Читать книгу Trilogy Collection - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 18

The social worker rushed into the room, puffing and panting, clutching her briefcase. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead, which sat at odds with the chilly atmosphere in the room.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ Sally said, swivelling as she looked for somewhere to sit down.

‘Up, McKellan!’ Bastion barked. Vinnie duly stood up again and stepped aside for Saggy Tits, who smiled at him with something that looked suspiciously like warmth. Had she been missing him? Now, that would be a turn-up.

‘Thanks, love,’ she said, putting her case on the floor and shrugging off her coat. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘The traffic was murder on the way down.’

She sat down heavily on the wooden school chair that Bastion had brought in and parked next to June, before throwing a look at Vinnie that, if anything, topped his mother’s. Vinnie tipped his chair back onto two legs and leaned it against the office wall behind him, his mind working overtime now. He eyed up the coppers. These bastards look like they mean business, he thought. He wondered if he was going to get formally charged or something.

‘Sit up straight, boy!’ Bastion barked, making him jump. ‘And for God’s sake, put that ruddy chair straight!’

The headmaster’s face was reddening, Vinnie noticed, in anger and what looked like frustration. Well, it must be frustrating for him, Vinnie thought, having this shit to deal with. Having to have the coppers in his nice, well-behaved, goody-goody school. It was a slightly cheering thought. The police presence would really help Vinnie’s reputation with the lads, even if it did potentially mean a spot of bother. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said to Bastion, giving him a mocking salute for good measure.

If Bastion wasn’t impressed, his mother was even less so. ‘Stop acting the prat,’ June snapped. ‘You don’t know how much trouble you’re in, lad.’ She glared at Vinnie and then turned to look at Bastion, ‘Now. Are we going to start this meeting or what?’

A couple of minutes droned on and Vinnie found himself soon zoning out as Bastion started to read out some report he had put together – obviously had nothing better to do over the weekend. But as he read, Vinnie started zoning back in again, at first with a kind of pride, but then with an increasing sense that this was turning into a hatchet job. It was a report that was beginning to paint Vinnie out to be the Devil incarnate. A monster who’d viciously attacked poor Joe – poor Joe? What – without any ‘provocation’ or any ‘regard for the consequences’? He read out about Vinnie’s thieving, his poor attitude to learning and conforming, and finally, finally, he got to the point.

‘So we feel that we have no choice,’ he finished, with a tone of regret and exhaustion, ‘but to ask that Vinnie be removed from this establishment, and placed instead somewhere more suitable for his needs.’

What? Thought Vinnie. WHAT? Be removed? What was he on about? There was no way he was going to swallow this shit. The whole point of assaulting Joe had been to give himself a bit of status here – not be shipped off somewhere else altogether. Christ – if they did that it would all have been for nothing! He leapt from his chair indignantly and almost instinctively. ‘Fuck you an’ all, sir! My fuckin’ needs!’ He pointed over to Joe, who was now actually cowering in between his mum and dad, watching him. ‘That fucking cunt started it! Am I s’posed to do fuck all, eh? Just let him kick my fucking head in? I don’t think so!’

‘McKellan, sit DOWN!’ Bastion was off his seat now, as well. As were the coppers. Vinnie grinned, seeing this, and flexed his fingers automatically. If there was going to be a free for all, best put on a bit of a show. ‘What you gonna do, you fat cunt?’ he yelled at Bastion. June stood up herself, then, though old Saggy Tits kept her fat arse in her chair. ‘Go on,’ June snapped at him, getting herself in between him and Bastion. ‘Go on, Vinnie. Just you fucking dare. I’m warning you,’ she said evenly, meeting his eye and skewering him with another one of her looks. He withdrew immediately. He could have had a right go with two coppers and Bastion – bring it on, son – but his mother? Fuck that for a lark. He wasn’t insane.

June remained standing till he’d sat back in his seat once again, as did Bastion and eventually the still silent coppers, and then everyone seemed to calm down. Well, outwardly, at any rate; there was still a bit of an edge to the two coppers, and he could see that one of them now had a set of cuffs in his hand.

What were they doing here anyway? It was a thought that hit him belatedly. Did Bastion really think he was gonna kick off that badly? Or – shit – was he about to be arrested? No, it couldn’t be that, surely? It was Monday now. So it couldn’t be happening. In his experience, if you were going to get nicked, it happened as soon as you got caught. They wouldn’t leave him all weekend and then come for him, surely? He felt his palms get clammy. No, it couldn’t be that, could it? That wasn’t the way things worked. He knew that. They’d want as little fuss as possible because it went on the school’s record when the cops got involved in shit. And then the school got extra hassle. So why were they here? If it was a case of him being shipped off to some other place, then they could do that themselves, couldn’t they? Yet there were two coppers here. He wished he knew why.

He tried to fathom it as, after shuffling through a bunch of papers from her handbag, Sally began having her two penn’orth.

‘Well,’ she said, mostly to Bastion, while June continued to glare at him, ‘since I only got the call on Saturday – which is not a lot of time, frankly – we’ve been unable to find Vinnie an alternative approved school.’ She paused, then glanced at Vinnie, then looked at the two coppers. ‘So am I right in understanding that you intend keeping him in custody until something suitable is offered?’

Vinnie almost choked, hearing that. What the fuck was she on about? Fucking custody? Was that why they were here? He looked at June, panic written all over his face. ‘Mum?’

June could only shake her head sadly. ‘It’s out of my hands, son,’ she said, shrugging. ‘What do you expect? I warned you, didn’t I? You just won’t have it, will you?’ She sighed. ‘You never would.’

One of the coppers stood up then and walked over to Vinnie.

‘Vincent McKellan,’ he said, managing to sound bored as well as smug. ‘I’m arresting you for an assault causing actual bodily harm. You have a right to remain silent …’ He produced the handcuffs as he spoke and reached for Vinnie’s arms. ‘Come on, son,’ he said, softening slightly, perhaps seeing Vinnie’s now stricken face. ‘You know the drill.’

The copper was feeling sorry for him now, he could tell. He tried to adjust his expression by sheer force of will.

He stood up as directed, willing his legs not to give way beneath him, and forcing a grin, said, ‘Yeah, man, I know the drill.’ He looked back at June then and smiled. ‘Get us a brief, Mam, okay? One that can sort these divvies out.’

To his horror, as he spoke he saw a tear slide down her cheek, forming a track through the powdery surface.

‘Mother!’ he barked, mortified. ‘Sort yourself out! The nick’s gotta be better than this shit-hole, I can tell you. Mother, honest. Get over yourself. I’ll be alright, okay?’

She nodded at him, brushing at her cheek irritably, before spinning round to the social worker. ‘How long, Sal? Before they find him a place? I don’t want him locked up with …’ She jabbed a finger in the direction of the hapless Joe, just so he could be in no doubt how she felt about him, ‘… with criminals and bloody animals!’

Sally smiled a sympathetic smile and put a hand on June’s arm, and Vinnie recognised that she was anxious that his mother didn’t really start kicking off, with old Saggy Tits the next focus of her anger. ‘Soon, love,’ she soothed. ‘They don’t keep kids in them places for long, I promise you.’

At that point Joe’s dad let out an angry laugh and finally spoke. ‘Criminals and animals?’ he spluttered. ‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? You’ve just described your son to a tee, love. They should lock him up and let him rot for what he’s done, the bleeding toe-rag!’

June glared at the man as though she was going to start on him next, but, glancing at Vinnie again – now cuffed – she seemed to think better of it. Instead she turned back to him, reaching out to pat his forearm. ‘Chin up then, mate, okay? You’ll be alright, son. Go on.’

There was nothing she could do to help him and he could see that by the set of her shoulders as the coppers frogmarched him out of the office.

Outside, a small crowd had formed. Word had clearly spread quickly and, while he’d been busy packing his bag, it seemed that anyone who’d been able to had gathered in the drive to watch the proceedings. A chorus of cheers, whistles and shouts of encouragement formed a spirited vocal accompaniment as Vinnie was led out to a waiting police car by the copper he was cuffed to, who ‘accidentally’ bumped Vinnie’s head on the roof as he shoved him into the back seat. Par for the course, Vinnie thought. There’d probably be more of it, too. He was more concerned about the haunted look on his mum’s face as he waved from the back window as they drove off. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her look so old. Maybe the old man was giving her some grief. He hoped not. It wasn’t like his mum to take shit off him. But he wasn’t there, was he? Had that changed things? Was she okay?

He also thought of Titch, suddenly. Shit. He didn’t even ask his mam how she was, poor little bleeder. I’ll have to write to her, he reminded himself, and find out what the score is. Mustn’t forget. Shit. Mustn’t forget.

The police station, they told him, would be a journey of about 15 miles, which he spent in silent contemplation of the passing fields, while the coppers talked quietly to each other. Vinnie wondered, for a weirdly exhilarating couple of seconds, whether to try the back door and make a jump for it. Wondered how he’d do it – how it would feel to experience his body thumping to the ground at speed, then rolling over and over, before halting the momentum, struggling upright again and sprinting towards the distant woods, the cops on his tail, like an Allied officer in a German prisoner-of-war camp. It was a compelling thought – fuck knew how long it would be before he felt fresh air again – but he wasn’t stupid enough to try it. He knew they’d round him up in seconds.

It wasn’t long before they reached the police station anyway, driving in via a back entrance halfway down the middle of a high street, where they were greeted by a desultory wave from a bloke in the car park and, when they entered the building, with a bored-looking nod from the desk sergeant. He was another fat bastard like Bastion, and had a ‘seen it all, done it all, you’re not such a hot shot’ look about him. And he confirmed it while he booked Vinnie in.

‘Little hard nut are we, eh?’ he asked once he’d read out the charge sheet. ‘Let’s see how long you last in the holding cell, then, shall we?’

One of the coppers who had brought him in looked at the sergeant in confusion. ‘Holding cell?’ he asked. ‘I thought he’d be given his own pad.’

‘Not just yet, Gary, we’re all out of superior rooms, I’m afraid.’

They all sniggered and, watching them, Vinnie scowled. Let the cunts laugh, he thought, pushing his chest out and flexing his fists again. He’d show them who’d have the last laugh.

But it wasn’t his only thought; there was another one. One that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. In fact, not so much a thought as a niggle of an emotion. One he didn’t like the feel of, so he fought to keep it where it lay.

Which was in the pit of his stomach. ‘Come on then, fellas,’ he said, ‘Show us me new pad, then. Only I’m a bit peckish, so I hope room service are still working.’

The other plod – the one he hadn’t been cuffed to – suddenly grabbed Vinnie by the arm. ‘Think you’re clever, do you? You’re nothing but a Yorkshire fucking tyke.’ He grinned nastily. ‘And guess what?’ he added, glancing again at the desk sergeant. ‘The lads in the holding cell have all had a few bevvies already and, trust me, they’re gonna love you, lad.’

Without further comment to either of the others, he marched Vinnie through a door, and down a corridor, yanking him to a halt in front of the caged bars of a holding cell, the desk sergeant not very far behind.

Vinnie straightened himself right up and tried to look unimpressed by the inhabitants, three of whom were standing in a ragged row, presumably to greet him. They were a black bloke in his twenties, sporting a giant Afro hair-do, a couple of old geezers, filthy-looking (not to mention stinking) who were obviously tramps, and a fourth man who looked to be in his forties. He was covered in tattoos and obviously out of his tree on something, because he was sprawled out on a bench, a pool of recent-looking sick glistening on the floor beside him and contributing to the stench.

The copper unlocked the door and pushed Vinnie inside. ‘Some entertainment, lads!’ he quipped. ‘You all be nice though, okay? He’s just a little kid with a big gob.’

Vinnie slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and fashioned a grin for his bemused audience. He was shitting himself and he needed a strategy. Which of these fellow inmates was he most in with a shot at captivating? He needed to get someone on side, and quickly. The man who’d thrown up was beginning to stir now and pushed himself upright and, by some instinct – it wasn’t rational, the man was stinking and covered in vomit – he stuck out a hand. ‘Alright, mush?’ he said. ‘I’m Vinnie.’

The man laughed, but not unpleasantly, and immediately shook the outstretched hand. ‘Now then, you little cunt, you’re a bit young to be in here, aren’t you? What the fuck did you do?’

The black guy laughed as well then and, having obviously risen at the sound of his approach – like dogs do when they hear the rattle of a tin – they all sat down again on the remaining benches that went around the three walls. Vinnie breathed a silent sigh of relief and joined in the laughter. ‘Fucking GBH or ABH or something. Fuck knows. Whatever it was, I bit the big fucker’s cheek off.’

The big bloke and the black man both laughed even louder, thumping each other on the arm. Maybe they were friends. The black man wiped his eyes then and said to Vinnie, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s livened us up a bit! I’m Maurice, man,’ he said, holding his own hand out. Vinnie shook it. ‘And this here’s Grant. How long you here for?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Vinnie, as the copper turned the key behind him. ‘They’re supposed to be putting me in a new approved school or something.’

‘Approved school, eh?’ The black guy scratched his head. ‘Well, make yourself at home, Vin. And don’t worry about these two,’ he said, pointing to the tramps, who eyed him incuriously. ‘They’re only here till they sober up. Obviously.’

‘Or fall down fuckin’ dead,’ Grant said. Upon which they both threw their heads back and burst out laughing again.

And as Grant laughed, Vinnie noticed the tattoo round his neck. It was a series of roughly inked blue lines – a dotted line, in fact – and underneath it, at the front, written in pretty shitty writing, was the faded and grubby instruction to ‘cut here’.

Vinnie couldn’t wait till he could get some tattoos. He’d remember that one, he decided. But for the moment – well, what now? They just sat here? That was what struck him most, the weirdness of the situation. That he was sat in a room with four men, two of them tramps. Nothing to do. Nothing to read. Nowhere to go.

Worst of all, they had started talking dirty. Not to him – now he was here he was no longer a novelty – but telling each other about birds they’d both shagged and what they’d done to them, which was a subject that, Miss Biggs aside, wasn’t doing it for him. They weren’t that young themselves, so chances were they’d be ropey old birds they were discussing, too. Yeuch.

He was bored stiff and began to wonder if he should ask for a pen and paper so he could write a letter or something to help pass the time. Fuck! he thought, remembering suddenly. His letters! They were still under his pillow in his bunk. He’d slipped them under there when he’d gone down to check out the ruck in the yard and hadn’t given a thought to them since.

Fuck, he thought again, realising that was the last he’d probably see of them. At least for a while. How could he have forgotten them? What an idiot. And what were the chances – even if he asked the copper to call the home in Brighton for him – of him ever getting his hands on them again? Already been scooped up in the laundry no doubt, when they cleared the room to make way for the next poor sod.

He felt even worse when he realised that there was absolutely no chance of him being allowed to call home and speak to his sister now. He sat back and rested his head against the cold, unyeilding wall, feeling guilty. He felt bad about that bit. Poor Titch.

Still, he decided, it was probably something and nothing anyway. Whatever was eating his little sis at the moment was probably fuck all compared to the shit he was in.