Jonny on Sunday
“I hate Sunday.
There’s nothing on Sunday, unless you’ve got money. And they’ve stopped my spends.
I woke early this morning and set up the drums all round my bed. They’re not really drums, just boxes and tins, and Granny’s old jar that rings when you hit it.
I must practice, you see. I’m starting this group when I leave school... Heavy Metal... or something like that.
I was drumming real good when Granny burst in. “Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop all that noise!”
I hate my Granny. She’s always complaining about me and my noise. I’ll be glad when she’s moved to that old-folks’ home that Dad shouts about when she’s gone off to bed.
She knocked the jar off the stool when she opened the door. It fell on the floor and smashed into bits. She burst into tears and fell on her knees to pick up the pieces. She’s a big baby sometimes.
Then she rabbited on about crystals and things. But there were no crystals there – just a broken old jar.
She shouted for Mam and kept blaming me. But it wasn’t my fault. She broke it herself when she opened the door.
I tried to explain but she only got worse. So I grabbed for my clothes and ran down the stairs.
I got my football and went out for some training. I use the old shed because it makes a good noise. The harder you kick, the louder the bang. You can spot all your best shots. I might turn professional when I leave school.
Dad charged from the house in his vest and pyjamas. “I’ll kill you,” he yelled. “Yer all flamin’ noise.”
He’s ugly, my Dad. He looks worse in the mornings. Mam says it’s the beer. His hair hangs down over his face and his eyes are all red. He’d look like a monster if he had any teeth.
He tried to hit me and missed. His hand caught the wall and started to bleed, so he danced up and down, howling and cursing.
I was glad. I hate my Dad. He shouts too much and spoils all my fun.
Then next door’s barred cat jumped over the wall into their garden. It looks like a tiger. So I climbed over myself and started to stalk it, on my hands and knees through all the flowerbeds. I might be a trapper when I leave school.
When it went in the coal shed I set up an ambush. I hid in the sheets on the whirly bird clothesline with a handful of mud. Then, when it came out, I let fly – splat! Right on its head.
Then fat Mrs Bailey came waggling out, shrieking and skipping and flapping her arms like a panicky old hen trying to fly.
“Oh, my sheets!” she screeched. “Oh, my flowers! Oh, my cat!”
I kept saying, “Shush, you’ll bring out my Mam.” But she just wouldn’t listen.
Mam came out then and they both got me cornered. They dragged me into the house and kicked me up the stairs. Mam clouted my head and yelled, “Get in that bath!” She knows that’s the worst thing that can happen to me.
I hate my Mam. She sides with others and keeps on about bathing and washing and things.
I ran the water and splashed it around so they would think I was in it. I got this tray that they use for the soap, and set it afloat. It made a good boat. I stood a plastic bottle on top of the tray and it was just like a mast. Then I got my sister’s clean knickers from over the towel rail and rigged them up as a sail.
I like sailing boats. I might be a sailor when I leave school.
Then my sister came in, bleating as usual, about the wet on the floor. She ran to my boat and snatched off its sail and shouted and thumped me and called me bad names.
I hate my sister. She’s always like that. She stands for hours in front of the mirror, squeezing her zits. That’s why she can’t get a boy with a motorbike – because she’s got zits. She reckons Roger’s a boyfriend. But he hasn’t got a motorbike, only a car.
I gave her a kick, hard, on the shin. She shouted for help and screamed when it bled.
Dad and Granny ran out of their bedrooms. They all tried to punch me, Granny and Dad and my sister. But I gave them the slip and dashed down the stairs.
Mam went to grab me, but I pushed her aside and ran out of the door.
I ran to the woods. I like the woods. There’s a swamp with water and mud and all that kind of thing. Billy was there, making a damn.
Billy’s dead lucky. He gets loads of money. That’s so he’ll be good when his Mam and Dad go down to the pub. And he gets pounds from his brother, so he won’t grass about the pills and cannabis and that.
I helped him with the damn. It’s good practice really. I’ll build a big damn when I leave school, then let the water run out and drown all our family. After that I’ll move into Billy’s and get lots of money.
I slipped and fell in. I was wet through and cold and covered in mud. So I ran home and sneaked in through the back door and crept upstairs to the bedroom to change.
That’s where I am now.
Mam’s running upstairs. She’s screaming again, about the mud in the kitchen and over the stairs. The rest of the family are running up with her, Dad and Granny and spotty daft sister.
I hate Sunday.
