Punk Faction - It's All Done By Mirrors Read online

  Don watched the punk enter the toilet and nodded. He took a quick sip of his beer and stood up, stretching out his braces.

  Chapter 2

  Colin pushed through the toilet door, wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of glue contained within it, and splashed across the urine-soaked floor towards one of the two cubicles. After his recent attack in the Queen’s Head he didn’t want to take any chances, so he locked the door behind him. He lifted the toilet seat up on its hinges, whistling a tune to himself, and aimed his penis at the lid showing through the oval hole. Urine spattered against the lid and dripped down it, onto the floor. Colin sighed as he relieved himself, aiming into the toilet bowl itself when the pressure in his bladder reduced and he was no longer able to reach his target. He shook the remaining drops from his penis, zipped up, and wiped his hands on his trousers. Sliding back the bolt that held the door secure, he pulled open the door and looked at the two skinheads standing before him.

  Colin’s heart leapt into his throat as adrenalin surged through his bloodstream, and he placed a hand on the cubicle wall to steady himself when he felt the earth lurch beneath him. He gasped for air, his eyes darting from one skinhead to the other.

  “What do you want?” he finally managed to say, his voice quavering.

  “What do you know about our mate?” one of the skinheads said slowly, taking a step towards Colin. It was the same one that had attacked him earlier in the week.

  Colin took an involuntary step backwards, and the skinhead immediately closed the gap. He looked around him, and regretted boxing himself in like this when his retreat was cut off by the toilet bowl pressing against the back of his legs. “Er … how do you mean?” he said, wondering if he would be able to push past the skinhead and escape.

  The skinhead grabbed Colin by the shirt and pulled him out of the cubicle. Colin lost his footing on the slippery floor and stumbled, but the skinhead held him tight, pulling him back to his feet before dragging him across to the wall. Swinging Colin around to face him, he raised his fist and asked again, slowly this time.

  “What do you know about our mate?”

  The other skinhead joined him, clenching both fists, a look of fury on his face. Colin looked from one skinhead to the other, and felt his knees weaken. He looked around him, desperate for an escape route but couldn’t see one. He thought about shouting for help, but knew that help wouldn’t arrive in time to save him from a beating, even if anyone heard him. He had to talk his way out of this, there was no other option.

  “Well?” the second skinhead said, his face a few inches away from Colin’s. His breath smelt of garlic, and this added to Colin’s light headedness. He looked away, avoiding eye contact with the skinheads.

  “I don’t know nothing,” he said quietly, looking down at the ground. He looked up, locking eyes with the skinhead who was holding him. Curiosity took over. “Why, what’s happened?”

  The skinhead tightened his grip, stretching out Colin’s shirt.

  “One of our mates got done over. We think you know something about it.”

  Colin held his hands out at his sides, and his voice quavered. “Look, I …” He swallowed hard to clear his dry throat. “I don’t know anything about it, honest. It wasn’t me.”

  The skinhead laughed, humourlessly. “I guessed that. But I think you know who did it and I want you to tell me. Now.” He raised his fist again in warning.

  “Look, mate …” Colin began, his eyes darting around. He caught a glimpse of movement, the faint squeak of a door opening on old hinges.

  “You alright there, Col?”

  Colin looked between the two skinheads and saw Brian and Stiggy standing in the toilet doorway. The skinheads looked around, and the one that had been holding Colin let him go. They turned to face the newcomers, sizing up the competition defiantly. Colin stepped away from the wall and took up a position near the urinal, facing the skinheads nervously.

  The skinheads looked from Brian and Stiggy to Colin and back, and then glanced at each other. One of them shook his head slowly.

  “No bother here, mate. Just having a chat with your friend here.”

  Brian looked to Colin for confirmation. “That right?”

  Colin nodded, and looked away.

  Brian walked across to the urinal, his eyes staying on the skinheads the whole time. The skinheads edged towards the door, glaring at Stiggy who was still standing by the exit, holding the door open for them. When they had left, Stiggy let the door close behind them.

  “Fucking skinheads,” he said, and spat on the floor.

  “What did they want?” asked Brian, pulling down his zip and stepping up to the urinal.

  Colin shrugged, and approached one of the sinks, turning the cold water tap on. “Said one of their mates got done over, wanted to know if I knew who did it.”

  “Do you?” asked Stiggy, looking at Colin’s reflection in the mirror.

  Colin splashed water onto his face and rubbed it across the bridge of his nose. “First I’ve heard about it. Can’t say as I’m bothered though. Fucking cunt deserved it if you ask me.”

  * * *

  On rejoining the girls at their table, they heard the high-pitched whine of feedback from a guitar held too close to an amplifier.

  “Looks like the band will be on soon,” said Brian, turning to face the stage.

  The long-haired man who had been selling records earlier was standing at the right hand side of the stage by a microphone stand, counting into it, “One two one two.” He was joined by two guitarists and a drummer. One of the guitarists tuned up, while the other adjusted dials on the small amplifier behind him. The drummer sat behind his drum kit drinking from a bottle of lager.

  Someone from the crowd, a local punk with ripped purple trousers and an unruly mess of purple hair to match, strode up to the stage and climbed onto it, making his way towards the microphone.

  “Go on, Marco,” a female voice shouted in encouragement from one of the tables near the stage.

  The youth said something to the long-haired man, who smiled and stood to one side, gesturing at the microphone. The youth grabbed the microphone stand, tilting it at an angle towards him and looked around the crowded room with a scowl on his face.

  “Fuck Thatcher,” he shouted. “You took us into this fucking war but nobody knows what we’re fighting for some fucking sheep some fucking land what the fuck do we want that for you fucking skank you fucking—”

  He continued for several minutes, without pause, to the accompaniment of blasts of feedback from the guitars and an occasional beat on the drums. As one poem ended, he immediately started another before the audience could react, until with a final scream into the microphone he walked off the stage and retook his seat.

  Brian stuck his index finger in his ear and rotated it, as if trying to clear the sound of the scream from it. “Well I hope the band is better than that,” he said.

  “I thought he was cute,” said Becky, smiling and craning her neck to see where the youth had gone.

  Brian laughed. “You always did go for the lame ducks. Look who you’re with now.”

  Colin picked up a beer mat and threw it at him, spinning it across the table. “Fork you.”

  “Knife you,” Brian replied, grinning as the beer mat bounced off his chest.

  “Fork you,” Colin repeated.

  Becky giggled, but Kaz pulled a face at them and told them to grow up.

  “Fork you,” all three of them said to her in unison.

  Stiggy looked from one to the other, a bemused expression on his face, before shaking his head and turning to face the stage again. The band were about to start, the long-haired singer was tapping on the microphone with his fingers.

  “Right. Hello, I think we’re ready to start now.”

  “Fucking hippy,” shouted one of the skinheads near the bar, his hand cupped around his mouth to amplify it.

  “Thank you for that contribution,” said the singer, flicking his hair back ove
r his shoulder with a jerk of his head.

  One of the guitarists in the band looked across briefly towards the skinhead, and then pushed the guitar body into his groin, rubbing his hand up and down the fretboard as if it were his penis.

  Colin laughed, looking around to see if the skinhead would react, but he was facing the other way.

  Probably just as well because the guitarist doesn’t look like much of a fighter.

  The singer counted in the band quietly, his voice adding emphasis to the final number. “One two three four, one two three four.”

  * * *

  Trog turned away when the band started to play, and rested his lager on the bar. He clapped his hand on Don’s shoulder to get his attention, and then leaned over to shout into his ear.

  “There’s no fucker here with bruised knuckles, and if they were coming they’d be here by now.”

  Don nodded in agreement, and turned his head towards Trog to shout back.

  “Are we going down The Bull then? This hippy music’s doing me fucking head in.”

  Trog picked up his lager and took a drink, turning around to watch the singer cavorting around the microphone stand like some demented ballerina. He turned back to Don, spinning the remaining lager around in his glass to disperse some of the air bubbles. “Yeah, drink up then. I still think that gobby cunt knows something though.”

  Don drained his glass in one go and belched loudly, before thumping the glass down on the bar and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, maybe. But it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to get him on his own to find out.”

  Trog drank his remaining lager and took a final look at the band on stage before following Don through the door.

  * * *

  Colin nodded his head and tapped his foot to the music. The band were better than he had expected them to be from the appearance of the singer, and he looked across at Brian intending to ask if he wanted to get up and dance. Brian had his arm around Kaz’s shoulders, and was saying something into her ear that he couldn’t hear over the music. He saw Kaz smile and then say something back, her mouth inches away from his ear. He sighed to himself, and pulled Stiggy by the arm.

  “Come on, Stigs.”

  Stiggy stared at him, glassy eyed, but let Colin pull him to his feet and towards the stage where the band were playing. A few punks were already gyrating before the stage, and Colin dragged Stiggy into their midst before letting go and starting to flail his arms around. Stiggy caught the back of Colin’s hand across his face when he didn’t move out of the way in time, and shoulder-barged Colin in retaliation. He kicked out his feet and began to leap around, jostling anyone who got too near.

  A few songs later, Colin edged his way out of the dance area and returned to his seat. He lifted the front of his shirt and wiped sweat from his face with it before letting it drop.

  Becky leaned towards him and shouted in his ear. “Do you like them?”

  Colin took a long drink from his beer before answering her. “Yeah. Wish I’d bought that record now.”

  Becky smiled, and turned to watch the band. Stiggy was still jumping around haphazardly, occasionally lurching into one of the other dancers and sending them stumbling away from him.

  When the band had finished their final number the small group of dancers started to move away, some heading back to their seats, some heading towards the bar for fresh drinks. Stiggy made for the toilet, pulling a bag of glue from his inside pocket and testing the yellow corner with his fingers to see if it had dried up or not.

  While the band were unplugging their instruments and packing away, Becky approached the stage and called out to the singer. He bent down to listen to her, nodded, and left the stage. He returned a moment later with the bag of records, and handed one to Becky. Becky paid him, and returned to Colin.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing the record to Colin.

  Colin took it, wide eyed. He didn’t know what to say. “Er … thanks!” he blurted out, looking at the album sleeve.

  “Buy me a drink?” Becky said, standing before him and swinging her shoulders and upper body while she smiled coyly at him.

  Colin looked up at her. “Er … yeah, sure. What do you want?”

  “Pernod and black.”

  * * *

  Brian watched Stiggy stagger from the toilets and make his way unsteadily towards him. He walked with a lurch, as if he was having trouble maintaining his balance, and he stumbled sideways into the back of a chair. The chair’s occupant turned around and glared at him, but Stiggy walked on as if he hadn’t noticed. He stumbled just before reaching their table, and completed the journey on his hands and knees. He pulled himself up with the edge of the table, and flopped into his chair without a word. He looked around at the four faces staring at him.

  “What?” he said, after a pause.

  Colin laughed. “Nothing, mate. Thought you’d gone home.”

  Stiggy looked down at his feet. “No, not yet,” he said.

  Colin laughed again, and Brian and Becky joined him. Kaz, her face stern, nudged Brian in the ribs.

  “What?” said Stiggy.

  Colin smiled, and shook his head. “Nothing.” He reached down and picked up the record that was propped up against the side of his chair. “Here, look what Becky bought me.” He brandished it at Stiggy, with the picture showing towards him.

  Stiggy stared at the image, and cocked his head to one side. “What is it?”

  Colin reached into the album sleeve with his thumb and forefinger, and slid out the black vinyl record a few inches to show him. “A record. It’s by that band that were just on.”

  Stiggy blinked, and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Can you tape it for me?”

  Colin shook his head and put the record back down on the floor, leaning it against a table leg. “Me tape recorder’s not working. But I can lend you it if you want? Then you can tape it for Brian as well.”

  Stiggy nodded. “Yeah, cheers.”

  Colin lit a cigarette before continuing. “I’ll fetch it round tomorrow afternoon, we can do it before we go to Shefferham.”

  “Why, what’s in Shefferham?” Becky asked.

  “Cockney Upstarts are playing,” Brian answered. “We’re all going down there on the train.” He turned to Kaz. “You fancy it? Should be a good one.”

  Kaz frowned. “I don’t like skinhead bands. I don’t think you should go either, it won’t be safe.”

  Brian smiled. “Nah, there’s loads of us going. Anyway they’re not a skinhead band.”

  Kaz wasn’t so sure. She looked at him, her blue eyes wide, a pleading expression on her face. “Do you have to go?” She put her hand on his chest.

  Brian shrugged and looked away. “Well yeah. It’ll probably be the only chance we get to see them.”

  Kaz frowned again, and folded her arms in front of her. She glowered at Brian, who was toying with his half-empty beer glass. She sighed and turned her attention to Becky. “I need a wee. Are you coming, Becky?”

  Becky smiled, and winked at her. “Yeah okay.” She turned to Colin. “You’ll wait for us, won’t you?”

  Colin nodded. He grinned at Brian and said, in a high pitched voice mimicking Kaz, “I need a wee wee, are you coming Brian?”

  Kaz glowered at him as she stamped off, arm in arm with Becky. Brian sniggered, and took a long drink from his beer. He belched at Colin and rose to his feet. “Come on then. But no peeping at my cock.”

  “As if,” Colin said, turning to Stiggy. “Watch our stuff for us?” Stiggy nodded, reaching down for the record.

  In the toilet, they took up positions on either side of the urinal, and Colin threw his cigarette end into the middle. It landed with a hiss in the trough of water, extinguishing it. He aimed his jet of urine at the cigarette end, pushing it towards Brian. Brian noticed the cigarette end rushing towards him, and aimed his penis at it to push it back, shuffling sideways towards Colin to get a better aim. Colin’s bladder emptied first, and his urine turn
ed to dribbles while Brian’s was still in full flow. The cigarette end, now saturated and grown to double its original size, hit Colin’s end of the urinal and Brian bellowed in victory.

  “Cheating bastard,” Colin said, zipping up.

  Brian started to chant, jumping up and down with his penis still hanging out of his trousers bobbing up and down with the momentum. “One nil, one nil, one nil.”

  Back in the bar, Stiggy was reading the song titles from the back of the record sleeve when Colin approached him from behind.

  “Have they gone?” Colin looked around the pub. Most of the other patrons had either already gone, or looked like they were getting ready to go and waiting for their friends to drink up.

  “Have what gone?” Stiggy asked, without looking up from the record cover.

  “Them birds.”

  Stiggy shrugged. “Still in the bogs, aren’t they? What time is it anyway?”

  Brian looked at his watch. “Half-ten.”

  “What?” Stiggy looked up, and put the record down on the table, propped up at one end on the edge of the ashtray. “Fuck,” he said, standing up. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”

  He rushed out, and Brian shrugged to Colin. Colin sat down, retrieved his record, and looked over at the women’s toilet door. “What do you reckon they’re doing in there?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” Brian said. “Probably escaped out the window so they don’t need to look at your ugly mug any more.”

  “Fork you.”

  Brian laughed. “Well whatever they’re doing they’d better hurry up or we’ll miss the bus.”

  They lit a cigarette each, and smoked them. The girls were still missing when they stubbed them out in the ashtray. Colin looked over at the toilet door and sighed. “Fuck this,” he said, rising to his feet. He banged on the door with his fist. “You in there?”

  A muffled voice answered him, but he didn’t know whose it was. “Yeah, won’t be long.”