Berserk, p.1
Berserk, page 1
Praise for Ally Kennen’s novels
BEAST
“Rings with talent and compelling detail . . . a tense, funny and touching tale. I really love this book”
Amanda Craig, The Times
“Beast has a tension that never lets up. Ally Kennen is already a remarkably assured writer”
Nicholas Tucker, Independent
“An extraordinary imaginative achievement . . . this is a compassionate story from an exciting new voice”
Bookseller
“Sharply and wittily observed . . . An exceptional first novel”
Books for Keeps
WINNER of the Manchester Book Award
SHORTLISTED for the CILIP Carnegie Medal, the Booktrust Teenage Prize, the Branford Boase Award, the Berkshire Book Award, the Leicester Book Award and the Bolton Book Award
BERSERK
“This absolute nail-biter, written in clever and convincing teenage vernacular, has an ending of stunning ingenuity”
Sunday Times
“Written with a verve and confidence that never lets up. Very funny . . . this excellent novel well deserves the large audience it should get”
Independent
“The sure-footed blend of deadpan humour with gritty, urban realism in this sharply observed novel will readily engage young adult readers”
Guardian
“Chas and his troubled mates flirt with danger, girls and law-breaking in this humorous, gritty story . . . an irresistible farce-come-thriller”
Booktrusted.com
WINNER of the North East Teenage Book Award and the Leicester Book Award
SHORTLISTED for the Manchester Book Award, the West Oxfordshire Book Award and the Coventry Inspiration Book Award
BEDLAM
“A hot paced, nail-chewing thriller with enormous brio, great style and a frosting of wicked wit”
Guardian
“Bedlam grips right from its opening pages. Kennen builds tension almost unbearably, leaving the reader guessing the possible outcome almost to the end”
Books for Keeps
“Kennen’s usual mix of villainous and vulnerable characters come together to create a chilling, atmospheric thriller”
Bookseller Children’s Buyer’s Guide – Highlight of the Season
“I absolutely loved reading this book . . . tense and intelligent . . . Dark humour bubbles below the surface and just as you’re getting slightly breathless, a sucker punch catches you straight from leftfield and you find yourself in fits of laughter”
Thebookbag.co.uk
“Readers will be gripped from start to finish by this dramatic and compelling book”
Booktrusted.com
LONGLISTED for the CILIP Carnegie Medal 2010
QUARRY
“I cannot fault Kennen when it comes to originality. From her story setting and characters to her dares, all are completely original. She managed to take a simple game of dares and turn it into a thrilling story that gave me chills. Excellent!”
YA Book Reads
“The author has a creative skill that draws the reader into the world of the characters. So if, like me, you haven’t read any of Ally’s other books, then I would recommend reading them just on the strength of this book”
Mr Ripley’s Enchanted Books
“This is all excellent, page-turning stuff. . . Quarry will reassure [Ally Kennen’s] older fans that her grip on noir is as muscular as ever”
Guardian
“Gripping to the last, and teeming with wonderfully drawn characters. . . Kennen has created a wonderful, likeable character struggling to keep his sanity in this entertaining thriller”
Bookseller: Children’s Bookseller’s Choice
“This is both involving and scary, and presents an ultra-modern story with a twist”
Telegraph
ALLY KENNEN comes from a proud lineage of bare-knuckle boxers, country vicars and French aristocracy. Prior to becoming a writer, she has worked as an archaeologist, a giant teddy bear and a professional singer and songwriter.
Her first novel, BEAST, published in 2006, was shortlisted for the Booktrust Teenage Prize and the Carnegie Medal, and won the 2007 Manchester Book Award. Her second novel, BERSERK, won the North-East Teenage Book Award and the Leicester Book of the Year Award 2008. In total, her dark and thrilling teen novels have been nominated for over eleven literary awards.
Ally lives in Somerset with her husband, three children, four chickens, and a curmudgeonly cat.
No woman has ever beaten Ally in an arm wrestle.
Also by Ally Kennen
SPARKS
BEAST
BEDLAM
QUARRY
BULLET BOYS
For my parents
Edwin and Jenny Kennen
Thanks to
Ian at A1 Driving School
Dan Amos
Michelle Poulter at Bristol Alliance
Dr S. Odum at Frenchay A&E
Marion Lloyd
C o n t e n t s
Cover
Praise for Ally Kennen’s novels
About the Author
Title page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Part Two
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part Three
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Copyright
P A R T O N E
O n e
It was Devil who had my finger. We were hanging around under the bridge with the usual crowd: the Farrow twins, Connor Blacker, Devil’s sister – Lexi – and her ugly mate Debs. It was the tip of my middle finger on my left hand. Imagine how embarrassing it is to lose your rude finger when you are a boy like me! How am I supposed to express myself?
So anyway we were messing around on the towpath by the canal. There’s like, a million names tagged on the underside of the bridge. It reminds me of one of those war memorials you get, with all the names of the dead soldiers.
My name is one of the recent ones.
CHAS PARSONS.
I’m right below Devil but there are other names which I can’t stop looking at. Right over the other side there’s one which is sprayed in massive pink letters.
SELBY P and next to it in clear white curling letters it says COLD BOY and there’s a fist drawn around both names.
These are my brothers’ tags. They’re not around.
The other tags I look at are dead centre of the arch, halfway up. They’ve got moss over them and are pretty faded but we don’t let anyone spray over them.
J.JUBY
That’s Devil’s dad.
NAPPY PARSONS
And that’s my old man.
It’s a family tradition.
Anyway, enough of the history lesson. It was a school night and it was getting dark and we were all messing around with Devil’s knife and having intellectual discussions. Like this:
Devil:
“Hey, Debs, why don’t you show us your bra?”
Debs:
“Tee hee hee.”
Lexi:
“Shut up, you perv.”
I’d have rather seen Lexi’s bra (or what’s inside it) any day. But Lexi is Juby-the-Killer’s daughter. Juby lives on our estate and his daughter is as untouchable as your schoolteacher’s knickers.
We were playing “Knife”, where you spread your hand on someone’s skateboard and your mate stabs the knife between each of your fingers, slowly at first, then quicker and quicker. Connor Blacker had already scraped Devil’s little finger so I suppose Devil was after some blood of his own. Anyway, the girls hated it, they were like, “Stop it, someone will get hurt.” Girls are like that, I find. So the more they go on, the more we do it.
I’m getting bad vibes when it’s my turn. I’m already annoyed because my box-fresh trainers have got canal mud on them. Devil keeps licking his bleeding finger and shooting shifty looks at Debs (the man has no taste, Debs hardly counts as female). But Lexi is watching so I put my hand down on the board and give Devil the knife. I decide to put down my left hand just in case. It was like I knew something bad was going to happen.
Connor’s supposed to be holding the board steady but he’s not concentrating.
“If dogs remember their ancestors were wolves, do ovens remember their ancestors were fires?” he goes.
He’s always coming out with random crap like this.
“Shut up,” I say. “Focus.” After all, this is my hand at risk, here.
It’s quite hard to cut off a finger. They don’t just wave bye-bye to your hand and tippy-tap away. There has to be some sawing involved. But Devil keeps his knife very sharp and he reckons he’s good at this game. So he’s going faster and faster with the knife and not being careful enough for my liking.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. The knife jumps between my fingers.
“Stoppit,” squeal the ladies and the Farrow twins start cla pping in time to the knife falling. Then they start clapping faster. And I really don’t like the look on Devil’s face (it’s not pretty at the best of times). Devil’s slamming down between my fingers now and Connor is having a job holding the skateboard steady.
“That’s enough,” says Lexi. “You children.”
But it’s too late. Connor loses his grip and the skateboard goes flying off into the wall. I feel this pinch and my middle finger is missing from the top joint.
“Oops,” says Devil, and Debs lets out a scream.
I don’t feel anything. This isn’t so bad, I think to myself. Everyone is looking a bit freaked out so I raise my hand and waggle my remaining fingers at them.
Someone mutters something about playing the piano but no one laughs.
Then the blood starts pouring out.
“You bastard,” I say to Devil, as the pain kicks in. It’s like my finger has been slammed in a car door. I’m boiling hot, and then I’m shivering with cold. It hurts even though it isn’t there any more. It’s like shoving your finger into a red-hot oven.
“Ahhhh,” I say and the world gets bits in it, like when the TV isn’t tuned in properly.
“Chas,” shrieks Debs.
“It’s nothing,” I tell her, though actually I don’t think I can stand this. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I pass out.
I wake up and I’m still under the bridge. Nobody has called an ambulance. Nobody has got me a bag of frozen peas to put on my stump. In fact, there’s nobody here at all. I sit up. I feel dizzy and my finger REALLY hurts. All I want to do is get home and get some painkillers. It’s like my finger is being turned inside out and I’m panting like a dog.
“Ouch,” I say and try to breathe slower.
It’s quite dark now and beginning to drizzle. The towpath is deserted except some old bloke and his dog, which is pissing up against a lifebelt. Where’s the rest of my finger?
“Devil,” I shout. “Where are you?” My voice breaks.
The old man looks in my direction, yanks his dog, mid-piss, and hurries off. My stump is oozing blood as thick as gravy. I haven’t got a tissue so I take my cap off, fold it over a few times and press it against the wound.
The pain, strangely enough, comes booming in from my stomach before zooming up my ribs, down my arm and ending in an explosion in my finger. I don’t cry though. I’m not the sort.
I start feeling around in the grass with my good hand, looking for my finger, but then I get scared about dog turds. I have to find it, or they won’t sew it back on in the hospital.
To my relief, I see a shimmer of blue flashing lights up on the road. I bet it was Lexi who called me an ambulance. Maybe she’ll be with them and will hold my (scary) hand all the way to the hospital. They’ll have lots of lovely painkillers there.
But then this thing rolls out from behind the bridge and grabs my scruff.
Devil.
I swear at him and tell him I’m going to kill him. But I sound like a gasping old man.
“Run,” he says, ignoring my death threat. “Some old biddy saw the knife and called the police.”
So that’s why everyone scarpered. We all got a warning about knives from Polly Panda about a month ago. And today, we’ve been drinking, and our cans and bottles are lying around everywhere.
“I can’t run,” I say, “I’m too weak.”
“I didn’t cut your feet off, did I?” says Devil, and drags me after him.
He’s pretty thick, is Devil. But every now and then he comes out with a corker like that.
“But what about my finger?” I say as we are legging it over the grass.
“Forget it,” says Devil. “It’s gone.”
I am in a bit of a dilemma. Do I go back to find my finger and meet the lovely kind policeman who will be interested in all the naughty stuff we kids have left behind, or do I keep my freedom and lose my finger to some tramp’s mangy dog?
“What do you need it for anyway?” says Devil. “You’ve got nine others.”
“Seven, Devil,” I say. Then I feel really sick and I think I’m going to faint again.
“You’ve got to get me to hospital,” I say.
“No way,” says Devil. “I’m not getting caught up with them.”
We make our way along the towpath. When we get to the trees Devil grabs my hand, and accidentally knocks my finger.
“Aarrgh!” I can’t help yelling really loud.
“Let’s see,” says Devil. He holds my hand up and whips off the bloody hat. I’m too weak to stop him.
“It’s nothing,” he says, dropping my hand. “You don’t need to go to hospital. All them nosey doctors an’ that.”
Devil hates anyone in uniform. I can understand his feelings towards police officers and traffic wardens, but he also doesn’t like paramedics, nurses, postmen, shop assistants, even school kids.
“It’s dark,” I protest. “You can’t see properly. My finger is missing, Devil.”
“I’ll take you home on the back of my bike,” says Devil. “You wuss.”
I am feeling really shitty now, so I just have to go along with him. I’m totally in his hands. Devil is sort of my best mate. But he’s pretty twisted. He can be well lairy and isn’t scared of using his fists. He’s got a short fuse and when he gets annoyed, he takes it out on the weak, whoever they are.
This is why I act hard when I’m around him.
It’s a few hours later. I’ve got my finger all padded up with bog roll and the bleeding seems to be stopping at last. I’ve found some ibuprofen in the cabinet and necked a couple. The pain is just about bearable as long as I don’t touch the wound. Part of me wants to run downstairs and show it to Gran, and get her to call me an ambulance, but in a way I don’t want anyone to know. I feel really weird about it.
It’s the sort of thing that would really freak Mum out. She’s got problems. She always has. But she’s doing really well at the moment, and I don’t want her upset. And to be honest, I can’t quite believe it myself. I’ve lost my finger! And knowing Gran, she’d find out who did it using her granny underground and go round and try to smack Devil one round the head. I don’t want Gran going round Devil’s house, not because of Devil, though he is dangerous in the wrong hands (he’s dangerous with any hands – especially mine) but because of his dad.
Have I mentioned Juby?
Devil and Lexi’s dad is about five foot eight, the same size as me, but that’s where the similarity ends. He’s not human. He’s nails. It’s like he’s made of bricks and wood and metal. He’s square all the way down and he hasn’t got a neck. He’s got HATE tattooed on his knuckles. He’s moody and, according to Devil, can be very, very mean. He’s not around that much and Devil and Lexi spend a lot of time home alone. I shouldn’t think they mind too much. Juby delivers cars for people but Devil told me this was a cover-up, and really he’s part of a ring that knocks off stuff from stately homes and mansions. He’s a middleman. So he’s not exactly straight but neither is he a major-league criminal. I don’t go round to Devil’s house if I know Juby’s in. Apparently he’s known my dad since they were kids but my dad has made sure he’ll never be welcome back in this estate again. If I meet someone and they find out that Nappy Parsons is my dad it’s like they’re sympathetic and disgusted at the same time. I’ve seen it over and over again. He’s a total alky waster and would steal the shoes off his own grandmother. No one seems to miss him. Anyway, back to Juby, two years ago, Devil, me and Connor were messing around out near the bus stop. Me and Devil thought it would be funny to hang Connor upside down from the bus shelter. Connor wasn’t happy but we were only mucking around. Juby turned up and went bananas.
“So you think you’re bully boys, hey?” And he slapped Devil round the head and shoved me out of the way so hard I tripped backwards on the pavement and landed on my bum. Juby got out a knife, cut Connor free (which ruined all our school ties) and lifted him down. He pointed his knife at me and said if we ever did that again he’d teach us a lesson we’d never forget. It was only a laugh. Anyway, afterwards Connor said he was more worried about Juby than being upside down. So now I stay well out of Juby’s way and I don’t want my grandma going round his house yelling her head off.
