They found a dead swan in the river today. I was there when it happened; I’d just cut across the skate park on my way to meet my man Dave on the riverbank when this minor drama started to unfold. Like bloody Swan Lake, right there in real life.  

I say my man Dave, but I’m not really sure if that’s even his real name. We all call him Dave. It suits him. Anyone could be called Dave. Anyways, I could see he wasn’t there, and this lot probably scared him off. Lots of shouting and ‘ooing’ about what they should do with the bird and how disgusting it was, and how useless the council are etc, etc. So I thought I’d take a look.  

I was a bit surprised at the small crowd it was attracting – it was bloody early in the morning and usually there’s only a couple of dog-walkers who give me dirty looks when I go past in my tracksuit, without a dog of course. You’ve heard that saying, ‘gone to see a man about a dog?’ Well, that’s me. Always seeing a man about a dog, but I haven’t got a dog, see. Dave is usually the man, and the dog, well, the least said about that, the better.  

Anyways, I thought they’d found a body in the river. It has been known. But it was just a swan. And when I saw it, I couldn’t help it, but I thought of Hoagie. All them years ago. Poor bugger.  

Way back, Hoagie and me, and sometimes Toggie, or even sometimes Jonesy used to hang about here a lot. I’m Toad by the way. Got big eyes, see. And my personality apparently. I remember one night, when we went on this raid of a supermarket. I think it was one of them ones that don’t exist anymore like Finefare or something. We was so wasted! And we nicked a trolley and filled it up with snacks. Just kept doing it, anything we could lay our hands on, into this trolley it went. We was yelling and making a hell of a racket, but the little assistant was too scared to say anything. We whizzed it right out of the shop. Then me and Hoagie took turns pushing each other around in it. I wheeled him down here to the river and then I pushed him right in! What a laugh. Everything was a laugh back then.  

Hoagie’s real name was James Vincent Hoag. He got the right piss taken out of him for the Vincent bit. And the James bit. He didn’t look like a Jimmy, so it just got shortened to Hoagie. We were the two musketeers. When he got a mohawk hairdo, I dyed mine green. I didn’t dare go the full mohawk, but I fancied myself as a bit Johnny Rotten to his Sid Vicious. I think we were singing ‘Anarchy in the UK’ as we raided that shop come to think about it. 

Hoagie was nuts. I remember one time he picked a fight with this kid in the pub on the corner over his trousers being the wrong colour, and then he smashed a bottle and put it up to his face like he was gonna bottle him. But the kid’s friend got hold of Hoagie and chucked him out. After punching him in the mouth full on. Hoagie found it hilarious. He said he wouldn’t have to worry about his front teeth dropping out now ‘cos this bloke had saved him the trouble. Hoagie was always on the script – methadone you see, makes your teeth rotten. Not ‘cos he was giving up drugs, you understand. He just took that as well. Right laugh he was. Had the constitution of an ox. And he could drink you under the table too. Always the last man standing. The other two didn’t have the understanding we had. Toggie’s real name was Thorin and Jonesy was just always Jonesy. I don’t remember his first name. Toggie went to jail for GBH and robbery, and Jonesy, well Jonesy went to work in a bank, I think.  

That night by the river was a good night. One of the last times I saw Hoagie was by this river as well, a few years later. I’d cleaned up my act a bit and got a job. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t join the bloody rat race. I was only packing stuff in boxes. But I thought if I got a bit of work and a bit of money, I’d get myself out of this dump. I mean, look at it. It’s even worse now. In the cold light of day it’s a load of grey-block buildings, covered in graffiti, named after some famous poet. Always is, isn’t it? Pretty name for an ugly piece of shit, as if the name will somehow improve it. Back then we had a bit of fun there though. But I never made any money ‘cos I kept spending it. So, I’m still here. I just pack different boxes. I admire you mate, I said to Hoagie, that last time. Sticking to your principals. Not for him, working for some twat in a suit for a crap wage. Hoagie lived on his wits. He had twenty quid out of me that day, but well, that was Hoagie, what can you do?  

So, when I see this swan, I look at it, floating all lifeless and bloated in that green mire and immediately my mind goes to Hoagie. Someone should clean up that river, they say. Look at the damage it’s doing to the wildlife, they say. It’s so unsightly, they say. I looked at its wings, folded one over the other. Bit like an angel. A fallen angel, dropped in that shitty, putrid river of green slime. Its beak was wide open and half full of green stuff. It probably choked to death on that. They say all sorts of things about swans, like they mate for life; they paddle furiously under all that graceful gliding across the surface. This one just looked exposed. Took its last breath amongst rusty bikes, used condoms and half-eaten Macdonald’s. Probably somewhere in there is that bloody shopping trolley we dumped; a wire skeleton all covered in shit rusting and rotting away.  

I wanted to pull the swan out. Not because I could save it; it was way beyond that. But because I wanted to give it back some dignity. All those bloody do-gooders and environmentalists around; all those gaupers moaning about the state of the town. But the town’s been like it for years. It’s a dead bird at the end of the day. But it got to me. It got to me in a way I didn’t think they’d understand. I don’t understand it myself. 

So, I went in, and I got it out, and I covered it up with my coat. And I just stood there looking at it, for what seemed like a long time, kind of protecting it, with everyone else’s noise just fading into the background until someone in an orange jacket turned up and took it away.  

Dave never showed, so I just went home. And for the rest of the day I sat there, smoking and staring at the four walls. And I thought of Hoagie. It was quite a funny story really. He got chased by the police for something really stupid – nicking a pack of fags I think – and they chased him across that very river. But his trainers filled up with water and because he was so wasted as usual, he bloody sank and drowned. Stupid sod. It was in all the papers at the time. Just shows you can’t escape forever. It’ll get you in the end. He lay there for hours before anyone got him out. Poor bastard.  

Virginia Betts is a tutor, writer and actress from Ipswich. She runs Results Tutoring, and specialises in Neurodiverse learning styles, being neurodiverse herself. During the lockdown, she had poems, stories and articles published in literary journals, had work produced in theatre, won prizes and published a story collection, The Camera Obscure, and Tourist to the Sun, a collection of poetry. She has been a regular guest on BBC radio with work being showcased on air. She formed The Dead Poets company, has played Kate Bush and is currently rehearsing with Black and White Productions for a third tour. She is also writing her next books, writing for theatre, and is one of the winning authors for the inaugural Foreword Fringe Festival.