Читать книгу Trilogy Collection - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 24

June was getting irritated. It had all seemed like such fun at first, raking in all the lovely money. It had been so good to have it – to feel it and smell it – that she hadn’t minded Jock banging on about them not arousing suspicion, hadn’t minded not being able to spend most of it. She wasn’t stupid – she knew just how fast curtains could start twitching if they started doing up their houses and going out in fancy clothes, so, initially, at least, she’d been happy to play it safe, and restrict herself to bags of food and extra coal.

But being so careful had gone on long enough now, surely? It had been almost a month now and she was sick of having money but not being allowed to spend it. Yes, she’d sent a few fivers off to Vinnie – though, given the strike, fuck knew where they’d ended up – and she’d also been able to sneak the odd miniskirt but, to her mind, Jock and the others were being way too cautious. Most of the cheques had been cashed now and nothing bad had happened, so wasn’t it about time they all started letting their hair down? She had a wish list and she was itching to start ticking things off it, principal among them being a much longed-for holiday in Blackpool.

‘Oh I don’t know, June,’ Maureen said, when she popped round to run the idea by her. ‘We do something like that and the rest of ’em’ll go fucking apeshit. And you know what the nosey bastards round here are like. Someone’ll grass. Just you watch.’

‘But what’s to bleeding grass about, Mo?’ June persisted. ‘No one knows where it’s come from, do they? And how can anyone grass about us taking a bleeding holiday?’

Maureen shook her head. ‘I don’t know, June. We really don’t want to blow this. What does Jock say?’

‘Jock?’ June said. ‘Nothing! He doesn’t know anything, does he? You know what he’s like. Which is why I thought we should just go ahead and do it. Once it’s done and paid for he won’t be able to bring himself not to go. Be like burning tenners. No, we just have to get on and book it.’

Maureen laughed. ‘Tell you what then, I’ll agree to it, but we can’t all go together – we’ll need to do it in turns. How about me and Steve go this weekend –’

‘Why should you go this weekend?’

‘Because that’s the deal, June. People’ll take much more notice if you and Jock go.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve been so flashy! And you know what Jock’s said – you’ve got to be a bit more savvy and a lot less all about with it. Which means it’ll be much more sensible – and much less likely to annoy your husband – if me and Steve go first.’

June scowled. Maureen was right, of course, which really annoyed her. ‘Anyway,’ her sister-in-law rattled on, ‘I’ve thought what’s best to do. If anyone asks you can tell them we’ve gone to me mam’s, and you and our Jock can go next week. Yes, that’ll work. I can say you’ve gone to visit our Vinnie, can’t I? And our Titch can stop with us while you’re away.’

June thought for a minute, still a bit narked that Maureen was going to get to go before them, despite knowing it was probably the right thing to do. It had been her idea after all. And it had been her idea to sell the remaining cheques around Buttershaw – the women there would snatch their hands off for a cigarette butt, let alone club cheques at a couple of quid a go. They’d keep their traps shut as well, as long as June went along personally. No one in the area – unless they were really stupid – would want to get on the wrong side of either Jock or June’s families.

So, really, June thought irritably, it was her right to go first, and having to let Maureen and Steve do it annoyed her. She’d already planned it in her mind – her and Jock relaxing with knickerbocker glorys, having their photos taken wearing ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hats, strolling along the prom, followed by a piss-up at one of those posh pubs by the central pier.

‘Alright then,’ she relented, feeling the excitement dampen the irritation, ‘you go first, but not a word to Jock or anyone. Especially our Titch. If she finds out we’re off on hols without her, she’ll go bleeding mental, the maungy little mare.’

‘So why don’t you take her?’

‘Take her with us? You have got to be joking! I spend more than enough time looking at that miserable face of hers as it is.’

‘Well, she is a teenager, Ju,’ Maureen pointed out.

‘Yeah, but our Vinnie was never like this. It’s like she’s had a fucking personality transplant, honestly it is.’

‘Well, she’s probably missing him, isn’t she? They were always very close, Ju.’ She sighed. ‘But you’re right. I was thinking only the other day. Where’s that lovely little niece of mine gone?’

June shook her head. ‘Been possessed by a moody mare, is what, Maureen. Even Jock can’t seem to make her smile, and he always could, couldn’t he? Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps she’s just missing Vin – God, I fucking am, bless the little bleeder – well, the not so little bleeder these days. Though that won’t stop me cuffing him round the ear when he does get home, believe me.’ She frowned then. ‘No, we’ll go on our own this time. Then – well, next time, we’ll see about Titch coming along. In the meantime, let’s get on and get this lovely lolly, eh?’

It didn’t take long to raise sufficient to pay for the holidays. It was only a matter of a couple of days of going round the Boulevard on the neighbouring Buttershaw Estate, and they’d finally got the last of the club cheques off their hands, and a tidy pile of cash to divvy up between them.

And Maureen hadn’t wasted any time booking her holiday – had gone into town on the bus and straight down to Wallace Arnold’s to book a coach.

She was round at June’s that very Friday afternoon, ready to go, standing on the doorstep dangling her door keys and giggling like a school girl. So much for being against the whole idea, June thought, taking the bunch of keys irritably.

‘So you’ll keep an eye on the house for us an’ that?’ Maureen wanted to know. ‘Water the cactus? And, um … June?’

June looked hard at her sister-in-law, knowing that something else was coming, and that it wasn’t going to be something she wanted to hear. She felt as prickly as her sister-in-law’s ridiculous spiky plant.

Maureen blushed the colour of her lippy. ‘Look, don’t go mad but I’ve got a confession. It was so cheap that I booked for five days.’

‘What?’ June demanded. ‘We’re supposed to be keeping this fucking quiet!’

Maureen flapped her hands to try and shush her. ‘I know, June, but –’

‘But nothing, you greedy cow! They’ll all be asking questions if you’re gone that long – you cannot go for that long! You’re just a greedy bleeder and you’re going to fuck this right up!’

Maureen’s expression hardened then. She clearly wasn’t going to take that. ‘I’ve booked for five days, June, and I’m going for five days, and that’s the end of it. Wasn’t it you who called it a gift horse? Well, I’m having my fucking gift! We’ve never had a proper holiday before and we’re going, so stop your mithering. It’s booked now, so that’s that. Like it or lump it.’

There was nothing June could do apart from swallow her sister-in-law’s attitude, but she was seething as she finally waved her off. Why should Maureen go swanning off on holiday before her, anyway? It wasn’t fair – it was she and Jock who’d masterminded everything – well, mostly – so it should be her who had first dibs at reaping the rewards. Blackpool really rankled. Blackpool made her furious; now she’d have to listen to Maureen droning on about it endlessly, when it should have been her and Jock doing it first and droning at her.

Selfish cow, she thought, firing up a cigarette and puffing the smoke out angrily. Mo had spoilt her day now. Put her in a thoroughly bad mood.

Right, she decided, looking at the clock. Still plenty of daytime left. She needed cheering up now and she had some time to kill before she had to meet Jock and their mates in the Bull, and she intended to spend every bit of it shopping. Why shouldn’t she, after all? If that bleeding Maureen could just piss off for five days, then she was going to have a right old spending spree herself. And everyone else could just shove it up their arses.

Titch had been sitting reading her dad’s morning newspaper when she heard the sound of the car pulling up. After quickly throwing away the cig she was puffing on, she ran to look out of the window. Wafting away the smoke clouds, so her mam didn’t know she’d been smoking in the house, she almost choked on her fag-smoke as she saw her, laden down with carrier bags, waving a taxi off. What the fuck has she come as? Titch thought.

June was wearing a fur coat – a real beast of a coat, big and spotty. The sort of coat you only saw on the TV or at the cinema. The sort of coat she was pretty sure she’d never seen in Bradford. Bloody March too! Only a show-off like her bleeding mother would think it apt to wear a fur coat in the spring. She must be roasting alive, Josie thought. And what was in all those bags? She ran into the hall and pulled the front door open.

June looked up. ‘Ah, you’re in. Go on, give us a hand then, simpleton. Don’t just stand there looking gormless – grab some of this lot!’

Titch untwizzled some of the plastic bag handles that had become tangled around her mother’s fingers, aghast at the weight of them once she’d finally got them free. She took them into the lounge and plonked them down on the sofa, where they slithered and spread out, all white and pink and yellow, like glossy butterflies’ wings.

It was like Christmas. No, more that that, better than that. She’d obviously been to Kirkgate market, and – Josie gasped, realising – even Busby’s. Was that where she’d got the coat from? Fucking hell, she never even got to go to Busby’s at Christmas, to see Santa, like all the other kids seemed to, no matter how hard she pleaded and begged.

‘I bet you haven’t got me owt, have you?’ she asked her mother hopefully. Though at the same time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted anything anyway – where had the money come from? There must be so much of it to get all this lot. Which frightened her. What exactly had they done?

‘Titch, gimme a fucking minute, will you?’ June said, adding the rest of the bags to the pile. She grinned and ruffled her daughter’s hair. ‘I have got you summat as it happens, but go make us a quick cuppa while I stash all this lot from your dad.’

‘You’d better,’ Titch agreed. ‘If he sees that coat on you he’ll go mental.’

‘Oh, not this,’ June said. ‘Sod him. I’m keeping this on. I want to see the look on everyone’s faces, don’t I? Anyway, what you doing standing there gawping? I said to go and make the tea while I get this lot out of sight!’

Titch shook her head as she went to the kitchen, her day suddenly feeling much brighter all round. Who cared where they got it anyway – she was getting a present! ‘Yeah, mam,’ she shouted back as she lit the gas under the greasy kettle. ‘Like he’s not going to notice anything when you walk in the pub dressed like a bleeding leopard!’

‘Fair point,’ June conceded, amid much exciting-sounding rustling. ‘Anyway, come on back in here, love. I found your present.’

It was in a small bag, and straight away Josie could see what it was. Well, what she hoped it would be – a record. And it was. It was Lou Reed’s ‘Walk on the Wild Side’, which was currently in the charts and was her most favourite song, ever. For a moment or two she simply stood there and gazed at it, unable to believe she actually held it in her hands.

June chuckled. ‘Pleased? See, I’m not such a miserable old fart, am I? Knew you’d like it.’

Josie felt a glow of affection for her mum, hearing that. She had a record. A record of her very own. She couldn’t believe it. ‘Mam, I love it. How did you –’

‘Know? Because I’m your mam and I know what you like. Nah, to be fair, it was just a lucky guess. The man in the shop said all the kids were raving about it. So I went for it. He said it’s going to go to number one, that one, you know.’

The glow dimmed, to be replaced by something much more familiar. That nagging sense, which was ever present, that if she’d been Vinnie, her mam would’ve known what she liked. She pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. It just was what it was, and she wasn’t about to change it. Specially with Vin so far away and her mam missing him so much.

God, she couldn’t wait for him to get home so she could show him, she thought, carefully pulling the record from its sleeve and being careful not to touch the grooves and scratch them. She slipped it back again – she needed to get round to Caz’s house to play it. Her parents’ record player was rubbish – it played everything too slow. And as this was her first ever record she didn’t want to risk damaging it with their ancient stylus. And Caz would love it, too. She still couldn’t quite believe she had it.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ she told June, who was by now inspecting the contents of her other bags, and piling some of the smaller ones into the bigger ones. ‘Kettle’s nearly boiled, and I got the cups out, so can I go to Carol’s, so I can play it?’

‘Go on then,’ June said. ‘But you just make sure you’re home at a decent hour. Your dad an’ I’ll be down the Bull and I don’t want to have to worry about you walking home late. No going down the backs, okay? And if it gets late, you’re to go and stop up our Lyndsey’s, okay?’

Josie gave her mum a hug before she left, clearly startling her. She smelt of some sort of powerful, exotic perfume. Stop at Lyndsey’s? There wouldn’t be much chance of that. She’d rather sleep in the street than spend a night under that pervy git Robbo’s roof.