REVIEWS:
Macintyre excels at playing himself in this moving true story of his life. The boy’s a natural. Never have I seen such beautifully executed foot stamping and tantrum throwing, he’s a joy to observe. (A Critic.)
Macintyre follows closely in the fine brat tradition of Scarlett O Hara: impulsive, manipulative, and yet strangely vulnerable and sweet. Kinross is a worthy Rhett Butler to his small, but beautifully formed, partner. Tall, dark, handsome, he conveys a stern, brooding, yet caring, presence that is hard to resist. I look forward to discovering more about this unique and deeply complex relationship (A. Nother Critic.)
I’m sorry, but this is disgusting. Macintyre is in need of intense psychological counselling, as is Kinross. Macintyre’s pride in his unorthodox relationship and lifestyle is unsavoury. (A Bigot.)
I found nothing amusing in this pathetic boy’s tragic life of hell with his oppressive partner. Furthermore, should we really condone the barbarous use of hairbrushes as instruments of retribution? (Miss D Point. Literary critic for the customer message board in Kwik Save Supermarkets.)
The Jack And Danny Chronicles
9: The Post Office Job
It was the night before the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…No, but a bloody cat was.
I, for whom wakefulness had become a way of life, listened to Misty prowling around the room. I stiffened as rustlings and rummaging came from beneath the bed. Shit. The damn moggy was investigating the bundles of mail stashed there. I was going to introduce him to a Great Dane I knew if he woke Jack with his nocturnal nosiness. A scuffing noise made ice droplets form on my brow. Rising quietly I retrieved the bundle of mail that Misty had dragged from beneath the bed and then threw the indignant cat onto the landing quickly closing the door on him. The bedside lamp suddenly snapped on. I whipped the bundle behind my back with my left hand and clamped my right to my chest to try and stop my heart from tearing its way out. “Jesus, Jack!”
“As far as I’m aware I haven’t yet been elevated to such divine heights,” said Jack dryly, swinging long legs over the side of the bed. “What are you doing prowling around at this hour? More to the point, what are you trying to conceal behind your back?”
“Nothing, Jack.”
“Show me.”
“Don’t want to.”
“I’m going to count to three.”
Fuckity, fucking, tinsel and glitter encrusted fuck! Adrian Mole had better luck than me. I silently held the bundle out. Jack blinked slightly, but his colour remained good. “Is that it, just the one bundle of undelivered Royal Mail?”
I didn’t care for the emphasis he put on Royal. Like Anne Boleyn when introduced to Jane Seymour I suspected that my life was about to take a shitty turn. There was a hopeful light in his eyes. I hated myself for quenching it as I slowly shook my head from side to side and pointed towards the bed.
Jack stared at me aghast. In fact I’ve never seen a man so utterly ghasted. The sheer level of his aghastness took me aback as he hauled out small parcels and bundle after bundle of mail. My stomach began to churn and my bottom lip to tremble in the face of it. Deep down I knew I had plumbed the very depths of aghastness.
Jack was not only aghast. He was cross. I could tell by the way he seized each of my wrists in turn, smacking the backs of my hands hard, before turning me round, lowering my shorts, and doing the same to my bottom. “Get back into that bed, young man,” he squeezed the words out from between clenched teeth. “I’m really angry with you…”
The smart mouthed, death wish part of me wanted to say, ‘stuff me, Jack, I’d never have guessed.’ I wisely bit my tongue and hastened to obey my lord and master. My Brownie points were seriously in arrears as it was.
He continued, “...too angry to deal with you properly now. Besides, you need all the sleep you can get, because believe me, my lad, you are going to deliver every last item of that post.”
He gathered the parcels and letters together, piling them into several large plastic bin liners and removing them downstairs.
I snuggled beneath the duvet and despite my stinging extremities and throbbing rump I slept better than I had for ages. I was actually relieved that this particular crime had been discovered. I knew that Jack would help make everything all right, even if a certain part of me had a price to pay for it.
