Читать книгу Trilogy Collection - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 15

Dear Mam (and say hello to the old man I suppose)

Well, it’s been a week and I’m settling in okay. There’s some right fucking divvies in here though, and they think I’m mental. I’ve made some friends; especially one called Billy and guess what? My other mate’s called Vincent! Ha, and I always thought you was the only cow daft enough to give a son a name like that. (Only kidding.) Hope you’re all well and thanks for the ciggies and chocolate. I could do with some more stuff though, Mam. I don’t suppose you could nick me a radio from somewhere? (Only fucking joking, sir, I know you read my letters.) Can you send me some photos as well, for my room, and ask our Lyndsey if you see her, if you can have a Jimi Hendrix poster to send me. I’m not wasting a stamp on her, but I’ve put a letter in here for our Titch, hope she’s okay. The other day, me and Vincent got caught pinching biscuits from the kitchen. It was a right laugh; you should have seen the fat cook woman chase us. She caught up with Vincent and pulled his hair, I nearly pissed myself laughing. We both got put on ‘no privileges’ for it, but it was worth it. It’s too boring if you don’t have a laugh. It’s a massive place this, wait till you see it, it’s like a big country manor. You’ll feel as common as muck when you come down. It’s fucking freezing though; even the fucking cockroaches are wearing overcoats. That reminds me; when you come see me, bring my big coat. You know, the one I would have worn to school if I had ever gone. Ha-ha. Right, Mam, I’m off now, it’s nearly lights out and I know I’m very clever, but I haven’t learned how to see in the dark yet. See you soon.

All my love, Vinnie xxxxxxxxxxx

Alright Titch

Thought I’d drop you a line seeing as how you’ll be missing me torturing you by now. Ha-ha, only kidding, I hope you’re okay and you better have cried for ages when I left. It’s ace here, I might even stay. (Joke.) I hope you’re staying out of trouble. I’ve heard that the girls’ approved school is miles worse than here, can’t have you getting sent off as well. I’ve met some good lads here, but I’ve had loads of fights as well. Tell the boys that I’m giving Bradford a good reputation, and let Brendan know that I’ve started boxing so I’ll be able to knock him out when I come home. I’ve asked me mam to send some photos, but don’t let her send one of you, I don’t want fucking nightmares on top of everything else. Ha-ha, just kidding, Titch. My mates were laughing the other day when I was telling them about you. I told them that you always say you’re strawberry blonde and not a ginner. See, even they think you’re a funny little fucker. Well I’m getting off now, Titch, and I don’t think you’ll be allowed to visit with me mam. Write me a letter back though, with all that going to school like a little swot, I know you can write.

All my love, Vinnie xxxxxxxxxxx

June read Vinnie’s letter to anybody who would listen. She had it with her, in her handbag, at the Bull.

He’d only been gone for two weeks and she had been working herself up into a right state waiting to hear from him. ‘He’s punishing me, the little bleeder!’ she’d moaned to Jock the week before. ‘Either that or he’s narked at you.’

‘Narked at me?’ Jock had answered. ‘What have I done?’

June looked at her hulk of a husband. Took in the baggy suit trousers, the greying shirt – with its familiar tramlines of braces – the equally greying hair, that had once been the same flaming red of his two younger children, the bulbous nose, the bulky middle … took it all in and considered where to start. ‘Nothing,’ she’d replied irritably. ‘Exactly that. Nothing. You couldn’t even be arsed to wave him off when he went!’

‘Oh, that’s right,’ Jock had shouted then, ‘blame me, you always do.’ He’d shook his head dismissively. ‘I can read the lad like a book, June. He’s making you sweat for not putting up a fight for him, that’s all. He’ll write, don’t you worry, and when he does, it’ll be to whine at you for summat, just like it always is.’

Jock had been right. Not that she’d ever dream of giving him the satisfaction of hearing it from her. In fact when the long white envelope had plopped through the box that morning, she’d pounced. As soon as she saw the Brighton postmark across the top, she’d swiped it up from the mat and stuffed it down her nightie so that she didn’t have to share it with the miserable git.

Still hadn’t, in fact, and would only do so when she felt like it. After what he’d said about his own son, it was no less than he deserved. She had it now though, in her bag, just as she’d had since she’d got it. She’d been dying to get it out and parade it down the Bull.

Which she’d already done – they’d been in there an hour now – but the more pissed she became, the more often she would get it out to dissect.

Listen to this,’ she said to Maureen now. ‘Oh, he’s such a funny little bleeder …’

Maureen was June’s best friend – she had been since they were both in their teens. And also her relative, since she was Jock’s sister. She was like June in so many ways, but unlike her in the important ones; she was older and wrinklier, and, since she no longer bleached her hair like June did, a lot mousier, despite the amount of slap she optimistically trowelled on. She crushed out her fag, drained her glass of bitter and banged it down on the bar. ‘June, I’ve heard it 20 fucking times. All right, yes, the lad’s a comedian. Now put that bloody thing away and let’s have another drink, okay?’

June stuffed the letter back into her bag. Maureen didn’t understand. How could she? She was only Vinnie’s auntie, after all. And probably jealous, June decided, because her own kids were thick as pig shit. She drained her own glass and flicked her hair and, turning her back on Maureen, smiled sweetly at the drunk propping the bar up next to her.

‘Wanna buy a lady a drink, Bobby?’

He turned and snorted at her. ‘You’re no fucking lady.’

June rolled her eyes, but she was only mock-annoyed at him. No, she wasn’t a lady – not that he’d know the difference – but she was still getting a drink out of him, one way or another. ‘So,’ she said, ‘are you getting the drinks in or not? Cos if not, you can fuck off and fart next to somebody else.’

Maureen’s laugh exploded out of her. ‘June! You can’t say that!’

June threw a withering glance at her sister-in-law. ‘Can’t I? I just did. If he thinks he’s standing here, dropping ’em, without buying us a couple of drinks, he’s got another think coming.’

Bobby grudgingly paid for two more halves of bitter, much to the amusement of Donald, the landlord.

‘You’ve certainly got a way with words, June, I’ll give you that,’ he commented drily, as he scooped up the money that Bobby had scattered on the bar.

June winked at him. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Don,’ she told him. And though the comment was a throwaway one, she meant it.

Donald had run the Bull a good few years now, and she’d known him for all of them. As she would – it was her and all of her friends’ local. It was the hub of the Canterbury Estate community, the Bull; the place where deals were clinched, plans were made and affairs started.

Donald was married, but he was also an incorrigible flirt, and June – having a soft spot for him – always enjoyed his attention. It would usually take the form of something more than just a wink or two, as well. Not tonight though. Maureen might be her best mate, but she had her loyalties – she’d grass her up to Jock in a flash. All it would take would be one little argument, and then she’d say anything to drop June in it with her brother. No, tonight she’d behave herself. No harm in trying to blag a few free drinks though.

‘So,’ said Maureen, who didn’t seem finished with Vinnie after all. ‘Did he write our Josie too? Bet she’s been missing him like crazy.’

June nodded. ‘Wrote us both.’

‘Aww, I bet she was happy, the poor mite.’

June considered this. ‘You know, come to think about it, she was a bit funny when I gave her it. A bit narky.’

‘Narky? Why’d she be narky?’

June shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She’s been miserable since he left – course she has; I know she’s been missing him. They’re two peas in a pod, those two – but when I gave her it, she didn’t even seem to want to look at it. It was only cos I made her that she did read it out. And then the soppy little bleeder started crying halfway through.’

‘Aw, bless her, June. You really think that’s any wonder?’

June stared into her glass. No, it wasn’t any wonder really. Of course she missed Vin – they both did – but, well, it just felt like she’d been hit by a ton of bricks. Hit by his leaving way more than she’d expected.

‘I know,’ she said to Maureen. ‘I know it’s hit her really hard, but, I don’t know … she’s really not herself – she’s been walking round like a fart in a trance. Even Jock can’t sort her out – and her being such a daddy’s girl, as well. I don’t know if she blames him, but it seems like it – she doesn’t want to know him. Even gave him a slap the other day – cheeky little git that she is.’

‘A slap? What on earth for?’

‘For nothing. I swear I don’t know what’s got into her. All he did was try and get her to sit in his chair with him to watch the racing. Now that’s not like her, is it? She loves her dad.’

‘No,’ Maureen agreed. ‘That’s not like her at all. But give her time; it’s only been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Have you written back to him yet?’

June sighed. ‘Not yet.’

‘Why ever not? I’d have thought you’d have done that the same day!’

‘I know. And I want to. It’s just so hard knowing what to say. I mean, he’s all happy and that, talking about when I come down and visit. But I can’t, can I? Old Saggy Tits made it quite clear – there won’t be no visits. Bastards. Don’t they realise? A lad needs his mother! And I mean, they might, mightn’t they? She did say about weekends home at some point, so they might. But you know how these things work. There’s no chance if he doesn’t keep his nose clean, is there? And what’re the chances of that happening, Mo? Zero. He’s probably playing up already, if I know our Vin, the stupid little bleeder. Pound to a penny. Otherwise I would’ve had a call.’

They lapsed into silence then and June, her happy mood having drained away as quickly as her halves had, half-wished she’d not even brought the letter with her. The thought of the months ahead – no Vinnie, Titch with a face like a slapped arse, Jock being Jock – was just too depressing to think about. No, Mo was right. She needed to write back. He’d be bound to be waiting to hear from her, bless him. She was almost glad when the bell went for drinking up at 10.30. With Don off limits, and the letter still calling to her from her handbag, even the Bull couldn’t work its charm tonight.

They left the pub, fur coats clasped to their throats to keep the bitter cold out. The rows of council houses opposite were now mostly in darkness and the leafless trees that lined the main road took on a sinister appearance. The estate looked a lot less friendly on a night time.

June felt the breeze stir her hair and shivered involuntarily. ‘You walking back through the snicket, Mo, or coming down our street?’

Maureen shook her head. ‘Too cold for the long way tonight. I’ll cut through the snicket.’

June cast about to see who was around. Maybe someone else was headed that way as well. She didn’t like to think of Maureen using the snicket on her own at night. It was always useful being able to use it in daylight, but nights were a different matter entirely. Without streetlights, the footpath served a whole other purpose; for robbings and fights or laying in wait, hidden, for someone with whom you had a grudge. Luckily there were a few others spilling from the pub as well now. ‘Make sure someone walks through with you, then,’ she said. ‘It’s dark up there.’

‘Will you give over, June?’ Maureen laughed, swaying slightly in her slingbacks, the night air catching the scent of her Charlie perfume. Must have spritzed herself in the ladies before coming out. ‘I should be so fucking lucky!’ she said. ‘Steven says I should wear a sign on my back saying “rape me” if I’m to be in with a chance.’

‘He’s a rotten bastard, that husband of yours – and you can tell him that from me. Right then, I’m off. I’ll call round tomorrow when I get sick of looking at face ache.’

‘Be as long as that, will it?’ Maureen joked as she toddled off into the night.

For all that she worried about Maureen, June didn’t mind walking home alone herself. She’d done it for years and its familiarity meant it held no fears. This was her patch – the Bull was only 10 minutes from home – and she’d have been shocked more than frightened if anyone jumped her. Not to mention giving as good as she got, she thought decisively, feeling a giggle form in her throat as the fresh air hit her. Must be more pissed than I thought, she decided, and even as she thought it she felt herself stagger. She giggled again when she heard the wolf whistle behind her, minutes later. Almost home, and automatically smiling to acknowledge her admirer, she was surprised to see that no one was there.

Then a gravelly voice. ‘Over here, June!’ Coming from above.

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was now. Mucky-fucking-Melvin. She continued to walk without turning around.

‘Give us a flash, June,’ he shouted down. ‘All them at the Bull will have had a good look.’

Now she did turn around. ‘Why don’t you just fuck off, you pervy bastard.’

She heard his dirty laugh and his window slamming shortly after. Fucking old pervert. Fancy him having the nerve to have a go at her! He’d know about it soon enough if she told Jock. Which she might do. He’d smash his stinking brains in, good and proper.

But for now she had more important business to attend to. Letting herself in the front door without waking the miserable old fucker up. She slid her key into the lock with as much care and deliberation as she could summon and, though it wasn’t much, she was still pleased to note as the door opened that the downstairs of the house was dark and silent.

Good, she thought. She wouldn’t be having an argument tonight, at least. Which in itself was a rare treat when both of them had been drinking, and as night followed day, knowing Jock, he would have been.

She tottered over to the sofa and sat down heavily, then pulled Vinnie’s letter once again from her handbag, tears pricking behind her eyes as she did so. A picture formed in her mind, of a cold, hard prison bed. She tried to ignore it. It was just the drink – stupid mare – making her feel all weepy. Perhaps she should just put it away and go to bed. But then she thought of her poor boy, banged up, and how much he’d be missing his home comforts. No, she decided, she’d stay down here tonight.

She was comfy enough anyway, she thought, pushing the letter back into the black hole of her handbag. She’d just get her tights off – she hauled herself up again – just her tights, and then she’d be done for the night. But she’d barely got her thumbs under the waistband and started tugging when her balance went – oops! She really must be more tiddled than she’d realised – and fell back heavily. She was fast asleep in seconds.

When Josie came down in the morning, it was to find her mother sound asleep and dribbling, with her tights round her thighs. She stepped past her and, trying to be as quiet as she could, knelt down, laid and lit a fresh fire. That done, and with June still comatose and snoring behind her, she crossed the cold lino onto the square of old carpet that served as a rug, went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea.

It was only when she’d done that and poured herself a cup that she became aware of her mother stirring in the lounge.

‘Have you shit the bed or something?’ she wanted to know, seeing Josie standing there, mug in hand. ‘What you doing up so early?’

June passed by her then, to go into the little toilet just off the kitchen, leaving the door open so she could continue the conversation from there.

‘I’ve got school, Mam,’ Josie answered, over the sound of June having her morning pee.

‘And where’s your dad?’ June wanted to know.

‘He’s still in bed. Mam, it’s only half seven.’

She turned then, grabbed a cup and poured her mum some tea as well. Then heard the flush.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ June said emerging and taking the cup. ‘Ta, love. What bleeding day is it, anyway?’

‘Oh, Mother, it’s Friday. Are you still pissed or something?’

‘Hey, gobby,’ June snapped at her. ‘Shut it before you get a slap. I don’t normally go out on a Thursday night, do I? I just forgot where I was for a minute.’

She stumbled back out, and Josie wasn’t sure if she wasn’t still pissed. What a state. Oh, her mates might think June was really funny, with her hair and her make-up and her holding court all the time. Thought she was lucky – some had said as much – to have a mum who was such a laugh; one who got all dressed up and went partying. Well, they wouldn’t think that if they could see her like this, would they? All panda eyes and her ‘gorgeous Marilyn Monroe hair’, as she called it, looking like a heap of fairground candyfloss stuck on her head. Not to mention those tights, which she’d only half pulled back up, by the look of it. Not a pretty sight at half seven in the morning.

June called back to her, then. ‘Josie, have you lit this fire?’

‘Yes, I did. I thought you would be cold when you woke up.’

June looked impressed. ‘Good lass!’ she commented. I didn’t think you knew how to do it.’

But Josie didn’t bother answering because immediately she’d said that, she’d switched on the radio at her usual ridiculous volume, and drowned every other sound out.

Josie finished her tea and went to find her pumps to put in her bag. It was PE today, but she wouldn’t be changing. She gave herself a pat down to reassure herself she had her shorts and T-shirt on under her uniform. Better that than have to undress in front of everyone.

‘I’ll see you later, Mam,’ she called on her way out.

Josie first needed to walk up the street to get to the snicket – she’d usually cut through there to meet Carol and walk to school. It was something she’d done unthinkingly for almost all of her life. Years and years, now – up the road, into the snicket, out into the football field, and then on up the road to St Michael’s. But now everything was different. Now, when she passed Mucky Melvin’s, she held her breath. Fixed her eyes straight ahead and forced herself not to look – otherwise it felt like she might be struck down dead. It was like that game – at least, that’s how she decided she’d have to think about it – that game where you dare not step on cracks in the pavement. You could die if you did that, as well.

Only when she’d hurried far enough up the street, did she start to properly breathe again. She then ran through the snicket fast enough to feel her breath coming in gasps, slowing only as she made the football field and stopped to wait for Carol, the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.

Carol was Josie’s best mate in the world. They had gone to St Michael’s together since they were five, and had always stuck up for each other. Carol, who was plump and worldly-wise about most things, had dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin. A lot of the other kids called her ‘Paki’, but that wasn’t true. Her dad had left when she was a baby, but he wasn’t a Paki. He was an Egyptian and he was loaded, and some day he was going to come back again and give Carol and her mum loads of jewels and stuff from the pyramids. Then they’d be sorry, all them that called her nasty names.

Carol was also a fighter, just like she was, and if anyone ever called her a ginger nut, Carol would be right by her side helping dole out the sort of punishment that ensured it never happened again.

She was coming into view now and Josie waved. ‘Hurry up,’ she called, causing Carol to break into a run. ‘Or we’re going to be late again!’

‘Me mum’s hopeless, Titch,’ Caz said as she fell into step alongside her. ‘Didn’t get me up in time. Again.’

It was the same every day, almost, and Josie found herself reflecting on why it was that she didn’t need anyone to get her up just now. She’d only have to stir, and the pictures would flood into her brain, making her sweat and want to cry and cry and cry. She pushed the thoughts away, preferring to let Carol chatter on. About their school project, which was on the Vikings. About Jennifer Armitage, who had nits. About Mickey, a 12-year-old boy in their school who was totally in love with Carol. Or so she said.

‘I swear, Titch – you should have seen how he looked at me when I was walking home yesterday. He wants to be my boyfriend, I just know it.’

Josie didn’t know anything much about boyfriends, and didn’t want to. Yes, she knew about boys – and about Vinnie and his friends, more than she perhaps ought to. But boyfriends … she shuddered. All that now felt like a very frightening place.

But Carol seemed older and not at all frightened. Should she tell her? Dare she?

‘Don’t you think?’ Carol was saying, stopping for a moment on the grass.

Josie hauled her thoughts back to order. ‘Do you want me to ask him for you?’

‘Would you?’ Carol’s eyes widened. ‘Would you really? Don’t let on that I know though, will you?’

They continued walking, arm in arm. The field had a low, greyish mist still hanging over it. Josie liked the mist. And the space. And the sense that you could run through it. That you could run and run and maybe even disappear into it. ‘Course I won’t,’ she said. ‘I’ll say I’m just wondering, that’s all.’

‘Ta,’ Carol said. ‘Today, then? And, you know – if you fancy someone, just let me know, yeah? And I’ll ask them for you, okay?’

Josie couldn’t think of anything she’d like less. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time then, Caz,’ she said. ‘Boys are shit bags.’

Carol giggled and squeezed Josie’s arm tighter. ‘My mum said I’m a bit more forward than you,’ she told her. ‘When you catch up, you’ll fancy boys. You’ll see.’

Josie thought this was a stupid thing to say. They were both 11 now – she’d just had her birthday. How on earth could she ‘catch up’ – even if she wanted to? She looked at her friend and wondered if the Devil really could hear everything she said and thought. It must be true because the nuns who taught them sometimes had even said so. She and Carol were blood sisters so they shouldn’t have secrets. They’d made cuts on each other’s wrists and rubbed them together, and that meant they were bound together for life. And now it was all going to be ruined, because Josie had a bad secret that she couldn’t share.

Josie suddenly wished with all her heart that Vinnie was home. She thought of his letter and how badly she wanted to write back to him, but how scared she felt about actually doing so. He could read her like a book – he’d told her that once. What did that mean exactly? She wasn’t sure, but she was frightened. That whatever she did or didn’t say, somehow he’d just know. Her head was starting to hurt now. The pictures were beginning to flood her brain again. She decided not to think for a while, just go to school and get the day over with. Just like she had every day since.

Melvin stood in his window for some minutes after Titch had passed by, smiling to himself as he finally lowered the grimy makeshift curtain. It was something to get out of bed for, was the sight of her hurrying along the road, and he’d been up for a sneaky peek every school morning since.

Satisfied, he crossed the room again, and got back into bed, already sliding his hand down inside his filthy pyjama bottoms.