Spared

(Part Two)

The couple at 46 stood at the window, watching the unfolding events with some disdain.

“I will give you three to one she catches one of em.” Brian said whilst fondling his testicles through the hole in his pocket. His wife, Sandra looked on intently, whilst stood next to him with her arms folded across her breasts. “Naargh!” She replied. “She has no shoes on.”

“She'll do it I'm sure, she's done it before. Remember little Joey from 37 two years ago. Chased him all over the estate, he was fast, but she never gave up.”

“She's still got her nighty on. She'll never do it. Oh dear. She needs a washing machine for sure.”

“No that's the pattern. She does need some tissue though.” He said despondently. He turned to his wife. “Well? Three to one!”

“A fiver,” she said excitedly before adding, “but you can't take my winnings out of the housing benefit. It comes out of your money, not the house money okay?” They shook enthusiastically, and got closer to the window. Sandra began shouting, “Come on Deano, come on, she's gaining, come on Deano.” Deano was the furthest behind of the three young boys now running away. Maria was gaining ground at an alarming rate. She caught the young boy by the hood of his coat.

“Ooh! That must hurt Brian.......... Isn't that illegal?”

“Fifteen quid please.” Was all Brian replied. “Ehup, she's off again.”

“Double or quits on number two?” Sandra asked.

“What's his form?” Asked Brian intrigued.

“Breaking and entering, vandalism, glue sniffing.”

“Too sluggish, he wont make it either. You're on.” They shook again.

“Brian, can you turn the music on I can hear what she's shouting.” Adagio for strings by Albinoni began to play. They both followed the chase till the protagonists rounded the corner. Then looked at each other inquisitively. “Don't worry, we'll find out the score in a couple of days. Give the grapevine chance to get round.” Brian said, before returning to the newspaper. He busied himself by looking at the job section. “Three to one remember.” He said distractedly.

“Three to one it is.” Replied Sandra.

Michael strode slowly and methodically up the hill that led the way to his parents house. As he neared the street, a young boy brushed past him running as fast as he could. He could hear the growing sounds of a gruff voice shouting and screaming. A second boy ran past him. He became intrigued as he turned the corner that led into the street he grew up on. Wearing only a grotty nightgown with nothing on her feet. His mother glided past him, snarling and slavering as she did. For a brief second, he felt like running himself. But gathered all his years of military training, and stood his ground. He noted several of the insults emanating from his mother, and winced. She did not see him. Michael stopped in his tracks, and watched his mother fade into the distance around several corners before she could no longer be seen. He waited until he could no longer hear her screams. And turned back on himself to return home. Some things, never change, he thought.

He carried on his journey, slowly walking and perusing his life like a book of revelation. It dawned on him, a thought that had plagued him for many years, that the whole world, was in fact an insane asylum. It was some five minutes, before the ambulance passed him, sirens wailing, closely followed by two police cars. Again sirens wailing. Overhead, the ghetto bird flew by, all heading in the same direction. Two minutes later, as he neared the high street, he could hear the sound of a loud hailer;

“MRS ANDERSON, PLEASE DROP THE UMBRELLA, LET THE BOY GO, AND COME OUT OF THE SHOP WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

Michael joined the crowd that had gathered outside of Oxfam. He turned to one of the bystanders and asked; “What's going on?”

The bystander turned to him, “I dunno, they say some demented woman has escaped from Birch Hill. She's got some boy in there and two old ladies and she won't let em go. She's on crack apparently.”

“Oh right!” He checked his watch, it was after three in the afternoon. He figured he had time to kill, pulled the water from his jacket, sipped a little and waited for events to unfold. He smiled briefly to himself. “It's going to be a nice day.” He thought rather amusingly.

“You'll not take me alive copper!” Screamed Maria. She had the brolly pointing to her own throat with one hand, while firmly trapped in a headlock with her other arm, was the last young boy she had caught. Saliva began to dribble from her mouth as the young boy tried in desperation to escape. Two old ladies who tended the till, were taking refuge in the back of the shop. “Can we offer you a tea?” One lady asked brightly.

Maria turned on them, the young boy struggling to maintain his feet as she did so. “Don't think you can fool me, I know you lot, you will talk me round, well – I've had enough.” She pointed the brolly at them threateningly.

“Well do you mind if we make tea for ourselves? It will help us stay calm while you rob us.” The second old lady pipped. She was so glad she had changed shift and came into work on this day instead of the weekend. Presently, she was waiting for Maria's reply. Maria looked incredulously at the two old ladies in turn. “I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation.” She shrieked hysterically. She looked around her manically. “How much is this worth?” She asked pointing to a porcelain candle holder with the umbrella. “That's twenty pence darling.” The first old lady said enthusiastically.

“Twenty pence, twenty fucking pence for some jelly tots and liquorice.” Maria said, squeezing the the young boy in the headlock even tighter. The boy looked at the two old ladies while trying to breathe. “Don't wind her up.” He manage to stutter. “I knows the bitch.” Maria smashed the candle holder with the brolly. “There, you'll see, no fucker messes with me. I'm councillor Maria Anderson. She raised her head slightly as she said so. “A politician of some standing in these parts, and I deserve some respect.”

“Ooh, do you go to that nice building in London and make the laws with all the nice princes?” The second lady asked while reaching for the tea-bags.

“What?” Maria replied astonished.

“You know, at the palace where all the nice soldiers wear those funny hats.” She turned and began to stir the tea. Maria dropped her head a little, nice soldiers, she thought, and began to squeeze the young boys head so hard he began to turn red. “Nice fucking soldiers!” She screamed. The old lady looked concerned for the young boy. “Be careful of the young boy please. We are a charitable organisation and don't want any harm here. Can you take the young boy outside and dispose of him there.”

“Mad. You're all mad. Stark staring raving mad.” She loosened her grip just enough so the young boy could prise himself free. He ran for the door and went outside. He was immediately taken to an ambulance by a policeman. Inside the ambulance, he had a brief interview with a female doctor. After he was deemed fit, he exited the ambulance and stood with the crowd at the edge of the police cordon. He looked around the crowd for his friend, but saw, only Michael, Maria's son, smiling and chewing a chocolate bar. He walked over to him. Overhead, the rotors of the ghetto bird whirred, causing a draft made from litter and newspaper.

“How did you do it Michael. How did you do it?” The young boy asked looking up at the man now chomping away heartily.

“Do what exactly?” Michael asked brightly.

“Survive the adolescence and youth of your young years on this planet?” The young boy shouted.

Michael thought for a moment. “I dunno really. We once asked the same question to the aliens. They didn't know how to answer that in any great depth themselves.” Michael replied before taking a large chunk of the chocolate bar he was enjoying. The young boy looked up at Michael for a long time while Michaels eyes fixated on the shop before them. The boy then looked at the scene around him, threw his hands up, and walked off in the hope he could see his football again.