‘Friends,’ Hal snorted. ‘You’re the only friend I’ve got in Bingley. No bugger else there I ever want to see again.’
‘I’m not at Hunters Farm anymore. I sold out. Remember?’
‘Aye, I remember. Where do you live now?’
‘Kettlewell.’
‘Very fancy. Nowt but gentleman farmers in Kettlewell.’
‘No they’re not. They’re normal folk, like you and me.’
‘Like you, you mean. There isn’t any bugger like me. Not in Kettlewell.’
‘I could get you some labouring.’
‘Farming up there, are you?’
‘No. I’m labouring. But we’ll be haymaking in a day or two. Prove yourself in that . . .’
‘Sorry, John, I can’t.’ Hal’s eyes were redder and wetter than ever. ‘I’d mess up and it’d look bad on you. Besides . . .’ he tried to grin and failed miserably, ‘I’m on a good do. Woman next door’s been making me meals all week. I’ll be in for the jump soon.’
‘You’ll be in for the high jump if you don’t sort yourself out.’ John sighed. ‘Listen, it’s a good forecast for the next fortnight. Shirt off, sun on your back . . . you’ll feel better in no time.’
‘Sorry. I can’t.’
John leant across the table and spoke quietly but fiercely. ‘I feel guilty as hell for letting you lose your farm. I should have made you take that mortgage. And I should have called 999. I can’t change that now, but I’m buggered if I’m going to stand back and watch you drink yourself to death. You’re younger than me, for Jesus’ sake. There’s half a lifetime ahead of you yet.’
‘No there’s not. Me liver’s fucked.’
John took one look at his friend’s ravaged face and believed him.
‘Drinking beer won’t help then,’ he said, limply. ‘You need a fortnight in the fields. It’ll make a new man of you.’
‘It’s beyond a fortnight in the fields.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It is. According to me doctor, I’ve been supping too much for years. And not just beer. There isn’t going to be any recovery.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘Can’t they give you a transplant or summat?’
‘No. The rest of me’s knackered too. That rules everything out, even if I could stop drinking. Which I can’t.’
‘Jesus.’ John fell silent. He’d run out of ideas.
‘They’ve given me eighteen months,’ Hal went on, ‘unless I get jaundice first. That could happen any day. And it’ll finish me off.’
‘Hal . . . I don’t know what to say.’
‘There isn’t anything to say. Fancy another? I’ll get ‘em.’
While Hal was at the bar John tried to decide what vexed him most. The little time bombs God planted in a man’s body; Hal not fighting back . . . or bastards like Sean Dwyer, preying on the weak, allus ready to make a bad job worse.
* * *
They’d got Johnny Green earlier, pouncing in the showers. Still fuming as he lay on his bunk, he supposed it was his own fault. That’s where it happened in all the films. He’d been stupid to go there alone. Stupid! His dickhead pride had made him hang back so nobody saw him bare-arsed. And hanging back had scored him the worst kicking he’d ever had.
Good job they’d been bare-arsed as well. Fuck knew what damage they’d have done booted and tooled.
Green still struggled to come to terms with the changes in his life. One minute he’d been king of all he surveyed, next he was the lowest of the low. How could he have fallen so far, so fast? It wasn’t fucking fair!
He was all bunged up. Sniffing hurt but at least everything was straight again. At one point his nose had been flattened against his cheek; the very last kick had knocked it back into place. That was when he’d realized today was his lucky day.
Not.
‘That’s from Speed,’ they’d said as they left. ‘We’ll account for the others later.’
Green wasn’t used to being terrorized. When it came to terrorism he was a giver, not a taker. The experience in the showers had shaken him. Fuck’s sake, he’d thought, hauling himself under jetting water, washing away scary amounts of blood. Don’t those bastards know who I am?
Sad to say, everyone in Armley knew who he was. Ointment certainly did; they’d got him first chance they had, and not without warning. A few inmates had already said he’d be doing hard time, while everybody else had gone out of their way to avoid him. He’d never been a bloke with loads of buddies but it hadn’t been this bad before. Overnight he’d become an outcast. Even the screw who’d found him after the attack had been more amused than concerned.
Green ran his hands over his body, assessing the damage. The kicks had rained in everywhere apart from his legs. Obviously they’d been bare-arsed on purpose. Obviously they hadn’t wanted to do him a favour by re-breaking anything. Instead they’d hurt him as much as possible without putting him back in hospital.
The bastards!
He’d told the screw that he had slipped on a bar of soap. He hadn’t been believed but didn’t care. Squealing would only have made things worse. So he’d stuck to his story while the screw and one of his brother screws half-carried him to his cell. That had been hours ago, long before roll call; long enough for the initial shock to wear off and aches and pains to set in.
His balls hurt most. Immediately after the kicking they’d started to swell. He was afraid to look again now, suspecting they’d come up like cooking apples. Next on the hurt list was his nose. After that nearly everywhere was battered and bruised. Stomach, ribs, kidneys . . .
Name it and it was throbbing like fuck.
The fucking bastards!
Up until Big Tits life had been a gas. Green had ruled his patch absolutely and everyone, dabbler or pro, gave him absolute respect. Okay, he had guys above him who made him eat shit, but they didn’t see that on the street. On the street they only saw the red Ferrari followed by the big black Lambo. Nobody at that level ever dissed Johnny Green. He was The Man and had the chicks to prove it, a different one for each day of the week. All different colours too, come to that. He did do blondes . . . but rarely. When it came to chicks he preferred interracial, his white on their whatever. It never failed to turn him on, seeing them yellow, dusky or dark, opening out pink. Particularly Asian chicks: he had a real thing about them, probably because they weren’t so easy to get. And because they were dangerous. You weren’t just offending family honour when you went out with an Asian on your arm, you were offending half the fucking city.
That was why he did it, of course: because he could.
In Green’s experience there were two types of Asian chick: Easternized and Westernized. Easternized were totally submissive and would let a guy fuck them whenever and however he wanted. Westernized were like Easternized, except they wanted a say in whenever and however; usually in a shrill, demanding tone of voice. He could never decide which he liked most. Easternized possibly shaded it. Possibly.
* * *
Len Desmond had knacked Green’s cushty lifestyle. Or rather, the big-titted MILF had knacked it by getting in the way.
Even now it was hard to believe. Acting on information received, he had caught up with Desmond in The Pack Horse, halfway through the Saturday dinnertime session. Desmond had predictably made a run for it, tear-arsing through the crowds of shoppers, zigzagging downhill because it was faster. Green had run after him, steadily closing, fitter and not handicapped with a bellyful of Stones Best Bitter. He’d got the gap down to just a few yards when it all went wrong.
To this day he didn’t know where Big Tits popped out from. Or why everyone was so pissed off when he’d accidentally iced her. Couldn’t they see it was all her fault? If she hadn’t thrown herself onto his bullets none of this would have happened. The Filth would have simply stuck Desmond into a body bag and taken him away. But no, Big Tits had to go screw everything up.
Fuck knew why anyone cared anyway. Consider that twat que
uing for the car park. Sixty-two years old and shot through the spleen. Nobody gave a toss about him. He was rated with Desmond when it came to not mattering. Well, perhaps a notch above Desmond, but a mile short of that Mother Teresa-like MILF . . .
‘Hey cunt, look at me when I’m talking to you.’
Green opened his eyes; or tried to. He’d taken plenty of kicks to the head and his face was nearly as swollen as his balls. His bruised-black right eye made it to half-mast. His left didn’t move at all.
‘What?’ he said through thick, split lips.
His cellmate was looming over him. Grill they called him, or perhaps Griller or Gorilla, Green wasn’t too sure. He’d spent yesterday in Induction and had only been moved to his shared cell this morning. So far Grill hadn’t said a word to him, not even when he’d arrived.
‘Lock-up at last,’ Grill said, sniggering unpleasantly, ‘time to tell you how things are.’
Fear wormed its glassy way down Green’s spine. Grill was big, bald and evil-looking. Not a guy to mess with by any stretch. He didn’t know what the bastard was in for, but it obviously wasn’t anything nice. And it didn’t seem like he wanted a friendly chat.
‘Hi,’ he said, fronting it as best he could. ‘Johnny Green . . .’
‘I know who you are,’ Grill snapped, ‘cunt.’
This wasn’t going well. Grill was presumably violent and was staring at Green like he was yet another victim. Green preferred violence when he was fitted out. With a weapon in his hand he’d take on anybody. Without a weapon . . .
Well, without a weapon he was a hard welterweight. He’d beaten a hundred soft heavyweights, but Grill didn’t look soft. And he wasn’t really a heavyweight; more like a super heavyweight. Maybe even a super-duper heavyweight.
Then again, Green hadn’t made himself a success story by being a wimp.
‘In that case you’ll know I’m connected,’ he blustered fiercely.
‘Like fuck.’ Grill repeated his unpleasant snigger. ‘Word’s out, your connections have dumped you. You’re on your own.’
No surprise really. Green didn’t have a contract of employment and had been off the street for weeks. He’d have been replaced straightaway. Come to think about it, by now his replacement had probably been replaced. For all that, he had hoped for some loyalty.
‘Look, Mr Grill. There’s been a misunderstanding. I’ll make a call in the morning. Straighten things out.’
‘There’s nothing to be straightened out.’
Grill’s eyes had a nasty gleam in them. Green didn’t like it at all. He didn’t like the bulge in Grill’s pants either. Suddenly he knew how those Asians must have felt; the younger, Easternized ones who didn’t really know what to expect.
‘Come on, he said persuasively. ‘Judge me tomorrow, after I’ve made that call. For fuck’s sake, mate, it was an accident. It’s not as if I’m here for dicking about with kids.’
‘Word’s out,’ Grill repeated, unmoved. ‘You can make as many calls as you want; you’re still on your own.’
The bald bastard opened his flies and both Green’s eyes shot wide open. That wasn’t just large, that should be starring in porn. There’d definitely be a part for it in that all-time classic, BIG-TITTED MILF SHAFTED BY MONSTER COCK. Green’s jaw flapped and a tooth that had been knocked loose fell out onto his tongue. He automatically spat, hearing it skittering away over the cell floor.
‘Rules of the house,’ Grill said. ‘You’ll take everything I want, whenever I want. Understand?’
To Green’s horror he realized Grill wasn’t fully up yet. Blood was still pumping and his hard-on was still growing; getting harder.
Not fair . . . can’t be happening!
‘But I’m connected,’ he whimpered.
‘Not in here you’re not.’ Grill didn’t snigger this time, he laughed out loud. ‘All you’re going to be connected to in here is this.’
Chapter Twelve
The months had flown by and Penny was perfect as a live-in nanny. The kids idolized her and she was just brilliant with them. It was late October already, Autumn Half Term, and there hadn’t been any friction at all. She made Mary Poppins look like a rank amateur.
Geoff was doing his bit too. At weekends the five of them did family things . . . relentlessly. So far, taking advantage of a long, hot summer, they’d been to Flamingo Land, the American Adventure and Camelot. Not to mention Lightwater Valley, Scarborough and Blackpool. Alton Towers was on the cards for Sunday, assuming the weather picked up again: Splash if it didn’t.
Secretly Geoff hoped it would be Splash. He’d seen her in a lot less by now, but Penny in her skimpy swimwear . . .
Come to that, Penny in or out of anything . . .
Every evening, when the kids had gone to bed, the two grown-ups entertained themselves by snogging in the lounge. Then, suitably inspired, they retired to Auntie Penny’s Room and bonked each other silly. Or rather, most nights they bonked each other silly. Sometimes, in spite of Penny’s sexiness and staggering good looks, Old Faithful refused to play. Thanks to her unfailing good humour this was never a problem. It’ll be all right tomorrow had become their code for anything that flopped.
Take last night, for example. Another unofficial strike. Old Faithful had been in full macho mood downstairs then wimped out altogether when actually needed. And he hadn’t been swayed by the friendliest persuasion. In the end they’d given up and carried on without him.
The awkward swine.
Geoff always left Penny ten minutes before the girls’ alarms, sneaking off to shower and dress in Daddy’s Room. This morning he’d had every intention of doing the same. Except this morning Penny seemed to have other ideas. Instead of giving him the usual fleeting kiss, she kept hold of him, rubbing her hard nipples against his chest, making the air sizzle. He let her tongue probe into his mouth, wishing he had nowhere to go. Penny was without doubt the world’s best kisser. He could do this for a long, long time.
At last she broke away. ‘Let’s see who’s crossed the picket line,’ she said, drawing back the sheets.
Old Faithful certainly had. He looked more interested than ever.
‘There isn’t time,’ Geoff almost wailed.
‘There’s time for this,’ Penny said purposefully.
Oh how amazing! She’s giving me a thingy . . . known to cruder persons as a swift hand-job.
Geoff watched Penny’s face as she worked on him, completely focused on a very attentive Old Faithful. She was smiling to herself, clearly happy in her mission. She’d often gone south on him but had never done this. Not as a simple means to a simple end.
Like everything else she did, she was fantastic at it.
She was also incredibly aware.
‘Geoffrey Rodgers,’ she said without looking up. ‘You’d better not be clock-watching.’
‘I’m not,’ he protested, wondering how she’d seen him take just the tiniest peek.
‘Use your imagination if you’re so desperate. Pretend I’m Pamela Anderson, with a million sex-starved men wishing they were in your place.’
‘Forget Pamela Anderson,’ he replied. ‘I’m pretending you’re Penny Browning. If you’d been in Baywatch there’d be a billion men wishing . . . oh, oh . . . oops!’
‘There’s lots of it,’ Penny said when he finally stopped erupting. ‘I’ll get the sheets in the wash after you’ve gone. You’d better go and wash too. It’s all over you.’
‘That’s your fault. You aimed it all over me.’
‘Don’t moan. You enjoyed it.’
That much was true. Old Faithful wasn’t showing sign of any imminent walk out.
‘If I wasn’t taking the kids up to Grandma’s . . .’ he began.
‘Drop them off and come back.’ Her eyes shone. ‘I dare you.’
Now there was a challenge he couldn’t refuse. They hadn’t had the house to themselves since she’d moved in. All their bonking had been conducted in virtual silence. Perhaps she’d shout out again if
they were alone.
Perhaps he’d join in with a few yells of his own.
‘I’ll be back for one o'clock. How’s that sound?’
Penny stroked his still attentive thingy. ‘It sounds great. Don’t be late because . . .’
She was interrupted by a mighty crash from above.
‘Shit,’ Geoff said. ‘That was Becky getting up.’
‘Correct,’ said Penny. ‘Bet you Sandy still beats her to the bathroom.’
‘Never mind that; they’ll catch us. And I’m covered in . . . thingy.’
‘You’d better use my en-suite.’
Geoff briskly washed and dried himself. Leaving the shower and extractor fan running, he opened the door a crack and peered out. A deputation had arrived to see Auntie Penny. As he was only wearing a towel he stayed where he was.
‘Hi girls,’ Penny said brightly. ‘It’s a drizzly old day today. We’ll have to have coats on for Granny.’
‘Where’s Daddy?’ Sandy asked.
‘He’s in my en-suite. His shower didn’t want to work this morning.’
‘His bed’s made. Did he sleep in here last night?’ from Becky.
‘Goodness me, no. He must have made his bed as soon as he got up.’
‘Daddy never makes his bed properly. I have to straighten it for him.’ It was Sandy again. ‘And the other side of your bed’s all scrunched. Auntie Penny, you wouldn’t tell porky pies, would you? Are you sure he didn’t sleep here last night?’
A pause while Auntie Penny fought off more porky pies.
‘We . . . ell,’ she said eventually. ‘He might have got in for a quick snuggle.’
‘I told you!’ Becky said excitedly. ‘I told you they kiss and cuddle on the couch.’
‘Go on then,’ Sandy said. ‘Ask your question.’
‘Auntie Penny . . .’ Becky cleared her throat theatrically. ‘Are you going to be our new mummy?’
Bloody kids!
Geoff only realized he was holding his breath when he suddenly felt dizzy. Through the crack he could see Penny trying to compose herself. He couldn’t quite see the girls, but could easily picture them, standing expectantly by the bed.
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