Sweet Agony

by Paul Sykes

  'Listen', I leaned closer. 'You know I've just been released?'

  She nodded knowingly, peering into my eyes.

  'Well, my knackers are like two tins of Fussels milk. Straight, it's coming out of my ears. If you'll let me give you one you're quite welcome to stay, but if not I'd like you to step away and leave the seat vacant. I'm wanting a bird a bit desperate like.'

  The band had retired by this time and a DJ was playing records for a swarm of dancers on the poky little dance floor. She didn't answer but swivelled her head like a submarine periscope across the dance floor. Her neck was long and white, the epitome of femininity, and suddenly I realised I would like to fuck her and I'd not just asked the question to liven her up.

  'If you can get your mate to go with my mate we can use her house and she only lives round the corner,' she said, looking hopefully in Ron's direction. He was studiously observing some argument against the top bar and taking no notice of the immediate proceedings. He was madly in love with Josie and it would take somebody special for him to be unfaithful.

  'Who's your mate?' I asked, thinking, I hope she's better than you.

  'Her in the red dress in the far corner.' She indicated vaguely towards the dance floor with a wave of a long slim hand. There were four girls wearing red dresses but the one in the far corner was a film star, and that's what Ron would say.

  'Ron, me old pal,' I said leaning forward so I wouldn't have to shout over the music, 'I've got a bird here who'll let me give her one providing you go with her mate.' He turned and gave the lady in black a quick once-over, his face not envious at all.

  'Oh yes, who's her mate then?' he asked guardedly.

  'Her in the red dress in the far corner,' I answered, feeling pleased. He surveyed the dance floor for a second or two.

  'Which one?' Turning to the lady in black I instructed her to call her friend over.

  We looked on as she waved and called 'Marion.' The film star didn't move but the music was loud and insistent and she may not have heard. 'Marion,' she called again, 'Marion.'

  From behind the film star emerged a little plump woman.

  'Yahoo,' she called, waving as though we were in a supermarket.

  'Is that your mate?' I panicked.

  She nodded happily, waving Marion to the table.

  'Bollocks,' Ron said quietly, turning away.

  In retrospect I took advantage of Ron' s good nature by insisting he go with Marion. Obviously Marion was in need of a good-looking lad like him and showed her appreciation by leaving long red scratches all down his back causing him to wear a T-shirt so Josie wouldn’t 't notice. Elaine, as the lady in black was called, gave me her telephone number before we parted but I didn't ring, not until after we'd met half-way through the following week.

  She'd come into 'The Wine Lodge' with a pack of girls all built like the Australian tourists and left them the second she'd clapped eyes on me sitting alone next to the ladies' toilet. We'd spent the night in Caesar's hotel and in the morning she'd asked if I'd like to live with her. Her marriage was on its last legs and she was thinking very seriously of putting in for a divorce. What could I say, I didn't really fancy her all that much but she did live in a lovely big house in one of the better parts of town. A quiet backwash behind the Queen Elizabeth Grammar School and very handy for something I'd had in mind for ages. I rang her regularly after that but I didn't see much of her for diving about getting a few bob but she 'd been with me the night the GBH had happened and was of the opinion I shouldn't have been locked up. She was confident I'd be given bail, if not this week, the week after, and when I was, her husband would be gone and I could move in. It would suit me fine because living at home made me feel I was imposing, living there under protest and not really welcome at all.

  The bed I had was the one I'd had since I'd grown out of a cot, piss stains and all. It was in the corner of the bedroom Mother and Kay used to keep most of their market stock. It was no different to sleeping in a warehouse and it was musty too because the old feller wouldn't let me open the windows or even the curtains in case a passing burglar happened to look through the window. It made sense if a passing burglar would creep the length of the garden and negotiate his way round a heap of old car tyres, knackered batteries, boxes of rubbish, and rolls of old linoleum.

  The old feller was the most security-conscious feller in the world. The front door was locked and bolted and a pile of heavy boxes stacked behind it. It was permanently closed and even the letter box

  was blocked. He said he'd made it like this to stop draughts but he couldn't kid me. Every night he'd check the back door was locked and bolted every time it was used and if a window had to be opened he'd stand guard until it was closed again. It was his new job now he'd retired, security man for Mother's and Kay's market gear. All the house was full of it not just my bedroom. The toilet, the bathroom, every cupboard and drawer, even the outside shed was bursting at the seams with stuff for the market. It used not to be like this but as Mother expanded, they stood more markets with different stock so the house had filled gradually. Her, Dad, and Kay had managed to keep their own little sanctuaries where they could sit comfortably and watch the telly, video, or read. Not me, I had to balance on piles of gear, and if I moved anything to make a bit of room the old feller would leap to his feet and order me to leave it alone, while Mother would smile ruefully and explain she needed it in the morning. The first week I'd set to with a scrubbing brush, wax and polish, ignoring the cries of anguish and threats to stop or else, and made the living room more acceptable to my orderly standard of living. It wasn't that I was institutionalised as they both said, excusing my behaviour, but the natural reaction of any sane thinking feller. The market had taken over their way of life but it wasn't taking over mine. The house wasn't anything more than a 3-bedroomed warehouse with carpets.

  Everything imaginable was in the house, every modem convenience, and out in the road, carefully parked was a Transit and Escort van, a Cortina estate car and Kay's Sunbeam Rapier. In the fridge I'd found a leg of lamb covered in mould, lumps of rancid cheese, mouldy stumps of salami, and in the cupboards there were vegetables rotting away. They had too much money to my way of thinking and the old feller agreed. He hadn't a say in things now though, now he wasn't the breadwinner. I refused to pay any board in protest. Naturally I didn't give my reason or Mother would think me totally crackers so what I said was, 'I'm not paying board to sleep in a warehouse like a nightwatchman' s dog.' She accepted my offer to pay a third of the telephone and electric bill, and I'd buy the meat. She didn't mind in the least providing I was happy.

  Happy! I wasn't really happy at all, although under the circumstances I should have been, just coming out of the nick and all that.

  Mother, I still called her Mam, while my cheeky young sister called her Betty, was always preoccupied with the market, either buying, selling or thinking about one or the other. She had no interest in the home at all. She used not to be like this, not before I'd started getting myself locked up. Everything she'd done then had been for the home, to make it somewhere to be proud of. She was a dab hand at home improvements, wiring, joinery, painting, and she'd always been a worker and a good worker too. She'd made dresses to order on her treadle sewing machine for the neighbours. She'd made beautiful flowers from coloured crepe paper which she'd sold by the thousand. She'd been the local hairdresser and at one time, before it was legal, the local bookmaker. When Kay was born we'd moved to this house from a prefab so Kay would have her own bedroom and she'd done her level best to make this into a home too. All across the back garden were high young cedars and elms that she'd planted when we'd first arrived. They'd been tender young saplings then but Mother had said they would grow into beautiful trees which would give the house character and the air of permanence. Her prediction had come true but all the rest had fallen by the wayside. The market had taken over at the expense of being a mother. When I asked Mother why she let my cheeky young sister call her Betty, Kay answere
d. 'I can't keep calling you Mam, love, can I? It wouldn't sound right behind the stalls would it love?' If I'd used the same patronising tone Mother would have crowned me with a milk bottle.

  All the house and way of life was geared towards the market and when I asked Mother why she didn't care about the house she'd given me a lecture. She had been sitting in her chair by the fire about a quarter of an hour after she'd come back from the bingo and I was in Kay's place on the settee. Kay was out and Dad was in bed but he'd be up the minute she returned to make sure the locks and bolts were on properly. 'But the house is filthy Mam, full of junk and rubbish and you're not bothered.'

  She glared at me for a moment, then lifted her glasses to rub her eyes. She made this gesture often these days as if she was cleaning the blackboard of her brain ready for another lesson.

  'There's no joy in this house for me, not with him in there.' She paused to light a cigarette and take a mouthful of tea, marshalling her thoughts. 'When you went away I turned to him for comfort. It broke

  my heart that first time.' Her eyes blazed for an instant. 'Where was he, the big tough man who'd fight anybody. He was in bed crying himself to sleep. He wasn't worth talking to so I centered my life round our Kay. He wanted nothing to do with her, and even if he had I wouldn't have let him. I told him if he ever touched her, never mind hit her like he hit you I'd go to the police. He had his chance with you and look what a job he made.' She had another drink before she continued, 'I've brought her up and now she has a car, goes abroad twice a year, plenty of clothes, plenty of friends and she's worth her weight in gold on the market. '

  It didn't matter what subject we started with it always came back to the market. I could understand her motives but I didn't agree with her sentiments. Our Kay had a horse Dad had bought for her 14th birthday. How many girls in council houses owned horses? None that I knew of. Every morning in all weathers he'd go on Kay's bike, about a mile and a half, to feed, groom, and take it from the stable to the field. The poor sod would have been locked up all day without the old feller. Kay didn't seem to appreciate it either. He wasn't above using a bit of violence and had a volatile temper but he was generous, scrupulously honest and had all his priorities right. We'd never had a lot but we'd had everything, mind you Mother was mainly responsible for the little luxuries but only because the old feller thought luxuries unnecessary. Me going in the nick had broken his heart and because of me they'd more or less parted company. He'd retired to bed to lick his wounds and Mother had transferred the love she'd had for me to Kay, but she hadn't quite made it and tried to make up the difference with material things, money and what money could buy. I'd been away that long she'd forgotten how it used to be and all of them had gradually settled into a way of life without me. Naturally it gave me a terrible feeling of guilt and the only way I could ever hope to make amends was to make them happy now. If I was a success at boxing it would please the old feller no end and then I'd have to find some way to please Mother. She would be pleased if I just managed to stay out of the nick. Elaine went on the market to see her and let her know I was all right and to relate the latest details of the case, put her mind at rest, but Mother knew the circumstances behind the charge and felt I'd be OK at the end of the day.

  * * * *

  It started the day I'd been with the old feller on one of his South Yorkshire rounds selling towels. It was the only job I could ever remember the old feller having; door to door selling, or in this case shop to shop selling. Although he was retired when the horses he'd backed came nowhere he'd get himself out and earn a bob or two. He'd asked Mother if I could borrow the car to drive him and at 4 o'clock that afternoon he'd replaced the petrol, given me a tenner and earned himself £40, and then taken me to 'The Clothiers', a pub at the bottom of Dewsbury Road, at about 8.30, to celebrate. On going through the door the first feller I'd seen was my old school pal, fat Mick Sellers.

  He'd been one of my best mates at school and after we'd left we'd still been mates right up to me first being sent away. He was enormous, almost as wide as he was tall with a girth like a carthorse. Naturally we were overjoyed to bump into each other and his wife, Janet, said she was pleased to meet me at long last after hearing so much about me all her married life. Mick had a mini supermarket at the other end of the estate, about a mile from home, which Janet looked after while he titivated and sold bread-and-butter motor cars. When I had nothing to do he invited me to come down to the shop, it was the live-in type, and meet the kids, two lads 13 and 11, and twin daughters aged 6. It was exactly what I'd been looking for, a local pal and somewhere to go out of the house.

  At this time I'd been out of Durham about 3 weeks and was just beginning to find my feet. For a couple of weeks it was ideal, just like old times with Mick messing about with old motors like he'd messed about with fishing rods and cig' lighters when we'd been at school, and me getting in his way and passing him the wrong tools. We nipped to warehouses to re-stock the shelves to keep Janet happy and generally messed about all day long. One afternoon Mick left me to go look at a van he might buy and I was doing a little job in the kitchen when Janet sidled up and said something I didn't quite catch.

  'What did you say Janet?'

  'I said, I wished you hadn't come to the shop.'

  'Why, is there something missing?'

  'No, it's nothing like that, you daft sod.' She hesitated, as if trying to make a decision. 'I've fallen in love with you.'

  She hurried on with, 'Come to the shop tonight at 8 o'clock. I've got to see you alone and explain.'

  The shop doorbell jingled before I'd gathered my wits but over tea that night I decided I would go and tell her to fall in love with somebody else. I didn't want to embarrass her if I could help it and I didn't want Mick to find out. It wouldn't be pleasant to discover his wife was a slag. At that moment women in general were the most devious, treacherous, despicable people on earth who thought all the world revolved between their legs and no man could resist. All she was after was a bit of romance and intrigue after the boredom of the shop all day and maybe a seeing to because Mick had been neglecting his duty. With his great belly holding 15 pints every night it was understandable. To prevent any temptation I invited a pal of mine from Sheffield to come with me but when I knocked on the door Mick answered with a loaded crossbow pointing at my chest.

  'Go on, fuck off,' he growled, 'and don't let me see you down here again.' There wasn't anything I could say although I did say it wasn't what it appeared but I was wasting my breath. It sickened me but all I could do was try and scrub the incident from my mind.

  Three nights later, on the Saturday, Elaine and myself had toured all the pubs in the city centre as though we were in a race when I said in no uncertain terms I'd had enough of running about and suggested we go to 'The Clothiers' and put our feet up or I was going home. All this rushing wasn't what I was used to and she had to keep being reminded. On entering the first person I saw was Mick, and standing by his side, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth was Janet. He was staring at me with the face of a basset-hound, an expression I'd not seen before, sort of baleful and menacing at the same time.

  'Hello Mick, how are you mate.' I grinned and nodded to Janet.

  They didn't speak but years of friendship caused Mick to nod. After I'd pushed my way back from the bar I was surprised to see he was in a heated discussion with Elaine about the method the Ripper was using to kill his victims. The ice was thoroughly broken after la minutes and we were all sitting round a table as if the incident with the crossbow hadn't happened. We went to Heppy's from there, where Mick and Janet astounded everybody with a display of rock 'n roll the likes of which hadn't been seen since the days of Bill Haley and Little Richard. The entire place erupted with loud and prolonged

  applause when they'd finished, both knackered and gasping for breath. A short while later Mick invited us back to the shop for a nice bit of steak and chips and Janet chipped in with, 'I've still got some of that spicey German sausage
you like so much Paul.'

  If I hadn't been so happy we were all on an even keel I'd have paid more attention to the look Mick shot at her. His eyes flared like two Very lights.

  Elaine was giving Janet a hand in the kitchen and Mick and I were in the living room, him sitting in his usual place next to the big chest freezer and me standing on the rug a few feet away. The kid's clothing was scattered on the settee and the room was much like my bedroom with gear from the shop. He was tapping a boning needle as though it was a drum stick on the freezer and looking at me like he had in 'The Clothiers' earlier.

  'They don't get up with one of these in 'em,' he said quietly.

  Maybe then I should have called in Janet and ordered her to explain but the animosity it would cause would be worse than being stabbed. Anyway I could handle his 23st. with or without a weapon.

  'No, they don't get up with one of these in 'em,' he repeated, inspecting the point.

  My left hand was in a sling on account of a rip in my little finger that had turned gangrenous. That very morning I'd had the rotten flesh cut away and been instructed to wear the sling. If he attempted to stick the needle in me I'd hit him with my right fist and knock him sparko.

  It wouldn't be difficult with fat Mick. He was still knackered from the dancing exhibition and I'd all the time in the world. He couldn't leap to his feet quicker than I could hit him. Just when he reached shoulder height I'd step in and clip him on the chin and knock him out, grab his shoulders as he slumped back and steer him into the chair so he didn't waken the kids or break anything as he fell. When he came round I'd have persuaded Janet to tell him.