Junk - Melvin Burgess [32]
‘Dead cow.’
‘Dead cow,’ he replied solemnly. We banged burgers and bit. It was unbelievably delicious. Then we got a couple of thick shakes and sat down to go through a copy of City Limits. There was a bop at the Albert Chapel. Punk. I gave Tar a few quid and told him, ‘Be there.’ Then I dumped him. I didn’t want him around getting bored while I was togging myself out and getting presents. Besides, Tar would only want to be sensible. I was petrified of spending my hundred pounds on sleeping-bags and decent footwear.
I wanted to clear the lot.
I caught the bus to the market at the stadium to get togged out. We’d been there before, Sunday afternoon, the day of the stick-up. I hadn’t spent anything then but I was keeping my eyes open. What I’d seen was confirmed at the little do they had at the squat.
I was about a thousand years out of date.
That bushy-tailed well-scrubbed nice sunny day look was definitely out. I looked older than Vonny for Christ’s sake! She was done out in a Mohican and a ring in her nose while I was still in fluffy jumpers.
Black leather jacket – that was the first thing. I got a good deal – fifty quid for a nice tatty secondhand one. It was gorgeous. It smelt of sweat and leather and had a zip up the front that you might use to keep a gorilla locked out. Or in. I was going to get a pair of leather jeans as well, but it was too expensive and anyway, leather pants look naff, as I discovered later.
But it had to be BLACK BLACK BLACK. I got black tights and a short black skirt and a pair of filthy great boots. I got the whole thing for twenty quid at an army shop, although what the sergeant major was doing in a little black skirt is anyone’s guess. Oh, and a little granddad T-shirt done up down the front with scruffy laces.
I got my ears pierced. I got my nose pierced. Twice. It hurt, and I was only going to have it done once, but Vonny only had one, and I mean… Then I got my hair done. I only had about twenty quid left or I’d have got it dyed, but it was okay.
And I was… well, I say it myself. Bleeding brilliant.
Now, I know what you’re saying. ‘Hundred-pound punk.’ Well, okay. If you want to do that sort of thing properly you spend about two pound fifty. But be fair. It was my first get-up. The girl did good. I got some make-up and I had to go into the bog to get it on. Black lipstick and eyeliner, that sort of thing. And then…
I looked at myself in the mirror and I thought, Gemma… mmmm!
That punk look suited me. I was never a pretty pretty even when I was little but I reckon I got the best of both worlds, really. I mean, if you look all pretty and cute right from the start you don’t even have to try. All you have to do is blink your eyes and everyone’s falling over you. But if you start off like I did, looking like a half-starved frog with dental problems, you have to get by in other ways. I used to look at myself in the mirror when I was small and I’d think, God, I have to go through my whole life looking like this! Then when I was about twelve I noticed people watching me, and I took another look and I thought, Mmm, there’s something going on here after all.
Some people look at me and they see nothing special, just a girl whose mouth is too big and her eyes are too far apart. But others look at me and they see there’s a lot more to me – the way I am. That’s how I can tell right away if someone’s going to be my kind of person.
The girl did good.
I dived into a craft shop and bought Tar’s present. Then I went to meet him at the café we’d agreed on.
I was almost skint by that time. It was a shame. I’d been thinking we could have a really wild night and get drunk or even see if we could score something interesting. No chance now. Still, who needs money when you’re looking