Sirens

Life Is Like A Threesome

Life is like a threesome; people spend their whole lives bleating on about how they're going to do it and they hardly ever do.  Take Mal; he spent all his time yapping in my ear about the next girl he was going to shag, when I'm almost a hundred percent sure he's still firmly in possession of his V plates.  I mean, what girl's going to want to say she's shagged a lad with the name Malvolio Kali?

None.  None at all.

"How was your mam?" Mal's voice shatters my internal monologue and I sigh, leaning on the railings of the pier.  How was mam?  She hadn't cried this time I went to see her, which had to be something, but she still had no idea how to act around me.

"She's fine." I lie smoothly.  "They'll let her out soon, I know it." Aye, that was wishful thinking at it's finest.  Mam wasn't anywhere near ready to come home and I still haven't cleaned up the blood from between the bathroom tiles.

"Then you'll be comin' out on Friday?" Mal almost seems to light up at the idea and I resist the urge to bury my face in my hands.  Lads don't cry.  Especially lads with the name Tyron Andrew.  Crying was what mam did at night before she ended up locking herself in the bathroom.

And if there's one thing I never want to be, it's my mam.

"No, Mal," I sigh, rubbing my face wearily as I look out across the grey sea.  "I'm not comin' out on Friday.  I have to take Shane and Nate...somewhere." I should probably find out where I was meant to be taking the twins on Friday, but dad didn't really care where I took them as long as they were out.

Friday night was the night dad pretended he wasn't married.  Mam probably knew an' all.  It was probably his fault that mam cut her wrists open with the same scissors Shane and Nate used to do their bright wee art homework.

Dad should've known it was going to push mam over; the whole bloody street knew that she had more mood swings than a brothel had whores.

"But your dad could take them out!" Mal whines; God, sometimes I thought he was gay.  He never left me alone.

"Dad's busy on a Friday." I snap, pushing myself off the railing as I feel for my fags.  If I'm going to have to have this conversation, I think I deserve one wee cigarette to calm my nerves.  "Just go off without me, Mal, the world won't end." I roll my eyes at the lost look on Mal's face and move my face closer to his.  "Get it through your head, Malvolio, I'm no' coming out with you on Friday.  Just go...I don't know!" I throw my hands up, almost sending my cigarettes over the railing in the process.  "Go have a life!" I suggest, pulling a fag out and quickly shoving the box back in my pocket before Mal can try to nab one.

If he tries to take the box out of my pocket, he's going to get decked in the face, I think as I watch him lean against the railings.

"Fine." Mal sulks.  "But don't blame me when I've had all the lasses and there's none left for you!" He exclaims and I snort with laughter at the idea of Mal getting any lass, let alone all of them.

"Sure, Mal, I'll go home and cry like a wee girl over it." I reply sarcastically, my eyes rolling.

"Y'can be a dick, Ty, y'know that don't you?" Mal checks and I shrug, taking my lighter from my pocket.

"So I've been told.  But now you've said it, I'll be sure to work on it." I mutter as I spark up, sheltering the flame from the icy sea air with my hand.  I'll be damned if a breeze stops me getting my nicotine fix.

"Whatever." Mal snaps before swirling around and stalking off back up the pier.  There was another reason I thought Mal was reluctant to leave his closet: how many lads do you see who swirl off?  Maybe I should ask his sister if-

Actually, no, Tammy might hit me if she sees my face again and it would be unacceptable to taint this perf-

Nah, I'm probably the furthest you can get from perfection, but the lassies seem to love me anyway.  If I could bottle up what made them love me, I'd never have to work a day in my life.  I could quit stacking shelves at Tesco and actually have time to live my life.

In that alternative reality, I'd probably be less of a grumpy git, I decide as I take a drag of my cigarette and drop my lighter back in my jeans pocket.  Or, aim to drop my lighter back in my jeans pocket, because I'm pretty sure that thump wasn't a seagull tripping over on the sand.

Wait, could seagulls trip?  I'd never seen one trip...I'd seen one get hit by a golf club though, and it keeled over pretty fast from that.

"Shit," I hiss as I see my lighter glinting on the sand under the pier.  Well, at least the tide isn't in, I think as I press my lips tighter around my cigarette and jump over the edge of the pier, leaving a faint mist of grey smoke rising to where I was a moment ago.  I manage not to stand on my lighter when I stumble, but I right myself quickly and snatch up my bright green lighter.

I shove my lighter back in the safety of my pocket and glance around lazily.  I could probably stay here for a while; Shane and Nate won't be done at club until at least six and the bloody tiles at home can wait another day.  It's not like washing away the blood is going to wash away the memory of Nate screaming when he found mam on the floor, I think bitterly as I puff away under the pier where no old lady's can come up to me and tell me I'm killing myself.

They never consider that as a good thing, have you noticed?  Was there generation one that was free of suicide?  Nice for them...they don't have to take an eight year old to therapy every Wednesday.

God, it was tiring too.  Trying to convince Nate that he wanted to go talk to the weird lady with weird eyes about mam's "accident" was like trying to convince a nun to get smashed in a church.  Pointless and frustrating for both parties.

I kick the sand in frustration, watching it catch the breeze and whip away.  I'm nineteen for fucks sake, I shouldn't have to be bringing up my wee brothers - one of whom I have to drag to therapy.  Why did I have to have selfish parents?  Dad was only bothered about getting laid and mam wasn't bothered about anything because she hadn't planed on living this long!

If I walked out - and believe me, it's crossed my mind - Nate and Shane would end up getting lifted by the social and that wouldn't be fair on them.  So I stay.  And put up with it.  And I go to visit mam when no one else does.  And I clean up after dad's benders and his wee slags.

It's a miracle I find the time to have a life!!

I walk down the beach slowly, savouring the quiet that comes with being on a Scottish beach in February.  I don't mind the cold, but I mind noise.  My house is the loudest house on the street, so anywhere I can find some silence is a godsend.

I've never really seen the appeal of beaches really; they're just evidence that eventually, even the biggest and most impressive rocks erode into something minute and unnoticed.  They're also the place of seaweed, possibly the most annoying thing ever.  Shane wore it around his neck once and came up in hives.

Guess who got a smack for letting him mess with seaweed?

Almost as if the universe knows I hate seaweed, I stumble upon a huge tangle of it obliterating my path.  I'm not going to be the idiot who walks through seaweed, I think to myself as I flick away my cigarette butt, turning to walk back to the pier before I hear something.

Something from under the seaweed.

Something human from under the seaweed.

"H-hello?" I swallow, nudging the edge of the seaweed with the toe of my shoe.  I jump back in shock as the seaweed nudges me back.  What the hell?!  I peer into the coils of seaweed uncertainly, swallowing as I see something.

Please don't let it be a body; I have enough to worry about without making a witness statement, I think wearily as I nudge the seaweed away with my foot, my eyes widening as I see what's been hidden underneath.

Fuck.