Lost Angel

by Mandasue Heller

  Frankie turned to Big Pat now and said, ‘Give them something to do,’ before jerking his head at Johnny and striding back outside.

  Johnny made a mental note to stay on Frankie’s good side as he followed him back out into the yard and around to the front. Frankie opened a door in the garage sidewall and flicked on a light.

  ‘This is where we keep all the cleaning shit,’ he explained, waving Johnny into the storeroom. ‘It’s a mess, so you can sort it out before you get started. Then I want all the motors washed – and use the proper shampoo, ’cos I don’t want you scratching the paintwork.’

  Johnny wondered how anyone would notice a new scratch on any of the cars when they were all covered in them already.

  ‘When you’ve finished washing the outsides, hoover them out and give them a polish,’ Frankie went on. ‘There’s a box of plastic covers somewhere. Find them and cover all the front seats, then make a list of all the plates, and detail what damage each one’s got: dents, bald tyres, knackered wiper blades, ripped seats and carpets – that kind of shit. Give it to Big Pat when you’re done.’ He paused now and gave Johnny a questioning look. ‘Got all that?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Johnny nodded.

  Frankie glanced at his watch. ‘Right, I’ve got some calls to make, so find yourself some overalls and get started. You can take a fifteen-minute break at half-ten, and an hour for lunch at one. There’s a butty shop across the road. I’ll be in the office if you need me.’

  When he’d gone, Johnny gazed around and scratched his head. It would take hours to sort this mess out, and then he had the cars to deal with. It was going to be a mammoth task, and he just hoped that Frankie wasn’t expecting him to get it all done today.

  Already knackered just thinking about what lay ahead, Johnny chose the least dirty, least smelly pair of overalls off the hook on the back of the door and pulled them on over his jeans.

  There were numerous bottles of shampoo, tins of polish, sponges, and various other stuff that he didn’t recognise crammed together on the shelves and heaps of unmarked boxes all over the floor. Starting on the shelves, he took every item off one by one and put them into groups on the ledge.

  He’d cleared one shelf and was halfway through putting it all back when one of the lads he’d seen in the garage suddenly emerged from the shadows in the far corner of the room.

  ‘Jeezus!’ he gasped, jumping at the sight of him. ‘Have you been there the whole time?’

  ‘Nah, there’s a connecting door,’ the lad told him, jerking his head back towards it. ‘What you doing?’

  Johnny used the back of his hand to push his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Frankie told me to sort this lot out, but it’s a fucking nightmare. I don’t even know what half of it is.’

  ‘Me neither,’ the lad snorted. He leaned against a ledge and took a pack of rolling tobacco out of his pocket. ‘Want one?’

  ‘God, yeah,’ Johnny said gratefully. He’d been dying for a fag, but he’d run out last night and had no money to buy any more.

  The lad rolled two and passed one over. Lighting his own, he squinted at Johnny through the smoke.

  ‘So, you’re the new son-in-law, are you? How’s that going?’

  ‘All right.’ Johnny leaned forward to get a light. ‘Johnny.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Del.’ The lad shook it.

  ‘Is your mate all right?’ Johnny asked. ‘He didn’t look too good back there.’

  Del shrugged. ‘Our Robbie’s a tough bastard, he can take it.’

  ‘Oh, you’re related?’

  ‘Brothers,’ Del told him. ‘We do the pickups,’ he added – as if he thought that Johnny would know what that meant.

  Johnny didn’t have a clue, but he was curious to know who was supposed to do what around here. As far as he could tell nobody had touched the cars before he’d arrived, and that made him wonder how Frankie could possibly be making any money out of them. He sure as hell couldn’t see anyone being mug enough to pay for them in the state they were in now.

  ‘Del . . . ?’ Big Pat shouted just then. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Shit, best go,’ Del muttered, dropping his rollie and grinding it into the floor with his heel. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Yeah, see you.’ Waving as the lad rushed back out the way he’d come in, Johnny finished his smoke and got back to work.

  Once he got into the swing of it, it went pretty smoothly, and he finished the storeroom well before he’d expected to. He was dying for a brew by then, so he wandered round to the prefab to ask if there was a kettle.

  Frankie was inside. About to knock, Johnny decided against it when he heard him yell, ‘Quit fucking me about, Phil. I told you I’d get it, and I have, so you’d best get your arse round here with the dosh. And don’t make me come looking for you, or I’ll make you shit yourself and eat it.’

  Reluctant to disturb Frankie when he was obviously still pissed off, Johnny started backing down the steps. But he hadn’t reached the bottom when the door was yanked open.

  ‘What you doing?’ Frankie demanded.

  ‘I’ve finished cleaning the storeroom,’ Johnny told him nervously. ‘And I was just wondering if there was anywhere to make a brew before I start on the cars. But I’ll wait till lunch if it’s a problem.’

  ‘Get yourself a fucking brew and quit acting like you’ve shit your kecks,’ Frankie snapped. ‘The kettle’s in there.’ He jerked his thumb back through the prefab door. ‘Don’t use all the milk,’ he warned, coming down the steps and striding towards the garage.

  Johnny went into the prefab and looked around. It was every bit as messy as the storeroom had been before he’d sorted it out, with a desk at the far end upon which sat a phone and several untidy heaps of paper. A couple of fold-down chairs were leaning against the window wall, and a kettle, coffee, tea bags, sugar and milk sat on a table opposite the door. He contemplated asking if anybody else wanted one. But Frankie was already in a foul mood and he didn’t want to piss him off by getting in his face again, so he made himself a coffee and scuttled back to the solitude of his storeroom.

  When he’d finished the drink, he filled a bucket with hot water and got cracking on the cars. By lunchtime his stomach was grumbling loudly. He’d been so eager to get out of the house that morning that he hadn’t bothered with breakfast. But the gates were still locked and he didn’t want to ask Big Pat to let him out. Anyway, nobody else seemed to be thinking about food, so he pushed the hunger to the back of his mind.

  The day had started off cold, but it got progressively worse as it went on. By four in the afternoon there was a glittering of frost on the scrubby grass edging the fence, and Johnny’s hands and feet were frozen by the time Big Pat strolled around the corner. Frankie was right behind him in his car. Stopping, he leaned his elbow on the open window and gazed at Johnny’s handiwork.

  ‘You’ve done a bloody good job on that, son.’ He nodded at the gleaming bonnet of the Escort that Johnny had just finished cleaning. ‘Don’t even look like the same motor.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Johnny replied, trying to sound modest despite feeling ridiculously pleased with himself. He’d worked harder today than he’d ever worked in his life before but, surprisingly, he’d enjoyed it. There was something hypnotic about the repetition of washing, polishing and hoovering. And considering what a heap of shit the cars had looked when he’d arrived that morning, the ones he’d done now looked almost good enough to sell.

  ‘You can pack up for the day,’ Frankie said, taking a tenner out of his pocket and holding it out. ‘Get a cab back. And tell Rita not to wait up, ’cos I don’t know how late I’m going to be.’

  When Frankie had gone, Johnny gathered his cleaning equipment together and carried it into the storeroom. He shrugged out of the overalls and reached for his jacket. Then, taking one last proud look around, he switched off the light and went home.

  Ruth ran out from the kitchen when she heard Johnny coming in and threw herself in
to his arms.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she gushed. ‘Have you missed me?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’ Johnny eased her away. ‘Don’t get too close. I stink.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she insisted. ‘Anyway, I’m used to my dad coming home filthy, so it doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘I’m not used to it,’ he said firmly. ‘Is it all right if I get a bath?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re still asking.’ She giggled. ‘Darling, you live here. You can do whatever you want.’

  That was the first time she’d ever called him that, and it made Johnny feel weird because it sounded contrived, as if she’d spent the day practising it in front of the mirror.

  ‘That you, Frankie?’ Rita’s voice drifted out from the parlour.

  ‘No, it’s Johnny,’ Ruth told her.

  ‘Isn’t your dad with him?’

  ‘He, er, said he had something to do,’ Johnny called to her. ‘And he said not to bother waiting up ’cos he might be late.’

  ‘No change there, then,’ Ruth whispered, giving him a conspiratorial smile. ‘Anyway, I hope you’re hungry. I’ve made something special to celebrate your first day at work.’

  ‘Starving,’ he admitted.

  ‘Thought you would be.’ She smiled and pushed him towards the stairs. ‘Go and get your bath. I’ll have it on the table when you come back down – like a good little wife.’

  True to her word, there was a steaming plateful of food and some bread and butter waiting on the table when Johnny came back downstairs a short time later.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, sitting down and reaching for his fork.

  ‘Chicken chasseur,’ Ruth told him, perching on the edge of the chair opposite his and clasping her hands together under her chin.

  Johnny got started, but glanced up after a couple of mouthfuls. ‘Where’s yours?’

  ‘I’ll get it in a minute,’ she said. ‘I just want to see what you think of it first. I’ve never made it before. I got the recipe from a book at the library.’

  ‘It’s great,’ he told her. ‘Really tasty.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Ruth exhaled as if she’d been on a knife’s edge, and fetched her own dinner to the table. But instead of tucking in like Johnny, she just pushed the food around.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he asked, wishing she’d just get on with it because she was making him feel uncomfortable.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Just been feeling a bit sick today. But don’t worry about me. Tell me about your day.’

  ‘It was all right, actually,’ Johnny said, reaching for a piece of bread. ‘Your dad seemed pretty pleased with me, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, that’s brilliant.’ Ruth smiled. ‘The last lad was terrible, so he had to sack him. But if he’s already pleased with you, you won’t have anything to worry about.’

  ‘I met some of his other lads,’ Johnny told her, mopping up the last of the juice off his plate. ‘One of them mentioned something about doing pickups, but I didn’t know what he meant. Do you?’

  ‘No point asking me about dad’s business.’ Ruth laughed. ‘I don’t get involved in man stuff.’

  Johnny’s stomach groaned when she whisked his plate away and replaced it with a steaming bowl of rice pudding, but he dutifully reached for his spoon. She’d cooked his dinner every night since the wedding but she’d gone overboard tonight, as if she thought that he would need twice as much now that he was a working man.

  ‘Cake?’ she asked when he’d finished his dessert.

  ‘No!’ Johnny held up his hands. ‘Seriously, I couldn’t eat another thing. I just need some water and a lie-down.’

  ‘It’s not even seven o’clock,’ Ruth pointed out. ‘You can’t go to bed this early. Anyway, that film’s on in a bit. I thought we could snuggle up together on the sofa.’

  With your mum giving us dirty looks all the way through? thought Johnny.

  ‘Nah, I think I’ll give it a miss.’ He scraped his chair back and stood up. ‘I’m absolutely knackered. And it’s going to be the same again tomorrow, so I’ll need an early night. Don’t want your dad to think I’m not taking the job seriously.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Ruth conceded, sighing her disappointment. ‘I promised my mum I’d watch the film with her. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Course not. Don’t worry about me.’

  Barely able to suppress his grin of delight, Johnny ran upstairs, threw off his clothes, jumped into bed, and spread his arms and legs, revelling in the space and freedom. He hadn’t felt this relaxed since he’d been in his own bed back at the flat.

  God, he missed it.

  The bed, the flat . . .

  Dave.

  Unexpected tears flooded his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he bit down hard on his lip and told himself to get a grip. Men didn’t cry – especially not over other men. But he couldn’t help it. Ruth hadn’t let him out of her sight since the wedding, and whenever he mentioned going to see Dave she made excuses to stop him. Johnny knew he should take a stand and tell her that he was going to see him, whether she liked it or not, but it just wasn’t that easy.

  So don’t tell her, dickhead.

  The thought came from nowhere, but it was so obvious that Johnny didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. It had been easy for Ruth to keep control of him when she’d been with him day and night, but she couldn’t keep tabs on him now he was working, so she’d be none the wiser if he took a detour on the way home. And none of his mates liked her, so even if she bumped into any of them they’d never drop him in it by telling her that they’d seen him.

  Happier now that he’d figured out a way to claw back a bit of freedom, Johnny rolled over and closed his eyes – willing sleep to come before the film finished and Ruth came up.

  It was gone eleven before Rita had sunk enough whisky for Ruth to be able to sneak away without waking her. She tiptoed out of the room, ran lightly up the stairs, got undressed and climbed into bed.

  Johnny had his back turned, but he wasn’t yet snoring, so she leaned over him and whispered into his ear, ‘Are you awake, Johnny? Mum’s asleep, and dad’s not back yet, so we’re safe if you want to do it.’ Getting no response, she shook him gently. ‘Johnny . . . can you hear me? Johnny?’

  Her breath tickled his ear and he jerked his head away from her.

  ‘Are you awake?’ Ruth whispered again.

  I am now, Johnny thought grumpily.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, gazing sleepily back at her over his shoulder.

  ‘I was just saying mum’s asleep and dad’s still out, so we can make love without anyone hearing us. If you want to?’ she added shyly. ‘I know you’re tired, but it’s been ages.’

  Johnny was surprised when Ruth slid her arm over him and started stroking his cock through his pyjamas. She’d never been this forward before; she’d always been more of a lie-back-and-let-him-get-on-with-it kind of girl. But if she thought her newfound forwardness was going to reignite his passion, she was wrong.

  ‘Ruth, I’m tired,’ he said, gently moving her hand.

  ‘You’ve gone off me, haven’t you?’

  She had a plaintive edge to her voice that signalled impending tears, and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ve just told you, I’m tired. It’ll be better when I get used to the routine.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I love you, Mr Conroy.’ Ruth wriggled closer and pressed her body against his.

  ‘Great,’ he murmured. ‘Now, let’s go to sleep, eh?’

  Ruth sighed and tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy. She didn’t just want him to make love to her, she needed him to – and if it didn’t happen soon, things were going to get very tricky.

  6

  Johnny was up and out of bed before the alarm went off again the next morning. And, again, he was ready and waiting at the door by the time Frankie came downstairs. But this time he’d eaten breakfast and had ma
de himself a sandwich in case he couldn’t get out for lunch.

  ‘You’re keen, ain’t you?’ Frankie remarked as they set off. ‘I thought I was going to have to drag you out of bed of a morning, but this is two days on the trot you’ve been up before me. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Johnny grinned, chuffed that Frankie was pleased with him. ‘I know it probably sounds stupid to you, seeing as you’ve been at it so long, but it gave me a right buzz seeing how good the cars looked after I’d finished polishing them yesterday, and I just want to get back to it.’

  ‘I vaguely remember the feeling,’ said Frankie, amusedly. ‘But I don’t get it no more myself. They’re just chunks of metal to me now.’

  Reminded of one of the questions that had been flitting through his mind, Johnny said, ‘I meant to ask, how come none of them have got prices on them?’

  ‘No point trying to flog them till they look the part,’ Frankie explained. ‘And I had to sack the lad before you, so there’s been no one to sort them out till now.’

  ‘Couldn’t Del or Robbie have done it?’ Johnny ventured, thinking that Frankie must have lost a whole heap of money leaving the cars sitting there in that state for so long.

  ‘They’ve got other things to do,’ Frankie said evasively. ‘Anyhow, what’s with all the questions? You an undercover cop, or what?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Johnny apologised. ‘I just figured you’d make a lot more money if the yard looked more . . . customer-friendly, I guess.’

  ‘That right?’ Frankie glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. ‘And how do you suggest we do that?’

  His tone was mocking, but Johnny thought he had a valid point, so he shrugged and said, ‘I just reckon people would be more interested in having a look around if they knew how much everything was. And it might help if you opened the gates.’

  ‘Reckon I need to start attracting passing trade, do you?’

  Encouraged by his responsiveness, Johnny nodded. ‘Yeah. And maybe we could line the motors up along the fence so they don’t look like they’ve just been dumped all over the place.’