Stone Cold

by Taylor, Peter

  ‘Apologies accepted. Whatever the offence committed, no matter the gravity.’

  She was in a good mood. Henry laughed, feeling his own life was on the up at last.

  ‘I’ve talked about horses all night,’ he explained. ‘Talking a load of manure, probably.’

  ‘But it’s interesting manure,’ she said,’ and I’m glad to hear there are people like Mr Fairbrother around.’

  ‘It won’t pay much,’ Henry mused, ‘even if I work full time.’

  Mary looked at him, face in serious mode. ‘I’d rather you did something you liked than be well paid and miserable.’

  ‘That’s how I see it.’

  He considered how lucky he was that Mary was warm and wise. Maybe five years of prison life was a price worth paying to have a gem like her come into his life. Was the wealthy Peter Fairbrother, whom he deemed a good man, as lucky with his woman, he wondered?

  ‘That brother of yours hasn’t bothered you again?’ Mary suddenly said.

  The change of subject caught him by surprise, made him hesitate. He’d decided not to tell her about Barry Tonks visiting the hall because he didn’t want Frank’s shadow looming over another evening. But she had asked him outright, was looking him straight in the eye, and he didn’t want to lie to her. With some reluctance, he told her what had happened and about the threat he was sure had come from his brother.

  ‘He wouldn’t dare,’ she said, eyes wide with amazement.

  Henry shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

  Mary pondered it for a moment, shook her head in denial. ‘It would be too risky for him — I mean — arson.’

  ‘When there’s money involved some people will do anything and one sure thing is that my brother likes money.’

  ‘But it’s your father’s money involved, isn’t it? Not his.’

  ‘Ultimately Frank’s, when the old feller dies. Apart from my share that is, though as far as I’m concerned he can keep it.’

  Mary bit her lip. ‘You haven’t seen your father yet?’

  ‘You know how I feel about that.’

  ‘Maybe your father would take a different point of view, wouldn’t condone Frank’s behaviour. After all, people change.’

  ‘In his case,’ Henry said bitterly, ‘that’s too big to swallow, be like snow in summer.’

  Mary tilted her jaw at him. ‘You should go see your father. What happened at Appleby Fair is hearsay. Even if it’s true, your father might not know what your brother’s doing to you — might call him off.’

  Henry’s feelings went too deep on the subject. He found it difficult to hide his scorn for her optimism. She didn’t know his family.

  ‘Nice people like you, Mary, always believe there’s a good streak in the worst of us and all you need is to find the right button to press.’

  Anger flared in her eyes. He wished he’d adopted a different tone, not used her as a target for his frustration.

  ‘Don’t patronize me, Henry, especially when you don’t really believe what you’re saying — when your own actions belie your words.’

  Henry blushed. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

  ‘John Walsh! You think you can help him, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s different!’

  ‘No, it isn’t! Your father must have some good in him, surely?’

  Henry fell silent. He didn’t like arguing with Mary even if he thought she was way off the mark as far as his father was concerned.

  ‘Point conceded,’ he said finally. ‘But any good in my father is buried deeper than North Sea coal so what good is it?’

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I took a bit of a chance on you and don’t regret it. Maybe you should face your father, give him a chance to explain himself.’

  Henry felt a little ashamed because it was true she had taken a big chance on him. In a sense, she still was.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was bang out of order talking to you like that. My only excuse is any mention of my father, after the way he let me down, messes with my head.’

  ‘Facing him just once, getting it out of your system, might do you a power of good.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, Mary.’

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘At least that’s progress. Let’s go sleep on it before you change your mind.’

  ‘Yeah!’ he said, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie for now, eh!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  John Walsh was leaning on the gatepost waiting for his father to leave the house. Since the battle of the sausages, he’d done his best to avoid him. Their conversations were little more than an exchange of grunts. So little that was meaningful passed between them, John figured at times he might as well be living with the original caveman.

  He let his gaze wander over his surroundings. The three houses opposite were unoccupied, downstairs windows boarded up. Like alien invaders from subterranean depths, weeds grew from cracks in the pavement. Two skips, overflowing with rubbish, stood on the road. They reminded John of landing craft sitting on a beach in a war zone. Looking lonely, an old settee leaned against one of those skips, its springs erupting from the cushions. John sighed. This was home and he’d have to put up with it. But why did some people settle for less in life? Circumstances, money, a host of reasons he probably couldn’t guess at? Whatever, he was going to do his best to get out before the place sucked him down into the swamp as it had done so many others. He’d made up his mind about that.

  ‘All right there, kidda.’

  The voice brought him out of his daydream with a jolt. He turned his head to find Barry Tonks standing two yards away. If he needed it, the gang leader’s presence was a salutary reminder of his present circumstances and that dreams were a long way from reality.

  ‘All right, Baz,’ he said, straightening up.

  ‘Cushtie, mate,’ Tonks answered, with a cocky roll of his shoulders implying how could it be otherwise when he was the big man around here. He started rubbing the back of his neck. John knew Barry’s habits well enough to know that meant a question was coming his way.

  ‘My man’s been asking again,’ he said finally. ‘Told me to give you another go, said things change for people.’

  John stared at the house opposite where the glass in an upstairs window was broken in spider’s web patterns. Tonks thought he was doing him a big favour but he wasn’t fooled; if he accepted he’d be dragged into a trap, into a world that was hard to escape from once you were enmeshed in it.

  ‘Thanks for bringing me the offer, Barry. Tell your boss — thanks, but I’m not interested.’

  Tonks’ eyebrows ascended like a bird’s wings, descended as a frown. John figured he wasn’t at all pleased.

  ‘Mates are important around here, aren’t they, kidda?’ Tonks said in a sulky voice. ‘Know what I mean, like.’

  It was John’s turn to frown. This was Barry trying to be subtle. What was he implying, exactly?

  ‘’Course they are,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you haven’t been acting like they were. You’ve been neglecting your mates. People are talking, see.’

  John’s hackles started to rise but he controlled himself, kept his tone even.

  ‘It’s still a free country, ain’t it? Even in South Bank. I’ve been busy, Barry.’

  Tonks gave him a sly look. ‘Busy at the community centre with that big feller, Hooray Henry, or whatever. Even go round his house, I heard.’

  ‘So what?’ John shot back at him, bridling. ‘He gives me a few boxing lessons, helps me with other things.’

  Barry Tonks smiled, but it was a slow, knowing smile, the kind that suggests the possessor has more knowledge than you think he has and he wants you to know it.

  ‘He’s been teaching you to read and write. Don’t worry, Einstein, we all know.’

  That touched a nerve. John felt his face redden, his control slipping.

  ‘I ain’t a divvy. I’m just trying to improve.’

  It sounded too defensive and weak. Tonks seize
d on it with the speed of a cat’s paw.

  ‘What good is learning to you? Look around you, my old son. There’s nowhere to go. Might as well take my man’s offer, make some cash instead of beating your brain against a wall — for nowt.’

  John felt himself growing more agitated, didn’t like the idea that Tonks had found out what was meant to be a secret. He didn’t blame Henry though. No doubt one of the lads had overheard a conversation between them, put two and two together and Tonks had learned about it that way.

  ‘I’ve told you no already, haven’t I?’

  The gang leader had enough savvy to realize from John’s manner that they’d reached a crisis point, that he’d pushed him as far as he would go without an angry confrontation.

  ‘Just thinking of you, John. You’re turning down good money, and there ain’t any trees for it to grow on around here.’

  ‘You find your tree, Barry, let me find mine.’

  Tonks cocked an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like a parting of the way, that does.’

  John drew in a breath. ‘Nothing has changed as far as I’m concerned, except I don’t want to deal drugs. My mates are still my mates, but I’m not chained to them — or you.’

  They’d reached an impasse. A silence descended. Like strangers with no common ground between them, they stared into each other’s eyes, neither willing to look away first. In the distance a police siren screeched like a banshee, broke the spell.

  Barry said, gruffly, ‘Hooray Henry has enemies. You might have to choose sides.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a friendly warning, then.’

  ‘Yeah! Friendly! But if I was you, I’d take the man’s offer while you can.’

  ‘No chance, Barry.’

  There was little else to say. John was relieved the aggravation hadn’t gone further, that his relationship with Tonks hadn’t been severed entirely because he had influence over his peers, could make things difficult for him.

  ‘See you around,’ Tonks called over his shoulder. ‘When you’ve got the time.’

  John ignored that last jibe, watched him swagger away.

  *

  Lost in thought, Henry headed for the community centre. Mary’s attempt last night to persuade him to give his father a chance to explain things was nagging away at him. She was a sensible woman, Mary, didn’t say things without proper consideration. But how could even she understand the true depth of his hurting? You had to stand in another person’s shoes to know such things. The sword had penetrated deeper than she knew.

  Noticing the police car outside the centre, he increased his stride. There could be a thousand reasons why it was there, he supposed, but he had a sense of foreboding that somehow it had to do with him. He tried to dismiss it as natural fear of the law, the consequence of just leaving prison, but as he walked through the door his presentiment was a stalking shadow at his side.

  What he saw brought him up short. For a moment, he felt a sensation in his head, as though an aeroplane was spinning out of control in his brain, roaring a protest as it descended. The reason was that the hall looked as though a bomb had hit it. Broken furniture was strewn about the floor, doors and walls daubed with paint. A smashed computer, wires protruding at crazy angles, had been thrown into the boxing ring. Henry’s heart sank at the pure maliciousness of the destruction. That presentiment prodded him again. Was this his brother’s handiwork?

  Micky was at the back of the hall talking to two policemen. Henry manoeuvred his way between the broken furniture and discarded paint pots. Closer now, he saw the weary, resigned look on Micky’s face. His shoulders were drooping uncharacteristically and he seemed shrunken. For once, he looked his age.

  When their eyes met, Henry knew instantly they were thinking the same thing; Barry Tonks had delivered a warning, suggesting the place might go up in smoke; this wasn’t a fire, but was more than likely a preliminary salvo. As Mick introduced him to the law, he wondered whether he should mention Tonks’ threat. Mick pre-empted him.

  ‘I’ve told these gentlemen we’ve no idea who could have done this.’

  Mick’s meaningful stare told him to agree. He knew why; Mick was old school, believed you took care of trouble yourself.

  ‘No idea,’ Henry said dolefully.

  They answered a few routine questions. One of the policemen said he’d arrange for regular patrols to watch the place, especially at night. Then Henry and Micky saw them off the premises and retreated to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mick,’ Henry said, his voice breaking with emotion. ‘I should have gone to the police and told them about Tonks. I’m sure my brother is behind this.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘You’ve done me favours and paid a price. I’ll have to pack it in here, or something worse will happen.’

  Mick pulled Henry’s hands away from his face. There was a stubborn set to his jaw, a hard look in his eyes as he looked at the younger man.

  ‘Never told you why I started all this, did I?’

  Henry frowned, couldn’t see the relevance, muttered, ‘You like boxing, like helping the kids around here. Why else?’

  Mick dropped his eyes, stared at the floor. Henry sensed he was excavating into his past for something he kept deep down.

  ‘There’s more to it than that, son. You see, I wasn’t always a straight up guy who lived by the rules.’

  Henry forced a smile. ‘And here’s me thinking you were a vicar’s son.’

  The trainer’s head came up but he didn’t respond to Henry’s levity, didn’t return the smile.

  ‘When I first started to box, I was a wild, cocky kid. One night I had one drink too many and picked on a kid smaller and younger than me over nothing. The kid was brave, stood up to me. The red mist descended.’ Micky hesitated, drew his hand across his face. There was real pain in his eyes now. ‘I beat the hell out of him, just because I could.’

  Henry didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine Mick as a bully.

  ‘You’d had a drink, didn’t know what —’

  Micky gave him a dismissive look. ‘No excuses! I put him in a coma. He was in it for a few weeks and he came out of it with no side effects, thank God.’ Mick drew in a deep breath. ‘Those weeks of waiting were the worst of my life.’

  Henry could see the old man’s pain transcending the years, resurrecting itself in his face.

  Struggling for appropriate response, Henry mumbled, ‘Must have been a nightmare.’

  ‘Yes! So was the time I served for grievous bodily harm. I was just lucky it wasn’t murder.’

  Henry was astonished, did his best to hide it. The effort it had been for Micky to talk about it was evident.

  ‘Did you ever box again?’ As soon as he’d said it, Henry thought it was a stupid, insensitive question. But the trainer didn’t dismiss the question.

  ‘Sure, but I was never the same. I’d lost something, didn’t go for it the same way.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Henry said. ‘I’ve been down that road.’

  ‘When I finished boxing, I wanted to put something back. If I’m red hot on discipline it’s because I’ve been lost in that red mist, know what can happen if you let yourself lose control.’

  Micky had a faraway look in his eyes as though in his mind he was confronting his younger self. Henry reached out, touched his arm, brought him back.

  ‘You didn’t have to tell me all this, Micky. It doesn’t make any difference to how —’

  Mick gave a faint shake of his head, raised his chin. ‘I never quit a student of mine, don’t intend to. Second chances are my stock in trade because, believe me, we all need them. Nobody knows that better than me. So don’t let me hear any more talk of you quitting. We’ll ride this out together.’

  His loyalty touched Henry but at the same time worried him. He understood him now better than before, didn’t want to see his life’s work ruined. The fire Barry Tonks had hinted at might very well be next on the agenda.

  ‘I’ve got mates, Henry. They’ll take a tu
rn at sleeping here to watch the place. With the police patrolling, it’ll be OK.’

  Henry wasn’t as confident. Frank didn’t like being thwarted at anything, especially so when there was money at stake. Mick didn’t know him.

  He punched Henry lightly on the shoulder. ‘Come on, I don’t want any argument. Let’s start cleaning this place up.’

  Henry manufactured a smile. ‘Hope you don’t regret this.’

  ‘Just you stay off that bare knuckle stuff and I won’t.’

  They worked for hours cleaning the place up. When evening drew in, they laid off, intending to finish up the next day. Henry left Micky to lock up and set off for home. The walk helped him clear his head and by the time he’d arrived, he’d made a decision. Mary had told him to go and see his father. He’d do that now, reluctantly, because he owed it to Micky to try everything to end this thing before it went to the next level.

  *

  It took Henry all the following morning to work himself up to visiting his father; it was near midday as he entered the site. Stretching its chain to its limit, a mongrel barked at him, showed him its not so pearly whites. It set off a cacophony of barking as other dogs took up the refrain. Curtains twitched as he passed along the line of caravans and he knew, though the place seemed deserted, eyes were watching, wondering what his business was here. Unbidden, memories came flooding back from another life, surprised him with their poignancy.

  He recognized the caravan from the figure of a boxer painted on the door. As he approached, the sound of a spluttering cough came from inside. He started to have second thoughts, wanted to turn away, avoid this meeting. What good would it do? Hadn’t he vowed never to return?

  A minute passed and he was still standing there, anchored to the spot by the weight of old hurts. He decided this was a bad idea. What had he been thinking? For him, the past was not just another country, it was a minefield best avoided. He turned away, ready to abort his mission but the door creaked open and he froze like a thief caught in the act. The voice was so familiar it seemed it was only yesterday he’d heard it last.

  ‘Can’t face your old man, eh?’