by Paul Sykes
girls I'd gone to school with, but even then they had all been working
at 15, and I'd bet my life they had all been virgins. Cath shattered all the illusions I'd had about virginity after I'd examined the sheets in Rhyl but I'd kidded myself. Her cry of pain had been the cry of a virgin and the lack of blood because she had broken her hymen earlier riding horses. When we'd come from the surgery and the black sheet had descended, my thoughts had been so rapid I'd not been able to analyse them. I had now and what I'd been wanting was to put the clock back to when I was 17 and starting out on life's romantic road. I'd missed out on growing up in so many ways.
Hours and hours and hours I'd been going over my feelings just as I'd promised myself. I was making a fresh start after 15 years. The three long sentences were over. The marriage to Pauline was over. I'd gradually found my feet and wasn't involved with all the pals I'd made via the nick and only saw the others, the Family Del called them, in an emergency, and I'd settled in nicely at home. The two court cases wouldn't result in a teturn to prison and once Christmas was over I'd be boxing. Physically and emotionally I was a man but spiritually I was a mere lad of seventeen and I wanted a schoolie. Alan Forbes had been dead right. I knew all along he had sense.
Wendy, I'm Peter Pan, I thought, looking at her for the first time properly. A full frontal and she was beautiful. The way she'd gasped and struggled when Burky had tried to feel her tits had been just how all the good girls I knew at school reacted when the lads grabbed their tits.
There hadn't been any girls with Cath's build or looks; if there had she'd have been complaining to the teacher all day. There had been plenty with Wendy's build or how Wendy would have been a year ago. In her grey school skirt, knee-length white socks and bomber jacket she was beautiful especially now she had some colour. She had legs a sculptor couldn't create. They were easily the most symmetrical I'd seen on a young girl.
'We'll call it a day, love,' I said. 'Cath was right, it is a waste of time.'
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Her teeth were pure.
'Can you be outside the 'Malt' tonight at 5.307' I asked on impulse although I'd decided minutes ago.
She nodded thoughtfully. 'OK,' she said and smiled again. 'Don't tell Cath, will you?' I warned.
She shook her head, no.
At 5.30. until ten to seven we sat in the car on the 'Malt Shovel' car-park at the end of Broadway and talked. I asked questions and she answered. She was three forms higher than Cath. She wasn't a bad runner but didn't like netball. She preferred hockey. Her elder sister worked in the Naafi somewhere in Germany and she had a brother who was a year younger in the same school. The following night we had another session and then the night after. On the Sunday morning while Cath was in bed I took her to Manchester to look round the warehouses and show her how I bought and what. Something I'd not done with Cath. Coming home I asked casually if I could make love to her simply to watch her reaction. She looked me in the eye and nodded. A faint movement.
'I'm asking you Wendy,' I repeated, 'can I fuck you or not?'
'Yes, but I'll have to be home for me dinner.'
What a place this Wakefield is, I thought, feeling sickened and
remembering the article I'd read in one of the papers. It was top of the European charts for VD and schoolgirl pregnancies. How all the screws who'd done their training on Aberford Road said Wakefield was a great place and then leered. Fat, sloppy, thick screws I wouldn't look at if I were a woman. The screws weren't lying and trying to belittle me because it was my home town but telling the truth. Sex in Wakefield was as easy to get as a loaf.
Well I wasn't a sloppy screw or a miner with a beer belly, or a drippy teenager and if they wanted fucking I'd do it. At least then they'd be getting fucked with somebody worthwhile, on their side, and a local lad.
Her legs reached her armpits and we had a fair bit of manoeuvring before we managed to fit together. Afterwards I had the feeling I'd raped her with all the enthusiasm she'd shown and then I realised I'd fucked her and I hadn't kissed her yet. It made no difference to her. She didn't miss turning up on the 'Malt Shovel' car-park every night. Our discussions were all one-sided, I'd ask the questions and she'd answer like police interviews with the difference being she didn't tell lies or hedge, or at least I didn't think so, and I found her candour amazing. Like Cath, she had no shame or embarrassment as she related her past sexual encounters. She told me blandly about her lovers as the old feller would about runners and riders. From what she said I
gathered she thought if she didn't the boys wouldn't like her. She fascinated me to such a degree I began to look forward to our meetings with the same anticipation as I had for meeting Cath.
Wendy would set off home to be in for 7 o'clock and I'd go straight to meet Cath.
We'd been playing pool one night in the back room of the 'Royal' when Cath told me to see my solicitor after she'd missed an easy shot. She hadn't been concentrating for thinking of me.
'See my solicitor Cath,' I asked. 'Why?'
'I want you to put in for a divorce.' She looked at me as if expecting a dispute. She wanted to get married, she'd finally made up her mind. I'd forgotten I was married but she hadn't.
She'd known Pauline personally and the way she'd carried on while I'd been away. How Paul had been in the intensive care, how I'd warned I'd break her legs if she didn't leave town. Cath knew my feelings for Pauline, how they'd come about and now she wanted to marry me. Cath wouldn't do a Pauline on me.
Three weeks later a brown envelope arrived telling me I was divorced. The day it arrived I'd been passing the school just as the kids were being released and thought I'd wait for Cath and surprise her. Her little face was livid as she climbed in the car, nostrils flared, eyes blazing, lips pale. She was so angry she couldn't speak. It wasn't on account of me putting her on the spot because the kids milling past hardly looked in our direction.
'What's the matter love?' I asked, as we pulled away. 'You look upset.'
'Don't talk to me, you bastard.' she said in her full Reagan voice. I was dismissed, but why, what had I done? She didn't know about Wendy. We'd been very careful not to be seen. Not only for Cath's sake either. Wendy didn't want her parents to know she was seeing me. I didn't either. It couldn't be anything else though from the tone of her voice.
'What have I done Cath?'
'You've been seeing Wendy every night before you come for me, that's what.'
Instinctively I said I hadn't.
'Don't fucking deny it, you big liar,' she screamed. 'She's been telling all the fucking school.'
'What, you mean standing in the middle of the playground and yelling her head off?' I laughed as if I couldn't give a toss. 'Or going round the class-rooms?'
It seemed to mollify her, sort of take the heat out of the situation. She paused, started to speak again, paused again until she had it right.
'No, she hasn't told all the school but she told Gisela Kovaks and she told me. I went straight to the bogs but she denied it, the big skinny liar.' She was under control now.
'Well there you are, that's the answer. Gisela Kovacs is going at the mix.'
'No she isn't. Me and her have been mates for years. She wouldn't do that.'
'Well Wendy is fantasizing, wishing I was seeing her every night,' I said with a pang of guilt.
'You'll be seeing her tonight anyway,' she said smugly twisting to look at me.
'We're meeting at the bottom of Greaves Avenue at 6 O'clock, you, me and her. See if she denies it then.'
Standing in a gateway with a high, wide privet hedge shielding me from casual observers, I watched Wendy walk across the grass triangle towards us as though it was thin, dangerous ice.
Cath reminded me of a bull-terrier straining on a leash from the angle of her head and the hunch of her shoulders. As Wendy crossed the road and stood at the kerb I could feel the anger of Reagan in Cath struggling against her.
'Have you been seeing him every night? Her
voice was neutral, pleasant even.
'Don't fucking deny it either.' Reagan had got loose.
Wendy shot me a glance for help but I only grinned leaving the ball squarely in her court. If she had kept her mouth shut we wouldn't be here. It wasn't my fault but hers alone.
'I haven't,' she stammered quietly, guilt and fear etched deep into every pore.
Cath took a step nearer, her head thrust forward and her little hands knotted into fists.
'You liar,' she snarled, aching to slip the lead and savage her.
Wendy stood her ground. 'I'm not,' she said quietly.
Go on Wendy, argue back. Stamp your foot and lose your temper or at least pretend to. She's only jealous of your legs.
'Well.' Cath' s voice adopted a more reasonable tone. 'Why did you tell Gisela Kovaks you were? You told her in the school bogs this afternoon. '
Wendy's brain raced, who was the biggest threat, Gisela in the morning or Cath now? Cath now. 'I haven't,' she stammered, 'I didn't.' A blind man could see she wasn't telling the truth.
'You fucking liar,' Cath screamed. 'You big skinny-fucking-liar.' She was on the very brink of leaping forward. Reagan shaking the bars.
'Come on love.' I caught the crook of her arm. 'You can see it's rubbish. You're only winding yourself up. Come on love.'
She tried to shrug me off. 'If I see you look at him again,' she warned still furious, '1'11 batter your fucking brains in.'
Wendy was rooted to the spot, her expression unreadable.
Over the top of Cath's head I mouthed the words 'See you tomorrow -same time. '
'Get yourself off home Wendy,' I ordered. 'She's a bit upset about something. Don't worry.'
She turned and began trudging across the grass with her shoulders slumped and her chin down, the epitome of abject misery.
She began to give me the reasons of why Wendy was a slag. She had legs like bananas for a start from all the dick she's had, she said nastily walking down the road, then I stopped listening for thinking.
The way poor old Wendy must be feeling, the way Cath was feeling was all my fault. Taking liberties with kids practically young enough to be my daughters. But if it wasn't me it would be somebody else and at least I tried to put them right. I discouraged them from smoking for a start.
Never mind trying to justify yourself, I thought sadly, I've got to be crackers. Having schoolgirls fighting over me, a feller my age. Hang on though, shouldn't it be the other way about, fellers fighting over girls? I've missed out somewhere along the line. That's what you get for spending all those years in the nick. All the world's gone crackers. I mean look at the way Cath didn't give a toss who heard her shouting and bawling, swearing like a trooper or somebody mental.
Poor old Wendy trudging home as though she'd been told she had cancer. I'm to blame. You can't blame anybody else but me. It'll be right in the end I decided because I'd make it right one way or another.
Cath had a little cry in her beer that night as she told me about another boyfriend Wendy had nicked from her. She didn't want to lose me, I was different to the others. After a session in the car on the Jubilee car-park her equilibrium returned and she entered the house her chirpy self. I hadn't liked telling her lies but what could I do under the circumstances? I had to protect Wendy, and Cath, although a head shorter was such a bad-tempered little bleeder she just might set about her with a hammer or something at school and then I would be in trouble. The police would have a real field day with a scandal like that. As it was, they were giving me all the aggravation they could and I wasn't doing anything wrong.
* * * *
Over the weeks I'd been fly pitching both Burky and myself had discovered through trial and error the best days to work, which towns were morning towns, which were afternoon towns and towns where there were plenty people all day. We'd also found if we pooled our money at the warehouses we could buy it cheaper the more we bought.
He still sold the perfume but not the penny or ingot. The natty jewellery I'd discovered in dirty little warehouses appealed to him more and Thursdays was warehouse day, the day when the majority of people were paid at teatime and skint until.
We'd been to the warehouse and were standing talking to Mother and Kay across their stalls on Wakefield market when he suggested we have a go in the precinct outside the British Home Stores. Christmas was round the corner and people were all over, carrying shopping and looking for something to buy; most unusual for a Thursday afternoon. It appeared everybody had been paid already and not at tea-time. He was always on about making hay while the sun shines and I wanted as much as possible put by to see me through without having to worry once Christmas was over. To be able to dedicate myself to getting fit before I gave Tommy a ring for a fight.
He had the first pitch and was just starting another when a copper came sidling towards us down the front of the shops. Closing the case we had a walk around the Home Stores until he had gone. I started ten minutes later and had just pulled a nice crowd together when the same copper came sprinting up the precinct carrying his helmet under his arm like a rugby ball. Maybe it would be better to let him catch me to prove I was trying to make an honest living. My inside pocket was bulging with receipts.
'Yer under arrest.' He grabbed my arm and tapped the case with a shoe. 'Come on let's have this lot up Wood Street.'
On the times we'd worked together the strategy we'd developed was whoever was arrested would use delaying tactics so the one remaining could work undisturbed. Burky had been arrested in Bolton and I'd taken £300 in the 3 hours he'd been in the station giving phoney names and addresses to keep the copper from his beat. Now, though, we only had the one case between us and unless it stayed where it was delaying tactics were a waste of time.
'If you want the case up at Wood Street, officer, you'll have to carry it yourself.' He'd be about 25, swarthy and needed a shave. A young copper full of his own importance.
'Like that is it?' He'd taken my refusal as a challenge.
'Well, we'd better send for a car.' He smirked taking out a radio from his top pocket, a smirk exclusive to coppers and screws with unlimited funds.
Burky stuffed a bundle of money in my pocket as he was giving Charlie Foxtrot and Tango a ring and whispered, 'Wind the cunts up.'
Half a dozen constables were in the charge room all on edge and expecting the worst. The desk sergeant was going through the case and I was emptying my pockets. Apart from the receipts all I had was money, mostly in pound notes, but the odd fiver and tenner. In one pocket my change, another expenses, another the warehouse money and in yet another the money Burky had stuffed in, altogether about £400. It was piled a foot high and covered half the desk. As I piled it up, taking care to ruffle it to make it look more, I was talking.
'I can't understand you people at all. You know I've no chance of getting a proper job like you and earning a decent living. You can see I'm doing nothing wrong and all you do is harass me. There I am
trying to earn an honest living minding my own business not bothering anybody and all you want to do is lock me up. You won't give me a chance at all. Do you want me to go out burgling? Bashing old ladies? Killing prostitutes like the Ripper? How come you can't catch him? Maybe if you didn't worry about me so much you'd stand a better chance. '
'Have you any proof this is yours,' the sergeant asked, oblivious to the noise I'd made.
He skimmed through the receipts, told me to pack the case and gave me a charge sheet. It read, 'Did peddle without a certificate,' at the top. And then he released me.
Maybe now they had all the proof they needed they would leave me alone or at least only take my name and address like they did the lads selling sun-glasses on Blackpool beach and then summons me later. The following Thursday I found out different.
It was a replica of the week before only this time I had the first pitch at the back of the Cathedral in the same place I'd worked on bonfire night. There were even more people about this week and in no 'time at all I'd ga
thered a crowd 40 strong with more joining by the second. Suddenly Burky pushes through and grabs the case. Looking to my left I see a fat, middle-aged policewoman huffing and puffing, trying to run and talk into her radio at the same time. Burky had run up the precinct with the case and although he'd taken the proof with him I couldn't see me being able to reason with somebody as determined as her. She had legs like the Michelin X man and a double-chin like a roll of ham. A copper her shape wouldn't run unless there was a nicking at the end of it.
Hoping she dropped dead from a heart attack I nipped up the side of Boots, down the escalator and into Kirkgate. I remembered I wanted a pair of cords and across the road was a shop that sold them. They hadn't any my size the feller informed me after a ten-minute search. With the policewoman forgotten I was thinking about fellers with skinny legs; there were plenty of trousers with my waist and inside leg measurement but none were big enough to go round my thighs. To get a pair that would I'd have had to buy a pair of 38s which were miles too big. If I leaned on the bar in some pub to build my belly while my legs atrophied I thought, closing the shop door and entering the short foyer, I'd have no trouble buying trousers.
There were two fellers waiting for me with detective written all over them.
'Hold it there Paul,' the nearest ordered. They were about my age and looking distinctly nervous. Both were average size, dark and very probably No.3 Regional Crime Squad. Surely it couldn't be for fly pitching, not two detectives.
'How do you mean, hold it there?' I said belligerently, 'What for, why?'
The one at the back stepped nearer. 'We don't know,' he sounded apologetic; 'You were seen running away from the scene of the crime. Your name came over the radio and we saw you come in here.' He tried to laugh, but all he emitted was a nervous cough. 'Huh, huh, we were on observation duty on something else.'
