It’s great on the estate, yeah!

  
I live in a towerblock, one of seven on the estate. I'm on the tenth floor, so I get a good view across town. I like it when it rains– the droplets hit the windows and the city is blanketed by this leaden pall. Sometimes I feel like God looking down on his creation– all scurry-scurrying out of the wet. On the mad days it rains like thunder, and the leaves swirl up off the trees, like being in a snowshaker. The cars swish through the rain, and sometimes there are sirens.

It’s strange living here. Nothing is explained, you just hear what happened. Some guy got kneecapped outside the neighbouring block a year ago. I heard the shots, but never found out more. Just some guy got shot, probably a turf war over drugs. Another time, I go out and there’s a body, covered by a clear plastic tent. Lots of dibble around. A jumper– I don’t know who or why. Somebody jumped.

A woman jumped from my flat ten years ago. A friend didn’t like her nailvarnish, and she went off out the window.

Sometimes life is as hard as nails. 

*****

My neighbour comes out of his flat– and there’s a SWAT team there, assault rifles raised, with the head guy banging on the door next to his. He quickly jumps back in, and shouts to them, ‘hey, I need to get to work now. In three seconds I’m coming out, ok?’. They let him go and wait for the lift while they hold their rifles pointed squarely at the door.

Like I say, you get to hear what happened, but you have no idea why it did.

*****

Billy and Steve

They came round unannounced with the crack and h. We did them together; me for the first time; learning how to chase the h around the foil, how near to hold the lighter, and Billy showing me how you make a crack-pipe out of an empty can of Tennants. I also learned that cigarette ash, not usually highly prized, becomes a valuable commodity when smoking crack. All-in-all, it was very educational.

And then they drove me crazy– both talking at me at the same time, for a full hour. It was like Crack-rant Hour on Junkie FM. I am cursed to be a listener. On my left was Billy, (mad man), who was frantically informing me about a secret weapon that the military were developing that would melt all the metal in the world, including the fillings in your teeth. On my right, Steve spoke more slowly and philosophically, though no less passionately, about the need for a fairer society. 

Later though, they came down; we all went out for a walk and ended up sat under a tree in a small park, talking gently, almost reverently, about life, the universe and everything. A silvery plane flew high overhead, sharp against the azure sky. The Evening Star appeared slowly as the daylight dimmed, and it was beautiful. It was perfect.

*****

yeah, I'm getting closer, he said, I know I don't have enough pills right now, and I'm too scared to jump- can't slash my wrists- it's too painful, and anyway, you have to keep re-opening the wound- I can't do that…

I stopped taking my methodone– I’m gonna save it all up and when I’ve got enough I’m gonna down the lot

if I drink a bottle of vod plus the meth, that'll do it…

*****

He come round for the first time, and proceeded to try and rip out my bathroom plumbing. “Look at this, man, it’s worth money! That’s copper that is!”

*****

The Gift

Billy sez to me, “I knew this guy, Cal, in one a the homes. E was tryna kill ‘imself wi pills. E sez to me, “Billy, I feel bad, I wanna die.” I looked at what e ’ad, an I sez to ’im– “that won’t do it mate– y’need more pills than that. What y’wanna do mate, is string yrself up, that’ll fix it”

So next day, e comes to me, an e sez– “Billy, come ere, I wanna show yer sumfin’”… an so I follow im, an e goes behind 'is bedroom door an sez “wait here, I got sumfin I wanna show yer”

So I waits there in the corridor, an e goes in ‘is room, and then I hear this kickin’– e’s doin the Tyburn jig agenst the door… y’know, kickin it an that. E ‘ung imself from the A-shape metl frame above… y’know the bit of metl that closes the door?– e ‘ung imself from that, kickin agenst the door as e died

That was ‘is gift to me…”

An me, listnin, I sat an I sed nuffin’. “You ‘eartless fuckin cunt” I thought…

******

“Quick, close Heaven– Paddy’s coming!”

This morning I went out on the estate- had a chat with the old Irish Christian guy with the thick white beard, who sits drinking on a bench. It might sound like I’m using a lazy stereotype, but his name really is Paddy. 'I'm livin on Faith' he says, in his thick brogue, an I think, 'nah mate, you're clearly livin on Special Brew'

I like Paddy- he's always goin on about The End Times, it’s funny. He’s got a proper hard-on for the Book of Revelation.

He gets real boring after about ten minutes though- he just never shuts up. He’s one of those people who are well into their monologues, and skillfully stonewall any attempts at a conversation by not leaving any natural pauses in their speech whatsoever. A cunning trick. Like I say, I am cursed to be a listener.

If there truly is a Heaven, Jesus and the Saints will soon be sorry that they let bigmouth Paddy in!

*****

Notice on the messageboard-

"good loving homes wanted for 3 gorgeous golden labrador pups. Very playful, free to caring owners. Tel- 0795----------

PS- remove my notice again and i'll break your legs”

*****

What she said

“They phone me and they phone me– why? I have nothing to offer. It’s like the heroin lure, the bait; the trap is set. I wonder if I’ll ever get off it now. When I stopped, it was for Luke, and I stayed off for him. Now I’m just another of the lost souls, sucking, sucking…”

He died; her only child bleeding to death in her arms. So many years ago now, but the grief never leaves.

She sucks on the pipe, and chases the small brown blob across the tinfoil, catching the blue-grey smoke that rises off it like a comet’s tail.

“They phone me and they phone me… more rarely now. I think they’re giving up. Everyone tells me that I should get out more, that it’s not good to lock myself away, not speaking to anyone. Who would I speak to? All I can think about is the past…”

*****

The sunrise is beautiful over the estate, viewed from here on the tenth floor. It comes in, shining yellow, or orange and pink in high Summer, rising over the Pennines, blasting the angular grey concrete with magical light.




This is a work of fiction; any similarity between characters alive or dead is purely accidental.