by Paul Sykes
It seemed I couldn't put a foot wrong because just when I was screwing up the nerve to ask Mother if I could borrow the Cortina again, Mick told me he'd found a car right up my street. It was a Vauxhall Viscount, with electric windows, leather upholstery and a 3.3-litre engine. It wasn't brand-new but it had been well cared for.
It was the first time I'd been to Middlesborough since I'd been at the Crown court for my last sentence. When I saw the skyline of the place from the A19, it filled me with the same sense of dread. There was a solitary black cloud hanging over the city with every industrial waste-disposal unit belching clouds of smoke making it bigger and more depressing by the hour. What a fucking dump I thought, driving past the transporter bridge, rows of derelict houses and tatty patches of waste ground looking for the gym where John Spencely trained his
lads. At the end of the week I thought it had been one of the most pleasant times of my life and John one of the best fellers I knew.
He was the president of the recently formed Northern Area Council of the BBBC which had been specially brought into being to make John part of the firm. He was an old pro' himself and knew all about the closed shop mentality and it bothered him not. All he wanted to do was give the lads in the North-East a chance to box locally and a fair crack of the profits. The other mob had no interest in this part of the country but they'd supply opponents, referees, time-keepers, buckets and mops and let John get on with it. He was only in the game because he loved it and making money was the last of his motives.
It was a small gym but there was talcum powder in the shower, not to mention soap. It was the first and only gym I'd ever trained where the gaffer supplied anything.
The lad he'd wanted me to train with was 6' 5" and 21 years old and the 1-year difference in our ages was the difference between a man and a boy. He'd come for a week from his home in Blyth, Northumberland, to train, spar, run and go through the paces. He had plenty of ideas but he was still boxing like a stereo amateur and at the end of the week I thought he was tough enough but his heart wasn't really in it. He was boxing to please his old feller, a scrap dealer on the banks of the Tyne in Newcastle. Every day I thumped him in the belly a few times and he hadn't a clue how to prevent me. It sickened him but it didn't stop him; being hit is all part of the training like running or practising combination punches on the bag and if I didn't hit him I wouldn't be doing what I was there for. The body grows accustomed to being hit and punches which cause lights to flash and the brain to crackle in the shower, like mine had done with Dave Owens, after a while aren't even noticeable. John reckoned sparring with me had done him the world of good and let him know what he'd be up against when the new season started. We had a good run in Stuart's Park first thing in the morning, breakfast, trained in the gym before dinner, and then again in the evening with some other lads who were preparing for the new season.
One afternoon during the week I asked John to take me to Durham gaol in his new Rolls-Royce to let the screws see me as they were going back into the nick after dinner. If he'd said don't be silly or
childish I wouldn't have been surprised but he didn't. He took me, his brother, and one of his mates, and turned it into a day trip. We rowed on the river, climbed to the top of the Cathedral and had dinner in a Chinese restaurant. I saw all the things I'd wanted to see the morning I'd been discharged and sickened the screws. They were as sick as pigs seeing me sitting in the car as they trudged back after dinner and although it was childish I didn't half enjoy it, it was on a par with Chester Zoo. At the end of the week he gave me £100 and said he'd like to use my services again and invited me to come any time and use the gym. Driving back down the A 19 in my new motor I decided I'd call and see Elaine tonight and tell her how much I'd missed her. Although we were living apart she would like that, and I hadn't seen her for ages.
She was living with her mother in the high rise flats at St Michael's, and had a wonderful view over Thornes Park from the living room window. They didn't appreciate it at all, the windows were covered with heavy lace curtaining which cut down the light and gave it the air of a prison cell. Her mother said it stopped people from looking in as they were passing and didn't take the slightest bit of notice when I'd pointed out she was living on the 8th floor and all the curtains were doing was preventing her from looking out. She told me Elaine wasn't in but would be waiting for me in the 'Waterloo', one of the pubs round the corner from the flats.
Elaine hadn't noticed the view until I'd pointed it out from the balcony and then she'd tried to persuade her mother to take the curtains down. She said her mother wasn't in the least interested in the park but she was and later that night I was to find out.
As I entered, she was standing at the bar with her back to me dressed in the black mac, black seamed nylons, black shoes, and her jet black hair had been freshly frizzed so it looked as if she had a finger in a light socket. She was slimmer, much slimmer, and looked positively attractive.
'A pint of bitter love.' I whispered in her ear, taking care not to poke an eye out on her hair.
'It's ordered,' she said triumphantly, without looking at me.
'I knew you'd be here. I'd just told Jack to pull it.' She had a twisted smirk as she looked at the landlord for confirmation. Sitting in the best room she told me she had the vibes when I was about.
I gave her the vibes. It was peculiar language even for her and I wondered if she'd finally gone crackers altogether, but when she demanded I make love to her on the top of Cannonball Hill as the Cathedral clock was striking twelve, midnight, I knew then she was in training to be a witch. Her black clothes and her mother being scared of daylight. It ran in the family.
We trailed through the park like something from a Stephen King novel. She disappeared into every shadow or when a cloud obscured the moon and all I could hear was a voice whispering urgently that we had to hurry. She had to wait a minute to get her breath back when we reached the top, the climb and the brisk walk through the park had knackered her. She hadn't climbed the steep side of the hill at all, I'd dragged her up at 50 miles an hour. It wasn't eagerness to fulfil her wish but an effort to keep warm, and besides I was tired and wanted to get home to bed. It had been a long day.
She was laid where the cannon had been when Cromwell's lot had been trying to oust Charles 11 from Sandal Castle, savouring the after-effects like women do when they've been fucked. I was standing at the other side thinking the lights of Wakefield nick looked just like the candles on a birthday cake and waiting for her to get dressed. The skyline, a little to the east was a silhouette I'd seen so many times I could describe it with my eyes closed and it held less interest than the nick. Turning to see if she'd made a move I was surprised to see she was standing with the hem of the skirt in her mouth and was tucking something into her knickers with a series of little shoves and pats, like smoothing concrete. For a minute I couldn't work it out and wandered over to get a better look. The fat on her belly was hanging wrinkled and creased over the top of her knickers as she tucked her arse away. No wonder she'd looked slimmer, she was wearing a girdle with the strength of a Bullworker.
'How long have you been wearing a girdle Elaine?'
'Why, do you think it's sexy?' she asked, struggling to keep the skirt in her mouth and sound coy at the same time. She grunted with the effort of trying to get it all back in place.
'Yeah, you looked lovely standing at the bar tonight, a proper little raver.’
'It's me Mother's. I found it in the wardrobe last week.'
She turned to come to grips with something stubborn and the outline of her compressed arse at the top of her long skinny legs made it look like a toffee-apple. Walking back to the flats she told me of the plans she had with the money from the sale of the house, all of which involved some kind of duplicity and that she'd really enjoyed tonight. It had been one of her ambitions since she'd been fourteen to be fucked at the top of Cannonball Hill at midnight.
* * * *
Ronnie rang before I saw Ela
ine again, to invite me to his brother's wedding reception to be held on the top floor of the 'Lion Bar', a pub/club on the front down south shore. It was perfect, just what I'd been looking for, and couldn't have come at a better time.
Mick was having it rough trying to make a living from the shop since the incident. He said his usual customers were keeping out in case I happened to be in and the butcher at the end was forever complaining to the council that he was turning the forecourt into a secondhand car pitch. He'd been thinking of petrol-bombing the bastard he said, that's how strong his feelings were. For all his problems he'd still managed to find the time to get me the car I wanted and I'd been trying to think of a way to return the favour ever since. Ronnie didn't mind if Mick came to the reception, and said he hoped there would be enough beer for him.
He didn't want to come at first but Janet, of all people, told him in no uncertain manner to get himself off. It would do him the world of good. Maybe she wanted him to know exactly what had happened and her conscience was pricking her. Maybe she was in love with someone else. I didn't know but was pleased he was coming.
There were well over a hundred guests, relatives and friends of the bride and groom, not to mention people who'd strolled in from the promenade and were taking full advantage of the free drinks until Ronnie got to grips with them. After half a dozen pints and for a full half-hour Mick went through his rock 'n roll routine with a whole heap of partners holding the entire reception mesmerised. He whipped them in, reeled them out, spun them round and generally treated everyone as if they were his own personal yo-yo. They clapped and cheered for more but, dripping with sweat and completely knackered, he'd shot his bolt.
We stayed the night and came back the next morning driving nice and steady along the motorways. He started telling me about Janet before we'd come off the M55. and didn't stop until I dropped him off.
'I knew you were coming that night you know,' he said out of the blue. It didn't take any working out to know which night he was referring to.
'How did you know, Mick? I mean I didn't know myself until I did.'
'She couldn't get me out of the house quick enough. She said she wanted a bath in peace.' His voice was riddled with the hurt she'd caused. I felt sorry for the poor sod.
'You don't live with a woman thirteen years,' he continued in the same dead-pan voice, 'and not get to know her. I knew something was happening. I'd seen her looking at you when you were playing with the twins, cracking jokes, fuckin' about. Ever since we've been married I've had to watch her, keep me wits about me. Don't think you were the first. About every two years since we've been married she's gone off the side. I' ve had some real performances with her, bringing her back from all over the fuckin' place.' He was beginning to sound angry but he sighed, belched, rubbed his great belly and got top side of it.
'She got me out of the house and ten minutes later I rang home. If she was in the bath it would ring for ages. She picked it up before the first fuckin' ring ended and I knew then for sure, and I knew it were you.'
He stopped to watch a car whooshing past so I took the opportunity to tell him exactly what happened. He listened without a word but I wasn't sure if he believed me.
'I bought the shop for her. I didn't want to be a fuckin ' shopkeeper. The kids were at school and she hadn't anything to do during the day and it was her who suggested the idea. I thought it would keep her occupied, stop her getting ideas, you know, and now all I do is run to the warehouse for tins of soup and packets of fuckin' peas. '
He lit a Park Drive, coughed, wound the window down and spat at a new Cortina.
'I've never had the time to play with the kids for making a bob or two and she's resented that. But I'm not the type to play with kids.'
He then went on about personal family details, he wouldn't tell me if he was going to change his story when we got to court. He wouldn't dare take the risk I would bring them to light and ask my barrister to cross-examine him. It was far too personal and he reminded me of when I'd been in the cell with Alan Forbes telling him all the things I wouldn’t 't normally tell a soul. It cleared the air and I knew for sure only the rottenest of judges would send me to prison again.
It was obvious to me that all of his problems were self-induced. If he stopped guzzling two gallons of beer a day and lost his great belly his missus wouldn't keep going off the side. Last night, after the reception he'd collapsed on the bed in a drunken heap snoring like a Kawasaki 500, and he'd been going home in the same state every night for donkey's years. It was a point I considered mentioning before dropping him off but in the end I decided he'd know anyway and wouldn't take the slightest bit of notice, might even resent it in fact, like Elaine 's husband resented her. It was the first thing the old feller told me when I got home. Elaine was in Pinderfields, in a bad way after her husband set about her in the town while I'd been over in Blackpool with Mick.
Apparently when I'd not shown up at her mother's she'd gone round the town hoping to catch me with another woman. When Heppy's turned out she'd gone to the taxi rank with the raving needle because I'd given her the slip and who should be waiting for a taxi but her husband. He'd been out celebrating his birthday. Elaine lambasted him, saying all the nasty bits she'd have liked to say to me, until after a while he'd snapped. He picked her up and then threw her bodily into the display of expensive dresses and fur coats in Dorothy Perkin's front window. The coppers, thinking I was the culprit, almost let her bleed to death from some savage gashes on her legs while they took photographs to show the jury what a cruel bastard I was. My old mate Farrell was in charge of the case the old feller said, so I decided to visit in a day or two when things had cooled off.
The trip across to Blackpool had knocked a hole in my money and I was in need of earning some when Kay informed me her boyfriend, the whiz-kid, would like to see me in the 'Royal' this dinnertime, he had a bit of information I might find profitable.
He was playing pool, drinking lager, and cracking jokes. When he noticed me he gave the cue to one of his mates and took me to one side. A feller had been asking the lads in the town if they knew of anybody with a gent's ID bracelet for sale. He wanted one for his lad's 19th birthday, but it had to be at the right price, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, kind of price.
'I thought of you straight away Paul,' he said with a cheeky grin. 'Tha'll a no problems whi' 'im. 'E's on'y a daft collier.'
He gave me the feller's address and left me to it. Hoteliers, landlords, people of their ilk were easier to work than any 'daft' collier for the simple reason they considered every penny before parting with it. All my life I'd lived with colliers and when I'd first left school I'd worked at the pit for a year. Selling a snide bracelet to a collier would be hard, especially the only one I had left, the worst of the lot. The gold had worn away in places where the links joined, the 18-carat ramp was cockeyed and it was only ramped on the name plate. The links were unmarked. I'd something on my plate to sell this one to anybody never mind a collier. The best time to see the feller would be now, Sunday afternoon, straight after he'd had a skinful of ale and his dinner and was feeling complacent and full. The act would have to be a big, silly henpecked husband, who'd lost his job and trying to make ends meet. He'd feel superior to me then and would love rubbing it in. All the years in the nick hadn't been wasted. Psychology was one of the subjects that had rubbed off like the gold from the bracelet.
His wife answered the door wearing a flowered pinny and looking worried. 'Yes?'
'I've come to see your husband love,' I explained. 'I've got a bracelet for sale and I've heard he was wanting to buy one.'
Her face cleared and broke into a relieved smile.
'Come in. I thought it was the coppers coming about the lad again. Go into the front room and wait 'till I get him up. He always goes to bed on a Sunday.'
The kitchen had the remains of the dinner on the table and the sink
was piled high with dirty crockery. She'd been having a cig before
she st
arted. There were three ducks flying up the stairs and brass ornaments all over the house. It was very warm in the front room and
cosy. There was a schoolgirl reading a magazine under the window
with her elbows on the table propping her head. She didn't even glance as I lowered myself onto the settee and concentrated on acting the part.
He came into the room wearing trodden-down carpet slippers and braces hanging from his trousers. His skin and vest were the same colour, and he had tight, narrow muscles and a chest developed to cope with dust.
'Nar then. Wife tells me tha's gorra bracelet tha's wantin' t' sell.'
He stood in front glaring aggressively. My size wasn't going to intimidate him one bit.
'Well yes, that's true, but I do not really want to sell it at all. It's just the fact I've lost my job and this week all the bills have arrived at once. IfI don't sell it I don't know what I shall do.'
'Does tha wanna sell it or not?' he demanded.
'Yes, I've said so. I've got to.'
'Well let's 'ave a look arrit then.'
He turned it over a few times, juggled it, pretending to know all about bracelets and hallmarks. While he did, I didn't stop for a second telling him how pathetic I was.
'What's tha wanting for it?'
'Well it's insured for £300 but I don't expect that much,' I answered cautiously. He sneered in derision and shot a glance at his wife which said he would get it for peanuts from a big dummy like me.
