened?” I asked, my eyebrow quirking.

He snorted with laughter, looking up at me.

“You stupid?” he demanded in the same tone I’d asked. “Nah; m’just shattered, min.” He sighed, scuffing his trainers along the pavement as he walked. Something was annoying him. Something was getting to his head. But there wasn’t much chance of him telling me. As close as we were, it wasn’t exactly a friendship full of deep, meaningful moments.

“You, um…You okay, Murph?” I mumbled, following along behind him. He nodded evasively, ducking under the broken fence, keeping his face to the right to avoid the CCTV. Doing the same, I straightened up, jogging after him; for a weedy wee bugger, he sure was fast. It was almost as though he was trying to get rid of me, but instead of taking the hint, I continued to copy his gait.

“Lochie, m’goin’ hame,” he groaned. “Y’ken what happened last time y’came back tae mine!”

I grinned at the memory, glancing around the dilapidated houses surrounding us. Did I ever? We’d had the loudest party known to man, not even stopping when the bobbies had barged the door in and told us to get.

No wonder his mam didn’t want me round again.

“But your mam loves me,” I said. “Old Pat an’ her…hat.”

Murphy shook his head at my attempt of a joke, not bothering to berate me about slagging off his mother. I smiled at him, silently trying to convince him to let me come back with him, shamelessly trying every trick in the book if it meant getting a bed that wasn’t my own.

“Y’can kip on the sofa,” he muttered, turning to walk to the end of the crescent. Beaming, I legged it after him, jumping on his back.

“Thanks, Murphy, min!” He stumbled slightly, probably because I was a substantially bigger than him, toppling into the gutter and laughing hysterically.

And so we lay, neither of us caring what anyone thought about us as we decked ourselves on the ground. It was only when we heard Kenzie James’ mam screaming at us to move and get a job, that we finally scrambled to our feet, scampering across the deserted road to Murphy’s house like rats on the run. All I had to do now was convince Patricia Callahan that I wasn’t going to blow her precious council house up in a fit of madness.

It was like she thought I was dangerous, or something.

“Mam, I’m back!” Murphy called, holding the door open for me. There was a clattering from the kitchen as his mam dropped numerous pots into a probably full sink, coming out into the hallway with flushed cheeks.

“Murphy Callahan, where the hell have you been?” she demanded, wiping her hands with her dishtowel. I sniggered, leaning against the staircase. Murphy sighed, hanging his jacket up on the coat hooks.

“We were just out, mam,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes at me.

“And what’s he doin’ here?” Pat hissed angrily, eyeballing me.

“Just stoppin’ by, Ms. Callahan!” I informed her brightly, tipping an imaginary hat at her. “Decided to see how you were doin’.”

If she was at all affected by my charms in any way, she had a bloody good poker face.

Pat glowered at me, glancing at the stairs. I don’t know why she had such a grump on her; I’d apologised for throwing up in her vase the last time I was here. Some folk around her just had no spirit for fun.

Thank fuck she hadn’t passed that trait onto Murphy.

“Get out, Lochan; I don’t want you in ma house,” she stated, folding her arms across her chest. I rolled my eyes; tell me something I didn’t know. No-one wanted me in their house. Not even my own mam.

“Mam,” Murph sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Just let him bunk; he’s no’ gonnae do anythin’ bad this time.” I don’t think I had met a woman who hated me as much as Murphy’s mother; none of my teachers gave me the stink eye as bad as she did.

Instead of wielding a frying pan at my head, she nodded unwillingly, flashing Murph a strained, tired smile as she went back into the kitchen. Quickly, in case she came back out with something hot, I darted up the stairs and bombed it into Murphy’s bedroom. He came up moments later, shaking his head as he laughed at me.

“She’s not as bad as you like to think, Lochie,” he said, chuckling to himself. I raised my eyebrows, pressing against the wall in mock terror.

“That woman is out tae get me!” I declared, flopping down on the bed. I could sense Murphy rolling his eyes at me as he shut the door, leaning against his football poster-covered wall.

“Mam’s just…” he shrugged, his voice sad. “Da’s appeal got pushed back; he won’t be out in time f’their anniversary. She’s upset…”

I nodded, propping myself up on my elbows. It was common knowledge around this place that Murphy’s da’ was banged up. It was also common knowledge that there was no chance in hell of him getting out this side of the millennium, but I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out to Murph; as far as he knew, his da’ was innocent.

Innocent people didn’t pin girls down and take what wasn’t there’s to begin with.

Innocent people didn’t murder said girls.

And innocent people didn’t bury the bodies in the middle of the woods.

Murphy yawned again, sitting down at the end of his bed and staring out of the window. Aw, shite…I was going to have to pretend to be the caring best friend. Gritting my teeth, I leaned forward, awkwardly patting him on the back. This was about as far as it went, to be honest. If he wanted more comfort, he’d have to get his mam to give him a hug.

“Thanks, Loch,” he mumbled.

“It’s nowt,” I replied lightly. He must’ve known it was something though; this was about as close to someone I got without smacking them in the face. I just didn’t do all that touchy feely bollocks.

Apart from sex.

I did sex pretty well…

Apparently, according to my sister, that didn’t count as touch feely, because I never stayed long enough to speak afterwards. I was like my da’ in that respect; didn’t do the morning after, just the night before. It was more fun that way; at least when I didn’t stick about, they couldn’t find out about what a fuck up I was. That way, they could keep whatever illusion they wanted of me, good or bad.

Whatever.

“I’m goin’ tae bed, Murph,” I muttered, lying back on his bed. He glanced at me, probably wondering where the hell he was going to sleep. No doubt he’d end up crashing there; curled in a ball like normal.

The guy was like a bloody cat.

As the booze and pills kicked in, my eyes drifted shut, the unfamiliar warmth of a household that paid their heating bill completely consuming me. People took warm houses for granted. I would’ve given anything for a house as cosy as Murphy’s.

Okay; his house was the same as mine – exactly the same, seeing as mine was across the road – but his mam was only there because the council rehoused her in the scummy part of town after Mr. Callahan lost his job.

It wasn’t like Murphy had been meant to be here.

I was.

There were three generations of Briggs living in my home; my Grandma, my mam, my two sisters and me. They’d never gone anywhere, never lived any life away from the streets. They were content with just staying here.

Like me.

Darkness washed over me, leaving me to dream and conspire in a much welcomed dreamless stupor.

When morning broke, there was no sound of birds. When morning broke, the light of the sun didn’t come through the windows. When morning broke there was no fresh smell of bacon sizzling in the frying pan.

When morning broke, however, there was the sound of police sirens blaring out across the estate; deafening, blood chilling sirens, as though everyone knew something bad had happened.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Murphy asked confusedly, his head rising. Somehow, in the bleariness of the night, he had managed to squirm up next to me. Sneaky bugger. Shimmying off of the bed, I glanced around for my shoes; if the police were sniffing about, it was easier to stay out of the way…

“Bobbies,” I muttered, grabbing a trainer and shoving it onto my foot. Murphy rolled his eyes, stretching out under the duvet, his hair standing on end from all the tossing and turning he had done; he was anything but a peaceful sleeper.

“It’s no’ like you’ve done anythin’, Loch,” he murmured, rubbing at his eyes. “You were wi’ me all night.”

Shrugging my shoulders as I peered through his window, I turned back to him, waggling my eyebrows.

“Don’t y’want tae ken what’s goin’ on though?” I asked. To this, he shook his head, pressing himself into the wall his bed was set against.

“No.”

I frowned at him for a moment before it suddenly dawned on me, making me seem like the biggest bastard alive.

“Murph, it isnae the same,” I told him, sitting back on the bed. “It won’t be the same as when your da’ got nicked.” Murphy shook his head, glancing around the room. There was no point talking to him when he was like this; it did my head in.

So I walked out of the house, leaving my best friend to whinge and cry to his mam about his da’. I joke, of course; Murphy never cried. He just wasn’t that sort of guy. He was sensitive and a bit slow, but he never, ever sobbed his worries away.

It was cold, and the pavement was slick with last night’s rain. The litter in the gutter was dirty and grimy from lying there too long, and the shattered bottles lay strewn across the speed bumps.

The sirens were louder from outside, and I could see the lights flashing against the walls of the houses several feet away. People had gathered, obviously wishing to experience some excitement in their bleak lives. They should be used to it; the police were around here almost every second day, their purpose ranging from a number of crimes; from theft to attempted murder.

It was never quiet around this place.

A reason I liked it, really; there was never silence, which meant that I couldn’t think. I couldn’t think about the things that made my head hurt, and I couldn’t think about the things that made life difficult for me.

It was easier that way.

Scuffing my feet, I yawned as I crossed the road towards my house. It was nothing special; just your bog standard council house with too many bottles in the front patch of garden and old toys stuck under the fence. Grimy windows were covered by thread worn curtains that hadn’t been changed in God knows how long; probably before my Gran was born.

“Lochie Briggs, did you stay out all night?” she asked as I came through the door, her eyebrow quirking. I grinned at her, winking as I went into the kitchen.

“Just another stain on the bedsheet, Gran,” I told her, laughing my head off. She made a disgusted face, her lips twitching as she gently cuffed me round the head.

“Away with you,” she chuckled, going back to her Racing Post. I loved my Grandma; she was probably the only woman I’d ever have a laugh with. Sure, she could be a mardy old bint when she wanted to be, but I put that down to the fact that she had to live with my sisters; they could bring out the worst in a Saint.

But no; Grandma Briggs was the nicest lady in the world. And she would always ask me how I was feeling, even if she didn’t care. Better than mam…Much better than mam.

Almost as though she’d been reading my thoughts, my Gran’s voice broke through.

“She’s taken Kyra to school,” she muttered. I frowned.

“It’s the holidays, Gran.”

“I know that, you know that, Kyra knows that and Courtney knows that,” she said matter-of-factly. “But your mam doesn’t, so just leave her be.”

I sighed, raking a hand through my hair as I stuck the kettle on. It was difficult living with mam when she didn’t take her meds. I would have easily gone and got them if I hadn’t been barred from every pharmacy this side of the canal. And Courtney just couldn’t be arsed; she was too busy shagging every lad on the estate to give a shit about her family. And Gran couldn’t move like she used to, so she was pretty much laid up.

There wasn’t a chance in hell of me getting Kyra to go get mam’s pills; that wasn’t fair.

“Was she nice?” Gran asked suddenly. Blinking, I raised my eyebrows in a questioning manner.

What the hell was she on about?

“The girl, Lochie,” she sighed, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. She was always doing that; dipping out of a conversation and then coming back to it without any warning. It was bloody confusing.

“Nah, ah didnae shag any bird,” I said, shaking my head. “I was round at Murphy’s.”

My Gran’s face softened at the mention of Murphy, her blue eyes going round and delicate looking, as they did every time I happened to drop him into a sentence.

I think it was because he was ginger.

“How is that wee lad?” she asked gently.

“Um…about five foot eight?” I answered. Gran looked at me flatly as I tried not to smirk. Come on; Murphy hadn’t been wee since we were fourteen! That being said, I wasn’t sure if Gran had seen Murph since about that time; I’d stopped bringing people back to the house after what had happened to Kyra…

“Lochan; you’re an arse,” my grandmother told me blankly, heaving herself up off her seat with the help of her zimmer frame and slowly moving towards the door. I rolled my eyes at her, pouring out the hot water into a chipped mug. As I reached for the coffee pot, I groaned.

We were out.

“I’m poppin’ tae the shop!” I sighed to whoever cared, sloping out of the house. In the five minutes I had actually been under a roof, the police had left, and the crowd had dissipated at a dramatic rate.

And Kenzie James’ mam had started bleating again. I was so positive that the mad lady had tourette’s, so sure of it. But every time I had put the idea across to Murphy, he had laughed and shook his head. Maybe he didn’t know what tourette’s was.

I did. I knew lots of stuff. Some might say I was a genius in a disguise. Aye, a really good disguise; my trackies and baseball cap completely wrote me off as a complete idiot. But I wasn’t, not really. In fact, I’d never failed a test. Ever. In my life. People were just so quick to judge, that I didn’t put any effort into the class work.

But I worked my arse off when it came to the exams last month, just to prove them bastards wrong. Because that was what would really piss them off, eh? That I did well despite what they thought. A massive finger up to the people who didn’t believe in me.

Because it was bad enough not to believe in myself, without other people doing it as well.

The walk to the shop was relatively peaceful after dodging the beggar on the mobility scooter, who tried to run me over after refusing to give him change; did he think I was going to pay for my coffee? My coat was my best friend in life after Murphy; it was perfect for thieving.

Deep pockets ran deep into the dark green canvas material, lined with tartan patterned cloth. It was thick and hard wearing; I hadn’t needed a new jacket in two years because of it. The cuffs were slightly worn through, so that new and intricate holes were created, just perfect for inconspicuously hiding something from a shop keeper or a security guard.

Which was why, when I hid the coffee inside the coat, along with a few other small necessities, it went unseen by the old man at the till, who unduly rang up the innocent bar of chocolate and charged me sixty pence.

That sixty pence had gotten me enough to keep my family happy for the rest of the day. It really was that simple; we didn’t look for extravagant gifts, or expensive produce. Enough to survive on would do us perfectly fine.

“Briggs!”

I stiffened at the use of my surname, a sure sign that a black eye was coming my way. Feeling in one of the secret sections of my coat, the smooth handle of my penknife met my roaming fingers.

One movement and the offending person would be missing half of their face.

Glancing over my shoulder, I relaxed, swallowing the lump that had previously risen in my throat. It was only Kenneth shouting at the top of his voice. He was harmless enough; a little bit idiotic for me to waste my time on, but fine enough to talk to.

“You up for a raid the night?” he asked, coming face to face with me.

“A raid?” I scoffed. “You suddenly joined the force?”

I considered Kenneth; he was probably the definition of puppy fat. His ruddy cheeks were puffy, and large, the blonde hair that he had inherited from someone else’s father managing to make him look about ten. He towered over me, his chins wobbling and his stomach podgy.

He probably could have squashed me if he’d wanted.

“You in or no’, Briggs?” he demanded gruffly, his eyebrows knitting into a scowl.

“What sort of raid?” I asked quietly, glancing about for eavesdroppers. Kenneth shrugged his huge shoulders together, leaning against the drainpipe of some old dear’s house.

“Electronics shop down Mulberry Road; we’re rammin’ it.”

A ram raid? They still did those?

Sighing as it processed, I weighed up the pros and cons. If I did this, I could have probably flogged some of the stuff and paid off some of the bills, or bought the weekly shop, or bought Kyra a birthday present, or all of that. Or I could get caught, and put away. I was too old for Young Offenders now; it was the big league now. Mind you, it would have earned me a bit of respect around this part; a criminal record was like a qualification on your CV.

The CV of the streets.

“I can’t, Ken,” I muttered, averting my eyes. “I cannae put m’Gran through a court case.” Kenneth snorted with laughter, shaking his head at me.

“You’re a wuss, Briggs,” he told me, his grey eyes full of malice. “You an’ that gayboy Callahan.” My head jerked upwards as I glowered at Kenneth. He could get right to hell with that; I’d heard it all before.

“Piss off, Kenneth,” I growled, squaring up to him.

“Touched a nerve, Briggs?” he asked, winking. “Or are you an’ Murphy a wee bit closer than everyone thought?” The remark earned him a smack in the jaw and a kick to the back of his legs that brought him to his knees in front of me. I glowered down at him, whipping out my blade and holding it just beneath his chin.

Everything else was suddenly completely forgotten; I didn’t care that we were in broad daylight, on a fairly public street. I didn’t care that, if Kenneth stood up, I was most likely going to be floored. I didn’t care that I could easily be put away for pulling a knife.

All I knew was that he had touched a fucking nerve in me that made me want to stick this knife so far into him that he screamed.

Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead, causing his greasy, gelled fringe to stick to his forehead. As his breathing quickened, the droplets of sweat rolled down his face, despite the fact that it was chilly for summer. He was all mouth and no bite; just what I expected from the likes of him.

“Jesus, Lochan, put it away!”

I was just about to come out with some smart arsed comeback when the knife was wrenched from my hand, making me spin on the spot to see who had dared to nab it.

Murphy rolled his eyes at me, dangling the handle between his thumb and forefinger. I groaned inwardly; why did he have to turn up now? Why couldn’t have just stayed in that bloody house with his bloody mam and his bloody football posters?

Scowling, my hands were quickly shoved into my pockets as I stormed down the street, leaving Murphy standing with the knife and Kenneth. I didn’t bother turning round when I heard the footfalls hammering behind me, nor did I look around when Murph started calling out my name. He would catch up with me whether I wanted him to or not; the moron was much more agile than I was.

But – out of what one could only presume was respect – he hung back, keep at least five feet between us as I raged.

“What was that about?” he asked softly. My shoulders raised defensively, leaning against someone’s garden wall as I thought everything through.

“It was nothing,” I dismissed, avoiding Murphy’s gaze. “Just Kenneth being a knob.” Murph nodded in acceptance, thankfully letting the matter drop. It was just how we were; the ability to drop the hurt quickly developed fast when you lived here. Hurt just held you back…

“Right,” he muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “As long as you’re not going to kill anyone today.” I snorted with laughter, shaking my head.

“Nah, min, it’s all good,” I chuckled, straightening up. There wasn’t much difference in height when it came to Murphy and me; a few inches made it so that I was just taller than him and no more, and even then I was pushing it.

I was sure his hair gave him more height.

“Ah thought you were havin’ a weepy moment,” I said casually, starting to walk again. Murphy stiffened slightly, glancing at me through narrowed, accusing eyes. My hands went up in a surrendering gesture.

“Weepy moment, my arse,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his tracksuit jumper. “Ah just…don’t like police.” I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes at him; he couldn’t go his whole life living in this place, and have a phobia of the bobbies. There was no way he could hack it!

“You wantin’ a smoke?” I asked, fishing about in one of my pockets. A change of subject was a good game plan; ignore the fact he was having one of his naïve, reflective issues.

I was incapable of reflecting on my life. As far as I could see it, I was always in the right. Who cared if I did something wrong? The world owed me. The world owed me for all the times some idiot had given me grief for being…me.

It wasn’t like I went around shouting from the rooftops about where I was from; I just never denied it when they asked. And those arses tried to make me feel bad about it afterwards! I showed them, though, that there was more than one way to skin a cat.

“No,” Murph sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets. He started to walk, dragging his trainers through the thick leaves in the gutter. I was just about to follow him, when I remembered the groceries weighing down my coat.

“Come back tae mine, mate? Ah need tae drop some stuff off…”

“Stuff you stole?” he demanded, starting to walk down my street. I grinned doggedly, nodding as I shuffled along the concrete. Murph rolled his eyes; it probably had less to do with the fact I’d stolen things, it was the fact that I didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Why would I?

Really?

“You’re a tit, Lochie,” Murphy muttered, leaning on the fence post when we reached my house. I winked at him, quickly going back inside and throwing the stuff down on the kitchen counter. Gran was dozing in the corner of the room, her gentle snores making the hair on her upper lip flutter slightly.

I loved the woman.

But she was hairy old lady.

“What now, Murphy?” I asked, hopping up on the wall. He looked up at me, quirking his eyebrow. Did he not know that our arguments didn’t last very long? Bloody hell, we’d been friends long enough for it to sink in!

Rule number one; I didn’t say sorry for the things that I did to him. Rule number two; I didn’t say anything against his arse of a dad.

Simple!

“We could go down the Rec,” he sighed in response, gazing across the street.

“I’m not goin’ tae the Rec wi’ you!” I shouted. I had taken girls down to the Rec, lots of girls down to the Rec. There was no way that I was taking my best friend – who was incidentally, a male – to the same place that I pulled half the lassies in our year!

Not a chance!

“I didn’t mean like that,” Murph mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “Just thought it would be something to do.” And what would we have done down at the Rec? Sat and smoked and watched people kissing. Not exactly what I wanted to do with the rest of my day.

Although, I probably could have copped off with some bird if I wanted to, like. But that wouldn’t have been very fair on old Murphy; he’d never had much luck with lassies. Unless they liked gingers. And didn’t know what his da’ had done to those girls.

But I digress.

***

That night, we found ourselves in Murphy’s room, waiting for Kenneth’s text to tell us that we were clear to come out and join the fun. It had been the subject of much debate; I had wanted to sit at the bus shelter, having a drink to ensure some Dutch Courage, whereas Murphy…didn’t.

But being the ace friend that I was, I decided that perhaps it would be better if we just slumped back at Murphy’s and tried to stay out of trouble. It wasn’t like that it was hard in that house; his mam hated me so much, that I was surprised that she hadn’t taken out a restraining order on me seeing her precious son.

It wasn’t even like I was the one chasing after Murph. It was always him that did the running, and it was always him who caved first after an argument.

Sometimes I wondered if his mam knew the whole extent of what her son got up to when he was me. It wasn’t like it was ever anything too bad; just a few scraps and getting drunk on cheap drink from the corner shop.

So what was her baggage?

“Would you boys like anything to drink?” she asked, watching me as I stretched out lazily on Murphy’s bed. He was sitting on the floor cross legged, playing on some game he’d got at the weekend. Who needed people stabbing and shooting other folk on the television screen, when you could look out your window and see the exact same thing? See, I’d never got that. I didn’t need fancy graphics, or complex codes to hide away from my life.

“No thanks, mum,” Murphy mumbled, his eyes narrowed as he shot another man down on the game. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pat eyeballing me with annoyance.

“I’d like a drink please, Pat,” I said sweetly, looking up at her. She grumbled something under her breath and disappeared out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Maybe she wanted Murphy to have no friends. Perhaps it was her master plan; keep her son lonely so that he only had to rely on her.

Actually, I could see her doing that…

“You okay, Loch?” Murphy asked, slightly distracted by what was going on with the telly. I sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

Lochan Briggs; coming second to a videogame.

Story of my life.

“Loch?”

“Yeah, Murph, I’m grand,” I muttered, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt. I was very surprised that he hadn’t bothered trying to talk me out of this by this point. It was as though he was biding his time until we were halfway out the door. Murphy wasn’t a coward, as I had said before, but out of the two of us, he had the most morals. I suppose – what with his da’ being in prison – that he had become wary about crime. Who could blame him?

If my da’ was in prison on rape and murder charges, I’d probably end up being a fucking recluse. So therein lay the courage that Murph had; the pure balls he possessed just for leaving the house in the morning. So I didn’t disrespect him when he didn’t want to do something.

But I bloody wished he’d give me some sodding notice.

“Are you sure you want t’do this, Loch?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly once I’d announced that Kenneth had texted. I nodded, stuffing my balaclava into my pocket and pulling my hood up over my head, standing to look at him. Murphy just stared back at me, biting down on an already scabbed lip.

“It’ll be fine, Murph; it’s just life, ain’t it?” I pointed out, putting my hand on the door knob. I heard him swallow.

“What happens if we get caught, Loch?”

I rolled my eyes, looking over my shoulder.

“Then we get caught,” I said simply, tossing him a pair of gloves. “Now put those on and stop being such a wet blouse about it.”

He was my best friend. But at some moments, he would test the patience of a Saint.

The air was cool on my cheeks, as a Northerly wind blew in from the docks. The group of us waited in the shadows, none of us breathing out of turn in case we got caught. Not that there was anyone apart from us around here this late at night; we were completely alone in the cold, waiting for Kenneth to make his big entry. He’d told us to be here at ten, and here we were.

So where the fuck was he?

“Alright, lads?”

I jumped, knocking right into Murphy’s side at the surprise that came with Ken popping up behind my ear. I wasn’t normally flinchy, but this was an exception; we really were in unchartered territory here. One move, and that would be me and Murphy locked up until God knows when. It wasn’t like we were strangers to the law, and the police would have given anything to get Murph locked up like his da’. So the logical thing was not to get involved in things that would get us arrested.

Taking part in crime was like a drug rush for me. If I could get away with it, it was like the ultimate high that would take ages to come down from. Forget the drugs and the alcohol that I got plied with every Friday and Saturday night; stealing, fighting…they were just so much better. And Murphy just came along for the ride, to be honest; I was sure that he didn’t get the same buzz that I did from it, but he did it anyway.

Strange kid.

“We have to be quick,” Kenneth told us unnecessarily, pulling his balaclava over his face. “In and out in forty five seconds.” His voice was muffled, but the intimidating tone still rung in my ears. Well, wasn’t he just a ray of sunshine this fine evening.

The electronics shop was pretty run down, and from as far as I could tell, there was little point in raiding it in the first place. The most expensive item we could expect to nab from there, was a television retailing at two hundred maximum. Nevertheless, I watched as Kenneth casually rammed the back of his 4x4 into the front of the shop, causing the structure to give way spectacularly. The glass shattered and before I knew what was happening, he was shouting for me and Murphy to get going.

We complied, slipping into the body of the former shop and stared loading what we could into the boot of Kenneth’s car, which was minus a registration plate. It only took a few moments for us to completely strip the shop of its stock, and soon we had jumped in the back with our ill-gotten gains, Kenneth swerving round the corner and whooping with glee.

A fast-paced ram-raid to get the blood flowing.

Murphy was quiet though; he didn’t join in with the shouts of triumph that was quickly becoming a war-cry. He pulled his balaclava off of his face, biting into his lip as he cradled his hand. Frowning, I tried to get over to him, but found that I couldn’t; there were too many boxes and Kenneth’s driving left a lot to be desired. Still, he wasn’t screaming in agony, so it couldn’t be that bad.

After about twenty minutes of listening to Kenneth shouting, I got bored, banging on the backs of the seats.

“Kenneth, pull over!” I bellowed. For a minute, I thought the git was going to pretend that he hadn’t heard me. But soon enough, he swerved off the road and stopped so abruptly that a box landed right on my groin causing me to shout out in pain.

Well, there went any chances of me having kids.

“We did it, lads!” he exclaimed, opening the boot up. I nodded, eyebrows raised as I clambered out of the car. Murphy was slow about it, trying to navigate out without doing anything to his hand. Once we were both standing in the cold air in the middle of the lay-by, I gently tugged his glove off, making him wince.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” I muttered, checking it over. Somehow, he’d managed to tear the flesh of his palm open on something – I was guessing glass – which had made a gash so deep that it pumped out blood. I swallowed. Don’t get me wrong; I was as tough as the next blood, but I really, really didn’t like blood.

It just wasn’t natural to have it coming out of your body.

Well. I was sure that Courtney would disagree…

“That needs sorted,” I heard myself saying. Murphy rolled his eyes, dabbing at the cut with his glove and yelping in pain. Why did on-one ever listen to me? And besides; I didn’t want to look at Murphy’s blood spilling out of him, thank you very much.

It didn’t sit well with my dinner.

“I’m not playing ambulance driver,” Kenneth huffed, getting back into the car. “You’ll have to get yourself there.” Murphy stiffened at the mention of an ambulance, and I mentally snapped Kenneth’s neck. Talk about hospitals to the guy with a fear of people in authority, why don’t ya?

“Hey, hey, Murph!” I said, forcing a grin. “Gran’ll sort that out no bother; she loves a good drama!” At least that part was true; she thought that she was more qualified than her GP because she watched so much Casualty. So at least I could take Murphy back to mine from…wherever the hell we were.

I looked around, frowning as I realised that the faint lights on the horizon was actually the city. How the hell had we ended up here? And it was only when Kenneth started up the engine again that I really started to panic.

“Oi!” I bellowed, slamming the flat of my palm against the side of his door. “You’re not leaving us here!” He just smirked, pressing his foot down on the pedal and speeding off into the darkness of the night, leaving us completely stranded and in the middle of nowhere.

“That bastard!” I exploded, kicking a fence post. “That stupid wanking git!” Murphy just sighed, flopping down on the grass bank and examining his hand. How dare Kenneth use us like that? He hadn’t even done anything! Murph and I had done most of the work! All he had done was drive the car into the shop. We were the ones who had done all the heavy lifting! Typical, absolutely typical; it was the last time that I was ever doing anything for anyone else. From now on, it was going to be on my terms.

“D’you hear that, Murph?” I finished, turning back to him. “It’s just you and me in this fucking life!”

He was asleep.

The useless prick had fallen asleep during my tangent.

Well, screw the lot of them.

Part of me wanted to leave him there. That was probably the half that my da’ had donated to me at conception. And the other part, just wanted to flop down next to him and do the same. That probably would have been the lazy gene contribution from the rest of my family.

Particularly Gran.

Instead, I shook him gently on the shoulder, my voice quiet so as not to startle him.

“Murphy?” I murmured. “Murphy, mate, wake up.” He twitched slightly, his eyes slowly opening as he stared up at me.

I swallowed.

I’d never quite realised just how light a blue his eyes seemed to be. I had always thought them to be green, I guess, turquoise even.

But never blue.

And they seemed even brighter against the black of the mask covering his freckled face. How was that possible?

He stared back at me, pupils starting to dilate as his breathing quickened.

What?

Shaking my head quickly, I moved away from him, rubbing a scar on my forearm agitatedly. That was a bit too close for my liking. He was my best mate, but I wasn’t into all that “bromance” rubbish. Some of the lads at school had started hugging and kissing cheeks; cool for them but definitely not for me. No, I fancied myself some real nice blonde bird if you caught my drift.

Like…Stacey Wiseman. I mean, she was the full package!

I looked back to Murphy, expecting him to have gone back to sleep. But he was still looking at me, and still with that strange dazed expression on his face. Maybe he’d gone into shock over his hand. Mind you, if he’d managed to fall asleep with it, it can’t have hurt that much.

Maybe- Maybe he was just having a funny turn! Like mam did when she didn’t take her meds! Only, Murph wasn’t bipolar, and he didn’t have suicidal tendencies like my mother did. No, Murph was positively normal compared to the people in my family.

So why the funny face?

“We’d better get walking,” I said gruffly, looking in the direction of the lights. “Otherwise, we’ll never get home.” Murphy nodded wordlessly, pulling off his balaclava and wrapping it carefully around his hand. I’d have to remember to let Gran see it when we got back, if the silence that Murphy had descended into hadn’t killed me first.