Officer Smith opened the door, an irascible look on his face. When he saw the body, the look changed to one of horror. He took a step backwards and shouted for help. Another officer soon came running, his shoes echoing in the corridor. Both squeezed in to the cell together. Henry didn’t look at them, just sat motionless, staring at the floor as though he was seeing all the way down to Hell itself.
‘My God,’ Smith proclaimed, edging forward, not sure of the situation, eyes all over Henry to ascertain he had no weapon.
The other officer didn’t move. The blood had drained from his fat face, leaving behind an impression of a white blancmange to which nose and ears had been added as an afterthought. Smith edged back to the door, touched his shoulder.
‘Go and ring for the doctor. I’ll stay here. We can’t move him yet.’
The other officer, glad to be away, rushed back down the corridor.
‘We’ll be moving you to another cell, Torrance,’ Smith said. ‘You won’t be getting out in the morning. This mess will have to be cleared up.’
Henry glared at him, his eyes on fire. ‘He wasn’t a mess. His name was Tom Daly and he was a human being — more human than you.’
Smith dropped his eyes. Sensing Henry might snap and he had no back up, he made no answer.
*
Three days after Tom Daly’s death, on a sunny day tempered by a north east wind, Henry stood at the prison gate. They’d detained him three extra days, but it was clear he had no part in Tom Daly’s death and they’d informed him of that fact as though they were awarding him a merit mark. The screw opening the door for him was one of the better of the breed, coming up to retirement soon, looking forward to it. Another kind of release, Henry supposed.
‘Good luck to you, son. Keep those fists to yourself and you’ll be fine.’
Henry gave him a half smile, couldn’t stretch it to a full one because Tom was on his mind. The fact that his pad mate was lying cold on a mortuary slab had taken a great deal of the gloss off his big day. They’d questioned him about Tom, probing for reasons behind his suicide but he hadn’t given much away, didn’t tell them about the drugs, nor about the incident in the shower. No doubt they’d found evidence of drugs inside Tom and no doubt there’d be a fuss about how he’d procured them, the buck passing between departments to salve consciences. But nothing would change. People like the Jacksons would still hunt down the weak like jackals. And he didn’t feel free of guilt himself. He could have told them who had supplied Tom Daly, didn’t because grassing was anathema ingrained in his psyche.
As the door opened, a gust of wind blasted through, slapped his face, ruffled his hair. The screw withdrew his key, laughed as he stepped aside to let him out.
‘Big Man in the sky trying to tell you something, Torrance, eh? Telling you you’re better off inside, maybe.’
Henry gave him a wry glance. ‘A wind in the face is better than a stab in the back. There’s plenty inside there would do that sooner than look at you — and that’s just the screws.’
The door shut behind him, the noise like a book slamming shut in the funereal quiet of a library, a welcome finality to it. Henry was carrying a parcel which contained his few belongings. The prison car park was fifty yards away. Beyond that lay a desolate, open space, and further off than that nothing but industrial buildings and warehouses. Henry remembered watching a television programme about a lion released into the wild after years in captivity, its first tentative meanderings. Right now, he felt he could identify with that beast faced with vistas to explore after the confines of a cage. As he strode forward, he hoped he’d have half the courage the lion had shown.
He intended to walk the three miles into Middlesbrough, then get a bus to South Bank. After half a mile, he was suddenly conscious of a car behind him matching his speed. He turned to find Mary sitting behind the wheel. She flashed him a smile, braked and wound the window down.
‘Hurry up and get in,’ she said, grinning. ‘I don’t want to be done for kerb crawling.’
Henry glanced up and down the road. Thankfully it was deserted. He climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut, didn’t say anything as she pushed the car into gear, just sank further into his seat and raised his jacket collar.
Mary checked her driving mirror, then, with a twinkle in her blue eyes, looked across at him.
‘Who are you hiding from, Henry?’
He didn’t laugh. They’d agreed to keep a low profile. Mary, bless her, had chanced her arm already and he was only minutes out of prison.
‘Anyone could have seen you,’ he said. ‘Then where would you be? You’d lose your job, wouldn’t you? You think I want to be responsible for that?’
She tossed back her hair, focused on the road ahead. ‘Libraries are dull places. I’ve got to have a little risk in my life.’
‘Driving me to an exotic back street in South Bank isn’t exactly an adventure to die for, is it?’ He realized he’d sounded a real grump, added more gently. ‘But it’s a nice thought and I am grateful.’
‘At last,’ she said, ‘a little appreciation. I had to take a few hours off work to do this you know.’
Henry let the matter drop and soon they were talking in a relaxed way, recapturing the ease that they’d found with each other from their first meeting. His eyes wandered intermittently to the surrounding landscapes. Time had been chiselling away, defacing places which held memories for him, but what surprised him most was the sheer volume of traffic on the roads. Traffic seemed to be coming at him from all directions like swarms of bees. He’d forgotten there were so many people in the world.
Mary took the ring road around Middlesbrough, came off into South Bank. The place had changed, but not as much as he’d geared himself to expect. He detected a change in Mary’s mood when she drove past a row of derelict houses standing like sad survivors of a bombing raid and surrounded by the foundations of those already demolished. Pock-marked walls were decorated with graffiti telling the police how much they weren’t loved, bestowing crudities on local individuals and rival football teams. Further off, like sentinels guarding the fires of Hell, rotund chimneys with fat lips blew smoke clouds into the sky. Welcome to South Bank, Henry thought.
He sighed. ‘It was never your actual Utopia but it’s got worse. I knew people who once lived in those ruins, good people too.’
She didn’t reply and he directed her to the house his aunt had left to him. He was relieved to see the whole terrace was still standing.
A gang of hooded youths was loitering on the street corner. When they saw the car, their heads swung in its direction. Henry could see Mary was troubled by them. He wasn’t enamoured himself. The way they were looking it was like being sized up by predators anxious for fresh meat.
From the outside the house was just as he remembered it and he silently thanked his aunt for her generosity, for saving him from having to enter a hostel. Mary glanced in her mirror at the gang on the corner, opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, then came out with it.
‘Look, you don’t have to stay here. You can come and stay with me in Yarm.’
Henry glanced in the mirror, saw the gang was still watching. Living with Mary in Yarm, the best small town in the North-East, was tempting and he figured most men would have leapt at the chance. But they’d been over this and he hadn’t changed his mind. He smiled and let it go.
‘I’d ask you in,’ he said, ‘but the probation officer will probably call and I don’t trust that lot back there to leave your car alone. They know it doesn’t belong here.’
‘My God,’ she said. ‘It’s like prison if you need to be looking over your shoulder. I’m worried for you, Henry — and you’re avoiding the issue.’
He sighed. ‘We’ve been over this. I’ve nothing to offer you, Mary. Let me settle for a while, try to get a job, get used to everything. What if I can’t cut it and mess up your life as well as my own? You’d lose your job and — maybe we won’t work out.’
&nbs
p; She narrowed her eyes and he could tell she was annoyed.
‘Sounds like you haven’t much faith in us, or any need of me.’
He avoided the eyes probing his, drew in a deep breath. ‘I’ve got faith in you and I do need you. It’s me I’m doubting. It’s all very well me talking. Five years is a long time. I’ve been institutionalized and need to break out of that mould, prove myself to myself. You can see that, can’t you?’
She was silent for a minute, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
‘OK,’ she said, finally. ‘I can see what you’re driving at, but aren’t you making it harder for yourself coming back to a place with more than a passing resemblance to Beirut?’
‘I’m familiar with the area. There are good people here and I have a chance of work, like I’ve told you.’ He stared hard into her eyes. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Mary. You’re everything to me and that’s another reason why I don’t want to leech off you. I’ll get on my feet, be my own man. You’ve got to let me do that.’
Mary seemed to relax a little. He thought he’d convinced her but she wasn’t finished with him yet.
‘Your father and brother didn’t contact you for five years, did they?’
He shook his head, wondering where this was going. ‘Not a word. They’re strangers to me now.’
Mary cocked an eyebrow.’ You’re sure of that? Your father lives on the site. Coming back here isn’t about pride, is it? A perverse need to prove yourself to them?’
He hadn’t thought of it like that, but now he wondered if, somewhere in his subconscious mind, that was part of it.
‘Well, pride maybe. Everybody needs their share. As for my father and brother — it’s a good theory, but I doubt it.’
Mary glanced at her watch. ‘Look at the time. I’d better get going. I’m due in soon.’
Relieved that particular conversation was at an end, he leaned towards Mary, kissed her on the cheek.
‘Thanks for understanding. I want it to work out for us, Mary, believe me I do.’
She smiled across at him. ‘Perhaps you’re right. We’ll give it time. Meanwhile — you be careful.’
As he started to get out, she opened her handbag, took out a mobile phone and handed it to him.
‘Just a little present from the modern world. Use it to keep in touch.’
He thanked her and watched her drive down the street past the gang of youths. He blew out his cheeks. South Bank had made a bad impression on Mary, no doubting that. But there were good people living here, he was sure. He intended to gravitate towards them. The crimes he’d committed in his teenage years had been few and petty, mainly when he’d allowed himself to be led, believing gypsies had to stick together. It had taken prison to mature him. Now, he wanted to be an individual, not a follower.
He let himself into the house, made a quick inspection. It was adequately furnished, clean and, though small, a palace compared to his cell. On the kitchen table, he found a note from his probation officer telling him he’d find tea bags in the cupboard, milk and a few supplies in the fridge. That was an unexpected and welcome touch. When he’d made himself a cup of tea he took it through to the living room, lowered himself into an armchair, and put his feet up. His thoughts then turned back to Mary, how easy it would have been to have gone to live with her in Yarm. He’d upset her, but he was convinced he was in the right. He didn’t want to be the kind of man who went to a woman he loved with nothing to offer.
CHAPTER FOUR
John Walsh kicked idly at a stone. He’d been out of school five months, longer if he counted that last year when he’d never managed a full week’s attendance. The transition from schoolboy to school-leaver hadn’t been a watershed for him, hadn’t felt like a rite of passage into young adulthood like the films sometimes made out. The lives of the five mates, who stood with him near the entrance to an old church, had followed a similar pattern. He watched them now with their hooded tops, stolen designer trainers and attitude, wondering what the future held for any of them. Already they had two friends who were dead, both from drugs. No one in his group had been able to get steady work, were hardly inclined to look anyway. Three of them he’d known since infant school; he could still recall their chubby-faced innocence in those far off days. Now, those same faces had a pinched, feral look. He worried that he might look the same, but doubted it. Miraculously, though he kept company with them, he’d kept off hard drugs, so he figured his looks weren’t quite in their league when it came to a beauty contest for zombies. His future worried him though. Boredom was circling him like a shark, in ever decreasing circles, taking another bite out of his confidence as each monotonous day passed. There surely had to be more to life than hanging around on street corners day after day.
Barry Tonks, the leader of this bunch, nudged him in the ribs, breaking into his reverie.
‘What’s up, Walshy? You look like someone’s just offered you a job.’
‘His last job was at MacDonalds,’ one of the others chipped in. ‘But he turned veggie. Couldn’t even cut the mustard.’
To laughter all round, a third joined in, ‘Couldn’t squeeze it on, could you, Walshy? Kept missing. Just couldn’t hit those burgers.’
John joined in the laughter. At least the banter broke the boredom. Barry Tonks laughed louder and longer than the rest. John didn’t mind that. Barry would never push it too far with him, as he often would with the others. If it came to a fight, the outcome would be uncertain. Barry knew that, couldn’t risk losing. He liked to be the big man and that was fine as long as he left John in peace. Tonks was the leader and that was fine too. John didn’t want to be a leader but he didn’t want to be on the outside looking in either. In South Bank, loners had a hard life. You were either in or out. If you didn’t belong to a gang you had nothing and there were plenty of other gangs willing to make your life hell. It came down to either join up or get out of town. But where could you go?
‘Why are we waiting here, Barry?’ John asked, glancing at the church. ‘Going to rob the vicar, are you?’
Barry stuck out his jaw. His tone was as malicious as the look that came into his eye.
‘One of my runners has been playing up. I’ve heard he passes here round about now.’
John sighed. Barry was a drug dealer. His runners were school kids who delivered the merchandise for him and collected his money in return for a pathetic remuneration. It kept him out of the spotlight and, as long as the kids behaved themselves, reduced the risk he would be caught. His own supplies came from someone higher up the chain. John hated the fact he was using young kids, but nothing he could say would alter the facts of life. Tonks was making money, far more than any of them, and he liked to show it off. In an area where there wasn’t much about, the money gave him respect amongst his peers. Woe betide anyone who tried to interfere. He’d cling to his empire like a dog to a bone.
Minutes later the target of Barry’s anger rode round the corner on a bicycle, head down, concentrating on controlling the bike so didn’t see the gang until he was almost upon them. When he did look up, he saw his fate awaiting him, applied the brakes, but couldn’t stop the forward momentum. Tonks grabbed the handlebars, brought the bike to a halt and the boy shrank back away from him, flinching as though expecting a blow. It never came. Instead, Tonks’ arm snaked out, grabbed his collar, hauled him off the bike and pushed him up against the church wall, held him there like a chicken about to be plucked.
‘Sorry, Barry! Sorry!’ the lad croaked.
Barry shook him. ‘People ring me, tell me my little postman didn’t deliver. What are you trying to do to me? Tell me you didn’t lose the stuff.’
The boy shook his head frantically. ‘I was ill, Barry. Honest! I’m gonna do it tomorrow.’
‘So you didn’t lose the stuff. That’s good. But what about the punters waiting with my money?’ He leaned closer until he was right in the boy’s face. ‘Punters who trust me, but get edgy without their sweeties.’
Barr
y let go of the boy’s throat, smiled down at him. The boy misinterpreted his actions, thought he must have been forgiven and risked a smile of his own.
Barry lost the smile, turned to his audience.
‘Little runt needs a lesson. Maybe I should dump him in the River Tees.’
One of the others said, ‘With a concrete life-jacket, eh, Barry?’ He winked at the group. ‘Like you did to that other kid who disappointed you.’
The kid’s face blanched. John felt sorry for him. He figured he couldn’t have been more than twelve and was terrified.
‘Ha’way, he’s just a kid, Barry man.’ he said, reluctantly. ‘Look at him! He’s wetting his pants. He won’t let you down again.’
Tonks turned and glowered at John. The rest of the gang shuffled their feet, maintained an edgy neutrality. This was business. You didn’t interfere. Cardinal rule! Walshy should know better.
‘There’s no such thing as a kid in South Bank,’ Tonks said in an angry voice aimed at John. ‘They’re all grown up by the time they’re five, old when they reach his age.’
‘But he’s learned his lesson,’ John said. He knew he was pushing it, hoped Tonks would see sense and let it go.
Tonks shifted his gaze back to the boy, eyed him up and down like an angler weighing up his catch, wondering whether to throw it back in, or eat it for supper. He turned back to John.
‘You’re part right. He’s learned his lesson and he is just a scrawny kid, so he’ll just get a slapping to remind him to keep an eye on the ball — my ball.’
Without warning he slapped the kid hard across the face, drew his hand back ready to deliver again. John looked away, told himself the kid had known the rules. He’d done his best to help him. What more could he do?
CHAPTER FIVE
Henry woke on his first morning of freedom luxuriating in the novelty of a soft double bed, the absence of prison sounds and the privacy his own house afforded. Last night he’d been content to stay in and watch television, had no desire to go out and paint the town red like most of the cons on their release. He knew men who had gone wild that first night, channelled all their stored up emotions into an orgy of drinking and other excesses, then committed another offence and woke up back behind bars again. Once, he might have wanted to celebrate like that, but he had no desire to do so now. It was enough to be free and know Mary was there for him.
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