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OUR BOYS

Jason put his hand where his knee had been and shook out his empty trouser leg. He couldn’t get his head round it. The medics had warned him about phantom pains but—bloody hell ---they should have it. What did they know? They didn’t know what it was like.

All the noise was doing his head in. The pub was crowded and people were shouting   over each other their eyes glued to the screen on the wall. Two minutes to half time. The lads had got there early and had wheeled Jason’s chair into a corner wedging it out of the way behind a small table. The table was littered with empty lager bottles and crisp packets. Jason scratched at his scalp. His head seemed to have a permanent itch and he wondered if something was wriggling its way in underneath the skin. Funny, he’d dreamed of this pub, his local, a cold beer with the lads and a match on the telly…but not like this.  He squeezed his eyelids tight. Cripple, he thought, that’s what I am - a bloody cripple.

“ Alright Jason?”

A bunch of lads were pushing past to the gents.

“Yeah – no worries mate.”

  Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and ducked his head.

“Yeah—no fucking worries.”  

He drummed his fingers on the sticky surface of the table. Despite the Lynx deodorant he could smell sweat, it was sour and unhealthy and he could smell something rancid like rotting meat; maybe it was his stump. He looked at his watch, his birthday watch and thought about going home. He wanted out.

 Ginger pushed his way towards him holding two glasses at arms length the amber liquid spilling over onto the wooden floor.

“Alright Jason”

A cheer went up; another goal for the lads.

“Thanks mate”

 Ginger had already turned and was on his way back to the bar. Jason trailed his fingers through wet rings of beer making patterns on the tabletop. The lads were singing now their arms in a Mexican wave and he shifted on his seat to get a better view but he could only see the top half of the screen and the noise was hurting his brain. He felt sick and closed his eyes thinking that if he could lie flat everything would be fine. He didn’t want to pass out in the pub.

He felt for the brake on his chair and tried releasing it a little the seat shifting beneath him but the table was in the way and Jason swore as his good knee hit the bevelled edge. He took a gulp of liquid from the glass in front of him and swilled it backwards and forwards through his teeth. It was quieter now, people were holding their breath for a penalty then another cheer rose as the lads stamped their feet the wooden boards juddering beneath them.  Jason doubled over and his shirt felt damp under his arms.

“Alright Jason?”

 There was another full glass in front of him. Jason ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. That kid, he kept seeing the kid’s face. That kid and the woman.  Bloody war zone and she lets her poxy kid point a gun. How was he supposed to know it was plastic. Stupid bitch the mother.  Screamed like a bloody animal. She didn’t have to make that noise. No normal person would scream like that….. 

“Alright Son?”

Jason’s fist hit the table.

“Yeah, I look fucking alright don’t I?”

Jason’s top half swivelled round and took in the old man about to sit down, the flat cap and shiny black blazer with a badge on the breast pocket.

“ Bloody Hell, Granddad, you look like Steptoe. Where’d you get that cap?”

The old man grinned and placed a five-pound note on the damp table. He pushed it towards Jason.

“Your birthday Son.”

 Jason stared at the note.

 “What’s going to happen, Granddad? What are they going to do to me?”

“ Dunno son” The old man pulled his pint towards him. “You’ll be alright.”

 “You don’t know what its like out there, Granddad. They hate us.”

“Yeah I know Son.”

“You don’t fucking know, Granddad. I could be fucking dead. That kid could have killed me.”

“ Son, you said he was six years old.”

“You never listen, listen to me. Even if he were two years old he pointed a fucking gun at me. What would you have done? Eh? What would you have done?”

Jason’s knee, the good one, was shaking and the old man put a hand on it.

“It’s alright son. They can’t touch you. You were wearing a uniform, weren’t you?  The Queen’s uniform, eh? You’re a soldier. The Regiment‘ll look after you”

“Yeah. Suppose.”

Jason leaned forward laying his head on folded arms.

“ I keep seeing her. I keep seeing her face Granddad. I keep seeing that woman’s face.   It’s like when I saw those two dogs, Granddad, on the main road on the way to school.  That small brown one. The puppy. You remember? It got run over didn’t it?  And the other dog, the big one, it ran round and round in circles and it howled. Like as if it was its Mum. It howled Granddad. It wouldn’t stop howling.”   

The old man sighed.

“  I know son, I know.”

 “You weren’t even there. You don’t know nothing.”

Suddenly the match was over and the lads were cheering.  They hoisted Jason out of his chair one on either side while he tried to steady himself on one foot.

“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!” 

Their feet stamped one two one two.

“Bloody Hell Mate. You’ve pissed yourself again. ”

Jason looked down but the lads were laughing and Jason grinned back at them and he lifted his fists and punched the air.

“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy! Oi!  Oi! Oi!” he screamed.