(A young ‘Hoagie’ story, from the ‘burnt lungs and bitter sweets’ tales by Virginia Betts)

‘Kecks! Kecks!’ Hoagie was yelling from the bottom of the ladder staircase in the split level flat. ‘What are you doing in there? I need to get in.’

Kecks heard him yelling but she was intent on surveying her somewhat grey reflection under the fluorescent lighting. The tube flickered a bit. She noticed there were dead flies trapped in it. He kept calling.

‘I’m up ‘ere and I’m busy in the bathroom,’ she finally answered.

Hoagie bounded up the ladder; skinny and lithe, he barely touched it with his feet. He stopped at the open door and stared at the vision of the gaunt and bony Kecks, standing there in her bra and a pair of pyjama bottoms, staring at her face. She turned when she noticed him.

‘What you been doing?’ he said. ‘You banging up now?’

‘We’ve got to have a down day, Hoagie,’ she said, ignoring the question. Get rid of the alcohol and shit out of our systems.

‘It’s the “and shit” I’m worried about with you, Kecks,’ he replied with a grin.

‘I’m serious, Hoags. I need to stop. I’m 20 and I look 100. I’ve found a meeting and I’m going.’ She picked up her black eyeliner.

‘Like AA or somethin’?’

‘Yeah, like that. I’m getting clean and I’m going sober.’

Hoagie burst out laughing. Then he saw that she was possibly serious.

‘If you want then. I might join you,’ he said.

‘Would yer? Ok. But Hoagie, you’d have to leave your sarcasm at the door, yeah?’

‘I can’t promise that, Kecks. It’s me, innit?’

By half past six, Hoagie was sitting in the White Horse, on his third pint with Toad, who was sprawled over the chair, his skeletal frame taking up more space than was necessary.

‘I’m serious! There was this guy there at the meeting, and he pulled out two dead rats!’ Hoagie looked as if he might die laughing. ‘Out of his bag! Not one, TWO! Like some sick magic trick. He goes, “I’ve got something comin’ off me…sorry…I’ve got dead rats in me bag”. So naturally, I say, “Really? Can I see?” ‘cos I’m so fuckin’ high, see, and he says “yeah, course.” The guy runnin’ it, well, you shoulda seen his face! He looks at me and then this guy, like, “fuck me, what have we got here?” He tries to salvage it. He says, “That’s so good. You keep snakes, don’t you? That’s a great focus for you, having something to look after. It gives you a sense of purpose and responsibility. Something other than alcohol or using drugs. You love animals. That’s good for you and for the animal.” But – I couldn’t stop meself – I pipe up, “not for the rats it isn’t!” And then they all laugh. Bloke in charge turns purple!”

‘What did the rat bloke do then?’ asked Toad.

Hoagie paused a micro-second, for the best theatrical effect. ‘He opens up the zip of this adidas bag, and he pulls out a rolled-up plastic bag. Then he unrolls it and there is a dead rat! Right there! Then he unrolls another bit of tissue paper, and pulls out another one!

‘What did it look like?’ said Toad.

‘Like it was asleep,’ said Hoagie thoughtfully. ‘It had its eyes closed and it looked all peaceful. Like some rat angel. It was pure white as well. They both were. Weird.’ He took a swig of his cider. ‘Then right, I made it worse, ‘cos I said I went to see a taxidermy exhibition when I was a kid, and I was fascinated by the way things work. But I panicked and said, “not like I like dead things or anythin’ and not choppin’ up bodies, I’m not a psycho, I love animals”. The others were all fallin’ about! Well, one woman was giving me odd looks, and tryin’ to avoid lookin’ at the rats. The bloke in charge of this AA meeting, or whatever it was, he was gonna burst! Then Kecks was sick on the floor.’ He sipped his cider again. ‘Got chucked out after that.’

Toad laughed. ‘So, was Kecks pissed off?’

‘God, yeah, said Hoagie. ‘She was spitting blood. She’s wanting to get clean.’

‘Why?’ said Toad.

‘God knows. Girl thing,’ said Hoagie. ‘She said, I can’t stand it anymore, Hoagie. Get up, load up, sit around, drink. Your mates round, raid the offy in that bloody old trolley. It’s an endless cycle. I’m so sick of it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I told her she can do what she wants. But I’m all right. ‘Nother one?’ he indicated the empty glass.

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Toad.

Hoagie got up and began to head for the bar. Then he turned. ‘Can you sub me a tenner, mate?’

‘Yeah all right. You owe me one though.’

And that was their relationship right there, thought Toad. Deeper and more lasting than any romance thing. Also, not as expensive and definitely less hassle.

A couple of nights later, Toad lay on his bed in his parents’ house. He wondered if he’d still know Hoagie in 20, or 30 years’ time? He couldn’t imagine not knowing him, but he couldn’t really imagine 20 minutes’ time most days. He didn’t want to be old, or not doing what they did now. Hoagie and Toad would always be mates, he thought. There were others in their little gang, but not as close. He wished Hoagie hadn’t got a girlfriend. They’d planned to go out shopping the other day – their sort of shopping, the kind you don’t need to bring money for – and Kecks had banned them. He’d nothing major against her, but trust her to get all twitchy about cleaning up.

As he dropped off to sleep, Toad began to dream. He dreamed he was sitting next to the river, waiting for Hoagie, and he thought he saw something in the water. He leaned forward, and he could just make out the pale face of a dead rat. He put his hand in to get it out, and it floated right up to the surface. Its eyes were shut as if in a peaceful dream and he tried to touch it. But as he did so, the eyes flew open and it sank its tiny, sharp fangs right into his hand. He yelled out in his dream and wrenched his hand away, watching his red blood mingle with the muddy river water. When he looked again, he could no longer see the rat. Instead, he saw Hoagie’s face under the water, and he woke up with a jolt.

Beads of sweat were on his forehead and back, and his hands felt clammy. He looked at his alarm-clock. It was an ancient one from childhood – a footballer clock with luminous green hands showing only 9 pm, despite the pitch-black winter sky outside. He lay still for a moment, considering getting up and going to see Hoagie, but then he heard a tremendous banging on the front door.

He had still not laced his trainers as he hurried downstairs to see what the noise was. His parents had beaten him to it.

‘Hoagie! What the fuck?’ he said.

‘Kecks, man! Kecks!’

“I can’t get any sense out of him,’ said Toad’s mother. Calm down James’. (James was Hoagie’s real name.) ‘He keeps saying something about Kecks.’

‘Are you taking drugs, James, boy?’ said Toad’s father.

‘You have to come with me!’ said Hoagie. ‘Kecks is in trouble.’

‘Now just a minute…’ began Toad’s dad. But Toad was already out the door.

‘She woke up from some dream – we’d both gouged out on the bed – and she screamed to high heaven. She said she’d dreamed some dark creature had hold of her arm and was pullin’ her down into the ground – like draggin’ her off – and I had hold of her the other side and she tried to scream for help, but she didn’t have a voice. Then she stopped making any sense, and she started shaking violently, and then she bloody foamed at the bloody mouth. I think she’s stopped breathing, Toad! Her eyes have gone back in her head, and she looks, like, blue.

‘You called the ambulance?’

‘No! I can’t – I’m loaded! And the room’s full of gear and shit and – fuckin’ hell I’m not going to prison, Toad!’

‘But what if she’s dead?’

‘Look, let’s think. I know! Let’s get her outside, and then we can call an ambulance from a phone box and they won’t even know she’s anything to do with you. I’ve got change.’

Hoagie thought for a second. ‘Good idea. I knew I could rely on you. Smart.’

When they arrived, Hoagie hesitated on the doorstep. He was staying in a room on the top floor of a tall, thin, townhouse. Some do-gooder had found it for him. There were steps up to the front door and the rest of the place was full of people just like Hoagie. They were unlikely to notice if it was day or night, thought Toad. The patch of dirt, which might have once been called a small garden, was tangled with weeds as tall as a small child and amongst the weeds and cigarette butts there was an old Finefare trolley and a rusting bike, minus the wheels.

‘Come on!’ said Toad, ‘she might still be alive!’

‘Don’t think so,’ said Hoagie. He looked wild-eyed; black hollows underneath, and staring, pinned pupils in the moonlight. His punk hair stood on end, yellow and black. He looked like a demented wasp, thought Toad.

Inside, they both stood staring at Kecks. She lay on the floor, still and blue-tinged; a trail of vomit from her mouth.

‘I thought she was getting clean?’ said Toad. ‘She looks like she’s been on the pin.’

Hoagie put his head in his hands and started rocking. ‘It’s my fault! I took the piss out of rat boy and we got kicked out of the meeting and now she’s on the floor!’ Hoagie suddenly looked about 7 years old. Usually, he looked old for his years, but right now he looked skinny and vulnerable. Hoagie always knew what to do, but now he was lost. Toad felt irrationally annoyed.

‘It’s not your fault! She did it! Look, I don’t want her to be dead. Let’s stick to the plan.’

Hoagie was knelt over her. ‘I can’t hear any breathin’ or anything.’ The he started some high-pitched wailing. Toad knew he had to do something urgently, so he punched Hoagie right in the jaw.

For a moment, Hoagie was stunned. Then he flew at Toad and they started scuffling. Punches flew until they fell, wrestling to the floor, tears of hysterical laughter streaming down their faces.

‘Shit!’ said Hoagie. ‘Kecks!’

The two of them gathered her up. Toad took her arms and Hoagie the legs. She weighed less than a feather. They carried her out of the door and bumped her down the stairs, a foamy little trail of vomit spewing out from her mouth as she went.

Outside, they looked around. The street was dark and empty, and the only streetlight was broken.

‘Put her in that trolley,’ said Toad. They pushed her up the road, indicating how drunk she was with a roll of the eyes to a wary passer-by, until they reached the nearest phone box. Typically, it smelled of piss and had a smashed window, but at least it wasn’t out of order. Toad said to leave her outside whilst he made the call.

‘Done it,’ he said. They both stood over Kecks, looking at her laid out on the pavement.

‘Looks asleep,’ said Toad.

‘Yer know what? She looks like one of those fucking rats,’ said Hoagie.

They heard sirens in the distance.

‘Let’s go,’ said Toad. He gestured to the old trolley. ‘Get in,’ he said, and they legged it up the street and into the next one, Toad pushing the empty trolley at break-neck speed, Hoagie’s hair waving in the wind, not stopping until they found themselves in a narrow alleyway, where Hoagie hopped out and pulled out his foil and lighter.

‘Smoke?’ he asked, dangling a tiny wrap under Toad’s nose.

‘Why not?’ said Toad.

They stumbled out of the alleyway and lurched along towards the off-licence and late shop.

‘Wanna go shopping?’ said Hoagie. And he lifted Toad up and plopped him into the trolley. Then he screamed ‘Aaaah!’ and they charged through the front door, terrifying the tiny assistant who stood frozen at the till, as they charged around, singing Anarchy in the UK as loudly as they could, whilst stuffing Chewits, Spangles, Monster-Munch, Marathons, Kit-Kats, Mars bars, Pot Noodles and Space Dust into the trolley, along with bottles of Diamond White and packs of John Player specials. Everything landed on top of Toad, and he yelped as the heavy bottles hit him on the foot. Screaming with laughter, they raced out, and once around the corner, Hoagie stopped and suggested they swapped places again. Then they headed for the river.

In revenge for the heavy bottles injuring him, Toad built up speed as they raced downhill. Then he let go, and the trolley containing Hoagie kept going straight into the shallow water, where it promptly fell over sideways and Hoagie tipped out. He was sat there in the putrid filth, splashing his hands about when Toad caught up.

Soon they were sitting on the back, smoking the ciggies and eating Kit-Kats. Hoagie folded the foil into his pocket. He always kept the foil. ‘Useful, that,’ he said.

A few streets away, Kecks had been zipped into a black body bag and driven away.

‘Hey, Hoagie,’ said Toad, biting into his chocolate, ‘Do you think Kecks made it?’

‘Nah man,’ said Hoagie. ‘She was gone.’ He paused. ‘Them bloody rats!’ he said.

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.