Angels Of The North

by Ray Banks

  "Puma Cabs."

  "Still?" Crosby smiled at him.

  "Yes."

  Lynne nodded at the solicitor. "Shift work."

  "Any shifts I want." Brian looked from ex-wife to the brief. "That was the deal."

  "That right?" Crosby stared at him as if he was the only thing in the room.

  Brian addressed the solicitor: "Shift patterns are flexible. Basically whatever I want to work, I can."

  "And yet you're late."

  Couldn't let that one go. "It happens, Michael."

  "Really?" Crosby glanced at his watch. "We were here on time."

  "That's okay." Lynne held up a calming hand.

  "When it's something important, Brian, I like to make sure I'm on time."

  "I was under the impression that this was going to be an informal chat."

  "It is." Lynne nodded, wide-eyed and smiling. And lying. "No, it absolutely is. Nothing to worry about, Brian."

  "Still, there's things to talk about, isn't there?" Crosby moved his mouth as if he was chewing something. "Serious things to discuss."

  "Like what?"

  "Custody."

  "Now?"

  Crosby shrugged. "In the light of recent events—"

  "What recent events?"

  Crosby sighed, shrugged again, looked at the wall.

  Lynne took over. "Danielle came home in tears, Brian."

  "And what did she tell you about that?"

  Lynne moved her hand from under Crosby's, brought both of hers together in her lap. "Well, she said you had an argument. And that you'd threatened some woman."

  "That was a misunderstanding."

  Crosby chipped in: "She said you got violent."

  "I didn't get violent—"

  "You have a temper, though." Lynne watched him with those wide, innocent eyes again.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Come on, you must admit it, Brian. You do get angry sometimes."

  "I don't get violent, though."

  "Okay." Placating him, patronising him.

  The accusation made him bristle. "No, hang on, what was I supposed to have done here? I got into a disagreement with the woman at the cinema, yes—"

  "The woman." Crosby nodded.

  "Yes, she was a woman. If she'd been a man, it would've been the same disagreement. Danielle wanted to see Dirty Dancing, and this woman wouldn't let her in."

  Lynne frowned. "It's a fifteen, Brian."

  Crosby nodded. "Against the law to let a thirteen-year-old in."

  "She's old enough."

  "Not according to the law, mate."

  "Don't ..." Brian jabbed a finger in Crosby's direction. "Don't do that. I know what this is. You're trying to make me lose my temper. You're trying to wind me up in front of this one here." Brian waved a hand at the solicitor. "No offence, but these two have a rich repertoire." The solicitor was writing something on a notepad. "What's that you're writing?"

  "Nothing. Not important."

  Crosby jerked his chin at Brian. "How are things on the estate?"

  "What d'you mean?"

  "How are things?"

  "I know what you said, Michael. I'm asking what you meant."

  Lynne leaned to the solicitor. "The estate used to be terrible. It really did."

  "It's much better now," said Brian, loudly. "Thanks for asking."

  "They really cleaned it up, didn't they?" Crosby was smiling.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Had quite a little war going on over there, didn't you?"

  Brian scoffed. "I don't know what you've heard, Constable—"

  "Constable?" Crosby couldn't keep the violence from his tone.

  "Sorry, what's your rank again?"

  "I'm talking about that house burning up. That baby getting killed."

  "Fires happen sometimes. That was thoroughly investigated. That was—"

  "And the flats up round the outside of the estate."

  "I don't know anything about that."

  "You don't?" Crosby let that sit in the air between them before he continued. "Because it was a bunch of your lads they nabbed for it."

  Brian kept quiet. Then he cleared his throat and spoke very quietly: "What is this?"

  "What is this?" Crosby gestured to the solicitor. "See, this is what I'm talking about. This is the kind of place he lives in. These are the kind of people he works for."

  "I don't understand—"

  "You understand, Brian. Out of everyone on that estate, I'm pretty sure you're the only one who really understands. You think nobody's been watching you, Bri?"

  "Don't call me Bri."

  "Something like that happens, you—"

  "You don't fuckin' know me, you don't fuckin' like me, I don't like you—"

  "The police, Brian, take an interest."

  "—so you don't get to call me Bri, all right?"

  "Like when a bloke gets beaten up, and a week after, we get reports of those responsible getting their arses handed to them, and then a week after that, they're burning houses down? And one thing starts cropping up time and again – Puma Cabs. We might not be rocket scientists, Brian, but we're not thick, either. You ask me, it's not just the street that needs to be cleaned up, it's your employer."

  "Then why don't you take over, Serpico?"

  "You admit that it's rotten, then?"

  Lynne stared at him. Appeared to be waiting for Brian to confirm or deny. Crosby, too. No doubt he wanted Brian to give up Gavin Scott or Phil Cruddas. He wanted more names, an easy collar, because he was one of those police who didn't particularly like to do anything like police work, instead leaning and preying on those he thought were weaker than him.

  Finally Brian spoke. "This isn't relevant."

  "Relevant?"

  "To what I'm assuming we're here to discuss."

  "And what's that?"

  "Custody of Danielle."

  Lynne and Crosby shared a look.

  "And in that respect nothing's changed. I have a job. I have a place to live. You said yourself the estate's a lot better now."

  "She doesn't want to live with you." Lynne couldn't look at him when she said it. "She's scared."

  "Why?"

  "Because her dad's a gangster?" offered Crosby.

  "Shut the fuck up."

  "See, this is what I'm—"

  "Just shut up. This has got fuck all to do with you."

  "She's living under my roof, Brian. I'd say it's got a lot to do with me. She's scared of you. You want to know the truth of it, she's frightened that you're going to hit her. She thinks you're unstable. That you're needy one minute and violent the next. She's scared to be around you because she doesn't know how you're going to react to anything. You take her out to the cinema and you try to punch the box office woman in the face—"

  "I didn't."

  "You tried."

  "There was glass in the way." Brian shook his head. "I didn't try to hurt her. It was ... I was frustrated."

  Lynne leaned forward. Her voice was just above a whisper. "That's understandable, Brian. Honestly. You've been through a lot this year."

  "Thanks to you." He regarded her with dead eyes. "And him. Pair of you. What did I ever do to you, eh?"

  "Come on, Brian ..."

  "No, I came here. I came here in good faith." Brian got to his feet.

  The solicitor looked up at him. "Mr Turner—"

  "No, I came here in good faith, thinking we could talk this out properly like adults. I didn't come here to get fuckin' blindsided by this cunt here."

  Crosby feigned deafness. "What's that?"

  Lynne stood in front of Crosby. "Brian, please."

  "And that's what you're doing, the pair of you. Got your boyfriend here to have a dig around, see if he can find anything you can pin on me. Doesn't matter how weak, how inconsequential it is, as long as it sticks long enough to blackmail into what, into signing a piece of paper? That's what you brought me here for, isn't it? To sign over custody."

&n
bsp; "You've got to understand, Brian—"

  "No, I do understand, Lynne. I understand that this prick here's probably breaking some kind of professional code by using his police time to harass me."

  "I'm not on duty, mate."

  Brian stepped forward and his voice jumped into a shout. "Because I'm telling you this, I didn't see hide nor fucking hair of this bastard or any of his lot when our estate was going to shit, when they were calling it fucking Pigsville and taking the long way round. Didn't want anything to do with us then, did he? So what if we got together and did something about it? So what if we made it a proper place to live? If anything, that makes me a better parent than either one of you fuckers. And that's why you can shove that piece of paper up your arse."

  "Sit down, Brian."

  He turned on Lynne. "Who the fuck d'you think you're talking to?"

  She looked at her lap, her eyes pink. "Please ..."

  "You're pure taking the fucking piss here, petal. You moan when I'm out of work, can't pay the fucking bills. And then what happens when I do get a job? This. This bollocks right here. What am I supposed to do, eh? How am I supposed to make this any easier for you? Why should I?"

  "One more time." Crosby's voice was hard. "Sit down."

  "Fuck yourself." Brian kicked a chair. It scraped and toppled over.

  Crosby leapt to his feet. Brian stepped forward. Blood up, teeth bared.

  "What?" Brian's mouth was dry. "What is it? Come on."

  "On you go."

  Brian shook his head. Stepped back.

  Just before he slammed the door shut, he heard Lynn calling after him, but he ignored her. He stormed out of the office, got in his cab, drove straight to the offy and then back home.

  And so here he was, still slumped, drunker than before, eyes and mind clouded.

  "You want to talk to us like a fucking adult. You want to do that. You know where I am, love. You know where I am. No fucking agendas. And no fucking boyfriends. Pig boyfriends. Fuck him." He breathed out, lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed once. "Nah, but you're not going to do that, are you? Naaaah. Too scared. Play the games. Play the fucking games, love. You're good at the games."

  Brian leaned forward, struggling at first, and addressed the electric fire.

  "I don't blame you for what you're trying to do. I don't blame you for trying to make a go of it. It's admirable in a way, but there's ways and means. And I know that I'm a fucking shameful embarrassment to you and" – a sob quarrelled its way out of him – "Danielle." He looked away and sniffed. Swallowed. "Fuck's sake. I have rights, you know. I should see my daughter. She's my daughter. She doesn't belong to that fucking ... arsehole. Fucking pig fucking arsehole. And hey, you want to make a family, you do it right. You do it the right way because you are being monitored, my girl. Oh yes, there are spies in your house. She's watching you. She's keeping score. You don't show your daughter what a colossal fucking bitch you can be, because believe you me it'll come back and bite you in that massive arse of yours."

  He breathed out, swayed on the edge of the settee. Let the bottle slip down through his hand and placed it on the carpet, his other hand up to his face. His fingers were warm, his cheek cold.

  "She'll hate you in the end, Lynne. She will. You mark my words. You can't force her. She'll hate you for it."

  He sniffed again. His nose felt full. So did his eyes. He put both hands to his face and another sob punched out of him. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He missed Danielle. And fuck it, admit it, he might as well, there was nobody else here – he missed Lynne, too. He missed everything about that old life. Wished he could bring it back, make it better. And maybe there was still hope.

  He laughed. What was it Gavin had said? "Don't lose hope, mate. At the end of the day, it's all any of us has, eh?"

  Too right. And until then, at least it had the whisky to keep it company.

  44

  It was cool and bright as they walked, Joe behind the pushchair, Michelle alongside. Every now and then she'd look across at him. Every now and then, he'd catch her smiling. He'd forgotten how pretty she could be.

  "What?"

  She looked away, shook her head.

  "No, what is it?"

  "Nowt. Just it's the first time you've been out of the house in like a month."

  "I've been going to my sessions—"

  "I know that."

  "And the chemists."

  "I meant for a walk, like. Just us and the bairn."

  He thought about it, then nodded. "True."

  "And you look better an' all."

  "You think?"

  She held her head a little back so she could get the full measure of him, one eyebrow crooked as she appraised him. "Yeah, you look almost healthy."

  "I never felt unhealthy."

  The other eyebrow raised and the two of them locked stares for a moment, deadpan, until Joe burst out laughing. She joined him, sealing the deal. Hadn't felt unhealthy, Christ, he'd felt like deep-fried shit ever since they put him on the green, but he'd stuck with it. It hadn't been easy – Christ knew he was one bad day away from a spike and an alley, but that bad day hadn't happened yet, and the way Dr Kelly put it, it didn't have to happen. As long as he kept seeing her, whether it was time spent in silence or conversation, there was something about getting out of the house that made him feel better, even if it was only temporary. Small steps, minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day, lifetime to lifetime.

  But there were still glitches. Things weren't a hundred per cent right yet.

  He realised that he didn't know where they were going. Michelle said something he didn't hear. Her lips were moving, but nothing registered. He shook a finger in one ear. "What was that?"

  "You all right?"

  "Aye. Fine."

  "Park's this way."

  The park, right. That was it. Bairn was too young for the swings, still too young to do much of anything, truth be told, but it was the only place to go for family time unless they wanted to go out to the MetroCentre, and neither of them were in any great hurry to hop the bus out there. "So what were you saying again?"

  "I was saying, d'you want to get some chips on the way back?"

  Joe nodded – aye, chips sounded champion – and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't remember coming this far. He found himself slowing down as he nodded, wanting to go back, retrace his steps so this time he would remember, but the puzzled look on Michelle's face kept him walking. He smiled at her, made out like everything was all right after all – and it was, it really was; he just had to keep reminding himself of it. Just as long as he kept his head together, watched himself, made sure he lived in the moment or else time had a way of whipping out from under him and he didn't want to wake up one day and find himself limping and alone like the old man.

  And then they were at the park. There were kids on the swings. Their parents, a knot of them chatting and smoking, threw glances the kids' way whenever the screams sounded too pained to be playful. Joe parked the pushchair by the only free bench, jockeyed the front so the bairn could see him and Michelle. He sat down, stretched one leg out by the side of the pushchair. The year was rolling into the middle of autumn, but there was an echo of summer today. Six months ago, he doubted if any of these people would have been out here like this. Gav and his boys had made a point of cleaning up the park recently, repainting the monkey bars and the slide and the swing, putting new wood chips down and fencing it all off so the dogs couldn't get in as easily. Beyond the park were the hulking remains of the works, but with so much primary-coloured paint in the foreground, the background was barely seen.

  Michelle was smiling at him. She took his arm. Leaned into him, watched the bairn. "It's nice."

  "Aye."

  "You thought about what you're going to do?"

  "I don't know."

  "I mean, when you're ready."

  He looked up at the sky. "Gavin Scott offered us a job a while back."

  Michelle tensed a li
ttle against him. He couldn't tell if it was excitement or dread.

  "Oh aye? Doing what?"

  "Driving."

  "I didn't think you could."

  "I can't. But he said he'd be able to find something for us if I wanted."

  She straightened up. "What did you say?"

  He shrugged, let her go. "I told him no."

  "Right."

  Looking at her, waiting for more than that: "Right?"

  She nodded.

  "If you want us to take it—"

  "There's other options."

  "Wey, it's not like I can go back in the army, is it?"

  "I know. That wasn't your fault."

  "You think so? I think it was very much my fault."

  "Then you have to think something else."

  "They kicked us out."

  "I know. And you were ill. They shouldn't have done that." A shake of the head. "Not that it was good for you, that job ... It doesn't matter. I don't ... You're not thinking about taking the job, are you?"

  "The job?"

  "With Gavin Scott."

  "I wasn't when he asked, but there's nowt else knocking down our door."

  "Don't." She looked close to tears, tiny wrinkles appearing between and underneath her eyes. She swallowed again, forced a smile.

  "You all right?"

  Waved a hand and blinked. She looked at the bairn. "You're going to think I'm being silly."

  "Tell me."

  She looked around, apparently to see if anyone was eavesdropping, then leaned into him and whispered: "I don't like him."

  "Why not?"

  "You think I'm daft, don't you?"

  "No."

  "You do. You're taking the mick." She turned away.

  "I'm not. Tell us. Why don't you like him?"

  She paused, watching him. Some part of her sure that he was making fun of her, and him sitting there trying an expression that said he was doing anything but. She looked away, then back at him. Hitched her breath a few times, as if she was going to speak, and then changed her mind.

  "Spit it out. Suspense is killing us."

  "I don't like the way he looks at people."

  "What d’you mean?"

  "Like he's trying to see through their clothes."