by M W Foolster
“Got a feeling it’s not over with yet though. Look.”
Both watch as the traveller’s go scurrying back towards their caravans and are met by at least half a dozen others. Having closed the window, she hands him his freshly ironed shirt.
“Don’t really want to get involved though, do we Jay?”
"Probably not. But look, if it does all kick off again, you call the police straight away.”
“Will do. That’s if the phones are working.”
Now buttoning up his shirt, Jason smiles at her.
"Doubt the network will be down for long Susie and meant what I said, if it kicks off again call the police right. And look, thanks for the shirt love, I really appreciate it.”
"My pleasure. Nearly forgot, is Jazz in work today? If so, could you give this to her?"
He smiles in acknowledgement as he takes the jiffy bag.
Brown bag in hand, black sports bag over his shoulder, Jason stands at the door to his bedsit, sighing as he takes one last look around the flat. Cheap. Nasty. Just what he deserves, well, so Cathy had reckoned. Every wall painted in a cold pale blue, and laminated wooden flooring throughout. Sparsely furnished, but it’s not as though he’d any furniture to begin with. He grimaces as he stares at the broken table, that will need repairing. And as for that damned squeaky sofa bed. Not that he ever bothers using it as a sofa because it’s just too time consuming clearing the bed linen morning and night. And Susie’s right, it does look as though he’s been burgled. No matter what, he will have to get it cleaned up tonight. Would most likely get evicted if Mr Kazim saw its present condition. He spots the poxy Home Sweet Home picture still lying on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, and swears to himself. He’d fully intended to clear it up earlier, hasn’t got time to do it now though, another job for tonight. Tony's sense of humour, nothing sweet about this home, and it was his only contribution to helping with the move 8 months back. Well that and the £700 he had loaned him for the deposit.
He makes a point of slamming the door to his flat as loudly as his head can cope with, petty revenge for the number of times Kouch, his Polish heavy metal playing neighbour, has woken him. Forever thumping around in the rooms above, music blaring out, rarely out of bed before lunchtime. That said, he does have his uses, after all, he did manage to find the dead rats that had been slowly decaying in the cavity walls; the most recent corpse having been discovered in the bathroom. Susie suspected that Mr Kazim had snuck in and laid some poison after she'd complained at seeing them. After all, it was a cheaper option than having to bring in an exterminator, problem solved as far as Mr Kazim was concerned. And then came the smell. It didn’t take them long to realise what had happened, that the rats had crept into plasterboard partition walls to die. The foul odour had lingered for months, still reeks in the bathroom.
Jason shudders at the memory as he passes by the still unrepaired partition wall in the hallway. Down the first flight of stairs. He looks down at the tatty, vomit green communal carpet, his attention drawn to the mud prints leading to the bottom of the stairs, just hopes it wasn't him. He hates this narrow hallway, dimly lit, the cheap dark green carpet now threadbare on the top step, painted lime green walls, damp stains creeping across the ceiling. Thumping down the second flight of stairs, he suddenly comes to an abrupt stop.
Propped up against the wall leading from the main door is what appears to be a, well a Halloween prop for want of a better description. Life sized, red eyes protruding from a skeleton face, skeletal hands poking out from beneath the dirty, shredded white gown it's clothed in. He sits on the bottom step, chewing his bottom lip, just staring at it. He vaguely remembers it from the Jolly Roger, part of the pub's Halloween display but surely he wouldn't of removed it. Why would he? Makes no sense. But if he didn't, how the hell did it get there? Groans aloud at the prospect of having to return it. Perhaps he could just leave it outside the pub, but hasn’t got time this morning. He's about to leave but hesitates, not as though he can leave the thing in the hallway. Having quickly darted back up to his bedsit, the ghostly prop is soon carefully concealed in an old blanket and hidden in the cupboard beneath the stairs.
5 Home Sweet Home
Gabriel leans forward on the wrought iron balcony, can of lager in hand, gazing contentedly up at the sky, admiring the glorious shade of blue. There’s a chill in the air but he welcomes it, even though goose bumps are now appearing on his arms. Probably shouldn't be stood there in just his boxer shorts, hard to believe it is nearly November. He looks down at his watch, 8am. Grins to himself, 'Man, this feels good. Yes, Sir, Gabriel Brown is back in town.’
Some school kids catch his attention, a tall lanky girl in a green and white chequered dress slapping a younger boy hard around the back of the head. Shouting something at him. Can see the boy sobbing as he kneels down picking up a school bag. Gabriel can't make out what she's saying. He doesn’t recognise either of them, must be new on the estate. Loses interest.
Wandering back into the flat, he grabs a can of beer, briefly pausing to admire his own reflection in the glass french doors leading on to the balcony. Ripped muscle showing through his glistening brown skin, the gym time in prison had certainly paid off, that’s for sure. The lifers especially had been obsessed with weights, and that had spurred him on even more. But that’s all in the past now.
Back out on the balcony, takes a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. Glances down at his ruined trainers and sighs, only worn them twice and had cost him nearly three hundred pounds. Will bin them later. He still can't get his head around the previous nights escapades in the cemetery, and that damned dog. Still, despite the discoloured puncture wounds to his hand, he'd survived it unscathed, just. Gulps down the beer and smiles to himself.
Yep, no longer prisoner FU8123. No more being told when to wash, when to eat, when to sleep. He’d still woken at 6am, lights on, but after 6 months in that hell hole it will take him a while to adjust. Was good being back in a comfortable bed but difficult sleeping, the mattress is just too damned soft. Strange too, not having Frenchy in the bunk below, the long chats they’d shared, him plotting his revenge, laughing together until the early hours. Checks his watch again. Frenchy would be munching his way through breakfast, most likely wondering who his next cellmate would be. No doubt about it, he was going to miss his cell mate.
Gabriel thinks back to April 1st, arriving at the prison, despondent, depressed and, despite trying his damndest not to be, totally petrified. Of course, he’d known he’d receive a custodial sentence, his defence barrister, Mr Stevens, had even wanted him to plead guilty, would mean a reduced sentence but Gabriel had refused, always a glimmer of a hope, perhaps a sympathetic jury. Clutching at straws Mr Stevens had said, and that had proven to be the case. After all, he was still on probation following the earlier road rage incident. Mentally he’d prepared himself for the worst but even so, it had still come as a shock. The closing statements, followed by the judge’s summing up, the jury retired to reach its verdict, led back down to a court cell, an hour later back in the courtroom. The foreman of the jury standing in a dark grey suit, his solemn expression as he’d confirmed that the decision was unanimous. Such a powerful blow to the chest to actually hear that word spoken aloud. Guilty. And with it went his freedom.
The rest of the proceedings were almost surreal, no more than a hazy memory, the judge in his red gown and white wig passing sentence, that he'd serve a minimum of six months. A quick glance across at his tearful cousin Chloe, Jonah and Ash sat either side of her, as he was led back down to the holding cells. A last lingering look up at Louise, sat several rows back from them, not that she'd shown even a flicker of emotion. Followed by a three hour wait in the court cell. He thinks it was a court guard asking him some mundane questions, can't remember what, and then handcuffed to same guard as he was led to the meat wagon. Shoved into a cubicle within the van, stifling hot, trying to remain calm, probably only inside it for a couple of hours but it had felt far, far lon
ger. Filling up with prisoners, all looking the same as he was feeling. And then he’d arrived at the prison.
Led through into the Reception, dignity well and truly a thing of the past as he was stripped searched, prison uniform dumped in his arms along with some bedding and a few plastic essentials. Allocated a number, own clothes gone, photographed, fingerprinted, a medical, a vague recollection of voices telling him what to expect. Being told that he’s classed as a B category prisoner, unsure as to the meaning and nobody with enough time to answer.
A smokers-pack shoved into his hand, not that he smokes, and then quite possibly the most difficult phone call he’d ever had to make. He had left Yassi in no doubt that he wanted no visitors during his stay, that he needed to be left alone, that it would be easier to get through the six month sentence without any distractions. She’d reluctantly agreed to his request.
And then on to the induction wing, up on to the second balcony, cold blue walls, a poker faced, snivelling black guy his cell mate for the night. Heavy metal door locked, 7:30pm. He had tried to make polite conversation but it had fallen on deaf ears, the guy snivelling his name, Gerome, but no more. Had laid there on the hard mattress thinking about Louise, that he needed this time away from her, time to think, and he’d finally fallen asleep. Woke back in his own bed, Louise's naked body curled up against him, it was all no more than a horrific nightmare. But then he did wake, to a cold cell with its moulded plastic fittings, the smell of urine in the air and that’s when the reality really did hit home.
Some cornflakes with a sprinkling of UHT milk, plastic bowl and spoon, all washed down with a plastic cup full of watery tea. Now dressed in a grey jumper, grey trousers and black plimsolls, he'd laid back on the bed and watched morning TV. Gerome still sat on the toilet, had been for the past hour, the little privacy afforded him but a flimsy curtain, and he was still sobbing incessantly. Gabriel had looked at his watch, the cheap one from the market that he was advised to wear, had closed his eyes, knew that patience was the key to surviving this. The desperate attempt to shut it all out, to visualise himself back in the flat. But no, that didn't help because she was always there. And still that niggling doubt that she was responsible for all of this. Had tried to block her from his mind. Needed to be positive, had been bearable so far, just. Gerome aside, six months of boredom he could live with. An hour later they’d been ordered to gather up their belongings, were now on their way to B wing.
Gabriel gulps down the lager as he watches Kevin, the Estate's resident head case, pull open the heavy door to the container housing the large, metal industrial refuse bins.
'Whad the fuck?'
Gabriel observes carefully as Kevin pulls out an aerosol can. He holds a lighter in front of it and ignites it, sending a huge flame in towards the refuse bins.
Gabriel leans over the balcony and yells down at him.
"Whad you doing, you crazy fuck? Whole fuckin estate will go up in flames."
Kevin turns and looks up at Gabriel, laughing hysterically. Spinning around wildly in circles, arms stretched upwards towards the sky, a filthy trench coat twirling around with him.
"Fuckin rats... Loadsa rats in the bins... Gonna roast the fuckers... Fucking barbecue their rat arses right off!"
He then runs off, whooping and shouting. Gabriel shakes his head.
Trenchcoat. Kevin Riley. 24 years old but most would take him to be in his 40s. The exact same age as Gabriel and both had attended the same school as kids. But within six months of them starting Caulston Secondary, Kevin had been expelled. A lot of rumours as to why. It was a known fact that Trenchcoat had an unhealthy obsession with loitering around the showers, and for reasons known only to him, he'd been caught removing hair from the plug holes before storing it in matchboxes. And then there was the theft of girls’ underwear from the locker rooms. Gabriel had witnessed Trenchcoat being accompanied by a teacher to the boy’s locker room, claiming to have lost his key. The caretaker had been instructed to use the master key to access his locker, shocked to discover knickers, bras and other very personal items. Trenchcoat’s parents had then been called in by the Head and he was never seen in the school again. So that was Kevin Riley gone from the school, if not from their lives. Having been deemed unsuitable for a school environment he ’d ended up being taught by private tutors. He could be seen sitting with the tutors in the library study room most days, or at a library PC.
Yassi had often dragged Gabriel into the Homework Help Club back then, always a conscientious student was Yassi and there he would be. Sat staring aimlessly into space with some frustrated tutor desperately trying to engage him in schoolwork. The tutors never lasted for very long, averaging just over a fortnight.
Gabriel also remembers the way in which Trenchcoat had ogled Yassi back then. Appeared to be totally fixated with her. Would follow her home from the library, hovering around the school gates most weekdays, had even found him sat outside her front door on occasions. And then Mrs Cheung, Yassi’s mother, had mentioned to his mum that clothing was going missing from the communal washing line. Underwear, several pairs of school knickers and a bra, she’d spoken to some of the other mothers and they’d had no problems, only Yassi’s undergarments were being stolen. Yassi had pleaded with him and Jonah not to get involved, adamant that he had obvious learning difficulties and that he wasn’t entirely responsible for his actions. Help and patience is what’s needed, not the threat of violence. They’d totally agreed with her before leaving Trenchcoat in no doubt as to what the future would hold for him if he didn’t stay the fuck away from her. Seemed to work. Although suspicious, Yassi had never questioned him or Jonah in regard to Trenchcoat’s sudden loss of interest in her. Remained that way for the next few years.
And then came the fire at the Riley’s flat in which his mother had died.
A cold winters night, and Gabriel had woken to the sound of sirens. Having clambered out of bed, he’d joined mum and Dad who were stood on the balcony. A thick, black smoke filling the air, the stench of burning, Gabriel mesmerised by the flashing blue lights. The long concrete balconies were soon full of avid spectators. Yassi and Jonah had joined him, and all three of them had stood in silence, watching in fascination as the firemen had fought the blaze. And then came the shock and the tears at discovering that poor Mrs Riley had died in the fire. A few weeks later, rumours emerged that the fire may have been started deliberately. Gabriel had heard his mother speaking with Mrs Cheung, heard her say that the cause of the fire had been traced to the living room. Lighter fuel had been sprayed across a plastic toy and set alight.
As for Trenchcoat, he'd not been seen since the fireman had carried him out to the ambulance, and they'd all assumed he was staying with relatives. Had been months before the blackened carcass of a flat was gutted and finally made habitable, Trenchcoat’s father having been moved into an adjacent flat. Ten years passed by and then, much to everybody’s surprise, Kevin Riley had suddenly reappeared. Terrible scarring, most likely burns from the fire, down the left side of his face. Head shaven and always wearing the same filthy combat clothing, most notably a disgusting, green trench coat.
He notices a couple of teenage boys strutting across the estate, faces concealed by black hoodies, baggy jeans with crotches almost down to their knees. Recognises them, has used them as runners before. He leans over and shouts down to them,
"Denton, Errol, that you?"
A gold tooth glittering in the morning sun, Denton grins up at him and shouts.
"Yo, Gabriel. You out then?"
"Ain’t no fuckin mirage, am I?"
They both snigger.
“Go check the rubbish bins. Make sure ain’t no fire brewing in there."
Having done as instructed, Denton yells up at him..
"A few fried rats is all but ain’t no fire, brov."
"That crazy fucker trenchcoat."
They nod as one, neither of them surprised.
"You ain’t seen me, ok? Don't want anybody knowing I am out
. You hearing me?"
"You got it, brov. Laters."
Sucks in a deep breath, still relishing the fresh air and then he catches sight of her. The distinctive red leathers, the shiny black helmet with the purple lightning bolts, could only be Yassi. She looks to be in a hurry. As desperate as he is to call out to her, he knows that he can't. And who is that with her? Never seen her before or he would have remembered. Carrying a white bike helmet. Small, but curvaceous, with a very athletic body. His eyes now fixated on her, the slight wiggle of her perfectly formed backside as she walks. His hand goes down the front of his boxer shorts. Suddenly becoming aware of where he is, turns and walks into his living room slamming the balcony door behind him.
Sniffing at his armpits, he heads to the bathroom and showers. Walks naked to the wardrobe, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the wooden flooring behind him. Selects a pair of jeans and a tight fitting white T-shirt, slings them on the bed and goes to pick up his wallet from the dresser. Pauses as he looks down at the silver framed photo of his parents. A wedding photo, his mum looking so young, so pretty, so happy. His father straight faced and intense. He picks it up and sits back on the bed. Not seen it for six months.
He can still picture her so clearly in his mind, and how he misses her laughter. Gabriel smiles at the photo as the memories come flooding back. The rich smell of cooking when he got home from school, always a treat waiting for him on the table. Cheese crunches were his favourite. How she would sit and talk about life back home in Jamaica for hours on end, getting extremely animated as she'd described her family. His family too, of course. But to him they were just the names of relatives he'd never really known, their faded photographs glued into an old photo album that she’d sit flicking through for hours. But that had all changed when he’d been set a homework assignment related to World War 2. Mum had got so excited, well more so than usual at any rate and ran into the bedroom only to emerge minutes later with a shoe boxes crammed full of yet more photos, letters and old newspaper clippings from back home. And then there’d been tears of pride in her eyes as she’d shown him the photos of her grandpa in his RAF uniform. Yes, his great grandpa, Flight Officer Earnest Bailey, stood posing proudly for the camera with a chest full of medals. And proclaimed a war hero in the newspapers back home. It had been an emotional moment for Gabriel too, to discover that Earnest Bailey had been one of the 16000 or so West Indians who’d volunteered to serve alongside the British. That after less than 3 months basic training he’d been assigned to a bomber squadron, and had flown many perilous night missions across German occupied Europe. That was until the plane he’d been flying in failed to return to base in June 1942, assumed shot down, and Earnest Bailey presumed dead. Gabriel had sat staring at the telegram sent to his great grandma from the air ministry for what had seemed like hours, and had felt such great pride in discovering that his great granddad was one of the many who’d paid the ultimate price in helping defend the world against Hitler, and the Nazi war machine. His great grandpa, Flight Officer Earnest Bailey, a war hero. Mum had gone on to explain that his great grandma, Elsie, had never remarried, and brought up her son William, Gabriel's grandpa, by herself. Not that Gabriel had ever got to meet grandpa William, he'd also died at a young age, having blown himself up using a faulty boiler in his homemade distillery. He'd loved his rum had grandpa William. That had left grandma Lou struggling to bring up mum, and her younger brother Peter, by herself, because she too never remarried. And tragedy soon struck again. Uncle Peter had a love of the sea and as soon as he'd been old enough, he'd joined the merchant navy. On his maiden voyage he'd disappeared overboard, no explanation as to how or why, only that he'd perished in rough seas off Cape Horn. Gabriel remembers having felt somewhat pessimistic about his own future at that stage, because it had suddenly dawned on him that none of the men in the family had ever got to see their 25th birthday. Although mum had just dismissed his fears as being superstitious nonsense, he'd been anything but convinced.
