Liars' League: Not a fucking hope by Maire Cooney

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Read by Steve Wedd

So I said, “What is your problem, pal?” I said, “Once more, just once more and I swear -” which you’d think would settle it. You got time for this Craig? Good man. Another two over here Frank. Next morning then - this is Saturday gone - he’s at it again, the banging, crashing about. Frank, when you’ve a minute? I’m talking seven o’clock in the morning. Tap bloody tappity tap. Same for me. Craig? And one for yourself Frank. A pleasure. So, I banged on the ceiling, I told him shut it, keep it bloody shut. You’d think, wouldn’t you? But no, it’s tap tap tap and then, what does he get out? Bloody birds not wakened. Power drill. Honest to God. And he’s not drilling a few holes, he’s ri ri ri ri ri ri stopstarting, on fucking off, right through the skull, and then - cheers Frank - then the tapping again. I was Craig, fuming. Next thing’s the sawing. I’m not kidding. Sawing. And then tap tap tap, and then the drill’s back out. The whole caboodle. Making? I don’t know Craig. I hadn’t given it much thought. A racket. A bloody racket is what he was making.

So fine, enough’s enough. We’ve known each other a while Craig. Is that right? Well it feels longer. And have you ever known me to throw the first punch? Ok, I’ll give you that. You’ve some memory there, Craigie. Well of course I did, who wouldn’t? What I’m saying is do I like violence? I’m talking about liking it, enjoying it. There you are then. That’s what I’m saying. Christ, it’s like pulling teeth. Frank, I’ll take a nip with that. Craig? No bother. I’m saying every man has their limits. A bit of common decency. Am I asking too much here? No answer. You take my point. Packet of peanuts, Craig? Crisps? Alright, no skin off mine. If you’re expected, you’re expected. A dangerous path though Craig, if you ask me. Maybe not, but I’m telling you all the same. You’re giving more than an inch there pal. Yes, I’d say it was a fact. I would know all about it Craig, as it goes, bit of an authority in that department. She did not Craig, I packed her bags for her. Best day of my life. My own man now Craig, my own boss. Kathleen. Her name’s Kathleen. It does Craig, down to the ground, anything else you need to know? Well ok. None taken. So listen, I go over. I’ve shown a bit of restraint, you’ll agree, but I have my limits. I rap the door and I wait, nice and calm. I was calm. Well, you could say that.

Lovely that, just the ticket. It would want to be at that price, eh Craig? I’m saying you’ll see us all out on the streets Frank. That’s right, laugh. Won’t be laughing when you’re standing idle all day. Plenty pubs round here Frank, plenty. Go on, laugh. Look at him, cracking up. Never knew I was such a comedian. So listen, the door opens and he’s standing there. Mr DIY. He’s got these shorts on, fucking bright green shorts. Bare chest, bare feet and these fucking catastrophic shorts, just about doing the minimum, just about. Ok, ok, but listen, he’s got these two kids, peering out round his knees and he says, get this, he says, “I’m afraid you’ve caught us mid-project.” Swear to God. Mid-project. He says, “I hope the noise wasn’t bothering you.” Like he didn’t remember our last conversation, and the two kids, giggling, slapping at each other and he’s shushing them, telling them, “Ellie, Noah. Enough.” I kid you not. Noah. Do you? Do you really? Well thank God you don’t have any then. I have, yeah, one lad. George. Course I see him. When I can, you know, time permitting. He’s six Craig. He likes Ben 10 and Go-Gos. You heard of them? Alright. So how about I finish this story instead. Well ok then. I’m at the door. He’s standing, hands on his hips, smiling away and I’m thinking, some sort of queer - must be. Oh don’t you? Well you never saw the shorts. Telling you. And did you ever seen a woman round there? She never. Well, that’s a shame. A shame on her, the mother. No it is. I didn’t know that. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong though, they can have kids. They can get them now. True enough Craig, and I’m all for that, but there’s rights and just plain wrongs. Meanwhile, Craig, I’m still telling this story. Thank you. I’m at the door, standing there like a lemon. I’ve not said a thing mind, not one word. DIY leans a hand on the doorframe, says, “We’re making a go-cart.” Like that explains everything, says, “We’re all big kids at heart, I suppose.” I know, I know, but I don’t. That’s what he wants me to do. I say, “Just keep it down.” Calm as you like and I’m starting down the steps when I hear, “Right-o.” Right fucking-o. Well that’s it. Last fucking straw. I walk back to the door, he’s not shut it yet. I say, “Ok pal, no hard feelings.” and I hold out my hand. He takes it, the eejit, and I turn him side on, swing a belter with my left, up and under his chin so he’s staring at the ceiling, right off his feet almost. I pull him steady and - bam bam - under the ribs. He’s leaning into me then, wheezing, pawing at my shoulder. It was Craig, more than enough, so I push him back til he lets go and drops onto his knees. I’m turning to go then, when I see Moses, Jacob, whatever, keeking round the door. He’s worried, naturally, so I say, “Go cart, eh? Lucky boy.” and he nods, he just nods and then he gulps, starts blinking. He’s looking right at me, poor wee bugger, he won’t look at his dad and that just riles me, letting himself down like that in front of his own boy, so I give him a boot in the stomach and he’s down, scrabbling about the ground trying to figure out what way’s up. What’s the face about? You think I’m proud of it? I was provoked, Craig. Extenuating circumstances. So I give the lad a wink, not his fault his dad’s an embarrassment, but he’s calmed himself, the boy, fists up and he’s glaring at me - no tears now. The next thing old Cutty Sark is up, rushing and roaring and I have to belt him flat again, all this in front of the boy, so when he’s back down I lean over, tell him, “Don’t fucking move a muscle.” and he sits, quiet. The boy then, he rushes over, mitts up and bobbing, jabbing at me, a dad like that but he’s hopping about, paws up and whirling mad and I’m thinking - a real fighter, this one. You show them son. I was proud to see it, Craig. A beautiful thing. And then he stops; he just stops. He looks at his dad, looks at me and lets out this unbelievable screech like he’s seeing the bogeyman and every one of his ghosties, right there on his doorstep. There’s nothing left of the boy, just this red round howling, and I have to turn then, I can’t stand to listen to it, because I know, right there, he doesn’t stand a chance. Not a fucking hope.

Not a fucking hope by Maire Cooney was read by Steve Wedd at the Liars' League Honour & Obey event on Tuesday 10 July 2010 at The Phoenix Cavendish Sq., London

Maire Cooney was born in Edinburgh and lives in London with her partner and two children. Her stories have been published by Asham, Leaf, Chroma and Apis books. She is working on her first novel while completing an MA in creative writing at UEA.

Steve Wedd is a veteran of Liars' League. As an actor he works largely in the corporate and voice fields, finding sweet release for some of his pent-up urges in cultural oases such as tonight's event.