Just a Small Town: A powerful and hardhitting literary novella perfect for fans of Shuggie Bain

By Paul Linggood

Four young people fight to survive the streets, in this gritty novella about those left behind: “Compulsive reading.” —Mick Finlay, author of the Arrowood mysteries

Industry is in decline. The streets are in decay. Many have gone—while those who remain seek escape in drugs.

Alex consumes heroin to forget his abusive father. Jim hides from guilt about the friend he didn’t save. Chelsi’s brother killed a local boy, and ostracism pushes her toward a rival gang, prostitution, and loneliness. Danny is a hustler, but needs protection from the drug gang that supplies him.

Can any of them endure against the odds in a town that could be anywhere in a world of addiction, crime, isolation, and manipulation?

Debut author Paul Linggood raises challenging questions about a society that has become increasingly violent, in this novella of gripping suspense and gut-wrenching realism.

“Each helpless soul, from the middle-aged labourers down the pub, to the hustling teenagers . . . are woven together by one common denominator.” —Stephen Scarcliffe, author of the Chemical Estate series

“Brings a feral world to life.” —Helen Marshall, author of The Migration

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781504089562

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

ALEX

Alex sat in the cell, staring at the same graffiti he’d stared at for the last twelve hours. They were the usual tags and scribblings – like ‘ fuck the Old Bill’ and ‘ Dairwell on tour 04’ . On the floor by the door were three plates of half eaten microwave meals. They tasted like shit but he always ordered as many as he could when he was there. It was his right.

He’d waited in the corridor when he first arrived. A pig next to him as he sat in a plastic chair, waiting while a cleaner sorted the mess left by the previous prisoner. Had she been ill or just making a dirty protest? Alex wasn’t sure, especially when he’d seen the woman as she left. The usual look: gaunt, with wild eyes.

‘Sometimes people with problems can have accidents,’ the pig had said, as the cleaner went in.

Imagine being so wrecked that you couldn’t control your body. Maybe the woman was like it all the time, her organs damaged from years of abuse. Fuck being like that. As disgusting as it was, Alex liked to think that it was a protest. Have that, piggies.

Why did they always take so long? They could at least have let him know where he stood. He wondered if Jim got away. Of course he did, Jim always got away.

He was clucking for a fag. He was 16 now, at least he could smoke legally.

At least it weren’t as bad as the last time he got nicked, a few months before. It had been his birthday. The incident had happened ages before, but they chose to come and arrest him on his fucking birthday. Tossers. He could still remember the she-pig at the counter when she asked for his date of birth.

‘What a lovely present for you,’ she’d said, laughing.

His ears pricked up every time somebody walked past, or every time a key jangled. Every noise gave him hope, but it was always for someone else.

He wouldn’t let them break him. All this talk of deterrents and lesson learning, it was bollocks. Being isolated for an age was never nice, but it wouldn’t change him.

Fuck ’em.

One thing Alex wasn’t looking forward to when he got out – whenever that might be – was facing the Old Man. He was on the warpath at the best of times, he didn’t need much of an excuse. The bloke had some front, acting like he was a fucking saint. Tony Bradley – purest of men. Give over. Fuck knows what he’d done in his youth.

Sometimes he thought about doing him over – on one of them nights when he lay there slaughtered – but even when he was out of it, he was still dangerous. Like a drunk bear. One of these days, though.

He looked at the graffiti again. He didn’t know why. It was amazing how many times you could lie there, on that two inch thin mattress, staring at the ceiling and walls, as if you were going to find something different.

He thought again of the woman who’d been in the cell before. What had she done, smeared it on the walls or something? There were quite a few crackheads from Dairwell. Sometimes they were alright, but they were desperate and ruthless. Always trying to sell or steal something. When he was younger he’d been jacked by a couple of them. Their eyes were the same as the woman from the cell: wild. Bastards took his bike; just snatched it off him. It was the eyes that had scared him as much as the knife. The eyes that said they were willing to do anything.

The Old Man went mad that time; said he should have put up more of a fight – they’d only just got him the bike and he’d lost it already. Mum crying and pleading. She could never make a difference, but she tried bless her.

Things weren’t actually as bad then, with Mum there. The Old Man was calmer.

The key jangled outside. The lock clanked then the door swung open.

‘C’mon then,’ the pig said, as he stood at the doorway.

The duty solicitor was late as usual. He came with a shoddy suit, shuffling his papers and stinking of coffee. This bloke would be no help. He didn’t give a shit, just going through the motions after a long arse career.

Alex had never been in an interview like this before. He was used to police in uniform interviewing him. Not these suits from C.I.D. One was a bloke, tall and thin, with a soft voice, spoke all reassuring and with respect – tried to make him relax. The other was a woman, squat and silent, staring. Proper cow. Every now and again she would pipe up, each time with an accusation. They were good cop, bad cop. He’d never thought that actually existed.

‘Right, where were we,’ the tall one said, as the solicitor sat down next to Alex.

‘You do know how serious this is don’t you Alex?’ the devil woman said.

‘No comment,’ said Alex.

The solicitor sat expressionless and scratched his face.

‘Not answering is only going to harm your defence,’ said the tall one. ‘The only way you are going to get out of here any time soon is if you comply and admit your guilt. Now, as I asked you before, was James Jones involved or did you act alone?’

‘No comment.’

The devil woman sighed.

‘Look,’ the tall one said. ‘We know things haven’t been great for you at home lately… since your mother—’

‘You’ve got no right to talk to me about her. What’s it got to do with anything?’

‘I understand that you are upset. It’s just that this is not your first crime. Shoplifting, assault and now this. There is only so long we can be lenient with you because of your situation.’

Alex sat in silence, staring into space.

‘Now. About James Jones…’

‘No comment.’

The guy had never wanted to press charges – the Old Bill just took it into their own hands as usual. Alex hadn’t realised it was that bad. Hospital and everything. They had no evidence anyway; no witnesses and Alex wouldn’t talk.

It was six in the morning and a long walk home. He had no money for a bus and they’d taken his phone, so he just trudged across the town, through all the areas. He even walked through the shithole that was Chedhall. He hadn’t been there since some birthday party at junior school.

After about an hour he was back in Dairwell, walking in his road. Seven o’clock, and the street was coming to life with vans driving past and people walking to bus stops or old fellas strolling to get their papers. The Old Man would be asleep at this time, surely? Hopefully had a skinful and was just lying there on the couch.

Alex stood in his front garden and took a deep breath. He got the key from under the plant pot and gently opened the door.

The Old Man was on the couch, his chest heaving as he snored. Alex crept upstairs – feet spread out on each side of the steps to stop them creaking.

He knew what would happen tomorrow. He was in for it. They’d caused a bit of an uproar in the street – everyone would be talking about it. The Old Man would know. If there was somewhere, anywhere else he could have gone, he would. There were friends that would take him in – Jim had done many times. But at seven in the morning? He got on well with Jim’s mum Sue, but he doubted she’d be happy if he knocked that early. He was too tired to just sit up at the shops – his whole body ached. He hadn’t slept a wink in the cell. After the interview they’d just left him in there, sweating. They knew then they weren’t going to charge him, they just wanted him to suffer.

He had to face him sooner or later, anyway.

Alex did feel bad about it though. He never set out to hurt someone. He just spent so much time feeling angry, he lost control sometimes. Maybe he was becoming like the Old Man. He lit up a fag and smoked it out the window.

Fuck the Old Man and fuck the Old Bill.

He crept to the toilet. Big old sleep after a piss – then face the drama. But he heard movement downstairs.

Fucked.

He sprang from the toilet and into his room, closing the door behind him.

He stood with his back to the door, listening.

Downstairs the living room door slammed. The heavy footsteps up the stairs.

‘You’re the fucking talk of the street!’ The Old Man shouted. He was on the landing now – would be coming in any second.

One day he wouldn’t have to put up with this. One day he was gonna smash the prick.

‘You fucking hear me you little cunt?’

Alex took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

CHAPTER TWO

JIM

As he sat in the crowded bedroom, Jim Jones looked at them and wondered if they were actually his friends. All three of them. Did he trust anyone there?

He didn’t trust Nick. Shit, he didn’t even like him anymore. It was Nick’s house, this was the only reason Jim saw him – even associated with him – as selfish as that sounded. Nick’s mum didn’t give a toss and he was allowed to have people round smoking and the rest of it while his little sister was in the next bedroom. Jim felt sorry for her. The girl had no hope.

He used to be alright, did Nick. He was in a bit of trouble as a kid – stealing cars and stuff like that. Despite this, he had a decent nature. It was his mum that changed him. Shagging every Tom, Dick and Harry in the town – she’d even had a couple of his mates. Having a mother like that was going to have some effect. There was also the fact that he and Joe had started banging coke up their nose most nights. Since that, Nick had become the most selfish prick you could ever meet. An arrogant sponge, absorbing and absorbing and giving nothing in return. As Nick saw it, anything brought into his house was his, so he had the