Aaron Connor Read online

  Aaron Connor

  Nathan Davey

  This book is dedicated to my Mother and Father

  Greg Davey and Jill Davey

  Thanks for putting up with me

  “Always do right – this will gratify some and astonish the rest.”

  Mark Twain

  Aaron Connor

  Nathan Davey

  Copyright 2012 by Nathan Davey

  Smashwords Edition

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FITHTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY – ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY – TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY – THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY – FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY – FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY – SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY – SEVEN

  PROLOGUE

  “Stay still Connor!” screamed Barry, “Don’t you dare move!”

  I was out in the middle of the forest. It was empty and quiet. I was knelt down on the ground, with my hands tied behind my back. A gun was pressed against my cheek. I could feel the hollow tube of the gun’s barrel against my skin, where I knew deep inside was a bullet that was ready to take my life.

  Never in my entire existence had I felt such fear. Then again I’d never found myself in a situation in which my life was on the line. There was fresh blood across my face, my bones ached, my body was ready to collapse from the exhaustion and my tracksuit was covered in mud. I really was a miserable sight to see. A shadow of the bloke I once was.

  My entire body was shivering. It was August. It was meant to be summer but it wasn’t. It was cold. In fact it was bloody freezing. England’s a horrible country when it comes to weather. It’s so unpredictable. The cold of the icy air didn’t in anyway compare to the dreadful chill brought about by the steel of that gun. Shivers ran up my spine at the thought of how many other people this gun murdered before me.

  Barry was wearing his famous Sheepskin coat which he never took off. He was looking down at me through mirrored aviator sunglasses. I hated those glasses. I couldn’t see where he was looking. All I could see was my blood soaked face staring right back at me. He was also puffing away on an old cigar as thick as a Lule Log. The cigar smoke rose from his mouth in thick clouds. The strong smell of his tobacco was overbearing and made me feel a little bit sick.

  “Such a shame you know, mate” said Barry, “I was rather keen on you. With the right teaching you would have done well in this business. Shame. Easy come, easy go I suppose. You really could have gone far. But you double crossed me. You stabbed me in the back. You’ve just proven that you’re nothing but worthless scum. The world will be better without you. Well, for me anyway.”

  The horrible thought of that bullet, which was about to fly out from that barrel, was running through my mind. The film playing in my mind got more and more gory the more I thought about it. Soon I felt hot tears run down my face. I didn’t want to die so soon. Then again it would seem that I had no choice in the matter, so I took in a deep breath and tried to take it like a man. I kept back the tears and prepared myself for what was to come.

  There was no more warmth in my heart. All the light, love and laughter were no longer present in my soul. I was ready to die. I was ready to leave this Earth. I ready to leave all the pain, sorrow and injustice behind me to find eternal peace.

  “I’m sorry” I said in a low and shaky whisper, “but I just couldn’t do it. There was no way I was going to go through with it”

  “Then that’s your mistake init?” said Barry with a snarl, “You put the nail in your own coffin. You have no one to blame but yourself. If you just followed my orders, we wouldn’t be in this situation would we?”

  “I guess not” I replied, “I wouldn’t take it back though”

  “I know you wouldn’t have” said Barry, in such calm a tone that it made me feel even more nervous then before.

  Aaron? You may ask, How the bloody hell did you wind up here?

  That’s a question that can only have a complicated answer. I ran away from my hometown to find new places, far beyond the horizons. My life was so boring. There was no hope for me as a human being. No one expected me to become anyone of any importance. I was born scum and many assumed that I’d die scum. I came from a council estate and I lived on benefits. I wore tracksuits, hoodies and trainers.

  From those last lines, I know for a fact that your thinking of one word and one word only: Chav. I know what many of you think of blokes like us. That word is connected with connotations of hatred. You may think of me as nothing more then a layabout, a vagabond and a waste of space. News reports, TV programs and Films have made people fear guys like me. When in retrospect it’s actually us who need the most help.

  I was failing my subjects at school. I couldn’t see anything in my future beyond a checkout job or work at the local chippy. I would just become another number on a spreadsheet of statistics. I would be living proof of a country dieing within the grips of a global recession. I didn’t want that for myself. I wanted to be someone. So I left my hometown and started again elsewhere. I wanted a fresh start. I somehow wanted to make a difference. I wanted the world to stop judging me because of how I looked. I no longer wanted people to call me a “Chav”. I wanted to make a change, one person at a time.

  People always judge those who appear different to the norm. Those who look different and live differently are always thrown aside from society. We are still people like you. We still have passions and emotions. We still want to have a good life. We still want to be successful. We still have dreams. We are still humans like you. Just because some people who look like us do some horrible things, it doesn’t mean that all of us are like that. I wanted to show the world this, by going against what everyone expects from someone like me.

  Along the way I went on some flipping great adventures. I saw so much of England. I made many new friends. I experienced so many different ways of life, which I wouldn’t have been able to experience if I had stayed where I was. Even though it had led to this rather sticky outcome, I wouldn’t have traded one day back from that incredible road trip. I discovered an England I never knew, I found myself within the company of blokes of every kind and even found true love. Leaving the world I was brought up in was the best decision I ever made.

  As I sat there in the wet grass I knew that when that trigger was pulled, I’d die happy and contented. A short life at sixteen but a life well spent in my opinion. My mind had been expanded and filled with a wider understanding of mankind from all walks of life, within the British Isles of course. I accomplished what I set out to do. I left my contained fish bowl world of depression and frustration, to venture out and see what the world had to offer. It turned out that the world had a lot to offer me, for a high price.

  If you have the time on your hands, I’d like to tell you of my travels. I’d like to tell you of the places I went to, the people I met, the events I attended to and how I came to be at death’s door before the gun of a famous drug dealer. Every word is true. I swear it. Each experience, as mad as they may sound, really did happen. I just hope that you’ll like my story, whether you believe it or not.

  My story begins in St.Ians.
St.Ians is a “historic market town” in East Anglia. It was the last day of school. The Headmaster (Mr Bertgill) had called me to his office from one of my classes. He called me in to talk about my dreadful GCSE grades. When I say “talk about it” what I meant to say is “moan about it”.

  This was the moment I realised that, in the way of education, I was a failure. From that news I knew that I’d never get a job which would fulfil the need to live in comfort. I would get a job I would hate. A job I’d dread going to each morning because I was not qualified for anything else. I didn’t want that for myself. I knew that I needed to do something about this. I didn’t know at once what was to be done. All I knew was that I needed to be free from this world of limitations. I needed to escape.

  CHAPTER ONE

  We were sitting in the Head Master’s office on that last day, just me and him, before we were all meant to go to the main hall for the final assembly. He called me here from my English class, just so he could tell me what a useless scumbag I was, just so I could leave school knowing that I’d never become anything.

  His office was quite big, but with all the filing cabinets that lined the walls it felt small and compact. On the walls were some disgusting pieces of artwork made by students. Out of all the Art Department’s produce, why Mr Bertgill picked those pieces I have no idea. Mr Bertgill was behind his desk, flicking through the papers which filled my personal file.

  Mr Bertgill was an old man with balding grey hair, a crooked face like a retired boxer, the dumbfounded expression of someone who was on a lot of medication and was, by far, one of the most arrogant plebs you’d ever come across.

  “You have failed all of your GCSE’s except for one” said Mr Bertgill in his strong Welsh accent and shaking his head, “where did you think this would get you?”

  “I thought I could do, like, graffiti and stuff” I replied,

  “That’s vandalism!” said Mr Bertgill, without even lifting his head from his paperwork, “it’s not a profession, you idiot”

  “What about Banksy, sir?” I asked,

  “What?” he asked,

  “What about Banksy, he does graffiti and that for a living!”

  “Don’t you backchat me!”

  “I wasn’t sir, I was just saying….”

  “I don’t want to hear it Connor, I’m your superior and you shall respect me. You have wasted your time here at St.Ians School” said Mr Bertgill as he rose from his seat, “this time of your life is so precious, as it forms the days to come. It decides whether your life will be easy or hard. Nonetheless you’ve squandered the time given to you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “No” I replied meekly, “I mean…I tried my best and everything…”

  “Its obvious” he interrupted, not allowing me to continue, “That your best just wasn’t good enough”

  He walked across the office, opened the door and stood next to the opening staring at me. Without a word he pointed to the doorway as a hint that it was time for me to leave. I collected my rucksack before walking out into the corridor. He slammed the door behind me with a mighty bang.

  I have a little secret to tell you about Teachers. They don’t care about you. The only reason they want your grades to be high is to make the school look good. They don’t give a toss about your well being or about your future. To them it’s just a job, which is a bugger as their job should be helping you get a job. Of course, like everything these days, money always comes first doesn’t it? When will we all learn that it’s just paper? Life’s too short to be worrying about little pieces of green paper!

  I mean, Teachers are dicks aren’t they? I can’t imagine why these people, who are meant to determine our future, could be such horrible people. Every Teacher I’ve ever come across has been a patronising, horrid, vile, smoke stinking, whiskey swilling, pompous, stuck up and arrogant old psychopath! They find joy in making you feel insignificant.

  If you’re bullied, they don’t do anything useful to stop it. All they do is “have a word with them” which makes the bullies beat you up even harder for snitching. I bet there are good Teachers out there somewhere, it’s just a shame that I had all the nutters.

  I and Teachers have never gotten along. Do you really want to know why? Because they blamed me for everything! If anything anti-social happened at the school, it always seemed that the finger was pointed at me, whether I was involved in the event or not. I never did stuff like that, but that didn’t stop the Teachers from assuming that I was the guilty one.

  Just because of how you look or act they make assumptions about you. It’s so contradictory, as they spend entire assemblies going on and on about treating everyone as equals, when they themselves are the most judgemental sods I’ve ever known! If they smell cigarette smoke on the playground, they search for the first bloke in a hoodie they can find and punish them accordingly. No evidence, no jury, no plead for innocence just straight forward punishment. It was like being stuck in a George Orwell book!

  Mr Bertgill was the worst of those judgemental horrors. I wasn’t particularly smart. That’s all there was to it. It wasn’t that I didn’t pay attention in class because I bloody well did. I took notes and asked questions and everything. The information just didn’t go into my little brain box. It went into one ear and then buggered off out the other.

  That didn’t matter though. Mr Bertgill uses my dress code and background to create his own story in his head. In his head I’m a delinquent who disturbs classes, talks back to Teachers and plays games on his phone during lessons. He believes that I’m not even bothering to learn but that’s not true! I want a future as much as anybody!

  That made no difference to the depraved mind of Mr Bertgill. He wrote down that made up crap onto my report card and, with full commitment, convinced everyone that it was true. I’m just a lower class teen and he’s the Head Master of a Secondary School. Who are the parents most likely to believe? That’s bang out of order! You may say, but that’s so true in my case. Mr Bertgill hated me. Not for any personal reasons, but for what I was.

  He, like many other ignorant people, was taken in by the B.E.N (Black Eye News) representation of us. That being the rule breaking, violent, ASBO earning thugs that you see flooding the television screens these days. I have no ASBOS myself. There was a bloke in my form who had seven ASBOS and was very proud of the fact, even his parents were proud! But because I wore the uniform of a scumbag and lived in a council house, in his mind I was just “one of them” and not to be trusted.

  I walked away from the door and towards the main hall for the assembly. I was feeling utterly depressed. The corridors were quiet as classes were still going on at this point. There was no point going back to class now, as I only had about fifteen minutes left to go. As I still had some more time to burn, I decided to go to Lizzie’s classroom first before going straight to the main hall. We could walk to the assembly together.

  Lizzie was my only real friend at St. Ians School, everyone else hated me because I was “boring”. At School, “boring” means that you don’t drink, smoke, take drugs or consider setting wheelie bins alight as a recreational activity. Lizzie was the only one who actually liked that aspect of me, as she was the same way herself.

  She was lovely and proper fit. She had fantastic curly hair that was died a shade of blonde that’s so light it was almost white. She had amazing, big round eyes like Tulisa. Her lips were shaped like a snog and her body was beyond tight. God, I fancied her. But we were friends you see and at the end of the day, I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship. So I’d kept that info to myself for all the time we knew each other.

  I’d memorized her timetable almost inside out, so I knew for a fact that she had Media Studies at that time. I walked through the cold empty corridors as I thought about everything that Mr Bertgill told me. I was heading for one of the portacabin classrooms that were just by the canteen. For those who haven’t come across a portacabin classroom before, they are basically cabins made of wood
that are permanently parked on the school site as extra classrooms. They were cold, damp and poorly constructed . . . perfect for St.Ians.

  I walked through the main foyer. To the left of me was the Wall of Fame. On here were newspaper cuttings from local papers, all of which concerning pupils from this school. There was kids who had won baking contents, poetry writing and others who had got A** scores on their exams. Lucky sods, I wished so much that I could be as clever as that. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been as useless as Mr Bertgill made me out to be.

  I walked on past the wall, through the double doors and out onto the playground. The air was cold. It was July and we were about to break up for the summer. Summer was very rarely a big deal for me. There wasn’t much to do with all that time they gave you. Nonetheless it sounded far better then staying here, where I’m constantly reminded of how worthless I’ am by grown ups.

  I was only sixteen but even then my view of the future was very bleak. There was nothing. Just a black void of uncertainty where I knew I must one day venture into without a torch. I had no real qualifications, I didn’t have enough grades for Sixth Form and I had no basic work ethic or skills. What would I put on my CV?

  CURRICULUM VITAE

  WORK EXPERINCE – NONE

  PREVIOUS EMPLOYMENT – NONE

  EDUCATION – GRADE C = GCSE ART,

  INTERESTS – KIM KARDASHIAN’S BOTTOM

  It doesn’t exactly scream “employ me now” does it? Oh well, I was sure that could get me a job somewhere. Car garage perhaps, for repainting fading old cars while looking at posters of Kim Kardashian on the wall. That’s the only possibility I could think of at the time.