27. in a graveyard
46563 / 50000
Sometimes I have ideas for stories that are amazing and insightful in my head, and then when I come to write them down they're entirely unconvincing and lame. Pretty sure this is one of those! Ugh, it was SO GOOD in my head, but I don't think it translates at all. At least it's kind of a stand-alone.
27. in a graveyard
Cook.
1732 words
When Cook wakes up, it takes him a while to get his bearings and remember where he is. His eyes are all crusted over with sleep and his whole body feels heavy and stiff, and in the faraway distance, someone's calling his name. Once his eyes have struggled open he peers around, and even though his vision's blurry he can recognise the shapes as belonging to Freddie's shed. And the voice, that belongs to Freddie too, standing in the doorway. Cook blinks a couple of times, his vision clearing, and when he looks at Freddie again he sees that he's proper fucking pissed off.
"What the fuck, mate?" Freddie says. "What are you doing here?"
It's a difficult question for so early in the morning. Or is it morning? "What time is it?" he asks, and that just sets Freddie off.
"If you're wondering when your exam started, it was four hours ago. You missed it." Freddie sits down in the other chair opposite where Cook's sitting, and he stares at Cook all judgemental like. "I thought you weren't going to do this any more. Taking responsibility, remember? If you carry on at this rate you're going to kill yourself."
Cook's memory is so shot he's surprised he can remember his own fucking name, but what Freddie said jogs something, and things start to fall into place. He rummages in his pockets and finds a piece of paper that's all crumpled up into a ball, and he throws it at Freddie, who frowns as he reads it.
"Shit." Freddie looks up at him once he's scanned the page. "Mate, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well. My dad dies and someone only bothers to send me a letter about it three fucking weeks after the fact. Think that qualifies as an excuse for a bender, don't you?"
"Yeah," Freddie says, and he shrugs. "It's shit. Losing a parent, I mean."
Cook nods. He can still remember when Freddie's mum died, all those years ago. Freddie had gone dead quiet for a few weeks, and now, Cook wonders how he'd done it, keeping everything locked in. The only time he'd shown any emotion was when some cunt from school had made a crack about her, and Freddie punched him.
Cook feels like punching everybody right now. Probably did, last night. He brushes a hand across his face and realises it's dried blood crusted on his skin, but he can't remember enough about last night to tell if it's his or anyone else's. Who even gives a fuck, anyway. If he went out like his dad, done in during a bar fight when a broken bottle slashed his neck, well, that'd just fucking fit. Live fast, and all that bullshit. Cooks aren't built for lasting into old age; it's not in their fucking nature.
He stumbles to his feet, nearly fucking falling over in the process. Might still be drunk.
"You all right?" Freddie asks. "You can stay here if you want."
"Nah, I'm fine," Cook says, and he walks out before Freddie can say anything else. He doesn't need any fucking sympathy; there's nothing to even be sympathetic about. Cook's dad was a twat, proper fucking scum, and the world's better off without him. So the last thing Cook needs it Freddie like, pretending this is the same thing as when his mum died, because it's just not.
He buys more beer on the way home, snapping a can of Stella open before he's even out of the shop. Hair of the dog is the only way to deal with shit like this, and he demolishes two cans by the time he gets back to his room. Not that it'll be his room for much longer, and he doesn't fucking know what he's going to do when he's left college, but he can't think about that now. One thing at a time.
When he gets to his corridor, there's someone waiting outside his room. It's Pandora, sitting with her back against his door; she looks up when he approaches, and smiles.
"Cookie!" she says. "There you are."
"Not that it ain't smashing to see you, but what you doing here?"
"You missed General Studies--and it was well hard, I mean, I don't have a bollocking clue about anything really--so I got a bit worried. I rang you, but you never answered, silly."
Shit, that means he probably lost his phone, or else it got nicked. He pats his pockets; it's definitely not there.
He shrugs. "Well, as you can see, love, I'm just dandy."
"What happened to your face?"
"Somebody's fist, probably," he says with a smile. "Not a fucking clue, honestly. Must have been a top night, though, 'cause I can't remember a thing."
"You're not all right, are you?" She touches his face, and he winces.
"Don't you worry about me, Panda pop."
"But I do worry," she says. "I mean, sometimes. You should tell me. I mean, I know I'm useless, but I'm not completely."
At first he says nothing, but once he's dug his key out of his pocket and opened the door, letting her in first, he decides to talk. No point in keeping secrets, really.
"My dad died," he says, and as soon as he does so he wishes he still had the letter that he left at Freddies, because it's so much easier to tell people that way. "Fucking ages ago as well, but they only just bothered to tell me. Forgot he had family, apparently."
Pandora doesn't even say anything, just wraps him up in a big hug, and that gets to him more than anything else. He pulls away and wipes at his eyes, turning away so she doesn't see him.
"Did you miss the funeral?" she asks in a quiet voice, and Cook nods, still with his back to her. She touches his shoulder and says, "Do you want to go and see him?"
"What?"
"Well, like, not him, but his grave, you know? It might help."
He lets out a long breath and then says, "Yeah, all right. Sounds like a plan. Just let me shower first, yeah?"
---
The graveyard where Cook's dad is buried is all overgrown; Cook's dad's grave stands out, looking all shiny and new and wrong. Cook perches on a grave opposite it, staring at it for a long time and trying to feel something other than numbness. The grave only says 'COOK', no dates or anything, and it seems weirdly like Cook is staring at his own grave, but that doesn't make him feel much of anything either. All the rage from last night has disappeared, and now he just feels empty.
Pandora sits a little way off on a bench, and after a while Cook joins her.
"Did it help?" she asks, and he shrugs.
"I dunno. Not really. It doesn't really change anything, does it?"
"No, not really," she says. "It's just a bit weird, isn't it?"
"Too right, babe." The graveyard's on a bit of a hill, and he squints at the bleak landscape beyond. It's not like he hasn't been here before, but it all seems unfamiliar now.
They sit in silence for a while, and then Pandora says, "My dad died when I was eight."
"Yeah?" Cook knew she only lived with her mum, but he never realised her dad wasn't around. Just goes to show how little he knows his friends, really. He could've fucking asked at some point, but he never did.
"Yeah. Just before Christmas. Mum went all loopy for a bit, and then she found Jesus. She told me I should look for him too but I never managed to find him."
"Probably hiding down the back of the sofa, eh?" Cook says, and he grins lopsidedly at her.
"No, I looked there and all."
Cook laughs, throwing his head back and proper howling. "You're fucking mint, you know that, Panda?"
She goes a bit pink. "So what I mean is, it's well rubbish at first, but it gets better after a while, and then it's kind of like it never happened at all. It's funny, isn't it?"
"Yeah." He digs in his pockets for some cigarettes, but he's only got one left. "Want to share?" he asks, and when Pandora nods he lights it and hands it over. "Sorry about your dad, yeah. He was probably better than mine was."
"I dunno," Pandora says. "He was always nice to me, but after he died Mum got a bit drunk at Christmas and cried and said he was a bad man. She never said why, though."
"Fucking hell," Cook says. "We're probably better off without them, ain't we? Fucking dads. I tell you what, I'm never having kids. The world don't need any more fucked up brats running around, and you know if I had kids they wouldn't be nice ones, not like yours would be."
She shoves his shoulder, but only playfully, and he grins. "You and me, we had some proper fun, didn't we? Not just in the bedroom department, either. I'm sorry I fucked up your relationship with Thomas, yeah. He's a good bloke."
"It's not your fault," she says quietly. "I didn't have to keep going back to you."
"So why did you, then?" he asks. "Just because, you know, today we're sharing."
"I dunno." She smiles shyly. "I reckon you're nicer than people think."
"Trust me, babe, I'm not."
Pandora drops the cigarette on the ground and crushes it under her shoe, and then she kisses him.
She tastes like smoke and something sweeter, and it's not like he's never kissed her before, but it's been a while and somehow it's different this time.
"Fuck me," he says, once she's pulled away a moment later.
"Sorry."
"No, I mean, you're proper fucking lovely, you know that?" It's not even a new revelation, really; back when they'd been fucking around because he was so fucking miserable about Effy, things had been nice with Panda. Fun and simple, and he'd used to think that she was a consolation prize, but it hadn't been like that, not really.
"Thanks," she says, and she's still blushing slightly.
"But you don't really want me, babe," he says. "I'm a fucking car crash."
"No, you're all right."
He grins, and kisses her again, just quickly. "Well, I think I'm getting there."