Kicked Out

By Richard W Hardwick

"A novel to stand up alongside Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting, offering a window into the youth of today. A fantastic book expressing the cynicism and dissatisfaction of those on the edge of society" - Waterstone’s Recommended Read. 

"The narrative is so strong, the characters and dialogue so real, the situation so heart-breaking. This is masterful and should win several literary prizes" - Patricia J. Delois, award-winning author of Bufflehead Sisters.

Sixteen-year-old Danny is kicked out by his parents and has nowhere to go but a shelter for homeless teenagers. There he finds a friend in the more experienced Goochy, who helps him find his feet. But the other residents are every bit as troubled and complex as Danny, and with drugs, alcohol, crime, sex and violence always on the cards, the house is soon simmering like a pressure cooker about to blow. In this turbulent environment, between binges and wild escapades, Danny begins to reflect and grow. But a discovery about his family places him under a pressure he cannot contain …

Kicked Out draws on the author’s experiences of working with young homeless and young offenders and is essential reading for anyone hoping to understand today’s unwanted youth. Hard-hitting and unsentimental without being bleak, gripping, at times hilarious – you will never look at kids on the street in the same way again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lapwing Books
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386221579

Book preview

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Originally published by Beautiful Books Limited 2009

This edition published 2017 by Lapwing Books

Lapwing Books

31 Southward

Northumberland NE26 4DQ

Copyright © Richard W Hardwick 2009.

All rights reserved.

The author gratefully acknowledges permission to use lyrics by the following artists:

Dialect: Aye Aye, Got To Do Something, Give It Up, Sick In The Head

Plan B: Kidz, No More Eatin’

Cover design by Ian Pickard.

Praise for other books published by Lapwing Books

Andalucía by Richard W Hardwick

Told with courage, humour and love, Andalucía weaves past and present with great skill so the pace of the narrative never falters. A zest for life on every page that I found both moving and inspiring

- Pat Barker, winner of The Booker Prize

This absolutely captivated me. I couldn’t put it down. One of the best books I’ve read ... breath-taking

- Janette Jenkins  – author of Angel of Brooklyn, Little Bones and Firefly

Wicca Teachings by Tony Bell

Where has this book been all my life? I have read many Wicca books and this one is by far the best. So easy to understand. It’s perfect.

One book, filled with a journey that takes you into a world full of discoveries, quenching your thirst for spiritual knowledge. Thank you!

Click here to receive the compelling and heart-rending short story 'Rooftops' for free when you sign up to Lapwing Books mailing list

Chapter One

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Me sixteenth birthday was mint, the best I ever had. I got fifty quid for a pair of trainers, bought a crate and half an ounce instead, went back home two days later. They must've talked it over, had it all arranged. I never even got upstairs before she kicked us out, didn’t even have time to get any of me stuff. She pushed us out the door while me dad stood there watching, smoking a tab. She'd had enough she said, that and the polis coming round looking for stolen bikes was the last straw. She had two others to think about, not just me, didn't want them them growing up with an older brother always stoned out his box, getting himself arrested. Me dad bent down, picked up little Jimmy who was screaming as usual. And they stood there, watched us walk down the street with nothing; nowhere to go.

The polis hadn't even found nothing. They'd picked the wrong place. The bikes were round Micky's, in his back yard. As for the tac, there was kids down the street, absolute radgees, off their faces on drink and blues, kicking the fuck out of each other every night, a pure riot. And their mams hadn't kicked them out had they? And what about me dad? Coming home mortal every Friday night and if he was in a bad mood we'd all get a slap. But that was different wasn't it? She wasn’t gonna tell him to leave was she? While there’s me, evil old me, most the time in me bedroom listening to music, smoking tac; either that or down Micky's playing on his decks, not harming nobody, not doing nothing except the odd frisk.

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I went to Micky's. It was better than being at home, not that far away neither, more Elswick than Benwell. There was only him, his mam, his little sister. We got stoned, went on his Playstation or his decks. His mam wasn’t bothered about us smoking tac, pretended it never happened. On a Friday we could have anything we wanted from the chinky's, except king prawns obviously. She even bought us a few cans each. We'd sit downstairs with her, watch a DVD, eat our grub, drink some beer, then go upstairs, do a bucket and blast our heads off; either that or just have a joint, listen to music, chill. Compared to ours it was dead quiet, dead calm. That’s what it’s like when yer mam’s alright and yer haven’t got a dad. Sometimes we played football in the living room with a tennissy, the kitchen door the goal. A couple of times there was four or five of us, getting stoved into each other, falling all over the place. The last time we did that I knocked a plate off the wall, smashed it on the coffee table. When his mam came back, Micky said it was him that done it. He was always a good mate like that.

Then, two weeks after I moved in there, Micky’s mam kicked us out as well. She found out Micky was supposed to be on training with the Young Offenders, went off it. She said it was cos I was there that he couldn't be bothered, that she couldn't afford to keep feeding us anyway.

Yer mam gets child benefit for yer. She should be giving yer money to buy food, not me 

I had to leave by Monday. And when Monday came, even though I had nowhere to go, she kicked us out as well. I walked to me mam's in the rain; up Elswick Road, down Benwell Lane, past all the boarded up houses we use to climb in when we bumped of school. By the time I got there I was soaked to the bone; banged on the door. Couldn’t just walk in could I? I was banned. 

Me mam answered.

What do yer want?

I've come for me child benefit

Yer've come for what?

I've come for me child benefit. If I'm kicked out then you won’t be needing it will yer?

Yer cheeky little bastard

She stood there scowling, hair all over the place, wearing that pink dressing gown that hadn’t fitted for about ten fucking years; hadn’t even bothered tying it up properly. She looked like she was gonna crack us one so I stepped back, rain dripping off me nose.

The money’s mine, that's what Micky's mam said. If I'm not living here yer should give it to us

Aw right, Micky's mam said that did she?

Yeah

Is that where yer've been staying like?

Yeah

Well yer can tell Micky's mam this

Pointed at us like I was a sack of shite 

Child benefit goes on clothes and food, not drugs, so yer not getting it right? And if that greedy bitch thinks she is then...

She's not getting it is she? I shouted. Cos she's fucking kicked us out as well

And yer know what Danny? 

Leaned forwards, right in me face. 

I'm not fucking surprised

I felt like cracking her one; but yer don’t hit women do yer? At least real men don’t. Men like me dad might but they’re scum. I stood there instead, shook with rage, felt like crying but wasn’t giving her the pleasure. 

What am I gonna do now then?

Yer should’ve thought of that before

Before what?

Before yer started taking drugs, before yer started stealing from people

But I haven’t got nothing 

I hated begging, hated meself for doing it. 

Can I get meself a bag of clothes at least?

She looked at us a few seconds, tutted, let us in, watched over us like I was burgling the fucking house as I chucked me football kit out me Adidas bag, filled it up with clothes from the kitchen floor, stuffed them in. They were still dirty, still where I’d left them two weeks before the lazy bitch. I stood up, put the bag over me shoulder. Our Jimmy was on some plastic tractor thing, hadn't even looked at us when I’d walked in, just kept smashing it off the wall over and over again, a look on his face like he was trying to smash the whole fucking wall down. Normally me mam would’ve gone off it, would’ve gone off it with the mud off me football boots going on the floor as well, but she didn’t that time. 

Then our Stacey walked in. 

Danny

A smile on her face; she must’ve been off school again. 

Our Stacey was two years younger, a bit of a divvy, but alright. She noticed me face, turned to our mam. 

Is he moving back in?

No

Why not?

No answer. She didn't have a fucking answer, that's why.

She started to cry; our Stacey that is. Me mam told her to shut up, got pissed off with little Jimmy trying to knock the wall down, started shouting at him. That’s when I noticed me granda’s watch and compass on the top, near the kettle me dad bounced off me mam’s head. He’d given them to us just before he died. They were mine, should’ve been in me room. Me dad must’ve taken them to pawn them, get more drink. I taxed them quick before me mam turned round, marched us to the door, hands on me shoulders like I was gonna try and squirm me way back in again.

I knocked them off

Don’t fucking touch us, I’m going, don’t worry

Our Stacey followed us out.

And you’ve got me hat on as well

She took it off, handed it over. It went straight on. I walked down the path, reached the front gate, stopped, put the bag on me shoulder, turned round. Me stomach was knotted, killing us. I felt sick, like when I was six, drunk that stuff to put on me granda’s garden, make the grass grow. I leant on the gate, lifted me feet off the ground, swung like I did when I was little. It made the same noise it always did.

Right then

Mam left Stacey crying at the front door; went inside.

Behave yerself. Yer'll make me start

I don't want yer to go

I don’t have any fucking choice do I?

Came out with her purse, came down the path, gave us a tenner.

Take it. It's all I've got

Went back up the path, stood next to our Stacey in the doorway

I put the tenner in me pocket, still leaning on the gate, watched our Stacey wipe her tears away. If there was one poor cunt I felt sorry for, other than meself, it was her. At least our Jimmy didn’t know any fucking different. I was about to go, walk down the street, but me dad appeared in the doorway. Lazy twat had probably been sleeping on the couch all morning.

Get off the gate

What? 

Get off the fucking gate. Yer'll break it

I stayed on. He came down the path, grabbed hold of us. I kept me hands clenched but he managed to get us off, swung me bag at him; missed. Stacey shouted, ran down the path, straight in-between us. He stepped back, stared at us, stinking of drink, just a bit further than a punch away. I sized him up; a good few inches taller than us but a scrawny fucker. In a couple of years, I thought; in a couple of years.

Just go, me mam said.

Yeah, go on, me dad said. Piss off

I took the tenner out me pocket, scrumpled it up.  He walked back up the path, looked over his shoulder like I was gonna run over, jump him.

Right then, I fucking will

I brought me arm back, threw the money.  

And yer can shove that up yer fat fucking arses as well

He bent down, picked it up. It wouldn't go back to me mam. He'd be fuming she gave it to us in the first place. It’d go on beer and tabs like always, or horses he knew fuck all about. He shoved me mam, our Stacey, inside the house, shut the door. I felt like smashing the windows in, the whole fucking lot of them. But I turned round, put the bag on me shoulder, pulled me hat on even tighter, walked back down the street, kicked puddles instead.

Chapter Two

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Micky's mam told us to go to the Civic. I never knew why and I don't think she did neither but I had nowhere else to go.

Face it:

I couldn't stay at Nelson's. His mam was a crackerjack. Harrison’s mam was dead, hit by a car on her way home from the club, hit and run, nobody caught, and his dad was weird, the way he looked at yer, talked dead slow, freaked us out. As for Minter's mam; she wouldn’t let us stay if there was a nuclear fucking war going on.

Down Westgate Road I went, past the General, up the one that goes near the football ground, through Gallowgate and Percy Street, Hippy Green with all the fucking goths, round the corner of the Haymarket with the students and daft fucking skaters that come down from Jesmond or wherever thinking they look cool.

I had to wait in reception ages, then went in this room with a big glass panel that moved across, like a fucking prison or something; room number four. Some wifey with long curly hair, thick glasses, a voice that sounded like it had the volume turned all the way down to number one, she saw us. Scribbled round and round on a piece of paper, tried to get her pen to work.

What’s the problem then?

Looked at me hat, like she expected us to take it off or something

It stayed where it was. 

I've been kicked out me house. I've got no money, no food, nowhere to sleep and I can’t go back to me mate's house cos his mam's kicked us out as well

She said something but I never heard her.

What?

I looked at the side of her head, checked if she had a fucking volume switch or something but she didn’t. Leaned forward instead, concentrated.

Tell me what happened then - her voice no louder - for you to get kicked out of your house

Her pen started working, drew a slinky. I told her about the row I’d had, about how I'd stayed at Micky's a fortnight, how me dad chucked us off the gate, how they wouldn’t give us any child benefit. She said something about family but I still couldn’t hear.

Yer what?

Have you not got any family you can stay with?

Louder, like it was my fault she couldn't fucking speak properly.

No. I've got cousins and that, but I don’t even know where they live

No aunties or uncles that could put you up?

No

Grandparents?

Me mam's mam and dad have both died and I've never seen me dad’s for ten year

Oh right. Any other friends you can stay with for a while?

No

Have you ever had a flat or house of your own?

I'm sixteen

Have you got a Social Worker?

Don’t think so

Probation Officer? Sorry Youth Offending Officer?

No

Have you got any substance misuse issues?

What?

Do you take drugs?

No

She looked surprised.

What nothing? You don’t even take cannabis?

What had that got to do with anything?

I smoke tac now and then, if someone's got any. I wouldn’t buy any

Ah

Like she knew she was right in the first place.

Anything else?

No, I lied. Just tac

She was alright actually, under them glasses, for an older, posher wifey. I watched her hand as she wrote me answers down, imagined it reaching down me pants, taking hold of us; wondered if she’d do it with someone younger, if she liked a bit of rough, started to get a fucking hard on.

Do you have any mental health problems?

What?

Ever suffered from depression? Ever been diagnosed as having a mental illness?

No

Would you consider yourself disabled?

Was she taking the piss?

No, I said. I'm not disabled. I walked in here didn't I?

She said something about different types of disabilities, not just obvious ones, made us feel stupid.

Look, I said. I'm not being funny but all I want is a bed. Have yer not got a bed yer can give us?

She said the council had responsibility for us if I really had nowhere else to go cos I was sixteen, then asked a few more daft questions like did I cut me wrists, take overdoses?

I’m not a fucking Goth yer know, just a normal person

She sat back, sighed, told us to wait in reception. This freak was in there, ears, mouth, nose pierced, long hair shaved at the sides. Half an hour later he’d been in and was on his way back out again.

I leaned forward

Can't lend us a couple of tabs can yer? I haven’t got a penny on us and it looks like I'm sleeping rough

He stopped, didn’t want to, I could tell by his face. But he pulled a couple out, handed them over to us.

Nice one mate, cheers

Eventually the wifey came out, asked us to go back in, looked bored shitless, like there was a million other things she’d rather be doing, told us I was lucky, there was a place in a hostel for young people, gave us a lecture about behaving meself or I’d get kicked out, gave us money for the metro as well so I jumped it, bought ten tabs from that shop over the road from Central Station, the little one with all the weird magazines in the window.

It wasn’t long; Manors, Byker, Chilly Road, that was it. I picked up one of them free papers, flipped it over; found rugby on the back, turned inside, looked for football. It was pure boring; Watford and that, something about Darlington for fuck’s sake. I only did Champions' League; the rest of it was shite. Chelsea, Arsenal, Manchester United were the only decent teams, Liverpool as well. The rest were shite including Newcastle, always promising to be up there challenging for the title, spending millions on players yer’ve never fucking heard of, never will again they’re so shite. I didn’t understand. What was the point supporting a team when they never fucking won nothing?

I found it soon enough, too soon; could hardly miss it.  Me nerves started going, like the first time I played football for the school team; butterflies, thinking everything would go wrong, how I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, how everyone would watch me as I fucked it up. The garden was full of rubbish, weeds and that, an old lambrini bottle. Me granda would’ve been outraged. It was worse than the Painters house down the road and they were fucking smackheads. I walked up the path, dodged mud, McDonald’s cartons. Halfway up, the front door opened. This lad came out, bin liner in each hand, proper radgee, black eye, bust nose, built like a bull terrier, tracky bottoms tucked in socks.

I’m outta this shit-hole

He kicked the door shut, stared at us, swaggered past as me butterflies twisted into cramps. I reached the front door, knocked, louder; must’ve been stood there five minutes when I noticed this little button on the right of the door, some metal thing with a screen. Two seconds after I pressed it; a female voice.

Hello

It's Danny

Sorry?

Danny. Danny Robson

Felt stupid talking to a metal thing

I was told to come here

Aw right. Come in

I pushed the door but it didn't open; tried again but it still wouldn’t, stood there feeling like a twat until the door opened from the inside and her head poked out.

Hiya

Sorry, couldn't open the door

She opened it fully, smiled; long dark hair, nice face, quite fit.

Don't worry. It's the door, not you. It doesn't work properly

Nodded her head

I walked past her into a long corridor, walls painted light green, tatty posters everywhere.

Suffering From Racism?

Teenage Pregnancy

Some fit bird with the word Mental? above her head as if that made any difference

Use Drugs Use Us, but it didn’t look like a dealer.

Come through to the office

Past a living room with a TV, tatty couches inside, holes in the wall where someone had booted them through, into the next room, the office; desks with computers on, shelves on the walls, files and books all over.

Have a seat

I sat down on a big leather chair, all the material ripped off like someone had done the most explosive fart ever, burned it all away.

Right, she said. I'm Shirley

Smiled again, held her hand out.

And this is the office; obviously

I shuffled, bag on knee.

How yer feeling? Bit nervous?

No, I lied. I’m not really that bothered

Well, if it's okay with you, I'll show yer round, see what yer think of it, then we'll do the move-in forms. There’s a canny lot of them mind, it'll take about half an hour or so

I shrugged.

Noise from upstairs; a shout or scream. Shaun O'Grady went in a hostel and he was a fucking lunatic, got put away for knifing two people cos they looked at him the wrong way.

She stood up, rattled keys in her hand.

Come on then

I let her go first. She showed us the living room, a key-working room, the dining room, a big old wooden table covered in graffiti, names scratched into it, fruit-bowl and ashtray on top; the ashtray full, the fruit-bowl empty except two wrinkled apples that looked like they’d been there ten years. Through an archway to the kitchen, an oven; like I knew how to use one of them? Washing machines, fridge freezer, tumble drier; I didn't know if that was for clothes or plates and that, then a microwave thank God. She apologised for the mess; dirty plates, cups, pans all over the place, clothes lying next to them, sexy pair of red knickers on top. As we were leaving we had to step aside, let this lass walk past, quite fit, normal clothes, tracksuit and that, about my age, light brown hair.

This is Daniel

Hiya, I’m Gemma

She smiled. I nodded. Shirley pointed at the clothes with a frown

Whose is that washing?

Sam's

I looked at the knickers, back at Gemma. Maybe things were gonna work out after all. Up the stairs; the first floor was the lasses landing, five of them. I tried not to smile when she said it. She showed us inside a bathroom but not a bedroom. Music blasted from inside one of them; proper music, none of that guitar shite. At the far end of that corridor, the staff bedroom. Then up to the second floor, the lads landing; five lads as well, my room number 6. Someone had scribbled a 9 in pen after the 6 and egg or something had dribbled down it, all crusty and hard. She knocked on the door a few times, shouted she was going in, opened it with a key and in we walked; two beds, someone still in one, head peeping out from under a duvet. Clothes all over the place, posters of mint cars, sexy birds in nothing but knickers; blue curtain hung off a broken curtain rail, stains illuminated by sunshine coming through.

Stephen, it's after eleven. Yer should’ve been up ages ago

I was up ages ago. I went back to sleep

Well, yer need to get up again

She walked over to the dirty clothes, kicked them into a pile.

This is Danny who's moving in today

Two hands came out from under the duvet, rubbed his face.

Alright

I nodded me head; wondered if he was a radgee or not

You need to sort yer washing out, get it all done

She walked over to the posters.

And these will have to come down as well

He sat up; looked upset.

How come?

Yer not allowed topless posters up; yer know that

Sam’s got some in her room

What of? Women or men?

Well men obviously; she’s not a fucking dyke is she?

She gave him a look, took the posters down, folded them in half, kept them in her hands.

Sorry Stephen

Me name’s Goochy. How many times?

Yer can have them back when yer move out

She moved the curtain back carefully, opened the window, turned to us.

Everyone moves into this room first. Then the first one in here moves into a single when one becomes available. Which reminds us...

Back to Goochy

Yer need to get up, move into room 5. If yer don't move in an hour yer'll lose it cos Danny needs a bed

Alright, calm down, I'm moving

She pointed to the other bed.

This one will probably become vacant today or tomorrow cos the lad who's got it is hardly ever here, so yer'll have someone else moving in pretty soon as well

I smiled; at least I wouldn’t be the only new one. We left the bedroom, went downstairs. Shirley said we needed to go through loads of forms. I'd get sick of signing me name.

Do yer wanna tea or coffee?

No but I wouldn’t mind a smoke

She pointed out the office window, to a back yard. I’d just opened the back door when I saw the lass I'd seen earlier, Gemma, with a black lass. They stuck their heads out the kitchen door, stared at us. I closed the door behind us, heard one of them say I’d shag him, a burst of laughter. Three or four drags later, Goochy was on the scrounge, outside in boxer shorts and skinny legs. I was gonna go halves but reckoned it was important to get mates as soon as; plus, I needed a whole one to meself. The lasses came out, still grinning; looked us up and down so I did the same to them. I didn’t know what they thought but I wasn't disappointed.

Got a smoke?

I gave them one to share which left four. The black lass nodded, lit the tab in Gemma’s mouth. 

What's yer name?

I watched her get it going, draw the smoke in, lean back on the wall, blow it out, eyes fixed on us all the time.

Danny

Don't yer just love it when lasses smoke? It's sexy as fuck and everyone knows it, specially them.

Where yer from?

The black lass again; I watched her lips as she said it, the most beautiful pair of lips I’d ever seen.

Benwell

Impressed, like they should’ve been

What about you?

Killingworth, said Gemma.

Gateshead

I looked the black one up and down again; all the shapes in the right places, not black black if yer know what I mean, more like a nice shade of brown; skimpy vest top just about covering her. She could’ve been a model in a porno mag, anything like that. She told us her name but she didn’t have to. I already knew it. It was Sam. I looked round the back yard, the back alley, like I wasn't too bothered, smoked me tab. But the picture in me mind was that beautiful dark body and skin, those shoulders, that stomach, in between the most beautiful pair of brown tits yer could ever wish to see. She blew any of the lasses on my estate well away I’m telling yer, any of the lasses in school as well. I turned back round, took another drag, tried to blow smoke rings but a big cloud came out instead, looked at Gemma to stop meself looking at Sam. She looked fucking ill or something compared to her, dead pale and that, eyes glazed over like she was only half alive; either that or she’d had a pill.

What do yer think then? asked Goochy.

What?

Of this place

Aw right

I thought he meant the fucking lasses for a minute. Gemma passed the tab to Sam. I watched her put it to her lips.

Seems alright. It’s a place to stay isn't it?

It is alright man

Long as yer not a fucking grass, said Sam, smoke curling from her lips, eyes sparkling, teasing.

Its shite, said Gemma.

Silence for a bit

Yer been on the streets?

I shook me head, kicked the wall with the heel of me trainers. Some of the paint flaked off, fell on the floor.

I stayed on the streets for weeks, said Sam. It was fucking horrible. Old perverts chatting yer up, trying to get in yer knickers all the time, saying come on darling yer can stay with me, get yerself out the cold

Goochy laughed, walked towards her, put his hand down his trousers, moved it round his knob.

Yeah, put yer hands down here darling, that'll keep ‘em warm

She laughed, stepped back, punched him on the arm; a good punch too for a lass.

Do yer smoke tac? asked Gemma.

Course I smoke tac. What do yer think I am; a freak?

Laughter all round

It's a good job. Yer have to smoke tac in here. It’s part of the rules

Resident rules, said Goochy. Don’t let staff catch yer smoking or yer’ll get a warning

Aye it's like big fucking brother, said Sam.

She put on a daft voice

Welcome to the big brother household. Today we are evicting Manny

I watched the three of them laugh together. It felt good.

Goochy stopped first

He was a cunt anyway

Was he the lad with a black eye and bust nose? I asked. Looks like a right radgee?

That’s him

I saw him leaving when I was coming in. What did he get kicked out for?

Beating up Goochy

The lasses started to giggle.

Goochy frowned.

Did he fuck

Faced us, upset

He had a go at us but he was on a final warning so I let him cos I knew he'd get kicked out. Sometimes yer’ve gotta be clever; plus he carries a knife. Put me and him in a room together and I'd fucking murder him every time

Sam leaned forward, wanted to show us something. I leaned towards her, kept me eyes off her tits but it wasn’t easy. It was a key-ring, a photo of a black and white cat.

Do yer like me pussy?

Errr...yeah. It's a nice one

Gemma giggled. Goochy and Sam smirked. What a div. I should’ve thought of something clever to say, was caught by surprise, didn’t have a fucking clue where to put meself. I tried one last drag but the tab was on the roach, went to flick it in the back alley with me thumb. It bounced off the wall, came back towards us. I looked up to the office window

Better do them forms

Chapter Three

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I buzzed meself back in the hostel, nearly bumped into this fat lass storming down the corridor, eyes on fire, dressed in underwear.

I'm going out, she screamed. I’m not fucking staying here any fucking longer

I pulled meself off the wall, looked round. She was shouting to nobody. The door slammed behind her; silly cow had gone out in the cold wearing silky shorts and vest top, flab bouncing everywhere. The office door was open so I went through, saw Shirley looking stressed.

I hope they haven’t been scrounging tabs off yer?

I don't mind

There was a blokey in there; introduced himself as Ian or something. We went through forms, interrupted by phones, banging on the door. Twice they asked us to leave, said the phone-call was confidential. The fat lass came back in when I was waiting outside, still going off it. Ian went to see her for a bit. I heard him telling her to calm down, get herself dressed. 

Welcome to the hostel they said. It was for sixteen to twenty-one year olds. I could stay for three to six months. They'd try to find us somewhere better after, somewhere more long tem; asked us millions of questions.

Date of birth?

Next of kin?

Explained what it meant; wouldn't let us give our Stacey, said she was too young. I had to give me mother.

Previous address?

Was me reading and writing okay?

I'm not thick if that's what yer think

Did I have a Social Worker?

Youth Offending Worker?

Psychiatrist?

I’ve just done this at the Housing Centre? Don’t yers talk to each other?

Any problems with physical health?

Mental health?

What was me doctors name?

How the fuck did I know? I didn’t invite him round for a bucket did I?

Even wanted to know me national insurance number. How was I supposed to know that? I didn’t even know what it was for.

Health and Safety; what to do if there was a fire

It was obvious wasn't it? Run like fuck.

A list of things yer couldn't take into the hostel. She left space between saying them, wanted me to think about each one.

Drugs

Alcohol

Stolen property

Firearms

Anything that could be considered an offensive weapon

Pornographic material

CB Radio's; whatever they were.

She went through different types of abuse, how they didn’t accept them, even said fighting was abuse.

Complaints

Confidentiality

Basically, they didn't grass on yer

Except for Child Protection; which meant if yer grassed about someone who was under sixteen they’d call social services or the police and yer’d be in the shite

Something about the council not working with yer if yer were kicked out

Loads of house conditions; including them waking yer up at half past nine every weekday morning

She noticed me look, smiled, said people didn’t get up for court and that if they were allowed to sleep all day, stay awake all night.

I had to be back by midnight; the whole house was alarmed.

I could stay out three times a week if I wanted but no more, something about housing benefit.

I was expected to be in me own room, be quiet by midnight.

Fucking hell

They did room checks every week, made sure everyone’s room was tidy, there was no damages or graffiti. I wasn’t allowed a key to the house, only me room, and I wasn’t allowed to let people in, only staff could do that; there was people on the run sometimes, something about domestic violence.

Visitors

They had to be booked in the day before. I was only allowed three a week and only one at a time and there was only allowed to be three every night in the whole hostel. They couldn’t go upstairs. They had to leave by ten. There was none allowed on Sundays. And anyway, there was a ban on them at the moment.

I almost fucking laughed.

I had to make sure me benefits were sorted all the time I was at the hostel or they wouldn’t get housing benefit for us, whatever that was; plus I had to pay seventeen quid a week from me giro for food, leccy, other stuff.

I don't get benefits. I've never had benefits

Does yer mam still get child benefit?

Yeah

"Well she's not entitled to it anymore,