Martyn Pig Read Free Page B

front room, and went out into the street. Walking across the road towards the removal van my legs felt like rubber bands. I’d forgotten how to walk. I was a wobbling fool.
    Alex smiled at me and my legs almost gave up.
    â€˜Hello,’ she said.
    â€˜Hello.’
    â€˜Alexandra Freeman,’ she said, ‘Alex.’
    â€˜Martyn,’ I said, nodding my head up and down like an imbecile. ‘Uh ... Martyn.’
    â€˜This is my mum.’
    â€˜Hello, Martyn,’ her mum said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
    â€˜Ditto,’ I said.
    Alex giggled.
    It felt all right.
    Now, after Alex had left on the bus, I trudged across the road feeling even worse than I’d felt before. The OK feeling from the bus shelter had evaporated. Glum. That’s how I felt. I felt glum. Glum as a ... whatever. Something glum. I always felt bad when she was seeing Dean. Dean was her boyfriend. Dean West. He was eighteen, he worked in the Gadget Shop in town – computers, sound systems, electronic stuff. He was an idiot. Ponytail, long fingernails, bad skin. His face was all the same colour – lips, cheeks, eyes, nose – all rotten and white. He rode a motorbike and liked to think he was some kind of biker, but he wasn’t. He was just a pale white idiot.
    I bumped into them once in town, Alex and Dean. In Boots. I was waiting for Dad’s prescription when I spotted them over by the
Photo-Me
machine. Dean in his usual black biker gear, pale face ugly and even whiter than usual beneath the cold shop lights, flicking his ponytail from side to side like a cow flicking at flies with its tail. Alex wore a leather jacket, too, which I’d never seen before. She looked good in it. She also looked a bit bored. When she smiled at Dean I could tell she didn’t really mean it. I liked that. They were waiting for their photos to come out. Dumb, jokey photos, no doubt. Funny faces, ha ha ha. I turned away, pretending to study packets of medicine in the pharmacy counter, hoping Dad’s prescription would hurry up so I could leave.
    â€˜Martyn!’ It was Alex’s voice.
    I turned and said hello with mock surprise. Dean had his arm around Alex’s shoulder.
    â€˜This is Dean,’ Alex said.
    I nodded.
    â€˜Well,’ he drawled, looking me up and down, ‘the Pigman. At last we meet. I’ve heard all about you.’
    I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
    â€˜Got the shits, have you?’ he said.
    â€˜What?’
    He nodded his head at the pharmacy counter. I looked at the packets I’d been studying: diarrhoea remedies.
    I tried a smile. ‘No ... no, a prescription. I’m waiting for my dad’s prescription.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ sneered Dean.
    I looked at Alex, hoping for support. She looked away, embarrassed.
    â€˜Come on,’ Dean said to Alex, pulling on her shoulder.
    I’m sure she stiffened slightly at his touch, but they moved off anyway.
    â€˜See you, Martyn,’ Alex called over her shoulder.
    Dean, idiotically, winked at me.
    It wasn’t that I was jealous. Well, I suppose I was a bit jealous. But not in a namby kind of way, you know, not in a snotty, pouty kind of way. No, that wasn’t it. Not really. That wasn’t the reason I was glum. All right, it was
partly
the reason. But the main thing was – it was just
wrong
. All of it. Alex and Dean. Wrong. It stank. It was wrong for her to spend time with him. It was a waste. He was nothing. It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Wrong
. She was too good for him.
    The rain was turning to sleet as I pushed open the back gate and shuffled down the alleyway that led to the back of our house, stepping over dog turds and squashed cigarette ends and bin-liners full of empty beer cans.
    What’s it got to do with you, anyway, I was thinking to myself. She can see who she wants.
What’s it got to do with you what it’s got to do with me?
    What?
    I paused for a moment,