Read Online The Fire by Robert White - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert White
Tags: thriller, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Crime, Espionage, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Spies & Politics
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was a soft bastard and scared of Tam.
The fact that every other boy in the place was terrified of the Neanderthal had nothing to do with it. They were so delighted that it wasn't them that he'd picked on that they instantly forgot what a twat he was.
Oh no....to a man, they were looking forward to my demise with an unhealthy Scottish relish.
Later in life, I learned that the actual event that is the source of your fear is rarely as bad as anything the human mind conjures up. Worrying has always been a pointless exercise; but at fourteen years old, faced with almost certain death, walking back to my tenement that day... I was shitting it.
I had a key for the back door on a piece of string around my neck. I needed this, as three days a week, my mum worked as a cleaner at some big posh offices in Glasgow centre till five o clock.
My eldest brother was home, but worked nights and would be asleep till supper time. My usual routine was to let myself in and quietly start some chores, careful not to disturb my brother. Nothing major, my mum was queen of her kitchen, but I was expected to peel a few potatoes and bring in any washing left out on the line to dry, that sort of thing.
Being close to a nervous breakdown, I couldn't bring myself to start any of my usual tasks. I recall I was shaking so much I'd probably have done myself an injury with the potato peeler.
Climbing the stairs to my bedroom, my legs wobbled and I felt weak as a kitten. The small room was completely filled with a double bed and two singles, leaving a miniscule strip of available floor-space to negotiate your way. My older brother snored quietly on his bed under the window.
On pain of death, our room was neat and tidy but it smelled like four teenage boys slept in it every night. The woodchip wallpaper was peeling off the ceiling due to the damp; the mixture of aromas was interesting at best.
Rooting under our Patrick's bed, I found what I was looking for; his steel toe capped work boots. He wouldn't need them for a few hours yet, and my need was greater than his. I hoped he'd never know they'd been missing.
They were way too big for me, but I pulled on two pairs of thick woollen socks and laced them as tightly as I could. When I stood, I felt like I'd just pulled on a pair of diving boots. I found it so difficult to walk that I almost changed my mind and pulled them off.
Standing in the parlour, watching the clock as the time of my demise drew ever nearer, tears pricked my eyes. As the big hand clicked onto ten to four, I took the deepest of breaths and let myself out of the back door.
It wasn't far to walk to the spare ground where Tam was already waiting for me. As I turned the corner, my heart was in my mouth. Tam stood amongst the rubble, stripped to the waist, his long red curly hair blowing in the wind with two of his regular lackeys, Jimmy Boyle and Thomas Vardy standing either side of him. One held his shirt and tie, the other his blazer.
In turn, they were surrounded by what looked like the whole school.
Over a hundred boys and girls had turned out to see young Cogan get his head staved in. The moment the crowd spotted me, a cheer went up that Celtic Park would have been proud of.
I wanted to turn and run. I was so scared, I felt sick; my heart pounded.
Tam's face was screwed up so tight he looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. He screamed my name and the crowd bayed for my blood. The bastards even started to chant his name.
Fuckin' typical, eh?
I still don't quite know what came over me that instant. I think it may have been seeing Matty Flynn, my so called best mate, cheering fat Tam on as he strode toward me, ham fists clenched.
Whatever was to happen, I'd decided I wasn't going to stand there and let him come to me. I tucked my chin into my chest, the way my brothers had shown me and sprinted at him. I must have looked demented.
I think I screamed some kind of mad war cry. I'd seen Zulu at the pictures the week before and
The fact that every other boy in the place was terrified of the Neanderthal had nothing to do with it. They were so delighted that it wasn't them that he'd picked on that they instantly forgot what a twat he was.
Oh no....to a man, they were looking forward to my demise with an unhealthy Scottish relish.
Later in life, I learned that the actual event that is the source of your fear is rarely as bad as anything the human mind conjures up. Worrying has always been a pointless exercise; but at fourteen years old, faced with almost certain death, walking back to my tenement that day... I was shitting it.
I had a key for the back door on a piece of string around my neck. I needed this, as three days a week, my mum worked as a cleaner at some big posh offices in Glasgow centre till five o clock.
My eldest brother was home, but worked nights and would be asleep till supper time. My usual routine was to let myself in and quietly start some chores, careful not to disturb my brother. Nothing major, my mum was queen of her kitchen, but I was expected to peel a few potatoes and bring in any washing left out on the line to dry, that sort of thing.
Being close to a nervous breakdown, I couldn't bring myself to start any of my usual tasks. I recall I was shaking so much I'd probably have done myself an injury with the potato peeler.
Climbing the stairs to my bedroom, my legs wobbled and I felt weak as a kitten. The small room was completely filled with a double bed and two singles, leaving a miniscule strip of available floor-space to negotiate your way. My older brother snored quietly on his bed under the window.
On pain of death, our room was neat and tidy but it smelled like four teenage boys slept in it every night. The woodchip wallpaper was peeling off the ceiling due to the damp; the mixture of aromas was interesting at best.
Rooting under our Patrick's bed, I found what I was looking for; his steel toe capped work boots. He wouldn't need them for a few hours yet, and my need was greater than his. I hoped he'd never know they'd been missing.
They were way too big for me, but I pulled on two pairs of thick woollen socks and laced them as tightly as I could. When I stood, I felt like I'd just pulled on a pair of diving boots. I found it so difficult to walk that I almost changed my mind and pulled them off.
Standing in the parlour, watching the clock as the time of my demise drew ever nearer, tears pricked my eyes. As the big hand clicked onto ten to four, I took the deepest of breaths and let myself out of the back door.
It wasn't far to walk to the spare ground where Tam was already waiting for me. As I turned the corner, my heart was in my mouth. Tam stood amongst the rubble, stripped to the waist, his long red curly hair blowing in the wind with two of his regular lackeys, Jimmy Boyle and Thomas Vardy standing either side of him. One held his shirt and tie, the other his blazer.
In turn, they were surrounded by what looked like the whole school.
Over a hundred boys and girls had turned out to see young Cogan get his head staved in. The moment the crowd spotted me, a cheer went up that Celtic Park would have been proud of.
I wanted to turn and run. I was so scared, I felt sick; my heart pounded.
Tam's face was screwed up so tight he looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. He screamed my name and the crowd bayed for my blood. The bastards even started to chant his name.
Fuckin' typical, eh?
I still don't quite know what came over me that instant. I think it may have been seeing Matty Flynn, my so called best mate, cheering fat Tam on as he strode toward me, ham fists clenched.
Whatever was to happen, I'd decided I wasn't going to stand there and let him come to me. I tucked my chin into my chest, the way my brothers had shown me and sprinted at him. I must have looked demented.
I think I screamed some kind of mad war cry. I'd seen Zulu at the pictures the week before and
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