short story series – Petra Kidd Writes…

From the Apartment Block series of short stories.

I swear that if mum comes into my room and asks me one more time if I’ve done my college work, I am going to lock her in one of the basement bins with duct tape over her mouth.

Level 6 in this game is a nightmare and she keeps breaking my concentration. If I can crack it, it will be the first time anyone in my area has got to level 7. There was a kid on TV who won a million quid by winning the Counter-Strike tournament, that’s my aim but I’m not telling mum. She thinks I should be a vet. I’m far more into gaming than I will ever be into dragging calves out of cow’s arses.

When I’m in my room, mum insists I leave my phone in the kitchen. It’s fine because Dad gave me enough birthday money to buy another phone which I keep in my desk drawer. Since they split up, he practically throws cash at me, but I don’t tell mum. She’d go ballistic and they are at least on speaking terms for now, so it would be stupid to upset the apple cart, as my nan says.
“What now?”

Her head pokes around the door for the fourth time in an hour.
“How about a takeaway tonight what do you fancy?”

What I fancy doing is being left in peace so I can find enough weaponry to blast myself out of a safe house and get to level 7. All she ever thinks about is the next meal. I’ve been working out, trying to build some muscle. I hide the weights my dad bought me in the bottom of my wardrobe. Mum would know they’d be too expensive for me to afford on my own and she doesn’t know about my boxing club membership either. I pretend I’m going skateboarding with Ted a couple of times a week. Ted skateboards to the club with me and then goes off to have a few spliffs with his mates until I come out again. I wear baggy sweatshirts so she can’t see my body changing.

“Thai.” At least most of it is vegetables and reasonably healthy. “Oh, mum, by the way, I’m going to the cinema on Saturday with Ted. Just so you know not to get any food in, Ted’s mum and dad are taking us out for burgers afterwards.” I don’t look up; I know she will be disappointed, her expression guilt trips me. The truth is, I have a little boxing match set up with an older lad. If she knew she’d do her crust. I just hope I don’t take any blows to the face. Still, I figure I can always say I fell off my skateboard.

She tells me she’ll go out to fetch the takeaway as it takes them too long to deliver and she’s hungry. All she does is eat and watch TV; no wonder dad left. He bought us this apartment to live in which is fine, I like it well enough, but all mum does is moan about how much she misses the garden. Not that she ever did any gardening, all she did was sit on the sun lounger and gossip to the neighbours over the fence.

“Prawn crackers.”

“Er no, not for me.”

“You’ll waste away Jasper, you’ve got to eat.” I ignore this comment. I can’t see any nutritional benefit in prawn crackers. You’d think I was the adult in this place.

At least I’ll get an hour’s peace with her gone. If I blow this lock off and move the grenade out of the reach of the Argantroid, I might just crack it this time. But no, just as I blast off the lock there’s a hammering at our front door. Surely, she can’t have left her keys behind.

I fling open the door and there’s this tall geezer wearing a velvet jacket standing there staring at me.

“I am sorry to bother you, but could I trouble you to come and help me with something?”

He sounds foreign.

“Like what? I’m in the middle of something important.” I need to blow up the locker before mum comes home.

“It won’t take long.”

I grab my phone. There’s no need to lock the door, like the man says, it won’t take long.

Once outside he puts his finger to his lips to indicate we need to talk quietly. “I need you to come knock on my door in a few moments and say you need me to help you with something. It doesn’t matter what it is, just think of anything. There is this woman I invited to dinner and she’s harassing me. I think she has designs on me, that’s what you British people say, right? I can’t get rid of her. If you can knock and say something like Edik, my computer is giving me trouble, or Edik the washing machine is broken… anything… please I need your help.”

I know that women can be trouble because my dad often says so, so I nod. “OK, I’ll say about the computer then.”

He seems relieved. I count to ten then go to his door and slam my open palm against it, calling his name.

The door flings open and Edik spreads his arms wide, “Ah my friend!” He whispers to ask my name, so I whisper back, “Jasper.”

“Jasper, what brings you here?” He says loudly.

“It’s my computer Edik, the screen has gone all funny, strange lines all over it and I’m scared I may have lost some work.” I hope I sound convincing.

A middle-aged lady with spiky short hair appears by his side. “I’m really good with computers, I’m an admin clerk, do you want me to come and have a look?”
We both stare at her in horror. “Umm, it’s a complicated one.” Is all I can think to say.

Before we can draw breath, the woman pushes past Edik, “Show me.”

Edik rolls his eyes. There’s nothing wrong with my computer. Edik goes in and shuts the door leaving me with the woman. I hear him turn the lock. Great. For a moment I wonder if I should just tell her the truth, but she is slightly scary in a headmistress kind of a way.

As go back down the walkway towards my apartment her phone rings.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jasper, isn’t it? I must get this, there’s an old dear downstairs who has lost her cat and it might be her. I hope it’s not bad news.” She looks at her phone. “Oh, actually it’s Charlie. I’ll be quick love.” She flips it open. Who even has a flip-top phone anymore?

“No way, really? No, I didn’t see any police or ambulances. Which apartment? I’ll come straight down, we need to find out what happened. Arrested, handcuffs, oh my goodness me!”

Before she can turn to say anything, I’m back inside our apartment locking the door. That was close.

I grab a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and head back to my room. The door is wide open, I’m sure I shut it before I left. It’s a habit to stop mum nosing around. I should have locked the front door. I peer through the crack in the door opening to see green and blue feathers flapping about on my desk. How the heck did a bird get in? Cautiously I move into the room, holding onto the door handle in case I need to slam it.

The parrot turns its head as I enter, fixing its beady eyes on me. “Got no gumption you kids, got no gumption!”

Is it foreign this parrot? Surely gumption is a French word? I’ve no idea what it means…

More stories from Petra Kidd

Honestly, I can’t stop laughing when he tells me he wants to be a politician. Seriously?

“Honey, you need to see someone.”

He doesn’t look impressed.

“Oh, come on, a politician? They are all lying vagabonds; it’s just not you!”

He sits there, grim-faced, whisky in hand, staring at the wall. “There’s work to be done in this country; I’ve thought about it deeply and discussed it with Hannah.”

Jeez, I go cold; he is serious! He rarely mentions his wife.

Well, that has ruined what was going to be a perfect evening. The chicken biryani I’ve ordered for us both won’t taste so sweet tonight. I can’t help but breathe out the word ‘politics’ as if it is the dirtiest word I know.

“We can’t all arse about being artists, Charlie boy.” He says the word ‘artists’ as if it is the dirtiest word he knows.

He sounds so bitter. It could be that the lovely Hannah has bulldozed him into this for the whole status thing; he’s mentioned before that she has always been a social climber. When we first started seeing each other, he was full of justifications as to why he needed a lover: to release the pressures of a trapped marriage, to escape the doldrums of a tedious career, to feel like he was alive again. Cliché, cliché, cliché.

I didn’t care why he wanted me, and he never asked me if I wanted him. It just happened in a dark and dangerous pub, where I found him drowning his sorrows.

“Of course I can’t carry on seeing you; the bloodhounds will be after me in no time if I get elected.”

And there the bomb drops. Nice one. Disposed of like yesterday’s pizza box. Straight into the garbage I go. I do pick up on the ‘if.’ “If?”

“Well, of course, I can only be an MP if I get elected; we’ve already started working on the campaign. If you ever bothered to watch the news, you’d know there’s an election coming up.”

So, he has had this planned out for a while and only tells me now. I don’t need to ask what party he plans to stand for; it’s obvious.

“So, this is you, telling me it’s over?”

He rolls his eyes, then stares into his whisky. Twenty minutes ago, he was screaming my name in ecstasy, and now I am like something nasty on his shoe. Standing here in the boxer shorts he ripped off and I put on again a few minutes ago, I feel like a disposable wrapper.

“Fine, off you go.” I move forward to take the glass from his hand, and unbelievably, he seems shocked. “It’s over, so go.” I keep my voice calm and cold.

“There’s no need to be like that, Charlie.” He sounds like a weary headmaster. “You know I’m, er, fond of you.”

Oh God, it gets worse. “I don’t care how you feel. Off you go, home to wifey. Send her my regards.” I pause. “Or maybe I should do that myself.”

He glares at me. “Don’t you bloody start threatening me.” His eyes are red. He drinks too much.

Now who has the upper hand?

“You won’t be able to stay in this apartment without my generous donations.”

This amuses me; he has no idea that I have a trust fund. I certainly don’t need his cash to survive. That said, I am already summing up what the press might pay for my story, should he get elected. I pick up a joint and light up. I can see he’d love a drag, but what self-respecting wannabe MP would want to get caught smoking weed? Let alone be caught with a guy young enough to be his son when he’s supposed to be happily and respectably married. He expected me to be broken-hearted and beg him to stay. His ego is wilting at the fact that I’ve told him to go.

“I think you’ve left a shirt in the bedroom—that awful dull grey one. Pop in, pick it up, and be on your way.” I envision him on TV in the future, trying to look the epitome of respectability, and I inwardly grin. My cousin has press contacts; boy am I going to enjoy myself when, sorry, if the time comes.

He gives me a look of disdain. “You think I find this easy?”

Oh, the self-pity. I really need him to go. Giles is on his way over; he just texted that there is a new bar in town he wants to try. “Honestly, Tony, I’m not that bothered by how you feel.”

“You’re hurt, I know. Think of it as for the greater good.”

How noble! Months ago, he was charming, funny, attentive, and generous. I used to enjoy his company, but now, looking at his puffy face and nose hairs, I can’t wait to be rid of him. If only he’d get up, get his shirt, and go.

“Sure.” I glance at my phone to check the time. I head to the bedroom.

He calls out after me, “If I don’t get elected, I’ll be in touch.”

Good grief, the arrogance! I return, hand him his shirt, and smile sweetly. “Sure.”

Thankfully, that’s it, and he leaves.

I spike up my hair and pull on a new pair of jeans. I can’t wait to tell Giles what’s happened. Jilted for politics, well, we will see how that goes.

Flynn is in the lift with a parrot. Yes, a parrot! He grins and says, “This is the new star of my channel; say hello, Pedro.”

“Hello Pedro.”

Pedro turns his back. “Seems a charmer. How’s it going?” I like Flynn; he’s a shiny, dynamic kind of guy, always on the up.

“It’s hard to stop him from swearing on camera, but he’s beginning to learn.”

A wicked thought occurs to me: “Well, if you ever need a parrot sitter, count me in; I love birds.”

Flynn looks like he can’t believe his luck. “Cheers, mate, we’re off to Ibiza for a weekend soon; I’ll zip you over the dates.

More from the Apartment Block series of short stories