Free Ghosts and Lightning by Trevor Byrne

It’s mad seein him like this. Nice, though. He pats the Nike bag and unslings it, then puts it on the lino.
    —Wait and yeh see this, Anto.
    —Ant’ny, says Bernadette.
    —Ant’ny, says Maggit. He looks at Anthony. —Go on so, he says. —Open it.
    Anthony takes hold o the zipper and pulls it back. Bernadette arches her head for a better view. Cakeface and Redser peep over Anthony’s shoulders and Anthony reaches into the bag. He pulls out the jumble o plastic and wires and plugs and joypads. I can see now that the stickers are them football ones yeh collect for the sticker books.One o them’s Damien Duff, from when he used to play for Blackburn Rovers.
    —Playstation, says Anthony.
    Maggit nods his head. —Yeah, he says. —The Playstation. That’s a great one that, isn’t it? Isn’t that the one all the big boys have?
    Cakeface and Redser and Anthony look at each other.
    —Playstations are stupid, says Anthony.
    —Wha? says Maggit.
    Anthony’s turnin one o the joypads in his little hands. —They’re gank, da. Playstation 2s are good.
    He holds up the joypad and Maggit takes it, lookin at it like it’s some unfathomable fossil, alien and infinitely strange.
    —That’s the old one da, says Anthony. —That’s Playstation 1.
    Maggit stands up. He looks crumpled or somethin, dead deflated. He places the joypad on the drainin board.
    —Jaysis. Is that one no good then? It still plays games and that doesn’t it?
    —It’s no use, says Cakeface.
    —No use? says Maggit. He looks at the kid and the sensitive Maggit disappears instantly. —Wash yer fuckin face you, will yeh?
    —Don’t talk to my son like that, says one o the single mothers, standin up. She flicks her floppy pink fringe and stubs out her cigarette. —He’s only a bleedin child. C’mere to me Kyle.
    Kyle starts to cry.
    —Yeh alright? I say, and reach out to rub his head. Me palm comes back sticky with cream and jam.
    —Fuck.
    Kyle runs over to his mother.
    —Don’t fuckin curse in front o my son, says Pink Fringe. —Don’t mind them Kyle, she says, huggin the bawlin child.
    —Wha did I do?
    Pink Fringe kisses Kyle’s sweetened head.
    —I think yiz better go, says Bernadette.
    —I’m only here two fuckin minutes, says Maggit.
    —Yeah, and yiv worked fuckin wonders. Gerrout.
    Maggit scoops up his empty bag.
    —I’m entitled to see me own son, Bernadette, he says.
    Bernadette walks over, picks up the Playstation and shoves it into Maggit’s arms.
    —Yeah, yeh are. And if yeh bring robbed stuff into this house again I’m entitled to phone the fuckin police. That fair?
    —It’s not robbed. Is it Denny?
    I’m sayin fuck all. Last time I’m ever comin over here, I swear. Fuckin nightmare.
    —I’ll get yeh somethin better durin the week, Anto. Yeah? An Action Manjeep or one o them other Playstations. The new ones.
    Anthony nods.
    —With Tekken 3? he says.
    —Yeah, no probs. Anythin yeh want. Tekman 3 and loads o other ones.
    —Tekken, not Tekman, Cakeface shouts over, between sobs.
    —Tekken, yeah. That’s wha I said. Right.
    He leans down and hugs Anthony.
    —See yeh son, he says. —And happy birthday.
    *
    —That went well.
    —Don’t start Denny.
    We’re cuttin through the Lawns. Well, cuttin through an under 11s five-a-side, to be exact. The kids stop and look at us. One o them picks up the ball.
    —That’s a free, says a kid on the other team. —Handball.
    —There’s people on the pitch yeh sap, says the fella with the ball. He’s small, with a snotty, runny nose.
    I look at Maggit.
    —Wha d’yeh mean, don’t start? Don’t start wha?
    —Yeh know wha I mean Denny. Just don’t fuckin start.
    The kids are gettin indignant now.
    —Gerroff the pitch!
    —We’re in extra time yiz pricks!
    There are ten mucked-up faces glarin at us. Most o them are wearin Liverpool or United jerseys. One o them’s hopped on the bandwagon early and he’s wearin a Chelsea jersey. The biggest kid is in United’s