“I’ll just hit them with some knuckle-dusters…” Aiden replied through clenched teeth. He sniffed and rubbed one of his eyes forcefully, as if punishing it for allowing a tear to fall.
Grant closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear this. He sighed in exasperation and snapped, “Right, that’s enough!” Grabbing Aiden’s arm, he prised the knife out of his hand. “What you got this up here for anyway, eh?” he pressed, angrily.
Aiden snarled, “Oi, that’s mine!”
“It belongs downstairs!”
As Grant stood, Aiden jumped off his chair and stood before Grant, his small chest pumped and his behaviour confrontational. “That belongs here. It’s mine!” he bellowed. Grant’s jaw clenched and he had to refrain from clipping the boy around the ear. “You ain’t my fucking dad!” Aiden spat with purposeful nastiness.
Grant’s eyes widened in shock, then, on a sigh, he closed them. And there it was: Aiden’s irreverence about his strange guardianship.
Before Grant could react, a small figure entered the room, her eyes wide and bright. Kate Foster. She was a pretty little thing. Her deep blue eyes were slightly too large for her face, and her lips were puckered, her nose a button, her hair a silky black.
“Aiden?” she whispered, her little mouth forming an ‘o’ after speaking his name.
Aiden’s eyes went to her immediately and the conflict with his Uncle Grant was immediately replaced with his protective affection for his little sister as he jogged over to her and wrapped an arm securely around her slight shoulders. “Alright, Bone!” he crooned. “Shall we go downstairs? It’s dinner time!”
She nodded timidly, and Aiden took her tiny hand in his and led her out of the room.
Grant watched the children leave with a heavy heart. Shit! He had been waiting for this day to come, but no amount of contemplation could have prepared him for the devastation he felt as a result of Aiden’s words: ‘You ain’t my fucking dad!’
He ran a hand through his hair and stared down at the knife in his hand, then over at Aiden’s carvings in the desk. He sighed and felt utterly deflated. He stepped over to the bed and, placing the knife on Aiden’s pillow, he pulled the duvet over, ensuring it concealed the knife, then he left the room.
<>
Another slam of the front door brought Grant out of his reverie. Vivien turned, and her eyes and his went to the door of the kitchen as Aiden strolled in puffing on a cigarette. Aiden had an aura that commanded any room. If he was happy, the atmosphere was light and carefree; if he was displeased, the atmosphere thickened like a fog, and when he saw Grant sitting at the kitchen table, the fog descended.
Grant smiled apprehensively. He hadn’t seen Aiden for a couple of weeks, so they hadn’t spoken since their last spat , when he had told Aiden that he would be better off working for him than for Reggie Driscoll.
He loved Aiden, more than he’d loved any other person – even more than he’d ever loved Vivien – but he had to start admitting to himself that the boy had grown tired of his counsel and his scrutiny. Grant stood to leave, but Vivien quickly wiped her hands on a tea towel and shuffled out of the room, eyeing him expectantly as she left. Aiden did not see this gesture as he headed to the fridge and began rummaging for food that he wouldn’t have to cook in order to eat.
Grant sighed inwardly. Vivien wanted him to talk to her son, but the truth of the matter was, how could he tell Aiden not to steal when the majority of his living was made from some sort of illegal activity? He took a deep breath, watching Aiden warily as he made himself a sandwich at the speed of light: a piece of bread, a splatter of peanut butter, another piece of bread. Done.
Aiden turned to leave.
“You shouldn’t be thieving, son,” Grant announced cautiously.
“Telling me what to do, Grant… that’s new,” Aiden retorted, as if he had been waiting for the chance to fight him.
Grant sighed loudly. Everything that anyone said to Aiden had some belligerent answer to it. No one could win with him at the moment. With a quick change of mind, Aiden turned on his heels and headed back to the fridge. Opening the fridge door, he added, clearly agitated, “Should I get a real job? Work twelve-hour shifts for fuck-all pay? That’s if I’m even offered a job. What do you do to earn all your money, eh?”
Grant refrained from answering him. Aiden had known from a young age that Grant earned unlawfully and he wasn’t afraid to throw that fact in his face every time he tried to lecture him. Grant had never been specific as to what he actually did for a living, always swaying the conversation to another subject when he was asked about it. Aiden took one of Duggie’s ciders out of the fridge. Grant knew he wouldn’t have had permission to do so but he refrained from pointing out that fact in fear of being accused of ‘butting into his business’ again.
“Gone quiet again…?” Aiden persisted, exasperated. “And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.”
“You’ve always got an answer for everything, you arrogant little sod…”
“Fuck you!” Aiden sneered; his tone drenched with loathing and disrespect.
Grant stood abruptly. With the recent reminiscence of this boy’s repugnance and the words he had carved in his desk all those years ago still fresh in his mind, he was all of a sudden rail-roaded. They were just two words, but both he and Aiden knew the potent meaning behind them.
Aiden did not yield and immediately squared up to the big man. They both glared at each other, the physical confrontation shocking them both yet equally fuelling their renowned tempers. Deep inside, neither wanted to hurt the other; Aiden was testing the boundaries, laying claim to his manhood and marking his territory, and Grant was finally showing him who was boss.
There had been a battle for supremacy going on between them for quite some time now, but it had never escalated into anything other than a war of words because Grant had sat back and taken it, when really he should have given the boy a good hiding the first time he had challenged him. He had never had the heart to meet Aiden head-on before, but he could not allow this rebellious boy to disrespect him anymore, whatever he felt for him. Enough was enough and, today, Aiden’s quick temper had pushed him to his limit.
Grant pointed a chubby finger in Aiden’s face and in a low growl, he said, “You speak to me like that again and I will knock you all over this room, do you understand?”
Aiden went to retort, to tell him that he didn’t care, that he’d received regular beatings off his father all his life so it would be of no consequence if he was beaten again now, but he didn’t. Grant had no knowledge of the extent of violence that went on in the Foster household, and pride prevented Aiden from confessing that he, ‘Aiden Foster’, could be vulnerable. He could not confess his weaknesses to the man he’d looked up to for most of his life; a man who he had always perceived as brave and indestructible.
But Grant had secrets, Aiden was sure of it. And he couldn’t trust him fully because of it. Grant had never confided in him. He’d only dictated to him. All his life, Grant had insisted on telling him what he should and shouldn’t do. When he had been younger, it had been easier to swallow. He had listened, because he’d relished in the security of knowing that someone was there, making all the decisions for him. But he was a young man now; he needed to build a life for himself and make his own decisions. Yet still Grant was there, expressing his disappointment and his unwanted opinion!
When Grant continued to glare at him, Aiden’s front dissolved. Grant was a large man, and as much as he frustrated the hell out of him, he was still his senior and he was still dangerous. It would be a closer fight these days, but Grant would most certainly overpower him through experience alone. Even so, Aiden was never one to back down. He continued to glare at Grant for a long moment then he snarled, “Get fucked…” before retreating to his bedroom.
When Grant stepped into the living room, Vivien stared wide-eyed at him and Duggie was watching the television with a smirk on his face. They had heard the whole debacle.
“Seems like my s
on isn’t your special boy anymore,” Duggie smiled deprecatingly. Vivien shot him a glare but he merely shrugged and added nonchalantly, “Welcome to my world.”
Grant couldn’t speak. He was enraged by the way he had been spoken to, but he was hurt and embarrassed and his eventual response came from that overriding emotion. “I can’t do this anymore, Viv. I’m sorry.”
Vivien’s eyes widened and Duggie glanced at him with a trace of panic in his expression. “What do you mean?” Vivien quavered.
“I’m mean, I’m done. He’s on his own.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath then announced, “You’re all on your own.” And with that, he walked out of number 22 Carlton House with the intention of never returning.
“Grant?” Vivien stood slowly and stepped out into the hallway where Grant was no longer. She stared at the front door, utterly bewildered. She turned and stared at her husband, her mouth hanging open, totally lost for words. She couldn’t work out whether Duggie had grasped what this would mean. If Grant’s funding ceased, they were fucked.
Duggie took a gulp of his cider. “Turn the TV up, will you, love?” he asked nonchalantly.
A tidal wave of emotion – anger, frustration and panic – flared up inside of her suddenly and she screamed, “Do it your fucking self!” then she flew up the stairs, tears streaming from her eyes.
Chapter four
Ricky Finn was the fastest around for breaking into cars but, other than this particular expertise, he was generally as thick as shit and couldn’t drive for toffee. Getting into a car and stealing the stereo or an abandoned wallet was one thing, but being able to take the car away, do it up and sell it on was quite another. Aiden could drive, though illegally, and knew a bloke at a local family-run garage that had already resprayed and changed the number plates on the Nova he’d stolen a couple of months back. So he wanted to combine Ricky’s talents with his own to construct something far more lucrative than twenty notes for a stereo and spare change in a wallet: he wanted to offer Ricky Finn a split in sales if he agreed to team up with him to sell stolen cars.
Ricky and Aiden sat on top of the garages running through the middle of Carlton estate. The ‘twin towers’ loomed over them angrily against the grey English sky. It was just starting to drizzle. Aiden lit up a cigarette and handed it to Ricky then lit his own.
“Come on, Rick, all you have to do is break into the cars, and you can do that with your fucking eyes closed! I’ll be the getaway driver. I’ll sort out the plates, paint jobs, sales, the lot… what d’you reckon, eh?”
“It ain’t the gig, Aiden, it’s just that I’ve kinda already been approached,” Ricky replied with that same gormlessness that his long, angular face always contorted into when facing an obstacle.
Aiden frowned and took a swift pull of his cigarette. “By who?”
“Jason Ryan…”
“What d’you wanna partner up with that cunt for?” Ricky shrugged. He didn’t have any other reason than that Jason had asked him first. Aiden sensed this. “Look,” he pressed confidently. “If I have a word with Jason, explain that I had been meaning to talk to you about it for a while, would you reconsider?”
“I…”
“How much did he offer?”
“Twenty percent…”
Aiden nodded then grinned, all bravado and charm personified; the true salesman. He approached everything he wanted with the same cunning. He had a manner about him that lured people into a false sense of security, a false sense of trust for the good-looking man-boy asking them for a favour. He had convinced Lily Summers to go out with him in the exact same way. She had refused initially, but it hadn’t taken long before his charm obliterated her sense of reason and he convinced her that she couldn’t live without him. It was time to do the very same to Ricky Finn. “If I get Jason to back off… I’ll give you twenty-two percent and I’ll guarantee three sales a month. Bet Jason couldn’t pull that off…”
“I don’t want no trouble from him though, Aiden…”
Aiden showed off his pearly whites once more. “Ricky, this is me, mate. Jason won’t bother you when I’m here to back you up!”
Ricky nodded. Having lived just a block away from the Fosters all his life, he was well aware of Aiden’s reputation for being a lairy bastard. Aiden had been brawling in boxing rings and on the streets from a young age, so Ricky knew that Aiden was capable of having his back if Jason did decide to kick off. “Yeah, alright, Aiden…”
Aiden patted Ricky on the back and jumped down off the garage roof. “I’ll be in touch,” he called over his shoulder as he swaggered away with a triumphant smirk on his chops.
Chapter five
Kate Foster had been listening to her mother and father having intercourse downstairs for half an hour before she was able to go and put something on for her tea. Kate rarely ate what her mother made. Vivien had just two recipes under her belt, and she hated both.
Kate was fourteen years old. She was tall, dark-haired and attractive, like her brother, and she was slender with a substantial chest and long legs.
Having made herself fish fingers and chips, she sat, still in her school uniform, eating alone when Aiden came back to the flat. Duggie had already left for his usual visit to the pub and Vivien had gone to the local off-licence.
“What are you so happy about?” Kate asked when her big brother, who she adored, strolled in with a wide grin on his handsome face.
“Things are looking up, sis!”
He whipped a chip from her plate and she managed to slap his hand. “Make your own tea!” she smiled fondly, and stuffed a piece of fish finger into her mouth. “Mum’s well stressed. She’s gone to buy cigarettes!”
Aiden shrugged and took out a plate from the cupboard. He began piling bubble and squeak onto it. He wasn’t fussed with his mother’s cooking either, but unlike Kate, he was too lazy to make something for himself. He lowered himself onto a chair next to his sister and began demolishing his food.
Kate watched him with the usual warm affection she had for her brother. Aiden had always looked after her and she was grateful for every day that he was still around. She had the feeling that he wouldn’t be around for much longer and she dreaded the thought of having to live with her mother and father alone.
If they weren’t fucking, their parents were at each other’s throats for one reason or another – usually money. Between them, they earned a pittance, and with Grant vowing never to give them another cent, they were struggling more than ever, but it didn’t stop Duggie going down the bookies and pissing what little money they did have up the wall. Kate was astonished that they still had food in the freezer.
The older she grew, the more she hated her father, and the more he seemed to express his derision for her and his entire family. When she had been much younger, she had received the occasional slap from him – over the backside, across her legs or her head – but things had got much worse. Nowadays, Duggie didn’t hesitate to swing his fists at her. There had been occasions when she hadn’t been able to take PE at school because it would have revealed the bruising inflicted upon her by her father’s frequent acts rage.
Aiden saw to it that such violence wasn’t inflicted on her whilst he was around, but Duggie was the ultimate manipulator and always seized the opportunity of giving her and her mother a good hiding when he had them alone. Her mother frequently exchanged abuse for sex. The more she appeased Duggie in the bedroom department, the less grief he gave the family all round. She was sincerely grateful to her mother on that count. On any other count, however, her mother could be just as useless as her father.
When Aiden was done with his dinner, he asked, seriously, referring to Duggie, “Has he been rowing with you today?” It was a daily ritual to ask and, today, the fact that both parents had dispersed and gone their separate ways (and their mother had gone for cigarettes) was a clear sign that something had kicked off.
Kate shook her head as she chewed on her last mouthful. “No, it was Mum and Duggi
e. Then I had to endure the other thing…” She rolled her eyes.
Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a fucking pushover, that woman! She’d let him shag her in the street to keep him quiet…” Kate didn’t answer. “So, he didn’t give you aggro?” Aiden pressed.
“No, I haven’t even spoken to him.”
He nodded in satisfaction and pushing his now empty plate away, he lit a cigarette. “I’m off out again. You got homework to do tonight?”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
Kate sighed. “It’s only maths. I’ll get the answers off of Jen tomorrow.”
A slither of a smile rose on Aiden’s lips. “Right, I’m off,” he said.
“Where am I saying you are, if they ask?”
“Tell them to mind their own fucking business…”
“I’d rather not…”
He held his cigarette between his lips as he zipped up his Adidas jacket. “In fact,” he mumbled. “Tell Duggie I’ve gone to see Gina Watson…”
“Really? Gina Watson?” she replied with a wrinkled nose.
“Don’t you start!” he scowled with amusement as he made his way out of the room. When he got to the front door, he called, “I’ll check your homework when I get back!”
The front door slammed shut and, on a sigh, Kate stood and dropped her plate into the sink.
Later that evening, Kate dressed herself in a short tie-dyed dress and black knee-high boots. She made finishing touches to her make-up then sneaked down the stairs. Passing the living room door, she caught a glimpse of her father slumped in his armchair, staring at the television with a can in his hand. From the sound of it, her mother was in the kitchen, as usual.
Opening and closing the front door as quietly as she could, she stepped outside and trotted quickly across the walkway and down the stone stairwell to the street below. Making a right turn, she headed for the garages, where she hoped to bump into Adam Draper.
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Human Conditioning Page 5
