Читать книгу Hidden Sin: When the past comes back to haunt you - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 10

So this was the moment, was it? Come to get her? The moment she had always known might come, but had wished so hard never would. Christine folded her arms across her chest and buried her hands in her armpits so that Joey wouldn’t see that they were shaking.

It took a couple of heartbeats before Brian met her eye. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘So what did he look like, this Mo, then?’ Her voice hadn’t betrayed her but she knew her burning cheeks might. She was grateful for the gloom in the room. ‘Older guy, was he?’

Joey gave her a strange look. Or perhaps she was being paranoid. ‘I don’t know, Mam,’ he said. ‘Not old. Forties? Big bloke. Really smart. Seemed to know what he was on about, you know?’

It figured. ‘So did he say anything else to you? Ask your name?’

Joey shook his head. ‘He already knew my name. He called me Joey when he came over, so I supposed he must have already asked someone about us. About me. About the band and that. Exciting or what?’

He seemed completely irrepressible. Smitten even, God help them all. Christine glanced helplessly at Brian, who cleared his throat noisily. ‘Well, you never know, son,’ he said, clapping Joey on the back. ‘But right now, it’s nearly one and we need to get that stuff inside.’ He looked down at Nicky, who was well away now, and beginning to snore. How did he do that? Christine wondered. Just be awake one minute and then spark out the next? Fifteen years in the nick, she thought grimly. ‘Let’s you and me go and get it in, eh?’ Brian was saying to Joey. ‘This one looks fit for nothing. And then bed.’

He reached down for the discarded car keys and, dismissing Christine’s offer to help as well, followed Joey back outside to the van. Don’t panic. He mouthed the words at her as he went.

Christine grabbed her pack of Benson & Hedges and lit one with shaky fingers. How could it be? But then again, why would it not be? She’d covered her brother with a blanket and smoked a second cigarette to the tip before the kit was all back in the house. ‘Up you go, love,’ she said to Joey when he’d stacked the last of it in the tiny hallway. ‘No sense taking it up till the morning, is there? Just head up to bed,’ she added, stretching up to plant a kiss on his cold cheek. ‘We’ll be up once we’re all straight down here.’

As if they could ever be straight with her brother camping out in the front room. But Joey seemed happy enough, clearly too excited to clock the tension in her voice, and remembering to give Brian a grateful hug before he left them. Such a big lad now but still so much their baby. So loving – never afraid to hug his dad, even in public. God, the thought of that bastard Mo so much as sharing his airspace made her want to punch a wall.

She went into the kitchen, her legs leaden. It was Mo. She just knew it. How many men of his description could possibly exist in the world? But back in Bradford? For fuck’s sake, why? And after all this time? What could possibly be here for him? Well, apart from his kids – and there were a few of them knocking about; that much she knew for sure. And not one of which, as far as she knew, had ever had anything to do with him. He spawned them and discarded them. That was what he had always been best at. So why approach her Joey? Surely to God he wouldn’t want to know Joey now? Not after all that had happened. Surely to God that would be that very last thing he’d do?

She shivered as she put the kettle on, an action that was automatic. God, she wished her mam was still alive and doing it for her. Taking charge. Because she knew Mam would know what to do. Despite all her faults – and they’d been legion, no question – her mam had never been scared of anyone. Specially Mo. The man she’d loved. The man who had let her down so badly. The man who’d made such a calculated move on her own teenage daughter. On her. And she’d … God. It was no good. She couldn’t even bear to let the thought take shape. She grabbed the cigarettes again and lit another.

‘Look, love, I know what you’re thinking –’

Christine turned around. Under the strip light, Brian’s face was pinched and grey.

‘I bet you don’t,’ she said, keeping her voice as low as his was. ‘I’m thinking how much I’d like to plunge a knife into his gut. It’s him, Bri. I know it is. It must be.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Brian said. ‘Come on. He can’t have been the only Mo in Bradford.’

She stubbed out the cigarette. ‘A big black guy, called Mo? That would be one fucking massive coincidence.’

‘What about Paki Mo? Remember him?’

‘Mo, as in Mohammed. He said black, Brian, with dreadlocks. It’s him. It has to be. Trust me, I can feel it in my bones.’

Brian went to put his arms around her, but she shrugged him off. She felt like glass. All sharp edges. Too fragile to be touched. ‘What will we do, Bri? What the fuck does he want with us after all these years?’

She leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, feeling all the strength going from her legs. Brian took a step, pulled her towards him again, and this time she didn’t stop him.

‘I don’t think we should panic,’ he said eventually, speaking into her hair. ‘Even if it was Mo, we don’t know that he knows for definite who Joey is, do we? And even if he had an inkling, or someone told him, it could be that he was just curious. You know, to get a look at him or something.’

‘But who’d tell him? It’s not like anyone in their right mind would bring it up, is it? It’s not like he’s ever wanted anyone to know about it, is it?’

She knew that for a fact. It had been the exact opposite. If she remembered right – though there was so much she’d been at pains to forget – he’d denied it outright, with contempt. I don’t have a son. At least, not with you, girl. Who in their right mind would ever lay down with a fucking tramp like you?

‘So maybe no one has told him,’ Brian was saying. ‘Maybe he has no idea. And even if he’s worked it out, come on, love – he’s hardly Father of the Year, is he? What on earth has he to gain by suddenly claiming a grown-up son who he’s never paid fuck-all for all his life? Christ, Chris, he’s never even acknowledged his existence. Seriously, I know you’re upset, but let’s not go off on one about this. I think we should just see how all this pans out before worrying about things that might not even happen.’

Christine tried hard to pull the brake on her galloping thoughts. Brian was right. She was running away with herself. Panicking. Being paranoid. But how could she not, when she had so much to be paranoid about?

She stood up straight again, and reached for her cigarettes on the kitchen counter. The silky smooth wooden counter top Brian had made for her so lovingly. That got to her sometimes, the way he loved her. The way he cared for her. The way he loved her Joey as if he was his own. Christ, he was his own. And now this.

There was a noise then, of something banging heavily against furniture. No. Someone. Her brother staggered into the kitchen. ‘Wassup?’ he asked, looking from one to the other as he headed towards the sink. ‘Where’s our Joey? Don’t we need to get the drums in?’

He turned the tap on, too hard, and water fountained off a plate in the washing-up bowl.

‘For fuck’s sake, Nick!’ Christine hissed. ‘And will you fucking pipe down?’

‘What?’ Nicky whined. ‘Keep your hair on. You making tea?’

‘Make a brew, love,’ Brian suggested. ‘I think we could all use another one.’ Then he turned to Nick. ‘So did you see him?’

‘See who?’

‘Fucking Mo!’ Christine snapped. ‘Rasta Mo – hello? In The Sun?’

‘That was Rasta Mo?’ Christine could almost hear the cogs whirring in her brother’s head. ‘That’s who it was, was it? That our Joey was banging on about? Fuck me.’

‘So you didn’t?’ Brian asked.

Nicky shook his head. ‘Nah, by the time I got back it was just the last stragglers. The band and that. And just a couple of the usual alkies. So it was him spoke to Joey?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘So, what – you going to tell him, or what?’

Booze or no booze, Christine couldn’t believe her brother had even asked the question, let alone that Brian was now looking at her as if it was an entirely reasonable one to ask.

‘No, I’m fucking not!’ she said. ‘And you make sure you don’t say anything either. Not to Joey. Not to anyone.’ She pushed a finger into Nicky’s chest. ‘But I need you to help me. I want you to try and find out what he’s doing back here –’

‘Assuming it even is him,’ Brian pointed out.

‘Round the pubs and that,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘What he’s up to. Why he’s here. I need to know what he’s come back for. And do it discreetly. He mustn’t know –’

‘As if he wouldn’t know,’ Nicky countered. ‘If it is him, that is. But if it is, then what about Joey? Shouldn’t he know who he is?’

Brian raised his hands. ‘Hold up,’ he said. ‘Stop running away with all this. He’s just turned up in a pub and bought the lad a pint, that’s all. That’s all,’ he said, grabbing Christine’s hand and squeezing it. ‘That’s all that’s happened. For all we know, Joey’s never going to see him again. We could be getting stirred up over nothing here. Seriously, love, this could all just be a coincidence. He’s in the pub, Joey’s playing … End of.’

‘And even if he does,’ Nicky said, accepting a mug of tea. ‘He might have seemed like Mister Smooth, but our Joey’s not daft. If he does show up again, Joey’ll soon find out who he is. He’ll hear the talk, about who he is, who he was – and what he was, more to the point – and even if he doesn’t, it won’t be two minutes before he makes his own mind up, will it? You’ve brought him up better than that, sis. He’s not daft, that kid. He’ll drop him like a bag of shit once he realises what a cunt he is.’ He slurped the tea. ‘Trust me. You’ll see.’

Karma. The word came into Christine’s head unbidden. Hung above her as she stared up, sleepless, at the bedroom ceiling. Karma. The spiritual righter of all wrongs. Leave it to karma. Wasn’t that what people said when you were bent on revenge for something someone had done to you? And her mam. Almost on her death bed. So young. So ridiculously young. Hadn’t she banged on about karma then too?

A patient bastard, that’s what she’d called it. Biding its time before coming to claim her. With cancer. To pay her back for being a shit mum, a loser, a waste of space of a person. And Christine had tried so hard to soothe and reassure her. ‘It’s just life, being life, Mam.’ She’d repeated that so often. Doling out death whenever it felt like it. No concern for any notions about the unfairness of things. And Christine believed it, too, because the good died young all the time, didn’t they?

Mally, for instance. The man – the man-child – she had killed. Not wittingly – God, never – but time hadn’t helped her learn to live with it. Hadn’t lessened her guilt, and would never absolve her, because she’d still done it – her hand, hers alone, had been the one on the knife. One life gone, by her hand, and another one ruined. She could try to atone all she liked, but she knew it would never be enough; the one thing she could never give her brother were the years of his life back. Years that she’d had. With Joey. Yes, it might have been Nicky’s choice – as he’d pointed out, endlessly – but time hadn’t buffered her guilt about that either. It was done, and it could never be undone.

So perhaps her mam had been right. Karma was indeed a patient bastard. Lying in wait till she’d finally found happiness before pouncing, its claws ripping at her conscience, piercing her heart, stealing her soul.

Which she knew she had long since sold to the devil.