And it did, didn’t it?
Yes, he ended up in hospital, in some kind of coma. Seeing him lying there brought back all those old feelings. The feeling of being let down, lied to, cheated. At first she thought he was back to his old ways—drug dealing/taking, and that he’d been feeding her nothing but bullshit. And being with those two bastards at the hospital made it worse. And even though John explained what happened, and her anger diverted from him to the people that did that to him, she still felt both disappointed and scared.
Will anything ever be normal for us?
Or am I doomed for life?
She thought about her friends and associates. They all seemed to be happy. Happy in their semi-detached houses, happy in their BMWs and Mercs. Their husbands were accountants and solicitors. Their kids played for football teams on Sundays. Everything was normal for them. Why couldn’t her life be like that? It was a mess in comparison.
What have I done to deserve this? What did I do so wrong? And it wasn’t just her home life that was bad. She thought of those bitches at work. Yeaaauggh, those little slappers. God she was glad to be away from them and that dental practice—The Gleam Team. The sodding Gleam Team, what a joke! As it was situated in one of the nicer parts of town, the other receptionists tended to be such stuck up pigs, just sponging off their spouses. Going on about their wealthy husbands, their two foreign holidays a year, their platinum credit cards, and how they only need to work part time while Alisha was doing overtime. Then turning to her and asking what exactly is it that her husband does for a living. And that was when she had to lie and she didn’t like that. They looked down at her. Because of race and class. A poor black girl who married a bad ’un. A Greek. Well, what do you expect if you marry a Greek? You know what they say—you should never trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle.
And when they found out she was pregnant, one of them had the cheek to say—ooh, you’ll have a hairy baby, and they all laughed like it was funny.
Bitches. Slappers. She never thought people like that actually existed, but they seemed to have all magnetically gathered at the same place.
And the head dentist was no better—Damon Powell. Thought he was a hit with the ladies. When in truth he was a short, fat, bald git with as much charm as a malaria-ridden mosquito. God, the way he looked at her, it made her skin crawl. His ‘friendly’ little pats on the shoulder as he collected a patient’s notes. Winking at her from across the room. The image now in her mind’s eye made her cringe. She was more than pleased to be away from there, for a while at least.
She decided that once they had their new flat (whenever and however that may be) it would be a new start, and she’d look for a new job, away from the Grim Team. John would have to get a job as well, even if it meant setting something up for himself. Window cleaning, handy work, anything. But she was always afraid that would turn out to be nothing more than wishful thinking. Like right now; he’s apparently working in Aziz’s shop as they both agreed it would do him good after what happened. Get his confidence back, help him recover. Okay, good thinking, but after the last time, and with his ‘previous,’ how legit was it?
Working in a shop he told her. Hornsey Food & Wine.
What exactly is the going rate for doing that? Probably not a lot. He said Aziz was gonna pay him overtime rates. Her response to that was she’ll believe it when she sees it. And besides the financial aspects, she was worried about him. Was he okay? What shit was he getting into now? She prayed that he really was working in a shop and not doing something dodgy. She couldn’t help feeling that way. Not after all the other crap. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt so badly, but she couldn’t hide from the truth either.
And she’d already given him the benefit of the doubt on a major personal issue.
The thing with Yousif, her brother.
She first met John through him, after he’d already met John at a club in Tottenham. By then Yousif had a heroin problem that he’d managed to keep secret from her. John was using heroin as well, although she was unaware of it at first. He wasn’t injecting like Yousif was, he was just smoking it; something he picked up in prison, and was trying to beat. John was also dealing at the time. Nothing major (she thought); weed, that sort of thing. At first she thought it was sort of cool. He was nice, not the arrogant type of dealer like she’d met before, but a more gentlemanly one. He had a bad boy streak that she liked, at the time finding it a bit of a turn on; young and naive and all that… They started seeing each other, nothing too serious at first. After all, John was a drug dealer. But once they started to get close, he opened up about his heroin problem, and how he wanted to beat it. She helped him with it, and to her surprise and delight, he actually gave it up pretty quickly. But it was when Yousif later died from a heroin overdose that she and John became close. Yousif’s death came as such a massive shock that she went close to losing her mind. But John was there for her the way she’d been there for him. He helped her through it all, every painful moment. And in truth, she was certain that if he hadn’t been there, she would’ve plummeted right over the edge of the cliff and into the abyss of depression and insanity.
Yousif kept his addiction secret, and so she had no idea just how bad his problem was until it was too late. She regretted more than anything not getting a chance to help him. She promised herself that if she ever found out who gave him that shit in the first place, she’d kill them. As John was using and dealing at the time he first met Yousif, she confronted him, asking him straight if it was him who got Yousif into heroin. John looked her sincerely in the eye and told her it wasn’t him and he had no idea who’d first sold Yousif that shit.
That was the first time she’d given him the benefit of the doubt on a major issue.
Besides, she believed him. If he said it wasn’t him, then it wasn’t him.
A couple of years later and they got married. That was when everything was at its best. It was perfect. They had a home. John was clean and had stopped dealing. They were happy.
But then he started hanging around that snooker hall and everything just went…wrong.
Now they were in a caravan.
She thought back to what her parents said to her just before they got married—that, he was trouble. He wasn’t ‘one of them.’ They were dead set against her marrying him. She let them know she didn’t care what they thought because she loved him. It was the last time she spoke to her father. She still saw her mother, but only behind her father’s back. But even that didn’t last long because she couldn’t face telling her about the gambling debts and the caravan. Couldn’t bear to hear her saying ‘I told you so…
I told you so…’
So, she was alone.
She stared with half-closed eyes at the tulip John brought home for her the other day. She’d put it in an old beer can along with some water and placed it on the table.
Yes, she was alone, but she had John. She sighed. Oh, John, why can’t you just be normal, babe? Why can’t you just be…
normal?
She now found herself reflecting on John’s behaviour since he came out of hospital. Distant one minute, snapping for no reason the next. Maybe those arseholes that attacked him did something really bad to him that he was keeping to himself. Or maybe being in that coma had affected his mind. As if it needed affecting any more…
She wondered where he was right now.
Working in Aziz’s shop, he told you. Hornsey Food & Wine. Now be a dutiful wife and wait patiently for your husband to return home.
Yeah, right.
God, I hope he’s not doing anything stupid right now. Please tell me he’s not. I don’t think we could handle it.
She shook off the thought before it had a chance to send her spiralling into manic depression, picked up her pen again, and went back to her incomplete Sudoku puzzle. She looked at a horizontal line and worked it out. She filled in the space with an 8.
Then, just after she did, the door opened and in walked John.
She looked up from her book.
John puffed his cheeks and then rubbed his face with his free hand. He looked exhausted. ‘What a fucking day,’ he said.
Alisha squinted her eyes, scrutinising him closer. Did he leave this morning with those clothes on?
She’d never seen them before in her life.
He came over and dumped a bag of Chinese food on the table and turned away. He then went back to the front door, opened it, lit a cigarette, and began puffing away.
Alisha looked around her, feeling confused. She might as well have been a ghost. He didn’t speak to her, kiss her, or even acknowledge her. And she hadn’t failed to notice the worn out look on his face either. Like he hadn’t slept for days.
What was going on with him?
‘John?’ she called.
He didn’t answer, like he was in a trance.
Is it something I’ve done?
‘Yoo-hoo, John!’ She called again. This time his head snapped round as if she’d just awoken him from a dream. Man, he looked so so tired. ‘Did you have those clothes on this morning?’ she asked. ‘And why are you so dirty?’
John stared down at his clothes for a second. He then licked his hand and wiped his dirty cheek with it. ‘Ah, yeah… I-I got bleach on my clothes this morning,’ he replied, waving his hand flippantly on the air. ‘I’ve been lifting things all day.’
‘Bleach?’
‘Yeah,’ John said as he blew smoke into the air outside. ‘I was carrying a box of the stuff at the shop. I slipped and dropped it. The bottles inside broke open and I got bleach all over me. The clothes I had on this morning are ruined. So I dumped ’em, and went and bought some more.’ He carried on staring outside, sighing and smoking.
Something was up with him, ever since that night, whatever happened—
A gorgeous smell then hit her nostrils, derailing her train of thought. It was fried rice, noodles, crispy duck, prawn crackers. MSG. She closed her eyes and savoured it. Aaaahhh. She went and grabbed the bag John just dumped on the table and opened it up, taking in the sweet aromas deeply. Suddenly John and his shit were put on the back burner. It was dinnertime (prawn crackers), and at least he returned home when he was supposed to (fried noodles), and she knew he was safe although (crispy crispy duck was just sooooo damn tasty).
She pulled a foil container out from the bag and peeled off the lid. She quickly grabbed a fork and tucked in. John carried on smoking by the door, staring out into space.
‘You not eating?’ she asked, and suddenly déjà vu hit her hard. Weren’t we going through this just the other day…?
John threw his cigarette butt out of the door and closed it up. He turned to face her. ‘Nah, you eat. I’m gonna go have a shower.’ He walked over to the bed and began to get undressed. She watched him with half-sad eyes. Even though the food was doing wonders for her, the sight of him looking so tired and fed up hurt her deeply. She shared those feelings alongside him. But only in silence. John always bottled things up, and that was his problem. He never spoke about how he felt, always keeping his problems locked away inside him, thinking he could deal with it all by himself. In a way she admired that aspect of his character, and as she watched him undress, his back turned to her, she realised that was why she loved him; he was strong, brave. He faced life’s challenges single-handedly. A real soldier. But being married to him had made her realise that sometimes even the most brave of men needed to open up now and again. To pour their hearts out. No one, no matter how strong they believed themselves to be could get through life alone. John just couldn’t see that, and no matter how hard she tried to make him realise, she felt like she was doing nothing but smacking brick walls head on. She feared that until he realised that, he’d never be a happy man.
And maybe she would never be a happy woman.
He stepped into the shower, his shoulders hunched. Alisha knew he’d never walk around the streets like that. It would show weakness. Expose him as easy prey. But she got to see the real John. The one that was special only to her.
She stared longingly at the tulip in the beer can as she carried on eating.
The shower then switched on. The sound of running water stayed with her while she satisfied her cravings for Chinese food.
*****
John remembered the beers he got earlier that day from the Polish offy were still in his car, so he fetched them and started drinking. He sat at the table, making an attempt to eat even though he wasn’t hungry. There was too much skata on his mind. He tried to pull off something today that went proper pear shaped. All he achieved was to piss off Marek—at the same time making him aware he was on his case—and use up a tank of petrol for nothing.
He finished off his first can of Lech and straight away opened up another. Alisha turned her head and gave him the eye, the one that said ‘are you planning on getting drunk?’ It came with the added bonus of an angry pout. John returned it with a ‘yes I am planning on getting drunk ’cos I’m pissed off and I’ve had a shit day, petal’ look, which came exclusively with a ‘so get off my fucking case, yeah?’ glare. She got the message loud and clear, turning her attention back to the portable TV and rubbing her belly, her halo dimming.
John took a long gulp of beer. This Lech stuff is proper bitter and watery, he thought to himself with mild disappointment. Piss. Cheap, industrial skata. He checked the ingredients—water, piss.
Yeah, like I thought. His impressions of Poland so far were all negative as far as the people and the beer went. Not good at all. He grabbed a prawn cracker and munched it to try and mask the taste.
He then started contemplating his next move. He could still play the father card with Marek ’cos as far as he knew, he was still alive and in John’s custody. John had been convinced Marek would just hand the delivery over once he assumed his dad’s life was in danger. I mean, surely he values his own dad more than anything else, gamota. But, it didn’t appear so. Marek wanted that delivery for something big. Money? Surely his dad was priceless, even if it was all worth ten million pounds—which it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination—surely his dad’s safety was worth more? Nah, it wasn’t money, it was something else. Love? John glanced at Alisha, lying there on her back watching the TV, her halo glowing like the sun.
Could it be love that drives Marek so insane? Could it be for love that he needs that delivery?
He took another gulp of his beer and winced at the bitterness of it, wishing it was Keo. Well, whatever the reason he wanted it so badly, it was clear he wasn’t handing it back easily. John would have to push harder, let Marek believe beyond all shadow of a doubt that if he didn’t play ball, his dad was brown bread. Simple as that. He nodded to himself and put another prawn cracker in his mouth.
Something on the TV then caught his attention. BBC Local News. He stopped halfway through crunching on his prawn cracker and became perfectly still. His eyes widened. They were showing pictures of a skip outside a building site. One that he recognised.
‘An elderly man’s body was discovered dumped in this skip in Willeseden earlier today after a local homeless man was rummaging through it. The man identified as Polish born Henryk Kolovski had only been living in England for three months and was a cancer patient being treated on the NHS. His body was discovered wrapped tightly in a rug, with fatal shotgun wounds to the chest. Police are urging anyone with information on this case to come forward immediately.
In other news…’
John stared at the TV open-mouthed, pieces of prawn cracker falling out of it and onto his lap. What the fuck, gamota?
‘God, there’s some sick people in this place,’ Alisha said. ‘An old man dying of cancer and they shoot him and dump his body in a skip! Sick! They’re the ones that should be shot and thrown in the trash!’
John rubbed his forehead. Things were going from bad to worse. He had to get rid of the body, he could hardly bring it home with him. How would he explain that one off? He’d hoped no one would notice, and the skip would be emp
tied into a disposal unit and crushed beyond all recognition. But no, a fucking tramp had to stick his hooter in where it wasn’t wanted, gamota… And now with that news broadcast went the only leverage he had against Marek and even worse, it would piss him off even more AND now the fucking astinomia were dragged in. If they somehow got to Marek before him, Aziz’s delivery would end up behind bars and off come Yiannaki’s testicles.
Chop-chop! You want fries with those?
‘What’s wrong, John?’
John’s head flicked upwards and he met Alisha’s gaze. Her eyes were big and warm, and she looked proper concerned.
John waved his hand on the air and shook his head. ‘Nothing. Nothing. You’re right. Sick world we live in…’ He sighed, then picked up his beer. ‘Sick…’ He suddenly wanted to get out of there. Wanted to cool off. ‘I’m just gonna go to the car and get my other box of fags from the glovebox…’
Alisha stared at him with those concerned eyes again. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You seem tired…’
John stood up and smiled wryly. ‘It’s all that work I did today. Not used to it. That’s all. A good night’s kip will do me good.’
‘You’re sure?’
John bent down and kissed her on her head, just below her halo; a part of him was scared to touch it in case it burnt his lips. ‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ he told her before he headed for the door. As he reached it, something hit him like a hammer, a sudden urge from nowhere.
He stopped and turned back round. ‘Alisha,’ he said.
She looked round at him. ‘Yeah, babe?’
Did you get pregnant on purpose?
He took in a deep breath as he prepared himself to hit her with the killer question, staring at her wide brown eyes and her glowing halo.
But, he bottled it. Instead, he just lowered his head and shook it. ‘Nothing,’ he replied before he opened the door and stepped outside. He just didn’t need to get into all that crap right then. He closed the door behind him and headed for his car, a sinking feeling overwhelming him. It was nighttime and the place was quiet, bar the odd person drinking beers outside their caravan or enjoying the moonlight. John got in the driver’s seat and sparked up a cigarro. Things were going wonky, badly. He was running out of time fast and Marek was gonna be much more cautious and harder to get to. The really bad thing was that the more time that went by, the more chance Marek would somehow get shot of the delivery. If that happened, then John was in the skata big time.
The Survival Game Page 14
