The Graft

by Martina Cole

  Tyrell didn’t know what to say. It was only when he realised that the man thought he was pimping his companion that he understood what was meant.

  ‘You got it all wrong, mate. I’m only getting him something to eat, he’s got something I want.’

  He regretted his turn of phrase immediately.

  The other man raised his eyebrows, looking Tyrell over as if he was so much dirt that had been brought in on someone’s shoes.

  ‘I worked that one out for meself, mate! Each to their own.’

  Tyrell was annoyed now and whispered angrily, ‘Do I look like a nonce to you?’

  The café owner grinned.

  ‘I don’t know, mate, what do they look like?’

  The Turk wandered into the back of his café and Tyrell wondered what the fuck had made him say that. He decided to retreat before it all got out of hand and because his fuse was growing shorter by the minute.

  Embarrassed, he sat down and lit himself a cigarette. He saw the boy properly for the first time by the fluorescent light of the café, and was shocked by what he saw.

  His skin was grey, spotty, and filthy; his fingernails engrained with dirt. In the warmth of the café his clothes were already giving off a rancid smell. Did people want these boys for no other reason than that they were rotten dirty? Tyrell saw people looking at them curiously and stared them down. In his heart he was embarrassed to be seen with such a boy, and ashamed of that fact. After all, this was what his own son had been doing for a living, and by the looks of it this poor little sod had no choice in the matter.

  Perched on a plastic chair, the boy now looked even more unkempt and vulnerable. Smiling awkwardly, he said to Tyrell, ‘He don’t normally let us in but I had a feeling he might if I was with you.’

  Tyrell nodded.

  ‘He said as much. Said you usually use the burger van off the high street.’

  The boy smiled again. His teeth were yellow and thickly coated with scum as was his tongue.

  ‘It’s cold tonight and I wanted a warm up.’

  ‘Will you stay out all night?’

  Willy nodded and said honestly, ‘Most of it. As it’s a Friday we get a lot of men on their way home from clubbing or the pubs. The straight-acting ones are easy, you know. They just want it quickly before they jump in a cab home.’

  Tyrell didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Why do you want to know about Sonny?’

  He didn’t answer but instead lit another cigarette and the boy picked up the packet and held them out as if to ask permission.

  Tyrell nodded his acquiescence and lit the cigarette for him, glad of something to do. He didn’t like to see the boy smoke at his young age but considering the circumstances didn’t feel he had the right to moralise about it.

  It was getting warmer in the café now and Tyrell slipped off his leather jacket, placing it over the back of the chair.

  Willy smoked the cigarette. Popping his can of Tango, he sipped at it noisily and then asked: ’Are you Sonny’s dad?’

  Hearing the word ‘dad’ he felt an urge to cry, and nodded.

  ‘I thought so. You don’t smell of Old Bill. He used to talk about you a lot - about your house and his brothers. You were on holiday a while ago, weren’t you? He said you were going to take him to Jamaica with you next time.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about him.’

  Willy shrugged with the arrogance of youth.

  ‘He was me mate, helped me out a few times when I was in trouble. I stayed at his mum’s once but to be honest I prefer it on the street.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Willy shrugged again and turned his mouth down sadly.

  ‘To be honest, his mother was a bit too much like mine, if you get my drift? I like me own space anyway. Too much mug-bunnying with that lot, you know?’

  Tyrell knew exactly what he meant, the addict’s incessant self-justifying monologue, and wondered at a child who had the sense to keep away from Jude even though he was living on the street and selling his body. Wonders, as far as Tyrell was concerned, would never cease.

  ‘Don’t you get scared, Will? Don’t you want a better life than this?’

  Willy Lomax looked at him with the eyes of a thirteen-year-old pensioner and said honestly: ‘ ’Course I do, but smack and that ain’t my scene. I get meself a little nest on the street and I bed down there. I ain’t queer, I just do this to get a few quid so I can eat and have a drink now and again. I used to use glue but it’s a mug’s game, ain’t it?’

  Tyrell was saved from answering by the food and tea arriving.

  Willy Lomax attacked his food and sipped at the scalding hot tea, gulping it even though it was burning his mouth. Then he put the mug down and heaped in five large spoons of sugar. After building himself a large chip sandwich and wolfing it down, he seemed to relax a bit.

  Tyrell watched him in amazement.

  ‘This is fucking handsome.’

  Tyrell smiled now as he said, ‘It sounds it.’

  Willy closed his mouth and tried to eat daintily. He liked this big Rasta with the white smile and gentle demeanour. Sonny had told the truth about his father, he had said he was a cool guy and he was.

  ‘How did you find out? We all expected to be talked to after he died but no one came near us. We assumed that no one knew.’

  It was Tyrell’s turn to shrug now.

  It was strange that the police had not picked up on it, but in a way that was a Godsend. It was bad enough his boy was vilified all over the place without it also coming out he’d been a rent boy.

  Tyrell was ashamed of his thoughts once more. He was more worried about how it would reflect on him and admitted this to himself even though he knew it was wrong. Poor Sonny had never had a chance. He must remember that and not let anything alter his love for the boy. But the guilt would be with him till the day he died. It was now even more important he should find out what had really happened. It was the last thing he could do for his boy and maybe, just maybe, he might find peace for himself as well. Tyrell needed to know that there was someone else to blame as well as himself.

  ‘I heard he had regular customers.’

  Willy nodded, his mouth once more full of food. He swallowed noisily before saying carefully, ‘He was lucky like that. Kept himself spotlessly clean, see, always used a rubber and invested in a mobile for customer use. He advertised in the local paper.’

  Tyrell was convinced he was not hearing right.

  ‘He what?’

  His voice was louder than he had anticipated and people stared at them once more. A tall man with a bad comb-over, straggly beard and milk-bottle glasses was staring at Willy and Tyrell saw the hunger in his eyes.

  ‘Had your fucking look, mate?’

  The man turned hastily away.

  Willy laughed. ‘He’s always down the cottage, hangs around the bridal suite. He likes full penetration, see. But I’m a bit too old for him now.’

  Tyrell could not keep the shock out of his voice.

  ‘You are too old?’

  Willy sighed.

  ‘I don’t do the bridal suite any more these days. It’s good money but it fucks you up big-time inside.’

  Tyrell was shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘The bridal suite? What the fuck is that?’

  Willy Lomax laughed again.

  ‘You got a lot to learn, mate. The bridal suite is the disabled toilet. You got more room to move in there, see?’

  A cold gust of air hit them then and Tyrell saw the man walking past the steamy window, his head down and coat pulled tight around him.

  Willy placed a grubby hand gently on his arm.

  ‘There’s worse than him about, believe me.’

  ‘Finish your food. Do you want another cup of tea?’

  The boy nodded and Tyrell signalled for two more. The café owner brought them over almost immediately, and by the time Tyrell had calmed himself down and the boy had finished eating the café was nearly emp
ty. The small portable TV was on the boxing and the man behind the counter was watching Audley Harrison with interest. Normally Tyrell would have joined in, sinking a few beers and cheering him on, a good fighter and a good man. But tonight the boxing held no interest for him. It was comforting, though, having the noise of the commentators in the background.

  Tyrell was still reeling from the news that his son had advertised in the newspaper for men. It was unbelievable to him even though he knew this boy was telling the truth and had no reason to lie.

  The boy seemed to understand his predicament and said casually, ‘What else are you wanting to know, mate?’

  Tyrell looked at him and said, ‘I don’t know, son. I suppose I want to know why he did it? What got him into this kind of life? The usual things parents want to know about their kids. The whys and the wherefores.’

  He sighed heavily.

  ‘To be honest I don’t know what I want to know any more. I’m frightened to know in some ways.’

  ‘You want to know if he had anyone pimping him, don’t you?’

  Tyrell nodded, dreading the answer.

  ‘Well, he didn’t. He was all right on his own, but he was good mates with one of the other black boys, Justin. He showed Sonny the ropes like, but he went missing a while back.’

  ‘What do you mean, went missing?’

  Willy shrugged once more.

  ‘Just missing. In my world that happens a lot. People move on, arguments start. He was a runaway like me but he was already well into the grind, you know, from a little kid. And he got to be mates with Sonny. Well, he was mates with all of us really, but him and Sonny were close. He was the one who told Sonny to get a mobile and advertise in the paper. That way you go to people’s houses sometimes and it’s more comfortable, see. Plus you can have a nick up.’

  Willy grinned as he said that.

  ‘I get asked back to places even now, especially by the old blokes. They like to see you washing and all that. I love it because then I can have a bath and clean meself up. It’s still a crap life, but Justin and Sonny, they had it sewn up. Hung around together.’

  ‘Where was this kid living?’

  ‘Now that I can tell you because he used to let me crash there sometimes.’

  Tyrell waited for him to talk. Instead Willy smiled at him.

  ‘You want more money?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I will give it to you but not in here, not in front of him, OK?’

  He nodded in the direction of the café owner.

  Willy nodded.

  ‘I’ll trust you, seeing as how you are Sonny’s dad.’

  Tyrell felt an urge to laugh at this little boy acting like a man, but supposed the boy had had to learn to talk himself up in his game.

  ‘He lived above the baker’s in the high street. It’s a rat house, but he had his own room there.’

  Tyrell was nonplussed.

  ‘What the fuck is a rat house?’

  Willy grinned.

  ‘Sorry, it’s street jargon for a sort of legal squat. Someone rents a flat and then they sub-let it to all and sundry. Some people only rent the rooms for a few hours a day or the odd night. I’m sure I don’t have to paint you a picture, do I? Anyway it’s gone now and so is Justin.’

  Tyrell shook his head once more. There was a whole world out there and he had honestly believed that he knew all about it, the bad as well as the good. Now it seemed he had not even seen the tip of the iceberg.

  Willy’s cheeks were pinker, and he was starting to look almost healthy. Tyrell guessed rightly it was the warmth and the full belly that was doing it. The boy yawned noisily. The heat was taking its toll and it occurred to Tyrell then that the child in front of him was whacked out.

  ‘Do you want to sleep at my flat tonight?’

  Willy looked shocked and said immediately, ‘Really?’

  Tyrell wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing but he couldn’t leave the boy here and needed to know a lot more than he had already heard. But he wanted to do it gradually, give himself time to digest the information. He sensed that the boy would be easier to talk to in a neutral environment. Every time the door went he stared at it and Tyrell supposed he watched for Social Services as well as the police.

  ‘Only for one night, though. I have some of Sonny’s bits there that I got him in Jamaica. He won’t need them so you can have them. But I want you to think of anyone you can who might know more about my Sonny and how he got into that house in the first place, OK?’

  ‘Sure. Can I have a bath?’

  ‘Have what you fucking like, son, but don’t think anything funny, right, or me and you will fall out big-time. And don’t even think of skanking off me because if you do I will be annoyed, OK?’

  Willy Lomax laughed aloud.

  ‘Makes no odds to me really, the sex bit. It’s just me job, ain’t it? And as for stealing, I ain’t that stupid.’

  He sounded offended and Tyrell didn’t know what to say after that but when they left the café together somehow they were easy. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing bringing the boy to his flat but reasoned that at least there he could talk to him properly and, as Willy had said, he could have a bath and a decent night’s kip.

  Tyrell found that in a funny way he liked this odd little boy with the faded grey eyes and lust for living.

  In the car he put the heater on because the boy was shivering.

  ‘You going down with a cold, son, do you want me to get you something from the chemist’s?’

  Willy shook his head and said loudly, ‘I better warn you, I’m HIV.’

  Tyrell didn’t answer for a few moments then, taking off the handbrake, he drove them both towards his flat.

  Tammy was unconscious in bed and Nick was on his way into East London once more. As he parked he knew that what he was doing was wrong but couldn’t stop himself. All the time he kept away it made his life easier, but once he dipped his toe into the water again he was hooked once more. It was something about the squalor and the risk of being found out. It was so dangerous he couldn’t resist the thrill.

  He walked into the block of flats and made his way as usual up to the tenth floor in the lift. The grinding sound was like a love song to him, even the smell of it got him hard. This was all part of it.

  The door to the flat was opened by a tall man in tight leather trousers and no shirt. His beer belly hung over the waistband and he had tattoos all over his arms and chest.

  ‘Where’s Frankie?’

  The man coughed as he said belligerently, ‘Who wants to know?’

  Nick looked at him warningly then, grabbing him by the throat, dragged him down the long narrow hallway and into the lounge where he threw the man on to the broken-down sofa.

  ‘Get your stuff and fuck off.’

  The punter did not need to be told twice. He scrambled around for his clothes and Frankie sat there giggling in an overstuffed armchair as the man ran from the flat in terror.

  Nick smiled back tightly as he pulled out a pack of Durex and a bottle of red wine from inside his Aquascutum raincoat.

  Frankie said throatily, ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’

  Throwing a wrap of cocaine on to the table, Nick said happily, ‘Let’s have a party, eh?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Willy was lying in the bath, wondering if he had died and gone to heaven. Tyrell’s flat was warm, well decorated and smelled of skunk. There were good sounds coming from the CD player and the remains of a large joint had been left in the ashtray. He had also seen a Sky Plus remote control. If this was heaven, then the sooner he died the better.

  He checked his body over, completely confident now that Tyrell was not going to come on to him. Even though he looked straighter than a ruler, Willy knew that men who looked harmless could be more dangerous than the ones who, unfortunately for them, looked like the stereotypical nonce.

  He had lain there in the warm water and waited for the excuses to st
art: such as he needed to use the toilet, or wanted to talk to Willy, maybe bring him a beer. It was all just a ploy so as to see him naked then start on him.

  But not a thing. Tyrell had not been near or by. If he had approached Willy, he would have obliged of course. What other choice did he have? He had had a feeling this man was OK, though you never really knew. If he was an abuser maybe that was why Sonny ended up at the cottage. Willy had learned at a young age never to judge a book by its cover. People could look so squeaky clean they should be on television adverts for breakfast cereals when in reality they deserved to be on Wanted posters.