Free The Red Road by Stephen Sweeney Page A

knocked-down prices. This was largely the realm of the
sixth formers, who would delight in charging two pounds for a can of
Coke and a (small) bag of Wotsits. Naturally, I avoided shopping
there as much as possible, unless someone I trusted was working the
window (and even then, the ‘discounts’ were rare). I tended to
bring my own treats in from home, locking them securely in my own
trunk, which lived under my bed. Sometimes I even sold what I had to
the other boys if they were feeling hungry.
    The second best activity to
therefore get involved in, as far I was concerned, was the so-called
“World Film Club”. The idea behind this was simple – every
other Tuesday night a foreign film would be shown, picked by the boys
that ran the club. The club would have three main draws – first and
foremost, it took place during evening prep, meaning that instead of
studying, we were permitted to go and watch a film. Secondly, the
film was shown in a building that was somewhat detached from the main
grounds of the school and wasn’t frequented by the teachers all
that often. The film would be set up, and the teachers on duty,
having made sure everything was okay and we had everything we needed,
would then leave us to it. And the third reason? It was world cinema.
Non-English. Underground art house stuff. And to a group of thirteen
and fourteen-year-old boys, that basically meant porn.
    Sign-ups for the World Film Club at
the start of the year would be huge, about thirty or forty boys
parting with twenty pounds each to join. These came mostly in the
form of the first years and any new arrivals to the second year. For
the price, the attendees would get to watch the film and enjoy
complementary snacks. The snacks rarely happened, and while some
likely expected bottles of Coke, popcorn, crisps and chocolates, what
got laid on was more like boiled sweets and mints.
    I didn’t get a chance to run the
club myself. Two boys, Rory Smith and Marvin Trent, took charge from
the previous administrators, choosing as their first film a movie
called Delicatessen .
    The initial turnout was huge, more than
forty boys cramming themselves into the television room. The number
halved within the first hour as people described the film as both
boring and total crap. Some were also put off by the subtitles, an
objection I found totally baffling given the name of the club they
had joined. English might be widely spoken, but that didn’t mean
every film would be in that language. In fact, few were.
    Hoping that
some sort of pornography (or at least a naked woman or two, coupled
with an explicit sex scene) might still be on the cards, the second
film was attended by just eight, including myself, Rory and Marvin.
Luc Besson’s Le Grand Bleu was the next film that Marvin
chose, though despite this being an English-language film it still
failed to convince most to stay. Out of the initial fifty or so boys
that had signed up for the club, only two returned regularly.
    Oddly, no one asked for their money
back. And after the numbers had dwindled sufficiently, we would
indeed start to rent out the more sexy stuff.

    ~ ~ ~

    “Three tubes of Pringles?” I
asked, as Rory began setting up.
    “No, just two; I’m keeping one
of them,” Rory said. “The Barbecue ones,” he added, as I
reached for the tube. That left the Original and the Sour Cream. Not
to worry, I liked both. There were only five of us here tonight,
three third years, one second year and one first year, so there were
enough Pringles to go around.
    “What are we watching?” I asked.
“Not another horror film, I hope.”
    “Are you still freaked out from Hellraiser ?” Marvin chuckled.
    “Okay. One, that attic scene was
gross. And second, I did see the dead body of a murdered schoolboy,”
I reminded them.
    “Get over it,” Rory said,
attempting to tune in the video that had, for some reason, been
dismantled from the last time. “And, no, it’s not a horror film.
We’re not getting