Life! Death! Prizes! by Stephen May

Author:Stephen May
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2012-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Saturday again and we head out to the crematorium to collect the urn that has Mum’s ashes in it. Only we can’t because the Nazi attendant wants £39.99 as a release fee and I don’t have any money and he won’t take a debit card. ‘You can pay your respects though.’ Which is very big of him and I don’t punch him right in his fat jobsworth gob like I should do, but instead we stand and look at Mum’s urn in this sort of storeroom thing. And we’re quiet for a bit and then Oscar starts talking to it. And I try and shush him but he ignores me.

Oscar babbles on to Mum’s fucking ashes about his progress with the plane (second cloud from the top). He talks to that cheap little pot, the pot that makes me think again of Russell Poulter bleeding to death up in Inverness, talks to it like it’s really going to respond and I can’t bear to listen but I can’t get it together to pull him away either. And I suddenly can’t see because my eyes are full of tears, which is when Toni calls and she can hear the sob in my throat as I tell her what Oscar is doing and Toni says she’ll meet us in the Fun Junction and buy us lunch.

The Fun Junction is an old aircraft hangar on the edge of town just where the old London Road joins the A12. They used to build airships here before the war. British versions of the Zeppelins that the Krauts were so fond of. It’s vast. From the 1950s right up until the late eighties, they did secret stuff here involving jet engines and wind resistance and lasers and God knows what. And then it was left empty. A cave of scary shadows on the edge of town.

It used to have the dignity of a major ruin. The awe inspired by a forgotten religion. The sense that, though the old gods had gone, some trace of their power and magic remained. It was the kind of a place where people grew quiet as they approached, out of respect for the ancient mysteries of war and science and craft.

And then, a few years ago, Fun arrived in all its Krazy Kolor, with its shrillness and its shrieks of WTF! STFU! GTFO! LOL! LMAO! LMFAO! The hangar was violated with inflatables of all kinds – not just bouncy castles, but bouncy pirate ships, bouncy space shuttles and bouncy massage parlours.

No, not really. But there is a whole inflatable town. And then there are climbing frames and ball-pools and ropes and swings and slides and fibre-glass animals. Everything in garish colours and soft plastics. And the place is staffed by sullen spotty kids forced to wear stripy blazers, white trousers and straw boaters. And you can always hear a child crying somewhere.

First thing Toni does when she sees us is hand me a note.

‘It’s from Dean,’ she says.

I don’t say anything, just shove it in my jeans.

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