Joe's Story

The growing pains of a teenage boy

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10. Rob to the rescue sc

Chapter 10 Rob to the rescue

   I was in the middle of a photo shoot when Joe phoned me with a call for help. He had sounded a bit hysterical.

   I had been so busy, that I’d clean forgotten Gill’s earlier call asking me to look out for Joe as her mother had fallen and she was rushing off leaving his birthday party unsupervised by an adult.

   The background noise was so bad I could hardly hear him; he had ended up shouting down the phone. “Please hurry, Rob,” then the phone went dead as the call ended.  Thankfully, I was working in the area and so was able to respond.

   Passing a chemist on the way to the tube station I decided to pop in and get myself some protection just in case.

   I took a taxi from the station only to have to abandon it some distance from the house because of the number of cars jamming the road.

   Walking I approached the house where the party was. The first thing that hit me was a blast of sound. The so called music was so loud that I could hardly think.

   Thankfully, pre-warned by the earlier phone call, I put in the cotton wool earplugs I had bought, at least they made the sound quieter.

   Outside the house the pavements were alive with teenagers shouting at each other. Some I could see were drunk, very drunk indeed.

   Trying my best to avoid any physical contact with them, I moved towards the front door. I had almost made it, when a girl was violently sick, just missing my shoes. Stepping over the vomit, I quickly ran for it.

   Once inside I pushed my way through the mass of moving bodies.

   One minute the music was blaring out, the next there was golden silence. I had pulled out the plug and switched on the main lights, I stood on a chair and announced in a loud clear voice.  “THE PARTY’S OVER. WOULD YOU ALL PLEASE LEAVE.”

   Someone shouted, “Put the ‘effing’ music back on.” That set the crowd chanting, “We want the effing music.”

   No way could I compete with that racket, so I decided extreme measures were called for.

   The noise of the personal alarm I had bought at the chemist shrieking out certainly helped clear the place and once outside the police, who had arrived by then, took over.

   Looking around I felt sick to see Gill’s beautiful house in such a state. The bastards had left marks all over the antique furniture, drink stains and cigarette burns. Some jerk had even scribbled obscenities in biro on the paintwork.

   While surveying the damage, I came across Joe sitting on the floor crying. The poor boy was obviously in shock for he kept on repeating, “Oh what will my mum say?” again and again.

 

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