Human Conditioning

by Hirst, Louise

Aiden rapped on the front door of the Watsons’ flat. The door opened after a few seconds and Gina Watson stood before him in a dressing gown. Her hair was scraped up into a tight ponytail and she was wearing little make-up. “You’re late,” she snapped, turning and strolling down the hallway, leaving Aiden to close the front door behind him.

  Following her into the kitchen, he leant against the door frame and watched her flick on the kettle and take a can of beer out of the fridge. She handed him the beer without making eye contact and proceeded to make herself a cup of tea.

  “You look rough,” Aiden announced, cracking open his can, Gina’s foul mood having immediately stoked his temper.

  Gina didn’t bother to retort. She felt rough and didn’t appreciate being reminded of that fact. Her father had left for the pub hours ago, but the reminder of his fury was still burning between her thighs. Her father had been abusing her sexually and physically for eleven years and tonight had been no exception. Now, the last thing she wanted was a rendezvous with Aiden and the only way to ensure it didn’t happen was to make him so mad that he would leave of his own accord.

  “What’s the matter?” Aiden sighed with impatience.

  “Can we do this another time?”

  He stared at her, his thick eyebrows furrowing and his jaw clenching with annoyance. “You are joking, right?”

  “No, I ain’t… just piss off, will you?” she sighed, dropping her mug down on the counter and making noisy work of getting the teabags out of the cupboard. “You can’t just switch me on and off when you want to, Aiden, and right now I just wanna be left alone…”

  Aiden was beside her in two long strides. “No, it ain’t alright,” he replied quietly, his quick temper held by a thread. “I’ve made a special effort to come here to see you tonight.”

  She laughed. “Oh, please! You came to get your fill then you’ll fuck off. What’s happened, Aiden, one of your other birds cancelled on you?”

  The kettle boiled and she poured the hot water into her mug. He watched her, quietly seething. He had the urge to grab the kettle from her and throw its contents over her pretty face, but instead he decided on one of his usual forms of attack: reverse psychology. “Have you been with someone else tonight?”

  Gina shook her head in despair. “What are you talking about, Aiden?”

  Gripping the top of her free arm, he pulled her round to face his glacial glare and hissed, “You’ve been with Jason Ryan, haven’t you?”

  Gina stared at him and gulped, placing the kettle down slowly. “Where d’you get an idea like that from?” she replied.

  She wondered who Aiden had got to spy on her, and the thought stirred up mixed feelings of anger and panic. The truth was, she had seen Jason a few times, but not recently, not tonight. Tonight had been worse, much worse than a brief fling with a bloke she didn’t give a toss about, but she couldn’t tell Aiden what her father frequently did to her. She couldn’t tell anyone. The only other person who knew their sordid secret was her mother and she had fucked off and left her to rot.

  When she had been a child, her father used to tell her that Mummy would be very cross if she didn’t do as he said, that Mummy wouldn’t love her anymore, but she fucked off anyway! Now that she was older, her father could only use guilt and force to ensure her compliance and, however much she hated her father, when he used her body it fulfilled that part of her that craved the intimacy she had grown to rely upon. She craved that intimacy, because she never had her father’s attention any other time. The confusing thing nowadays was that she knew how fucked up that was.

  She had become to understand that what her father did to her was abnormal. But at the end of the day, it was all she knew. To find out that what you thought was normal for the most part of your life in fact wasn’t, was beyond a head-fuck.

  Gina shrugged Aiden off and walked into the living room, but he didn’t give up the fight. He followed her in. “Are you telling me that you’ve had Jason round here tonight, then?” he spat from the doorway.

  “I ain’t seen him, alright?” she bellowed suddenly, at the top of her voice, her cheeks flushing with frustration. This was getting ridiculous, even for Aiden! She had heard enough. Men and their fucking egos!

  Her temper was at full capacity now. She stormed back out of the room, back into the hallway, barging Aiden out of the way as she passed him. “Now get the fuck out!” she bellowed, once more.

  Aiden was momentarily stunned. She was evidently really upset about something or other, but not one to find compassion when he felt he was being treated unfairly, he accosted her before she could open the front door.

  He had the overwhelming urge to slap her hard across the face. Instead, he pinned her to the wall. “You talk to me like that again and I won’t be leaving so quietly next time, do you understand?” he spat through clenched teeth.

  She pushed him away and, as she did so, her dressing gown opened, revealing dark, purple blemishes across her shoulder blade. Aiden stared at them for a long moment then his eyes shot up to hers. He gulped. Gina glared at him, tears pricking her eyes, but her expression was wholly defensive, as if she was daring him to be so pitiful as to ask what had happened to her. He didn’t. He merely licked his lips and nodded, his eyes graciously averting from hers to the front door. He opened it then he was gone.

  Reggie was three sheets to the wind when Aiden entered the estate’s local public house, The Stag, after eleven o’clock. Last orders had been called, but when Reggie was there, the bar didn’t close until he decided to leave.

  Damien Weller, the owner of the pub, was well aware that Aiden was underage, but again, one word from Reggie and Damien had been obliged to serve Aiden and any of his acquaintances, plus Aiden looked old enough if the Old Bill came in.

  Ordering a pint of Stella, he joined Reggie at his table in the corner, still reeling from his argument with Gina. “What you sitting on your tod for?”

  “I ain’t…” Reggie replied with a wide, toothy grin.

  Aiden looked up to see a busty blonde, nearer his age than Reggie’s, returning from the bathroom and heading in their direction. She was dressed in a gold sparkly boob tube, tight white jeans and trainers. She was pretty but not pretty enough to interest him. She slipped a slim arm around Reggie’s shoulders and smiled down at him. Aiden realised he was sitting in her seat and he lackadaisically stood and gestured for her to sit.

  “This is Hailey,” Reggie announced. Aiden shook her hand half-heartedly. Reggie’s eyes went from his date, who wasn’t being very inconspicuous in her reaction to Aiden’s good looks, to Aiden, who wasn’t paying any attention to her at all. His mind seemed elsewhere. “You look like you’re ready to commit a murder, Aiden. What’s up?”

  Aiden shook his head and ran a hand over his face. “Gina’s just been on one tonight…” he tailed off and thought about the bruising he’d seen on her body. He instinctively knew it had come from her father. She wouldn’t be so coy about it if it had been anyone else. She would have screamed it from the rooftops and been on a rampage to seek revenge. Roy Watson was a slippery bastard. It didn’t surprise him one bit that he would beat on his own daughter. He was a coward and a slave to the ale, like his father.

  “So, how do you two know each other?” Hailey asked, breaking through his reverie.

  Aiden stared down at her. He didn’t like her voice; it was squeaky and made her sound more stupid than she probably was. Setting his thoughts aside, he smiled his beautiful model smile and briefly explained that he worked for Reggie. The conversation was cut short when Gina skulked into the pub. Reggie’s eyebrows rose and he nodded to Aiden, who turned to see her searching the empty bar.

  “He’s not here,” confirmed a disgruntled Damien, who didn’t appreciate the new arrival after hours. But he couldn’t say anything. He knew Gina was an acquaintance of Aiden’s. He knew her father too, all too well. Roy had been in that night. He had got hammered, as usual, and had left at about ten thirty. Still, Gina didn’t enquire
into the movements of her father. She was just pleased she’d missed him. She had taken a risk coming in tonight. If he had seen her with Aiden, he certainly would have kicked off again, the mood he had been in.

  Gina remained by the door, staring at Aiden. “I’ll leave you two to it,” Aiden announced politely to Reggie, smiling once again at Hailey. Then he strolled over to the bar, leaving Gina to follow behind him. Ordering vodka and lemonade, he turned and stared at her, coolly. He idly noticed that she had put on make-up and had changed into a sexy mini-skirt and heels. She looked hot.

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked after a painful silence.

  Aiden took a gulp of his pint and set it down. “What for?” he asked impassively.

  She closed her eyes. “Don’t make me beg, Aiden.”

  “After talking to me the way you did, I don’t think you should be asking me for favours, do you?” he replied, flatly his eyebrows jerking up to emphasis his point. He was scolding her as if she were a child. She didn’t reply. She wasn’t meant to.

  Her eyes dropped to the floor, his penetrative stare too much to bear. Aiden liked to milk any opportunity he got to chastise her, and she let him, petrified that one day he might not forgive her and she would never see him again. It was the disadvantage of adoring him so much. To keep the peace between them was something she fought for repeatedly, whatever the circumstance.

  Snaking an arm around her back, he pulled her into him and slipped his tongue into her mouth. His kiss was deep and filled with vigour, and she knew she was forgiven. “Drink up,” he commanded as he pulled away. Gina drained her glass whilst he said his goodbyes to Reggie and Hailey. When he returned to the bar, he downed the rest of his pint and, taking her by the hand, led her outside.

  “What’s with the bruises?” he asked as they stepped out into the night.

  Gina gulped. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  He nodded and sparked up a cigarette. After a long, silent moment, he glanced at her. “Anything I can do?”

  She felt the prick of tears and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re so sweet when you want to be, Aiden Foster,” she whispered, gazing up into his fine-looking face.

  Aiden laughed and stepped back out of her embrace. She beamed up at him. She loved the sound of Aiden’s laughter. It was a rare treat that filled her heart with warmth and affection for him. He shook his head and his lips pressed into a line, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I’m many things, Gina, but sweet ain’t one of them…”

  “Well, I think you are,” she murmured.

  His eyes narrowed a touch and Gina knew that he was trying his hardest to process the compliment and not succeeding. “Come on, stop all this nancy talk,” he muttered and taking her hand, they headed home.

  Chapter six

  Aiden’s visits to Lowe & Son motor garage had become a regular occurrence for several months now, unbeknown to Steve Lowe.

  Steve had taken over the family business in the heart of Hackney back in 1961 after the death of his father, who had established Lowe & Son just after World War II. Now fifty-nine years of age, Steve was looking to hand the lot over to his son, Alex.

  Steve, like his father before him, was as straight as they came. He didn’t have a record, he paid his taxes and every bit of business that had come through the garage doors since his takeover had been legit. So he’d never have guessed in a million years that his son altered the books twice a month to allow motors stolen by Aiden Foster to be stripped down, repainted and sent back onto the street, as good as new, within forty-eight hours.

  “You working late again, son?” Steve asked proudly, one chilly Wednesday evening. Alex was head first inside the bonnet of a Ford Transit when his father passed him with his coat on. “I’m off out with your mum tonight. Some bloody works do. It’ll be filled with suits and pen-pushers. I sometimes wonder why she picked me when she could have had one of those accountants with soft skin and no dirt under their nails.”

  Alex hauled himself out from the van’s bonnet and wiped his hands on a dirty rag he’d stuffed into his belt. “Because they’re fucking poofters, that’s why… we’re real men who do a real day’s work,” he responded flatly.

  Alex was a good-looking kid, though a little skinny for his height, with dark, shaven hair and brown eyes. Though forever in oil-stained jeans or jogging bottoms and a tatty vest that showed off his many tattoos, the girls found his firm, inked body and general ruggedness rather alluring. Alex didn’t spend too much time obsessing about the opposite sex mind. He was more interested in making money.

  Steve smiled at his son. He couldn’t be more proud of his only child. He and his wife had worked hard to ensure the boy stayed on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t easy growing up around council estates. Steve had grown up on one, but after a good few years’ hard work, he had made enough money to free his family from benefit housing and buy a place they could call their own. But the influence was always there, the allure to join those who wanted to earn a quick buck on the wrong side of the law. Steve knew his son associated with a few petty criminals his age, but he had prided himself on keeping his son out of any real trouble by giving him a job at the garage.

  Leaving with a reminder for his son to lock the doors when he was done, Steve headed to his car.

  Aiden hung back and waited for Mr Lowe to pull his Astra out of his parking space and head off home. When the tail lights of the car disappeared around the corner, Aiden swaggered down the dark road, lighting a cigarette as he went. When he neared the doors that read ‘Lowe & Son’ in large white letters, a white transit van reversed out and he watched as Alex expertly swung the vehicle into a parking space opposite. He then jumped out of the van and headed over to Aiden.

  “It’s ready, then?” Aiden asked at his approach.

  “Yeah, just gotta go get it. There’s beer in the fridge. I’ll be back in five,” Alex confirmed and headed off in the same direction Aiden had come.

  When he arrived back at the garage in a silver, once red, Astra, Aiden appeared from the garage office with two cans of Stella in hand. Alex jumped out of the motor. “Alright, innit?” He gestured to the car, running his hand up and down the new paint work.

  “Wouldn’t recognise it!” Aiden replied enthusiastically, passing Alex his beer. He took it gratefully and threw back a few large swigs. “How much should we get for it?” Aiden asked.

  “I reckon you’d flog it for about eleven hundred…”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Three hundred…”

  Aiden nodded and pulled out a handful of notes. He counted out one hundred pounds in tens and handed it over. “Hundred now, the rest once it’s sold, as normal,” he confirmed.

  Alex took the money and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. Aiden offered him a cigarette and he obliged. Taking a long pull, he stretched with tiredness and upon his exhalation, he said, “You know, we could make this a good little earner, if you could bring in more motors.”

  This caught Aiden’s attention immediately. He’d been thinking the same himself. “How many do you reckon you could pull off?”

  Alex thought about this seriously. He had learned pretty quickly that Aiden Foster was a doer and so took every suggestion or statement as confirmation of a firm plan. Bringing more cars through the garage was going to be a bigger risk; that was a given. Not only would he have to cover up materials and monies used for the deals, but actually making sure he was never caught working on the cars and hiding the cars from his father were the two biggest challenges he would have to face. Regular drop-offs could cause suspicion if he wasn’t careful enough. But as always, the money he and Aiden could potentially make was his prime motivation. “Two a week,” he finally confirmed with conviction.

  Aiden nodded in agreement. “Alright, then. Let me see what I can do.”

  Chapter seven

  Roy Watson was a stocky man of forty-two years, with short, spiked brown hair and green eyes constantly formed
into a scowl. He had a hard, square face with stubble covering his chin and above his upper lip, and his nose was reddened from too much booze.

  He sat in The Stag supping on a pint and watching West Ham play Queens Park Rangers, away. He was in an uncommonly good mood; West Ham was playing well, though the score was still 0-0.

  When he spotted his daughter storming into the pub, he watched her warily from his seat. He wondered what shit she had to bring down on him this time. Gina was just like her mother: everything was always a fucking drama. In fact, the only actual drama in his nine years of marriage to Lynn Watson was when she fucked off six years after Gina was born without even a note to confirm a contact number.

  Gina turned to see her father sitting alone. She caught him glancing over at her and knew he was attempting to avoid eye contact. He looked pissed again. She knew the signs all too well where her father’s drunkenness was concerned. Even from afar she could tell that his eyes would be glazed and his movement to bring his full pint up to his mouth was slow and shaky.

  She paced over to his table. “The heating’s gone off,” she announced bluntly, upon her approach.

  Roy looked up over his pint as he took a gulp then placed it on the table. “So, put some money in the meter,” he replied nonchalantly, his green, bloodshot eyes automatically reverting back to the small television set mounted on the wall opposite.

  “I haven’t got any money, have I? Give me a fiver,” she spat, holding out her palm.

  “Nah, that’s all I’ve got left.”

  “I don’t think you need much more, do you?”

  She was referring to the drink, and Roy knew this. He sighed. It was like a stuck record with Gina and her complaining about him having a few drinks every now and then. It wasn’t every now and then: it was all day every day, but he didn’t dwell on such facts. “Fuck off will you, G. I’m watching the game. I always watch the game. Go and put some woolly socks on if you’re cold…”

  Gina sighed irately. “You’re a useless tosser, d’you know that?”