‘Ray on the second floor. He’s got a caravan. He said we could have it for a few days. What do you say? We can talk things through?’
‘Three.’
‘It’s on the same site we went for honeymoon. You remember? We ruled the dance floor that weekend! And the bingo? I clobbered that fella in the wheelchair?’
‘Two.’
‘Syd said he’ll take us down, him and Mary’ll look after the flat. You don’t have to worry about a thing. No cooking or nowt. I’ve got a tonne of micro meals from Kwik Save.’
‘One.’
‘Eileen please!’
Dad sounded so pathetic, all his past arrogance and bloody-mindedness seemed like a memory of a different person.
Finally, Mum said: ‘No.’
‘Wait!’ I was buggered if I was going to lose a chance of getting rid of them both. ‘Mum you’re going.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or you’re out on the street.’
She sneered at me. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
Gritting my teeth, I could feel my eyes bulge. ‘Don’t push it bitch.’
Mum’s face contorted with an ambivalence suggesting she didn’t know whether to cry or spit – she lit a fag.
‘Not inside!’
Dad shouted back: ‘Show Mum some respect!’
What? Like you?
Mum blew her smoke into my face, pointing with her fag. ‘I don’t know who you think you are.’
‘He’s nowt,’ said Dad. ‘That’s who he is. Thinks he’s some kind of big shot, now he’s got his own place.’
I summoned a plethora of self-control. ‘I just want you two back together.’
‘Come on Eileen,’ said Dad, rising to his full five-foot-four. ‘One more chance. For the kids.’
For the fucking kids? Only nineteen years too late you fat cunt.
Mum gave a throaty cough, pulled a face and swallowed. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Nice one,’ said Dad, allowing a smile to awaken long redundant muscles. ‘That’s a bloody start.’
‘But you have to change.’
‘What? How?’
‘It all needs to change.’
‘Well, tell me.’
So she did. All the old bollocks about the old days, the dancing, courting, mischief, laughter, copulation and the prerequisite to seek, with urgency, a small blue pill. Ugh!
Dad listened, nodding occasionally, a mostly taut expression suggesting a degree of pain. After a while, he offered Mum’s coat and suggested a drink at The Lion. She took a minute to take it from him, further wittering about what she expected in the future, but eventually they did leave together – Mum grunting a lot, Dad almost walking on tiptoes.
I flopped on my bed – I didn’t care if Mum and Dad got back together – all I cared about was them buggering off and leaving Syd to flat sit. For those few days, I knew exactly where he would be.
I took a deep breath and called Ms Fish.
PART FOUR
Two days later
Twenty-Two
I see you don’t
look back with love.
‘OK with this?’ I said, as the Lexus pulled up outside block 4.
Ms Fish tied her hair back, her petite ears begging me to nibble them. ‘You’re the one who looks terrified.’
‘I’m fine.’
Of course, I was terrified. To think that little more than a year ago I was an oik, and now I was a hired thug. I’d really come on in the world.
She frowned at me. ‘And you can’t wear that – I told you black.’
‘It’s all I could find.’
‘How on earth did you think you could manage this on your own?’ Ms Fish read from my T-shirt and looked at me with disbelief: ‘Frankie says shit your pants.’
I grunted.
‘I have some spare things in the boot – you’ll have to wear something of mine.’
‘So where is it?’ I said.
‘Pardon?’
‘You know…’
‘No.’
‘The gun!’
She gave a tut and lifted her black roll-neck. There, tucked neatly into her skinny waist, was a bloody gun. ‘Do you approve?’ she said.
‘Yeh… I mean, you’d never tell.’
‘What did you expect? A spud gun?’
I looked across the road, it was dark now and the street-lamps glowed in a damp reflection from the road. It had been a bugger of a day, raining incessantly. But now it had stopped, as it seemed had the world, in anticipation of our big performance.
‘So,’ said Ms Fish. ‘I make the call, pretending to be…?’
‘She was a one night stand from God knows how long ago – he won’t remember what she sounds like.’ I gave half a smile, then whispered instructions into her lovely ear.
Ms Fish handed me her mobile. ‘I’d like to get this over with.’
I felt my heart move up a gear as I prodded in the number. ‘Just make sure your voice is posh – even posh for you.’
As she waited for a reply, I moved in close.
‘Hello. I want to speak to Syd.’
The phone spilled a tinny voice: ‘Who is it?’
‘Never you mind, madam. Just go and fetch him.’ Ms Fish covered the mouth piece. ‘It’s a girl.’
‘My sister,’ I said. ‘Syd’s girlfriend.’
‘You didn’t tell me it was domestic.’
‘I know.’
‘Your family frolics are the last thing I need.’
‘Too late.’
‘’ello. Syd ’ere,’ said the phone.
‘Er, yes, hello,’ said Ms Fish. ‘Is this Syd?’
‘I just said that.’
‘Yes, well, I would like a few words with you, mister.’
‘Go on then.’
She paused, before announcing: ‘I have borne you a girl.’
‘What?’ said the phone.
‘I am the mother of your daughter.’
‘Who is this?’
Ms Fish stalled.
‘Rebecca,’ I mumbled.
‘Rebecca!’
‘Who?’
‘Pig! You break my heart.’
‘I don’t know any Rebecca.’
‘Last year… a certain village bus shelter, a certain lack of contraception.’
There was a splutter of recognition.
‘You said you loved me.’
‘’ow’d y’get this number?’
‘Shut up and listen!’ Ms Fish drenched the words with such indignation, she almost convinced me. ‘I’ve waited a long time to track you down Syd. But now I know your friends, your family, your favourite jerk-off sock.’
‘Just ’ang on a minute—’
‘Flat 52, Block 4, your girlfriend has a brother named Ginger. I know everything.’
‘But—’
‘Be quiet! Meet me in fifteen minutes.’
‘Y’re a bloody loony.’
She gave a laugh worthy of a strait-jacket. ‘Yes. And you’d better grow eyes in the back of your head.’
There was a deep, uncertain breath. ‘Well… gimme an hour.’
‘You make an excuse and meet me by the garages at the rear of your block.’
‘But—’
‘In five minutes.’
Ms Fish hung up.
I laughed. ‘Pretty bloody good.’
She tightened the bun in her hair. ‘Hmm. You think he’ll come?’
‘Oh yes.’
She mumbled, turned on the motor and drove us around the block.
Of the people living inside the tower block, there were few who could afford a car. Consequently, the row of garages Ms Fish and I hid behind was used for the bounties of house robbing, underage
drinking and jacking up. The Lexus had been parked within one burnt-out example, just a few feet away, the black hole just perfect for concealing such an incongruous display of wealth.
I fidgeted. Ms Fish’s polo neck itched like nothing else, as did the masks we both wore – we were the height of IRA fashion.
‘It’s too dark,’ I said, peering across to the underpass. I was sure Syd should have emerged by now.
‘It’s been ten minutes. What do you suggest?’
A slither of red lipstick was visible from beneath her mouth-hole – it made me tingle. Even with the evil eyes of a terrorist balaclava, she looked kind of pretty. ‘Couple more minutes,’ I said. We stalked a while, then I mumbled: ‘So what did you spend all that money on?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just wondered.’
Ms Fish thought for a second, seemingly to weigh up a reply. ‘Things.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t think I can remember.’
‘Don’t you ever get scared? I mean, I do.’
‘Of what exactly?’
‘Getting caught!’
‘No.’
‘I’ve still got that money you gave me. Too scared to spend it.’
‘Your choice.’
‘Suppose.’
‘Nobody cares anymore – it’s a piece of paper filed at the back of some inspector’s draw. Daddy hardly needs the money. Just keep your mouth closed and forget about it.’
‘But he’s your dad. You screwed him over.’
‘He’ll live. He’s got his slut to take care of him.’
‘But…’ I stopped as I remembered screwing over my own father. ‘None of my business I suppose.’
‘No.’ She nudged me, speaking under her breath. ‘Look.’
Approaching from the underpass was a figure, no more than a shadow. It was impossible to distinguish, until a street lamp flickered momentarily, the broken bulb giving enough light to reflect from two little round panes of – probably – bullet proof glass. I knew of no-one else with speccys so thick.
‘It’s Syd,’ I said.
‘Are you ready?’
I nodded.
Ms Fish crouched behind the side of the garage, as did I. Syd was in full view now, his skinny weasel-like treachery no less pungent. He paused, his eyes flicking over the surroundings, arms folded tight across his chest. He was clearly nervous and turned back on himself quickly, as if to catch a stalker.
One of those stalkers – Ms Fish that is – rose up and moved in from behind. I stayed still, a very scared kind of still.
‘Sydney!’ she said.
As he turned, she used the gun to clobber him in the face – he fell with a crack that made me shudder.
‘W-what did you do that for?’ I blurted, an octave over normal, totally unprepared for our felony.
‘Pardon me? Did you think he would just climb into the boot of my car? Ask for some sweeties for the journey?’
Syd groaned, practically unconscious.
‘No… I just…’
‘Help me move him.’
We dragged his skin and bone back around to the concealed Lexus, he was so light I was scared he’d disintegrate in our hands. The boot took him comfortably, we tucked him in the corner, I tossed in his glasses, slamming the door on his groaning.
Tremulous hands removed my mask. Revenge wasn’t sweet, more an adrenaline fuelled mush of emotion. But from the mess I grasped a thought that just seemed right. ‘I wanna take him to the old sidings,’ I said.
Ms Fish glared back from her knitted face. ‘What? Where the hell is that?’
‘Derelict platforms by the train station.’ I restrained a shudder – any mention of the place was painful.
‘No. We go to your bedsit. We agreed.’
‘No you told me.’
She pulled up her mask. ‘I’m quite sure I’m not going for a mystery tour with that in the boot.’
‘It’s my decision!’
She slapped me.
All my fear, uncertainty and frustration seemed to congeal into one knee-jerk reaction.
I slapped her back.
Ms Fish froze, I took a few clumsy steps backwards, my legs floppy, bowing under my weight. She strode forward, threw her face to mine.
And kissed me.
Bloody hell.
Of course, I kissed her back.
She hustled me back against the garage and we exchanged a good deal of saliva, before she pulled her head back and ran her finger tenderly over the lip she’d struck only seconds before. ‘I made you bleed,’ she said.
‘I’ll live.’
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
She leered at me. Her hands moved over my chest and I shivered as she moved downwards.
I was so excited I was almost scared. ‘Er…?’
‘I’m only going down for ten seconds,’ she said, kneeling before me, ‘and if you haven’t come you have to beg me to finish.’
Already she’d pulled me out and set to work. I held her head and moaned, my face tightly screwed as I lost myself. So often I had pondered happiness, how happiness had eluded me, teased me by others’ zeal. Now, right there between my legs, I had happiness. Oh God! My pelvis jarred forward, my scrotum contracted: I couldn’t contain it. A twitch deep inside, and abreast of a resonating wail, I let it out. I fell back against the garage, vaguely aware of Ms Fish somewhere close.
‘How did I do?’ I gasped.
There was a pause.
‘Seven seconds – I think you have time for another.’
It was a nice thought, but – alas – the final three seconds simply passed.
Twenty-Three
Here we are deep in the night,
really is no time to fight.
It was 11:45 in the evening.
I fidgeted, the leather seat of Ms Fish’s Lexus making a squeak. ‘Do you fancy me?’ I mumbled.
‘Just keep your mind on what we’ve got to do please,’ she said.
‘That’s it?’
She didn’t reply – driving demanded intense concentration, apparently. The Lexus crept over the station car park, gliding over emptiness like socks over lino. A hole in the fence showed darkness behind, a darkness we couldn’t turn back from, that we moved towards. I knew I was shaping my future, many years consequential of one night’s activity. Syd, Chas, The Slap, Mum and Dad – everyone – my life had come to one point, this point.
‘Put on your balaclava,’ said Ms Fish, pulling down her own mask. ‘I do the talking – like we discussed?’
I tried to hide my shaking. ‘He can’t know it’s me.’
Clambering out of the car, my limbs took double effort to control. Ms Fish opened the boot and shone a torch into Syd’s face. He hid beneath his hands, curled up like he was hiding from the Bogeyman.
‘Don’t speak!’ Ms Fish bawled.
Syd simply quivered.
‘Get out. Now.’
He looked smashed, like when we shared a joint behind the boiler room at school and I puked all over him. As he struggled up, I saw a lump on his forehead the size of an egg – and an egg with a double yolk at that. He dropped onto the tarmac.
‘Get up.’
Syd obeyed, wobbly on his feet. ‘I can’t see!’
I pressed his glasses into his hand, cracked and probably useless. Ms Fish pulled out the gun, making sure he had a good view.
He fell down again.
‘I said get up.’ She dragged Syd to his feet, marching him at gunpoint.
I illuminated the way, my shaky hand giving the torch a flickering effect. Through the fence, stumbling over the tracks, we stopped in front of a set of buffers that – if it wasn’t so dark – probably still had my blood on them.
‘Turn around.’ Ms Fish pointed the gun to his head. ‘Sit.’
Syd simply dropped in the middle of the track. As I shone the torch over him, his eyes showed an emptiness, as though fear, bewilderment and a pistol whip had rendered him a vegetative state.
But shit happens, right? I’m just here trying to deal with it the best I can.
‘So, Syd,’ said Ms Fish with a ‘so we meet again Mr Bond’ kind of voice.
If she was expecting a reply, she didn’t get one.
‘I think you know why you’re here?’ She moved closer and pointed the gun at his groin. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
Poor bastard – in his eyes it’s going to be death by woman scorned. If he knew the real reason he’d probably perk up a bit – gangland treachery is definitely him. Daft sod.
‘I can’t hear you,’ shouted Ms Fish.
There was some kind of whimper that perhaps resembled the word ‘sorry’.
‘Good.’ She raised the gun to his head again. ‘But don’t get comfortable – we’re not finished.’ Ms Fish’s tone rendered such a nastiness, I could only imagine the inspiration for which lay somewhere within her own personal scorn. ‘The sight of you makes me sick. Do you know that? I want to puke just at the thought of you – and how you’ve… dishonoured me. I never want to have to see your ugly face again. What you going to do about that?’
He was quiet. Maybe he was thinking about it.
‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to pack a bag and piss off far away from here. You’re leaving this city and you’re never coming back. Got it? And don’t think I won’t hunt you down if you disobey – only then I’ll be scraping you from my boot—’
I coughed, waving downwards. Ms Fish slapped Syd on the back of the head. I intensified the hand gesture, shaking my head to boot, though this intensified the misinterpretation and, indeed, the slaps. Syd absorbed the punishment, releasing sporadic grunts, somewhere amongst which I could decipher the words: ‘I know this is just front.’
Shit. You do?
‘I know y’re workin’ for Chas.’ Syd’s voice became more desperate. ‘But I dunno what ’appened at marina. I did everythin’ he told me – I just fell asleep. Then I shit meself, knew it looked bad, I knew Chas’d be full a beef.’ As the slapping had stopped, Syd spoke more quickly, seeming to make a correlation between the noise from his mouth and an absence of pain. ‘So I sent the ring to Ginger – Ginger Jones. I dunno why, I was shittin’ it, just wannid rid.’
Strange Affairs, Ginger Hairs Page 12
