Asboville

by Danny Rhodes

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

'An excellent debut novel, definitely in my top ten of the year.' - Scott Pack, The Bookseller

'Rhodes asks important questions about social justice, but also tells a compelling human story. An impressive debut' - Mary Fitzgerald, New Statesman, 20 October 2006

'A-S-B-O - you think that makes you special. But it doesn't. It means you were stupid enough to get caught, that's all. I should have one. I should have the biggest ASBO there is. I want a poster with my face on.'

When JB is served with an ASBO for joy-riding and sent to paint beach huts for the summer in Kent, it looks as if he has a chance to turn his life around. But then he encounters Moey and his gang, and his future seems to hang in the balance. Separated from his mother and under a strict curfew, only his attraction to Sal seems to give him a reason to keep going. But a storm is coming that threatens to shatter his hopes and destroy the relationship that could redeem him

Release date: October 18, 2006

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 220

Sample

JB’s court case was just two days away. He’d not thought about it much since the evening by the canal but now it was too close and not thinking about it was impossible. Everybody was saying it would be okay and that nothing would happen, like the time before and the time before that but it wasn’t happening to them, it was happening to him and that made all the difference.

Evening saw the Jubilee Estate bathed in pink light. A lager can came tumbling up the alley. JB followed Scooby after it. Carla was lagging behind, busy on her mobile. JB had one ear on what Carla was saying and one ear on Scooby. The lager can came to a halt at the end of the alley and sat there on the open scrub that was the kiddie’s playground, waiting to be kicked into oblivion.

‘He’s nothing mate,’ said Scooby. He had his hoodie up and his hands buried in his pockets. ‘He greened out after one puff. You should’ve seen him, throwing his guts up in Dicko’s wheelie bin.’

‘She’s been talking to him all night.’

‘She’s like that with every lad. We all know who she’s really into …’

‘Who?’

Scooby stopped and looked JB in the eyes. The knowing stare was fixed and didn’t falter for five seconds. JB stared back, desperately trying to hide it all.

‘Yeah, right,’ said Scooby. ‘I wonder who it could be.’

JB turned away and his eyes fell on the lager can. Suddenly it was the centre of his world. He took a wild kick at it, sending it hurtling into the stratosphere. The two of them watched it sail over the railings. It came down on the bonnet of a car, causing the alarm to kick in and split the evening wide open.

They sprang back into the alley, Scooby first, JB behind. Carla was emerging from the shadows and Scooby bundled into her. The mobile phone went reeling and broke apart on the concrete. Carla screamed and scrambled after the different pieces while the two lads disappeared into the maze that was the estate.

A moment passed and then the sound of breathless laughter came rattling down the alley. The alarm was still wailing. A bloke in a tracksuit appeared from one of flats, face flushed, short of breath. He went to the car and the alarm fell silent. He stood there for a minute, looking in the direction of the alley. Then he spotted the dent on his bonnet. He ran his finger over the split paintwork.

‘Little bastards,’ he shouted at nobody.

 

The evening sky turned blood-red and the kiddies’ playground was swamped with the colour. One of the swings trembled on its chains and the roundabout moved a little all on its own. A dog pushed through a gap in the railings and sniffed around on the scrub. A cat watched the dog from under a car, its tail twitching, ready to bolt. The dog found a crisp wrapper and buried its nose in it, then moved away towards where the bins were kept. A kid appeared on one of the balconies in just a nappy. It stood looking out from behind the black railings until its mother came out and dragged it back in. The child’s screams bounced off the buildings and the dog barked back at the sound.

Smoke drifted up the alley from the fags the three of them were smoking, Carla still fumbling with her mobile, swearing under her breath. JB took the pieces from her and fitted them back together expertly while Scooby watched with a grin on his face. Suddenly he shouted.

‘Dicko! Dicko! Over here!’

A tall, wiry boy stopped on the scrub in the exact spot where the dog had stopped to sniff the crisp packet. When he heard the call he turned towards the alley and started towards it, his long legs eating up the ground.

‘Scoob my man …’

The tall boy and Scooby went through the nightly routine of the handshake, then it was JB’s turn. Carla just nodded and went back to her mobile.

‘What’s up?’ said Scoob.

‘Nothing much. Just been with my old man. He’s off night fishing at the canal. Got a tent and everything now.’

‘Got any new DVDs?’

‘Yeah, that Japanese horror thing …’

‘Are you up for it?’

‘Yeah, but no music. He’ll kill me if the woman next door makes another complaint. The police were around again the other day.’

‘I’ll get some gear from mine.’

JB turned to Carla. They shared a glance as they both considered another night in Dicko’s flat watching pirate DVDs and listening to Scooby after he’d smoked one of his monsters. The alternative was to hang around out here for another three hours.

‘Got any tinnies?’ asked Scooby.

Dicko shook his head.

‘He took the last few with him or he’s hidden them some place. There’s not even any Jack Daniels. I checked after he went. Besides … if he comes home and there’s nothing to drink …’

‘I’ll see what’s in at ours. Jay?’

JB took a final drag on his cigarette, flicked it to the ground.

‘No chance tonight. I’m skint.’

‘Me too,’ said Carla. ‘I can’t even afford any credit.’

‘Looks like you two’ll be on tea then,’ said Scooby and he laughed, holding his finger and thumb together, bringing them to his lips like some old dear in a nursing home.

‘I’ll just watch the film,’ said JB. ‘I’m not up for a biggie anyhow.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Scooby. ‘But me and Dick are going for it tonight. Ain’t that right?’

Dicko nodded, but JB could see behind it and he knew Carla could see behind it. Only Scooby couldn’t see. He slapped Dicko on the back and the two of them set off down the alley. JB and Carla followed. JB stuck an arm over Carla’s shoulder and pulled her towards him. She leant into the space between them automatically, filling it with her warmth, then the mobile sang out again and the moment disappeared.

‘You can turn that off when we get there,’ said Scooby. ‘I want to watch this film …’

But Carla wasn’t listening. She was falling back already, engrossed in another conversation with another faceless voice.

Scooby and Dicko were on the scrub now and Carla was still in the alley. JB came out of the shadows and stepped on to the grass, caught somewhere in between. Someone was playing drum and bass. The heavy sound bombarded the kiddies’ playground and blasted through the railings, sending all other sounds reeling. The only sound that held its own against it was the high-pitched scream of the kid that had been on the balcony.

They cut through the garage block. Twenty garages, half of them empty shells, rusted metal doors twisted, mechanisms snapped and bent. Dark recesses stinking of piss. Rubbish piled in the corners, random stacks of junk in others, nothing useful, every ounce of use and misuse long since thought of and tried out to death. At the far end of the block a burned-out car, nothing but a blackened and charred frame, and eight garages down a second car, the windows already caved in, the wheels missing, bonnet up, crucial components removed, the roof covered in trainer prints of all shapes and sizes, kiddies’ trainers too. JB picked up a brick and tossed it from hand to hand, waiting for Carla to catch up with him, thinking about the night at the canal, thinking about the court case and the worse that could happen. He thought about not throwing the brick for a second and then threw it anyway. It hit the driver’s door and put a dent in the bodywork, one more dent to mix with the rest of the dents, caused by bricks and the heels of trainers where he and the others, all the others, even the little ones, had practised their karate kicks when the car had first parked there for the night, unaware of the fate that awaited it.




The fat guard had damp patches under his armpits. He was stood in the doorway to the compartment, filling it. The compartment already stank of sweat and now the guard had come in. The window was stuck fast where the rubber seal had perished and the air seemed to be getting heavier, as if the fat guard was pressing it against the window with his massive belly.

‘You can’t sit in here. First class only.’

‘Yeah, well, there’s no seats left anywhere else,’ said JB.

‘You can stand in the aisle,’ said the guard. ‘This is first class and it’ll be full in a minute.’

‘Twenty-seven quid this cost me and I’ve got all this stuff.’

JB pointed to the rack above his head. Two bags were shoved up there.

‘Look, mate, in seven or eight stops there’ll be plenty of room,’ said the guard. ‘Then you can stretch out. But for now it’s first-class passengers in first-class seats.’

 

JB stood in the aisle, staring through the window. It was almost dark out. He was looking at the backs of hundreds of homes, at garden fences and broken sheds, washing lines and windows. As the train crawled out of the city he selected squares of light at random, focusing on them to see what was revealed. Each light was a window into somebody’s world; a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, a set of stairs. In some of the windows he saw people: a woman bent over an ironing board, an old couple sat watching TV, a kid jumping up and down on a sofa, swinging his arms like a maniac. Each view was fleeting, too quick to tell a real story, but JB saw stories anyway. It was like joining the dots in a book, building something from nothing. He was used to that. You built something from nothing and then somebody took it away from you. Like the fat guard, waiting for him to get his bags up on the shelf then coming in with his pathetic rules.

‘Come on, mate. Give us a break.’

‘Sorry, no can do. It’s more than my job’s worth.’

JB watched the windows and built his pictures until the buildings gave way to fields. Dusk settled like murky water until there was nothing to see at all. He stared at his own reflection instead. It was different from looking in a mirror. The cavities around his eyes were dark, two pools of shadow staring back from the glass, knowing stuff and threatening to reveal it. The feeling came again. It was like stomach cramp but worse because it only started in his stomach before spreading everywhere. It had come that morning when his mum had brought the bags into his room and it had grown as the day dragged on. It was funny. When they’d talked about it all, when they’d made their threats, when his mother had told him, then warned him, then pleaded with him, he’d simply brushed the feeling aside. Now that it was real the feeling had a grip on him and was tying his stomach in knots.

The image of the kid jumping up and down came back, causing him to think about Ellie, his half-sister. She was two years old. She came into his room and dragged the duvet away when he was trying to have a lie-in and screamed all morning when he had a hangover. His mum wouldn’t say who the father was. They’d argued about it time and time again.

‘He’s not interested so it doesn’t matter who the father is.’

‘Dad’s gonna want to know.’

‘Jay, believe me, your dad only cares about one thing and that’s himself.’

 

Two girls came up the carriage, clubbers, pulling their short skirts down in an effort to hide their legs, reeking of alcohol and perfume. The first girl shoved her head into the compartment with the dodgy window.

‘Not that one, it stinks.’

They both squealed with laughter.

‘Got any fags?’ asked the second girl.

JB shook his head.

‘Yeah, right.’

She sneered at him and then stumbled into the next carriage.

It was Thursday night. They’d be on the estate now, Scooby, Les, Craig, Missie. Carla would be there too, playing with her mobile. They’d be heading for the offy to get some bottles and Rizlas. Then they’d be on their way to Dicko’s. He’d probably have some gear waiting, maybe a DVD. Or they’d be down at the kiddies’ playground on the roundabout. Scooby would be spinning it and the girls would be yelling at him to pack it in, but they’d be laughing. All of them would be laughing.

JB punched the window. A blast of pain shot up his arm.

Were they talking about him? Scooby would be, Dicko too. Carla might be thinking about him but not saying much. She was like that. She kept things close to her. They’d be talking about him for sure. People weren’t like text messages. They couldn’t just be deleted, not even when they went away. Mates were mates. They stuck together and when one was away everybody else missed them like part of themselves were missing, until they came back and the gang was whole again. You couldn’t just wipe a face from a place and expect everybody to forget that person existed. JB had lived on the estate all his life. He was part of it. It was part of him. They’d told him he was going to lose it and he’d laughed at them. They’d threatened and threatened, like they always did, like they’d threatened and threatened at school.

‘So what? What are they gonna do?’

Now they’d done it.

Stuck the ASBO on him.

Made an example of him.

Made a criminal of him for standing in his own back yard.

 

The fat guard came back up the corridor. JB had to shove his whole body against the window to let. . .