Part 16 (2/2)

”We can get up that way.”

But Stevie couldn't follow what he was saying, not properly, because Kevin's brother was on the last flight, and the other boy, the bigger one, was just behind. With his hood still up, and his face under it looking none too kind. He pointed at Stevie: ”Who's that?”

Kevin shrugged: ”He doesnae say much.”

He laughed.

But the other boy didn't; he had his eyes on Stevie, like he knew him or something. Stevie didn't know him, but then the boy told Kevin: ”His Da's wan ae them.”

He mimed a flute, both hands up beside his face, and then Kevin looked at Stevie, and he wasn't smiling. He blinked a moment, like he was thinking, but then he said: ”No his fault.”

Kevin shrugged again. He took Stevie by both his shoulders, and pulled him to stand smack in the middle of the landing. Kevin told the other boy: ”He can climb. He's no feart. Are you?”

Stevie shook his head, even if he was; even if he didn't know what Kevin wanted. Kevin made a cradle with his two hands, and held it down by his knees, so Stevie put his foot in. He felt himself lifted; he had to grab hold of Kevin's jacket to stop himself tipping, over the banisters, down the close. Kevin told him: ”Get your feet tae my shoulders.”

And then Stevie was standing, his feet planted either side of Kevin's ears, and his own face up at the ceiling, hands against the trapdoor.

”Pus.h.!.+”

Stevie did, and the heavy boards s.h.i.+fted; he shoved them over and pulled himself into the crawl s.p.a.ce. Kevin followed him up, swift, and then they crouched, both letting their eyes get adjusted.

Shafts of sun came in through gaps in the slates. Kevin had dust on his knees, across his face. He said: ”You're no in a band, are you, pal?”

”Naw.”

He wasn't. Stevie knew it was the right thing to say. Kevin watched him a moment, and then he turned. He crawled and Stevie followed, making for a patch of light, until they came to a hole where there used to be a window. Kevin said: ”I kicked it out. Me an Cammy.”

He flicked his head, back to the trapdoor. He said his brother was Paul, Cammy was the other.

”The wan doesnae like you.”

Kevin grinned, like he thought that was funny.

”He's a Prod, but. Same as you.”

It made Kevin laugh.

”No his fault, neither.”

He pulled himself out onto the slates, but Stevie stayed where he was.

He could see the back court, miles below, through the kicked-out hole: broken paths and knee-deep gra.s.s, past the splintered batons, and the long back wall of the tenement opposite.

One of the closes over there had fallen in. The outside walls were intact, but the slates were all gone, even the timbers, and Stevie could see the place was hollow and charred; no floors any more, just a big burned-out gap with one long chimney in the middle. It made his head spin to see it standing, black and tall in the middle of nothing. Only then he heard scuffling; the other two were coming, so Stevie s.h.i.+fted, fast.

He put his head out the hole, looking up, mindful to keep his face turned away from the drop. He saw Kevin wasn't watching; he was up on the ridge tiles, rolling a smoke, so Stevie pulled himself out.

The slates felt warm under his hands, even if it was winter now. Stevie lay on them first, belly down, spread-eagled, his cheek pressed close. He lay and then he crawled. Stevie made it up as far as the ridge, on his hands and knees, but the roof ramped up sharper there from the street, and he was scared of sliding, so he steered himself along the back court slope.

He sat not too far from Kevin first; not too close, just on the ridge tiles. Kevin offered him his roll-up, and he laughed when Stevie didn't take it. Stevie didn't know if he was being laughed at, so he edged past Kevin and on, shuffling on his b.u.m, until he got to the chimney, and then he stayed there. With his back up against the stack, he felt a bit safer.

The other two stayed in the crawl-s.p.a.ce with the cans, and Kevin told him: ”They'll never come out.”

Stevie wasn't too bothered about Paul, but he was glad Cammy stayed below.

After that, Kevin came looking for Stevie in the mornings. Some days Paul was with him, carrying a bag, other days he came by himself, and then before they went climbing, Kevin took Stevie down to the shops. He gave him money and told him to buy a couple of cans, but the rest could go under his sweats.h.i.+rt, or inside his sleeves. He showed Stevie how to slide a can inside his cuff, getting it off the shelf.

Cammy mostly came and found them later. He always had money and f.a.gs; Kevin said he swiped them from his sister's bag. But there were plenty of days where Stevie waited and Kevin never showed up. If it rained, if Kevin couldn't be bothered. If Kevin didn't come, Stevie thought he was most likely at Cammy's.

”He cannae abide you.”

Kevin told him that.

It was best if Kevin came by himself, and then Stevie could climb up after him and sit by the chimney. The sight of the drop didn't bother him so much by then; he forgot to think about falling, the smack of his skull bursting on the pavement. Stevie didn't know if he'd come up here alone, but with Kevin at the next chimney along, sleeping off his smoke, it was all right, good and quiet. Stevie sat out the dry and clear days, fingers tucked inside his sweats.h.i.+rt cuffs, hood strings pulled tight against the wind. Windy days made him want to stand, arms up and out, and he tried it sometimes, but mostly it was enough just to sit there, squinting in the sun; higher than everything about him.

The scheme was a ma.s.s of tenements, falling off down the hill beyond the gutter rim, all grey and brown, walls and roads, rust-red pipes and railings. There were torn clouds in the sky above, and planes; the concrete water tower behind him, and away in the distance the Clyde. Stevie saw the street down below, half in shadow, and the long roof he was on, sun-bright and stretching on and on.

Work had stopped on the new builds for a while, but come spring a new site was started just the other side of the industrial units, and Stevie kept watch on it from his perch: the yellow-brick semis springing up, with garages at the side, and black tarmac driveways out the front.

Kevin told him they were Executive Homes, and he said it like they made a bad smell. He said there were plans to build on the scheme as well: ”Soon as they get these ruins torn down.”

Kevin kicked at the slates, like he couldn't wait, but Stevie didn't want the empty closes wrecked.

The new houses were just ground and first. They had walls and roofs, and floors inside, but no windows yet, just rendered holes; the top ones were left uncovered, and Kevin said they'd be perfect to get in and out. There were days when the site was swarming with builders, and others when there was no one around, so they chose a quiet afternoon, and all four of them went to climb.

Kevin went up ahead with Stevie, and Cammy and Paul stood watch. The wire site fence had a hole in already, so they got to the first house easy enough. They went up the wall, and looked through all the rooms; Kevin first, with Stevie at his heels; and then they dropped down the far side, running on to the next. Inside the second house, Kevin had to crouch to get his breath, so Stevie climbed out and down the pipe before him. There were no gardens yet or fences, just a few metres of mud, and he wanted to get to the third house before Paul and Cammy caught up.

The plaster in that one was still wet, and Stevie smelled it, even before he got inside: it was just like his Dad's van and work clothes. Kevin climbed through the window and pa.s.sed him, but Stevie stayed in the master bedroom, all damp and smooth. He dug his thumbnail into the corner, and found it was still soft. So then he walked, scoring a line, deep and thin and just at eye-height, all along one wall.

”Stevie!”

Kevin was in the ensuite. He'd found a crate full of plumbers' stuff, and he called Stevie in to show him the bath taps: all bra.s.sy, and still in their box.

”It was the same in the last house.”

Stevie saw he was smiling, full of a plan, tearing open the cardboard.

”Here.” He handed the cold one to Stevie. ”You'll be quicker, aye?” He told him he had to be speedy, ”Else Cammy's gonnae catch us up.”

So Stevie did as Kevin told him.

He swung out the window and down the pipe, fast as he could. And then he took one tap from each house into the next, pairing cold with cold, and hot with hot, all around the cul-de-sac. Twelve houses, Stevie made the full circle, all inside twenty minutes. All to make Kevin laugh about the flummoxed plumbers, and the sheer bra.s.s neck.

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