Martyn Pig Read Free

where dodgy-looking men in long nylon overcoats and fingerless gloves were standing at their stalls drinking steaming coffee from styrofoam cups. More noise – crappy rock ’n’ roll music, loud Christmas carols, marketmen shouting out above the clamour:
Getchur luvverly turkeys ’ere! ... Plenny a luvverly turkeys! ... Wrappin’ papah! Ten sheets a paand! ... Getchur luvverly wrappin’ papah ’ere!
    I bought the first turkey I came across. A wet-looking white thing in a bag. In a week’s time it would probably taste even worse than it looked, but it didn’t matter. Dad would be so drunk on Christmas Day he’d eat anything. He’d eat a seagull if I dished one up. Raw.
    I got sprouts and potatoes, a fruitcake, crisps, a box of cheap crackers and a bargain pack of Christmas decorations. Then I lugged it all home.
    It was dark when I got back. My arms ached from carrying the shopping, my hands and feet were frozen and I had a stiff neck. And I was getting a cold. Snot dripped from the end of my nose and I had to keep stopping to put down the shopping bags so I could wipe it.
    Alex was waiting at the bus stop. She waved and I crossed over.
    â€˜Your nose is running,’ she said.
    â€˜Yeah, I know,’ I said, wiping it on my sleeve. ‘Where’re you going?’
    â€˜Dean’s.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜What’s in the bags?’ she asked.
    â€˜Christmas stuff.’
    â€˜Anything for me?’
    â€˜Maybe.’
    â€˜More ants?’ she grinned.
    â€˜You never know.’
    When she smiled I’d sometimes get this sick feeling in my stomach, like ... I don’t know what it was like. One of those feelings when you don’t know if it’s good or if it’s bad. One of those.
    I rested the shopping bags on the ground and watched cars droning up and down the road. Metal, rubber, fumes, people, all moving from place to place, going somewhere, doing something. The inside of the concrete bus shelter was depressingly familiar: a glassless timetable poster, torn and defaced, bits of wet muck all over the place, mindless scribbles on the walls –
Dec + Lee ... YEAAH MAN! ... Duffy is nob
... I sat down on the folding seat beside Alex.
    â€˜Fed up?’ she asked.
    â€˜I’m all right.’
    She leaned over and peered into the carrier bags, nudging one with a foot. ‘Nice looking chicken,’ she said, smiling.
    â€˜It’s a turkey,’ I said.
    â€˜Bit small for a turkey.’
    â€˜It’s a
small
turkey.’
    â€˜I think you’ll find that’s a chicken, Martyn.’
    She grinned at me and I grinned back. Her eyes shone like marbles, clear and round and perfect.
    â€˜Did you see the Rolf Harrises?’ she asked.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜In town, at the precinct. There was a load of people all dressed up as Rolf Harris. You know, with the glasses and the beard, the curly hair. Didn’t you see them?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜They had didgeridoos and everything.’
    â€˜Why were they dressed up as Rolf Harris?’
    â€˜I don’t know. For Christmas, I suppose.’
    â€˜What’s Rolf Harris got to do with Christmas?’
    â€˜They were singing carols.’
    I looked at her. ‘A
choir
of Rolf Harrises?’
    She shook her head, laughing. ‘It’s for charity.’
    â€˜Oh
well
, that’s all right then.’
    She looked away and waved at a girl across the street. I didn’t know who it was, just a girl. I rubbed the back of my neck. I was still sweating, but not so bad any more. The bus shelter stank. My sleeve was caked with frozen snot and my feet were getting more numb by the second. But despite all that, I felt OK. Just sitting there, chatting, doing nothing, watching the world go by—
    â€˜Here’s the bus,’ Alex said, digging in her bag for her purse. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.’
    â€˜OK.’
    The