It wasn’t his fault, he’d moaned. He’d tried to tell her that the Polish had taken all the jobs, but she hadn’t listened. She’d wanted him to pay his way. Pay his keep. She’d said she had bills to shell out for and no money to pay them with. Well, it was no wonder, Leroy thought, she kept drinking away the bill money. Her addiction made her more interested in buying her next bottle of wine or cider, than feeding the electric meter.
He and his sore feet trudged their way down Broad Street. His hands were in the pockets of his short, scruffy jacket that was no match for the cold, damp day. He kicked an empty beer can, abandoned by a homeless man who was shuffling along in the opposite direction. The tramp was a bundle of threadbare filthy clothes and clutched his meagre possessions which were stuffed into a large plastic carrier bag that was splitting at the seams. As Leroy watched him he wondered if that was how he would end up: homeless, unloved, unwanted, unemployed. A shiver went down his back and he kicked the can again with such force that it sailed through the air and bounced off the window of a nearby shop.
A head poked out of the doorway and shouted, ‘Hey, did you just kick that can?’
‘So?’ bristled Leroy and injected into that single word all the attitude he could muster.
‘So, are you bored or something?’
As the man walked out of the shop Leroy saw he was wearing a uniform. His hair was cut so short there was hardly any of it, but his bulk made up for his lack of hair. His muscular arms and legs strained the seams of his uniform, which looked liable to tear open at any minute.
‘So what if I am?’ said Leroy.
‘Well, I was just thinking that if you had nothing better to do, you could pop in for a chat and a cuppa.’
‘Who me?’
‘Yes, you, I don’t see anyone else.’ The man in the uniform grinned at Leroy. ‘Come on, don’t be shy, one sugar or two?’ he asked, disappearing back into the shop.
As Leroy stood on the pavement, undecided, he looked at the window he’d just hit with the beer can and saw it wasn’t a shop window at all, but an Army Recruitment Office.
Army, eh, Leroy thought. Now that’s an idea and after a moment’s indecision, went through the door.
‘Here you are,’ the soldier said, holding out a steaming mug. ‘Careful it’s hot,’ he warned as Leroy grabbed it. ‘I’m Sgt Evans, by the way.’
‘Leroy.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Leroy,’ Evans said with a nod of his head, a head that reminded Leroy of a bristled loo brush.
Looking around the mostly empty space, Leroy saw the walls were decorated with large pictures of soldiers in varying poses. They were lying down peering through rifle scopes, on an assault course, driving tanks and jeeps and cleaning guns. There was a large desk and a couple of chairs in the window. A bookcase overflowing with leaflets and forms, box files and random bits of equipment Leroy couldn’t even begin to name, stood drunkenly against one wall.
‘Ever thought of joining up?’ Evans asked, his weather beaten, yet friendly face, smiled at Leroy. It seemed the man did a lot of smiling. The skin around his eyes and mouth crinkled into well-worn grooves as he grinned.
‘Me? Na,’ said Leroy, still looking at the posters on the wall. Drawn to them like a moth to a light.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, you wouldn’t want me, would you?’ Leroy began to study his feet instead of the posters.
‘Why ever not? You look like a fine, fit young man to me. You’re tall and not overweight,’ Evans said and Leroy squirmed under the man’s scrutiny.
‘Yeah, but, I’ve got no exams.’
‘So?’
‘And I’m useless and in the way and can’t even get a job at bloody McDonalds.’ Leroy’s voice was quavering, so he coughed and then looking at Evans said, ‘Not that I want to work there, like.’
‘Don’t blame you, mate. I wouldn’t either. It would be as boring as hell, not nearly as exciting as the army.
‘Exciting? Really?’
An exciting life was something Leroy definitely didn’t have. His grey existence meant the days ran into each other with nothing to distinguish one from the other. Anything had to be more exciting than his drab life.
‘Bloody hell, yes,’ replied the soldier. ‘You wouldn’t believe where I’ve been,’ and he proceeded to give Leroy a potted history of his exploits around the world. Telling tales of Cyprus, where he’d skied in the morning and lain on a beach in the sun working on his tan in the afternoon. Of jumping out of aeroplanes and going on gruelling exercises with his mates in his unit.
Mates, thought Leroy. It would be nice to have mates. It would be nice to have a job, too and money in his pocket. It would also get his mother off his back. Get him away from her grumblings and her drinking. Her moods were something awful for she wasn’t a happy drunk. She was nothing more than an addicted moron and Leroy had had enough. Alcohol had its fangs in her and wasn’t about to let her go anytime soon.
‘How old are you?’ Evans broke through Leroy’s musings.
‘17.’
‘That’s good. You can join up at 17. But you’d have to get your mum to give her consent.’
‘Consent?’
‘Yes, she just has to sign this form,’ Evans said, turning away and grabbing a piece of paper off a shelf and handing it to Leroy. ‘It says that as your parent and legal guardian, she agrees to you joining up before you’ve reached the age of 18.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Here are some leaflets for you to look at. They tell you about the different trades you can learn in the army. So maybe I’ll see you in a few days when she’s signed the form and then we can talk about which regiment would be best suited to your skills.’
‘Maybe you will,’ said Leroy and after thanking Evans for the tea, left the recruitment office, thinking that maybe he was going to be a somebody, not a nobody, after all.
***
Past Judgement is available from Amazon
Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8) Page 20
