we go swimming after we eat, Danny?"
"You're supposed to wait an hour after food before you get in the water."
"Oh."
"And we've no togs or towels."
"Oh."
"And there's a sign over there that says it's against the rules in this town."
"Oh."
"But fuck everybody and their rules, right, mate?"
Conan sprays a mouthful of fish. I don't think that counts as litter, though. Some dog, cat or seagull will have it.
"We're going swimming?"
I think about the burns on my upper thighs, try to remember what underpants I put on this morning and wonder about how this whole thing is going to end. Not just the day that's in it but our sentences, our lives. And I just don't care any more. I'm free right now and that's all that matters.
"We're going swimming, big man."
The fish suppers disappear, chased by loud gulps of chilled Coke.
"Where are we going to keep our clothes, Danny?"
"Just leave them here on the bench. I bet nobody tries to steal them. But put your shoes on top so they don't blow away or something."
And that's the last question on Conan's mind. He's not thinking ahead about getting dried or catching the bus to Newcastle or whether or not that thing about getting cramps on a full stomach is true. The barbarian is already half naked. Then we're both in our boxers. Pale skin and goose-bumps. Giggles from both of us.
Conan frowns. He's noticed the marks on my thighs:
Confusion.
Wonder.
Sadness in his eyes.
"Who did that to you, Danny?"
"Some wee prick I don't get along with any more."
"Will you fight him?"
"No, mate. Not this time. I think the best thing to do is just let him … like, drift away."
"Good. I don't want you to get hurt."
"Thanks, big man."
We're still standing in our boxers. I point to the water.
"Race you?"
Somebody blasts a car horn. I don't even know if it's for us or some road rage thing, but we use it as a starter's pistol. There's not much running this time, though. When we get up to our thighs in bollock-freezing cold water I have a moment of reflection on virginity and death. Then Conan grabs my upper arm.
"Come on. Swim."
His teeth are chattering. So are mine. We move forward, Conan's fingers still digging into my bicep. And now my boxers are wet and I can't feel my balls. The barbarian takes a few more steps forward before he's in the same banana boat. And now that's sealed the deal. We're in it up to our necks.
I think I can hear a siren in the distance.
Conan doggy paddles. I didn't believe him when he said he was a good swimmer, but there he is, tongue out, head above the water, delirious with the truest joy. It looks like so much fun. And I can do it. I can swim. Nothing hurts now. It's not even that cold. Oh, God. I hope this is better than sex, because this siren's getting louder and I think it's going to be a long time before I get a real crack at a fit wee girl.
"I love you, Conan."
He makes his favourite noise, splashes me and screams, "Love you too, Daddy."
Helicopter, Helicopter, Please Fuck Off …
My teeth chatter and I think my swingers have drawn up into my stomach. But I'm fucked if I'm going to just hand myself over. Wish they'd hurry up and figure out what they want to do with us, though. We've had our fun and Conan's worried.
"Are they going to turn on the sirens again?" His hands are held up by his ears, ready to cover them.
"I don't think so, mate."
A pair of cop cars and an ambulance are parked up on the road leading to the ferry. Four of the PSNI's finest are standing at the edge of the water, just about keeping their shoes dry. They've given up shouting at us. The ambulance men are leaning against their big motor, one of them smoking, both of them ignoring the peelers. The fire brigade must have had something important to do.
"What's that noise?"
I tilt my head and turn in a full circle. Water laps against my chin. It's so cold.
"I can't hear it, mate."
"It's like …" Conan clears his throat and kind of purrs.
And then I have it. An engine,
"You're supposed to wait an hour after food before you get in the water."
"Oh."
"And we've no togs or towels."
"Oh."
"And there's a sign over there that says it's against the rules in this town."
"Oh."
"But fuck everybody and their rules, right, mate?"
Conan sprays a mouthful of fish. I don't think that counts as litter, though. Some dog, cat or seagull will have it.
"We're going swimming?"
I think about the burns on my upper thighs, try to remember what underpants I put on this morning and wonder about how this whole thing is going to end. Not just the day that's in it but our sentences, our lives. And I just don't care any more. I'm free right now and that's all that matters.
"We're going swimming, big man."
The fish suppers disappear, chased by loud gulps of chilled Coke.
"Where are we going to keep our clothes, Danny?"
"Just leave them here on the bench. I bet nobody tries to steal them. But put your shoes on top so they don't blow away or something."
And that's the last question on Conan's mind. He's not thinking ahead about getting dried or catching the bus to Newcastle or whether or not that thing about getting cramps on a full stomach is true. The barbarian is already half naked. Then we're both in our boxers. Pale skin and goose-bumps. Giggles from both of us.
Conan frowns. He's noticed the marks on my thighs:
Confusion.
Wonder.
Sadness in his eyes.
"Who did that to you, Danny?"
"Some wee prick I don't get along with any more."
"Will you fight him?"
"No, mate. Not this time. I think the best thing to do is just let him … like, drift away."
"Good. I don't want you to get hurt."
"Thanks, big man."
We're still standing in our boxers. I point to the water.
"Race you?"
Somebody blasts a car horn. I don't even know if it's for us or some road rage thing, but we use it as a starter's pistol. There's not much running this time, though. When we get up to our thighs in bollock-freezing cold water I have a moment of reflection on virginity and death. Then Conan grabs my upper arm.
"Come on. Swim."
His teeth are chattering. So are mine. We move forward, Conan's fingers still digging into my bicep. And now my boxers are wet and I can't feel my balls. The barbarian takes a few more steps forward before he's in the same banana boat. And now that's sealed the deal. We're in it up to our necks.
I think I can hear a siren in the distance.
Conan doggy paddles. I didn't believe him when he said he was a good swimmer, but there he is, tongue out, head above the water, delirious with the truest joy. It looks like so much fun. And I can do it. I can swim. Nothing hurts now. It's not even that cold. Oh, God. I hope this is better than sex, because this siren's getting louder and I think it's going to be a long time before I get a real crack at a fit wee girl.
"I love you, Conan."
He makes his favourite noise, splashes me and screams, "Love you too, Daddy."
Helicopter, Helicopter, Please Fuck Off …
My teeth chatter and I think my swingers have drawn up into my stomach. But I'm fucked if I'm going to just hand myself over. Wish they'd hurry up and figure out what they want to do with us, though. We've had our fun and Conan's worried.
"Are they going to turn on the sirens again?" His hands are held up by his ears, ready to cover them.
"I don't think so, mate."
A pair of cop cars and an ambulance are parked up on the road leading to the ferry. Four of the PSNI's finest are standing at the edge of the water, just about keeping their shoes dry. They've given up shouting at us. The ambulance men are leaning against their big motor, one of them smoking, both of them ignoring the peelers. The fire brigade must have had something important to do.
"What's that noise?"
I tilt my head and turn in a full circle. Water laps against my chin. It's so cold.
"I can't hear it, mate."
"It's like …" Conan clears his throat and kind of purrs.
And then I have it. An engine,
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