When Debbie first got pregnant we had her going that the bairn would most probably pop out looking like that pervy old codhead off the fishfingers packets. It was our way of taunting her for getting herself knocked up while the fleet was in.
By the time the bump was too far gone to change her mind about it, even Debbie was patting her belly and calling it Captain Birdseye. She was such a slapper Captain Birdseye was as likely the daddy as any. She’d had two up behind the boat sheds on the night in question. A joke went round about the fisherlads catching more crabs on dry land than they ever did at sea. Another one was that Debbie had had so much sea-salt squirted up her inners the bairn was bound to be pretty much inoculated from rickets for life.
Once her mam and dad got used to the idea Debbie was expecting, they let her move out into one of the site statics. They probably thought she couldn’t get up to much with Captain Birdseye cramping her style or maybe they just wanted her out of their hair.
What Debbie’s folks didn’t know was that we’d been calling those skanky statics home for the best part of the summer. If Debbie really wanted to find out who the daddy was the mattresses in those vans must have contained the DNA of at least half the lads of Fryup. Mainly they’d been on top of Tams who’d turned into a right slag ever since she dropped the weight off. Said she was making up for all the times the other bitches had called her a fat tart by sucking off all their boyfriends one by one.
Debbie had us all round on our knees scrubbing to try to detox the place of its sweat smell while typical of her she ponced around stringing some pink fairy lights up around the communal living area as they call it in the trade. We shipped in our supplies of White Lightning and before you knew it Debbie’s skanky caravan was party central. You could probably hear the old Kenwood stereo we got off Lizzie’s little brother in exchange for Tams giving him a Frenchie blasting out early Madonna all the way down the valley to the sea.
We imagined all the townie skanks festering in their seagull-shit bus shelters listening to the strains of ‘Like a Virgin’ and wondering where the party was at. It was easy to feel right superior living up on the moor and we laughed at all their jokes about Fryupgrrrlz sucking off horses when we weren’t getting enough from the inbreds.
Never mind horses, we sucked on Superkings with the windows open so Captain Birdseye wouldn’t pop out with breathing problems, although the way Debbie kept sparking up a sly one suggested our efforts wouldn’t count for much.
Debbie was on and off with Jake Birdsall and the night behind the boat sheds must have been an off night. She could easily have passed the kid off as his and he’d never have known. Not until it popped out with a bushy white beard and a pervy wink and stinking of fish any road.
But Debbie got sick of Jake perving over some of the others so she told him about Captain Birdseye before she was even showing. Jake called her a slapper but he didn’t seem too upset. The thing that seemed to bother Debbie most about getting pregnant wasn’t who its daddy was or how she was going to provide for it. It was whether her stretch-marks would disappear in time to be carnival queen next year.
Next week was Regatta Week and we were all up for piling into town. It was a bunch of old ships and the fire brigade showing you what to do in the event of a chip-pan fire. We’d seen it loads of times, so many times in fact that if we ever had a chip-pan fire we’d all burn to death out of boredom. But more important it meant the fleet was in and the skanks would be out in force. This called for some serious action as there was nothing more sweet than us Fryupgrrrlz stealing their lads from right under their noses. Debbie waddling up the pier with a football stuffed up the front of her shiny new Adidas would be all the proof we needed that we were way out in front in the superiority stakes.
Debbie said the daddy could be one of two and you could tell she was hoping it was the nice-ish lad Cammy, not the jug-lugs ginger one. Debbie said he jumped in so eager soon as Cammy had finished she felt sure she’d been double-teamed for a short while. Lizzie asked if it was possible she could have twins that were from one of each, given as the time-frame was so short. Me and Tams wet our knickers laughing and even more so when Lizzie said she wasn’t joking. It was typical Lizzie, she was away with the fairies if she wasn’t mortal. She was mortal most nights and there wasn’t a lad in Fryup who wouldn’t have risked getting banged up with the paedos for a bit of under-age if they got the chance. Me and Tams were looking out for her and making her wait till she found a nice lad to go with for real, or at least till she turned fifteen.
We got Dazaster to take us into town in his ponced-up Lada. We called him Dazaster because he was one waiting to happen. He’d tried to get Lizzie to tug him off once as a favour for picking her up from town one night when she’d missed the last bus. Lizzie was so off her tits she was all for accepting but Dazaster drove her round the back of the statics before he unzipped his flies and lucky Tams happened to poke her head out the door for a post-coital at just the right time. We threatened to get the cunt done for kiddie-fiddling but reckoned a free Fryupgrrrlz taxi service to and from town was a better way to make him pay. Dazaster was all right although you’d never dabble, not even Tams. He was throwing us round the corners going on about getting back at the townie scum who’d done it to Debbie. Us going with their lads or the other way round, to some it meant war. Jake came with us and crammed in the back between me and Lizzie with a bottle of White Lightning. Jake was the type of lad you’d go with. He had a soft face, not like most lads of Fryup with bum-fluff moustaches and ratty eyes and shit trainers that would never walk them far from home.
We couldn’t believe Debbie treated him the way she did. Jake said Debbie should sit in the front what with her condition. You could tell by the look on her face she didn’t fancy it. She was still hoping Jake would stick by her even while she had a belly-full of fishfinger sandwich. If not then she’d make sure none of us other skanks would get our nails in him. I had half a mind to shove my hand down Jake’s pants before we’d even reached village limits. Partly because I wanted to see Debbie’s face explode in the rear-view mirror and partly because I was gagging for it. I hadn’t done it with a lad since I had a ride on my cousin’s cousin after the carnival a couple of months back. We were mortal from being on the Diamond Whites all day. We weren’t related close enough for the bairn to have been born with three heads if there’d been an accident, so we reckoned what the hell.
Lizzie had necked enough to get more up close and personal and it was obvious from the way Jake’s hand disappeared that she was letting him get up to something in her knick-knacks. From the way Debbie’s eyes were glaring it was obvious she’d noticed it too.
It was two quid in The Laurel even though it was the day-time. It was a shitty goth pub with stains on the pool table where the Friday night strippers had been. Pete the landlord didn’t give a toss about ID just so long as we ensured we lined up at the bar with our boobies lobbed half out. Even Lizzie could get served no bother even though she looked about twelve. Pete was a total paedo, he even had cameras put in the lavs, for security purposes so he said. Before they got smashed out, me and Tams would sometimes fake him a bit of lezzer action.
After a number of Diamond Whites our jukebox songs came round and when Like a Virgin started up a right mental night looked in store. Lizzie and Tams were on their feet screaming the words and the goths’ eyes were bulging out their heads at all the jiggling going on. Only Lizzie went to Debbie about getting up and giving the fishfinger a little boogie and Debbie got a right cob on and shouted back about Lizzie being too much of a dog to ever get laid. It was well out of order and Lizzie stopped dancing for a bit and looked like she was going to start beefing, and only me telling Debbie not everyone fancied getting up the duff by half the fleet saved the day.
With all the tension I couldn’t wait to get down the pier for a greasy burger and some tins and find out what the slappers made of Debbie’s condition. The top lass saw us coming and folded her arms over her tits like she was hiding them away to avoid comparison. She had a right pair on her. You would have sworn she’d had a tit job only they’d filled them with jelly by mistake. She said, ‘lock up your horses, it’s the inbreds.’
Tams said back, ‘funny smell of fish round here.’
The slappers were skegging Debbie’s belly trying to figure it out and Debbie went right over to Cammy and said she wanted a word.
Well that set up a right dodgy stand-off because there was me and Tams and Lizzie, who was already having trouble standing up standing up from necking all the booze. Jelly-tits was giving us the right evils and the Jug-Lugs lad was there and all, passing out the Bensons like he was some big-time dealer in Class As.
Tams stuck her tits out at Jug-Lugs and gave him the right come-on and went, ‘you lads been whaling this week, have you?’ To us it was genius, more so as the skanks were all too shit-brained to know what she was getting at.
Lizzie was laughing up sick and the sight of her was putting the tourists right off their fish and chips. Just then there was a right commotion over the arcades. The nut-job Dazaster was piggy-backing on the lad Cammy’s back and swinging his right fight into his face while he’s clinging on. Say what you want about the fisherlads but they’re tough enough bastards being out at sea all that time and a scrawny-arse like Dazaster wasn’t ever going to be much of a match for them. Soon enough Cammy bucked Dazaster off him head-first and on his way down Dazaster’s head slapped the metal railing. Cammy followed up with a couple of boots in the face and Dazaster was left looking a right mess. Jake was back on the scene checking Dazaster’s all right and shouting at him that he’s a stupid bastard. Lizzie’s still spewing and much to my disgust Tams and Jug-Lugs are frenchying on the lifeboat memorial. Debbie’s just stood there sharing another ciggie with Captain Birdseye and staring out to sea and seeming not to give a shit that our taxi home getting fucked up’s all her fault.
The scrap seemed to get rid of the tension and we all sat on the memorial while the sun went down. Lizzie was sleeping up against me and Cammy was snogging some other slapper round the other side. Debbie was chaining the Bensons and not speaking. Tams and Jug-Lugs had gone off round the boat-sheds. Jake got Dazaster’s car keys before they carted him off to A&E and we lamped in the back dragging Lizzie along the way. Debbie was sat in the front seat telling us to get a move on. Jake was all nervous because the place was swarming with coppers and he didn’t have a licence. I was dragging Lizzie on my own and wondering if I should nip down the boatsheds to look for Tams. I pushed Lizzie in the back-seat and Jake was already revving the engine. I flicked a V-sign at the skanks and felt the better for it.
On the way back I kept Lizzie’s hair out of her eyes and propped her upright so she wasn’t going to do a Jimi Hendrix on me. When we got back we went in the static as a matter of course and I got a couple of blankets out of the cupboard and started making up a bed for Lizzie on the far couch. I pulled her shoes and her jeans off. Her legs were pale and cold and I could see Jake perving at her Minnie Mouse undies. Debbie could too and she came over all bitchy again and said why didn’t he have a skeg at her minge as well while he’s at it. She put her fingers in and rived the gusset to one side and Lizzie jumped in her sleep when she did it. Debbie tried to grab Jake’s head and push it down towards it. Jake said, ‘fucking hell’, and elbowed Debbie away and she made out like she’d barged Captain Birdseye on the doorframe. She was giving it ooh, ooh, ooh like it was set to pop out but you could tell she was being a drama queen. I pushed Lizzie’s pants back and told Debbie she’d been well out of order on all counts. Debbie told me to fuck right off and went in the bedroom and slammed the door so hard the whole place shook.
I gave Jake a blow-job under the pink fairy lights. I thought of all the shit Debbie had done and it made me feel better. It took him ages to get to the gob-full bit and I kept having to stop and swig the dregs of the White Lightning to keep my mouth from drying. I spat and ground his gunk into the carpet with my palm while his eyes were closed. When we’d finished I got up and started making the coffee. By the time the kettle was boiled there was only me awake.