Voice of an Angel

I think you Filth are a fuckin’ joke. You sit there doing your ‘short, sharp shock’ and I have trouble not laughing in your fuckin’ faces.

So you got me for this one. Big, bloody deal. For dealing. For using a little blow. I’ll even throw in a couple of other offences for you to put on my tab if that makes ya ’appy! Cos I’m still a minor. Two months to go mate. So what are they going to do to me, chummy. Slap my wrists? Put my name in the book? A criminal record is just fine by me! On my estate having a record is something to put you on the map. It’s the arrival of manhood. The old rites of passage. There’s nothing else to mark the event!

Like I said, you’re a joke, copper. You, and all of your pointless procedures. Every one can see that the most serious crimes go undetected ’cos you lot don’t even notice them. What about all those pervs and shits who are out there preying on youngsters? What about all that crap they don’t teach you to watch out for at school? What about all the murders you wankers ’aven’t even noticed? Little kids get done in every day in this manor. I should know, mate. I killed one!

****

’E had a face that was brushed by beauty. Not in his features, they were ordinary enough. It wasn’t in his blue eyes or his mummy’s boy mouth, but in ’is skin. Even in photos it glowed and glowed like a ripening apple. Beauty? Good diet I suppose. ’E looked about eight, even though ’e was eleven. The kind of face you want to sink your boot into and watch it split like an orange off the market.

The photos don’t fade mate! That old chestnut’s just another lie. They stay crisp and clear and vivid on the mantelpiece. Even now when I look at those photos of ’im I’m still not sure whether to laugh or cry. ’E was beautiful.

As I say, ’e was a bit of a pretty boy. That was ’is problem. All choir boy blushes. The kind of boy’s face that would give many an old priest a surprise hard-on. But don’t get me wrong there was nothing at all like that about this little angel, if he ever fiddled in his pockets then he was looking for a conker. Oh yeah, ’e was certainly an innocent that one. ’Is mother used to cuddle ’im to her and tell’im she loved ’im when she was getting ready to go out. Used to point to the mirror and say what a lovely face he ’ad! This kid, poor sucker, he ’ad it coming to ’im!

Anyway no one on the estate thought anything of ’im at first. Except to jeer at ’im when he runs to the shops. Mummy’s boy, wimp. Nice middle class accent. Never played football. Even gets excused from doing sport. Lonely. Lonely. Church boy. Pratt. I can still hear the voices. The snidy laughs. But ’e was a happy little pratt if I am totally honest. Could ’ave stayed that way if I had left ’im be. But that just ain’t the way that life seems to go.

Look, I’m coming to the point! So hold your horses. I’m going to tell this one my way. My way... right!

Church boy...yeah... the only thing that Angelface ever did was to go to church. Lit the candles and all that, knew the words of the Mass. Then played make-believe on ’is own in corridors and cloakrooms while Mum, the cleaner, scrubbed crap from the floor. S’obvious what all this religion was about. God the Father. God ...what father? Mother and son both looking for something that ’ad got away from them.

’E had been told by everyone not to go up the ladder. The ladder in the church that is. The ladder that was so temptingly placed underneath the gaping trapdoor to the roof. The roof had always leaked, and the roof timbers had started to rot. Perhaps they were worried about ’im falling through the ceiling. Perhaps they knew about what really went on up there.So naturally if you tell a kid not to do something even our Angelface will eventually be off and doing it. It’s only natural. It’s what rules are for. So anyway, this kid climbs up the big old step ladder one day and finds... well hea-ven ( so ’e thinks). The peace and quiet. The pigeons all cooing and jumping about in the eaves and a great big ’ole in the roof that lets in air and a great big shaft of sunlight. Like I say, ’e’s found heaven, a special place. Somewhere of ’is own to get away from it all.

Mummy’s boy. Wimp-o. Church boy. Pratt. Because ’e ran, the bullying got worse. ’E draws attention to ’imself, little fool. ’E came to be noticed.

’E fast became a fuckin’ victim.

I remember it was ’is birthday. ’Is mum ’as saved up ’er cleaning money and given ’im some cash to buy what ’e wants. ’E’s blinkin’ twelve and ’e’s off to buy an airfix model! Like I say ’e ’ad it comin’. They can smell money in a victim’s pocket round our way. Took ’im in the subway on the way to the bus.

Church Boy. Pratt. They gives ’im a slap and ’e ’ands over the money without even trying to speak. ’E wet his pants after the kids ran off. Then ’e just goes numb and wanders about. Eventually ’e goes into the church and climbs up into the loft to be with his fellow angels. ’E sits there for hours shaking and crying. Listening to the choir practice going on below. In a strange sort of way the roof space makes ’im feel safe. Nothing can ’arm ’im, ’e thinks, with the singing going on. Mum didn’t notice when ’e came ’ome shaking. Just marched ‘im back to church, worried about being late.

After that the bullying became a bit of a pattern. The bullying and the climbing up to heaven.

****

’E didn’t notice the man deep in the shadows of the far eaves. Old Man Moody was always hanging around the church. Doing odd jobs for the Fathers, for ’is mother, for the kids. ‘E was as much a part of the church as the saints. Angelface often saw him ’ammering or sawing when he was off-adventuring, looking into the grottier parts of the church. ’E always seemed to be busy. ’Is ’ands never stopped. A good man, ’is Mum says smiling.

Moody was standing with ’is back to the trap door. Angelface knew to be embarrassed about the man’s ’alf-nakedness. ’E looked sorta pathetic with his trousers down. Angelface stayed and looked a little while longer. ’E couldn’t quite believe this was ’appening in the church. Moody saw ’im out of the corner of ’is eye. Moody ’esitated and then ’e spoke.

‘It’s something you have to do when you get to be a man!’.

’E wanted to run. ’E wanted to tell. But Moody told ’im to stay. A man’s voice. Speaking.

There was a moment when Angelface ’ad the power. ’E could have called Moody a wanker, blackmailed ’im for money. Anything in that second. But one word from this bloke and the boy caves in.

Moody called ’im ‘son’. Told ’im to pull down his pants. ’E clucked and whispered to 'imself ‘quite the little soldier ain't it ’. This made Angelface laugh, made ’im feel wanted. ’E shouldn’t have enjoyed it. Downstairs the organist practiced for a wedding.

’E heard Moody telling ’im he was oh so beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Breathlessly beautiful.

Then came the pain.

Then came me.

Me...I’m the sneer of someone who takes no crap. I’m pond life. I’m repulsive. Admit it! You judged me, Copper, the moment I walked through that door. Ugly mug, you said to yourself. You looked into your crystal ball and saw my future. Juvenile court, probation, an adult stretch. You got all that from my face.

Me. I’m ’ard. I certainly ain’t ’im.

I started small time. Swearing at teachers. Swearing at Mum. I even told old Father Brian to fuck right off after ’e caught me putting dog shit in ‘is shoes.. Then I moved into fighting. I was shit at it, at first. But I got to like swinging me fists. I started on kids who were much smaller than me. Find a bully and you’ll find someone who’s bullied. Angelface just did not know what was ’appenin’. Everyone ’e respects is suddenly brushing ’im off. Coupla the priests started to call ’im an evil sod.

But while this was going on, there was still Moody. Beautiful. Beautiful. Oh so beautiful. There was also the kids who ’ad taken money off of ’im the first time. Now ’e was their cow, milked when ever they were short. They would catch ’im by the shops fetching things for ’is mum. ’E would then have to lie about what ’appened to the bread or milk. There was even one night when they jumped ’im when ’e was in the launderette. They closed ’im into a corner and spat on ’im until ’e gave over all the washing money. ’E swore at them, told them to go fuck themselves. But they just laughed. I remember seeing ’is face, Angelface, in the mirror of the darkened shop window. Dripping with gob, but still so shiny. There was something about ’is face that brought all the attention. There was something pathetic about that face that couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t be a man. Something in that sweet face that I wanted to smash and pulp.

****

My chance to get rid of ’im came in the most surprising way. Moody, the ponce, was in the roof space, as usual, when I found ’im, though just for a change, ’e was doing some work. ’E was working on the plumbing, which often froze. Fixing a leak in the pipe with some solder and a blow torch. I could see the blue flame as I climbed the ladder. I guess if Angelface ’ad been the one climbing the ladder that day then the story would ’ave been different. But it was a good job I was there for what ’appened next.

Moody turned when ’e ’eard me coming through the trap door. ’E stepped towards me and then ’e slipped and dropped the blow torch. ’Alf the ceiling exploded into flames. There must ‘ave been an old gas pipe up there to get a blaze going so quick.

I dropped back down on to the ladder and then started to scurry my way down the rungs in a panic. The ladder toppled over and fell to the floor. I remember laying there dazed and looking up and seeing Moody’s face looking down pleading. S’not heaven I thought, its fucking hell.

Fuckin Hell! I didn’t stand the ladder up or ’elp. I laughed at the ponce and then turned and ran.

’E screamed at me. ’E pleaded that it was hurting.

Next thing I know everyone’s in the car park. We’re all looking up and the roof of the church is a mass of flames. I remember being gripped by the sight of the fireball and hearing a voice...an angel’s voice ..saying. Beautiful. Beautiful.

Then the fire brigade and the ambulances came. People were running about saying ‘Is there anyone in there?’ Angelface is trying to speak but ’e’s bein’ ignored, even by ’is mum, who’s being treated by an ambulance man sitting on the curb. ’E tried to speak about Moody but the words just wouldn’t come out. It was as though the flames ’ad made ’im not exist.

I remember I looked in the wing mirror of the ambulance parked near by. I knew now I had to kill ’im. Kill ’im! Not Moody, ’e was an accident. No, the soft kid... Angelface. ’E ’ad to go too. There would always be bullies, more poncing Moodys, more beautiful, beautiful, oh so beautifuls.

I dashed back into the burning church.

Angelface was there too...’e’s calling out to Moody. ‘I love you!’ ’e’s sayin’. Soft to the last.

The place is all smoke. Easy to get lost. Easy to do what needs to be done.

I love you. I love you. Hard to get heard, the place is alive with old groanings and moanings. The church is filled up with self-loathing confessions, wrapped in a carpet of murderous fumes.

Suddenly, a beam breaks loose and falls from the ceiling. It swings like a torch, trailing embers and flames. It then just ‘angs there. A beacon for the lost.

I grip the beam in my hands and press it into my face.

****

Yeah.... so you guessed it. That little fucker was me. The me.. before... I became suitably ugly.

You don’t call it murder but I fuckin’ do. I ’ated ’im so much. I ’ad to get rid of ’im. I don’t want your pity, your psychological help.

I just wanted to tell so ’e’d be on record.

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