about in my books. I’m better than them. They all hate it but it drives Angus mental. He hits me whenever he loses. Hamish hates losing too but he’s figured out how to use me.
We’re playing Conqueror, me, Duncan and Angus. Angus wouldn’t let Tommy play because he’s the worst, he’s so bad he just ruins the game. When my older brothers aren’t around I teach Tommy how to play; I like doing that, even though he’s diabolical. That’s the word Hamish uses for everything. I use my worst marbles, just the clearies for him, because he chips them and everything. Tommy’s sitting on the steps away from Hamish. He’s afraid of Hamish. Tommy knows that Hamish and his da don’t get along so he thinks he has to defend his da when he’s not there. He’s only five but he’s a tough little shit, scrawny and pale like his da too. The lads call him Bottle-washer because he’s so skinny and wiry.
What happened to put me in the headlock was that Angus threw the first marble, then Duncan shot his marble at Angus’s. It hit and that’s why Angus got mad in the first place. Duncan captured Angus’s marble then threw another to restart the game. I hit Duncan’s, captured his then threw another to restart.
Angus threw his taw and missed mine.
Duncan aimed at Angus’s corkscrew, not because it was closer but because I know he could tell Angus was already getting angry and wanted to wind him up. Anyway he missed and it was my turn. I had two targets; I could have chosen Duncan’s opaque, which I don’t much want because everyone has them – that’s marbles that are just one colour – or Angus’s Popeye corkscrew, which I’ve had my eye on for a long time. Angus says he won it in a game but I think he must have stolen it from Francis’s corner shop. I’ve never seen anyone with one like that. I’ve only ever seen a picture of one in my marble book, so I know that his is a three-colour special called a snake corkscrew. It’s a double-twist and has a green-and-transparent clear with filaments of opaque white. It has tiny clear bubbles inside. I found it in his drawer a few days ago and he caught me snooping and kicked me in the balls to let it go. I didn’t drop it though, I know better than to let it get scratched, but watching him play with it hurts more than the kick in the goonies did. He should be keeping it in a box, safe so it doesn’t get ruined.
I decided to do a move I’d been working on and impress them all by putting a spin on my marble and hitting both marbles in the one throw. I threw my taw and it hit Duncan’s opaque first like I planned, then Tommy shouted and they all looked at Bobby who had a snail in his mouth, shell and all. Angus rushed over to grab it from him and chucked it across the road. He opened Bobby’s mouth wide.
‘The snail is missing from the shell. Did you eat it, Bobby?’
Bobby didn’t answer, just waited for a clatter, his big blue eyes wide. Bobby’s the only blond. He gets away with murder because of those blue eyes and blond hair. Even Hamish doesn’t hit him half as much as he wants to. But anyway when they were all busy wondering about where the slug part of the snail went, nobody was looking when my taw hit Angus’s marble as well, which meant that I could capture both marbles in the one throw. They looked back at me to see me holding two of them in my hand, and that’s when Angus accused me of cheating and wrapped me in a headlock.
Free now of the headlock I have to respond to the cheating allegations by trying to repeat the move, which should be fine, I know I can do it, but I can’t when they think that I’m a cheat. If I can’t do it again it proves to them that I cheated. Hamish winks at me. I know he knows that I can do it, but if I don’t win he might not take me out tonight. My hands start to sweat.
Mammy screams again and Tommy’s eyes widen.
‘Baby?’ Bobby asks.
‘Nearly there, pal, nearly there,’ Hamish says, rolling up another cigarette, cool as fuck. Seriously, when I grow up I want to be just like him.
Mrs Lynch’s door opens – she’s our next-door neighbour – and she comes out with her daughter, Lucy. Lucy’s face is already scarlet when she sees Hamish. Lucy is holding a tray with a mountain of sandwiches all piled up, I can see strawberry jam, and Mrs Lynch has diluted orange in a jug.
We all pile on top of the food.
‘Thanks, Mrs Lynch,’ we all say, mouths full and devouring the sandwiches. With Mammy in the throes of it we haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday.
Hamish winks at Lucy and she kind of giggles and runs inside. I saw them together late one night, Hamish had one hand up her top and the other up her skirt, and she’d one leg wrapped around him like a baby monkey, her thick white thigh practically glowing in the dark.
‘That mammy of yours will keep going till she gets that girl of hers, won’t she?’ Mrs Lynch says, sitting down on the step.
‘I’ve a feeling it’s a girl this time,’ Hamish says. ‘Her bump’s different.’
Hamish is serious; for all his trouble he notices things, sees things that none of the rest of us do.
‘I think you’re right,’ Mrs Lynch agrees. ‘It’s high up all right.’
‘It’ll be nice to have a girl around,’ Hamish says. ‘No more of these smelly bastards to annoy me.’
‘Ah, she’ll be the boss of you all, wait’ll you see,’ says Mrs Lynch. ‘Like my Lucy.’
‘She sure is the boss of Hamish,’ Angus mutters, and gets a boot in the stomach from Hamish. Chewed-up jam sandwich fires out of his mouth and he’s momentarily winded and I’m glad: payback for my headlock.
Hamish’s green eyes are glowing, he really does look like he wants a girl. He looks like a big softy thinking about it.
Mammy wails again.
‘Won’t be long now,’ Hamish says.
‘She’s doing a fine job,’ Mrs Lynch says, and she looks like she’s in pain just listening. Maybe she’s remembering and I feel sick thinking of a baby coming out of her.
The midwife starts chanting, as if Mammy’s in a boxing match and she’s the coach. Mammy’s squealing like she’s a pig being chased around with a carving knife.
‘Final push,’ Hamish says.
Mrs Lynch looks impressed with Hamish’s knowledge. As the eldest he’s sat through this five times; whether he remembers them all or not, he’s definitely learned the way.
‘Okay, let’s finish this before she comes out,’ Angus says, jumping up and wiping his jam face on his sleeve.
I know Angus wants to prove me wrong in front of everyone. He knows Hamish likes me and just because he’s too weak to hit Hamish, he uses me to get at him instead. Hurting me is like hurting Hamish. And Hamish feels that way too. It’s good for me but bad for the person who treats me bad: last week Hamish punched out a fella’s front tooth for not picking me for his football team. I didn’t even want to play football.
I stand up and take my place. Concentrating hard, my heart beating in my chest, my palms sweaty. I want that corkscrew.
The midwife is screaming about seeing the baby’s head. Mammy’s sounds are terrifying now. The piggy’s being slashed.
‘Good girl, good girl,’ Mrs Lynch says, chewing on her nail and rocking back and forth on the step, as if Mammy can hear her. ‘Nearly over, love. You’re
