Читать книгу Trilogy Collection - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 26

The record, it turned out, was unbroken. Josie had told Caz all about it and how she knew she’d never see it again, but when she walked round to meet her down behind the youthy on the Saturday, it was to see her friend brandishing something in the air; something that resolved itself into something recognisably slim and square, Caz’s expression confirming it was what she hoped it was.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Josie exclaimed, as Caz passed the record to her.

‘It’s not broke or owt, either,’ she confirmed.

‘But how d’you –’

‘I walked that way and saw it,’ Caz said as they headed round the front to see who was hanging out. ‘After you’d gone, Black Bobby and my mam started up all over again, so I decided I’d get out of there and take Blue out for a walk.’

Josie pulled the record out of the sleeve. Caz was right. It didn’t look like it had come to any harm. It felt like a miracle. ‘Where was it?’

‘Just on the pavement, down from yours – it was just lying there. No sign of Melvin. His lights were all off. And he obviously hadn’t seen it. Well, no one must have, must they? I thought about dropping it round then but I didn’t like to come and knock. Not with Blue with me and with your mam and dad maybe home from the Bull. I didn’t play it,’ she added. ‘Promise.’

‘Oh, Caz, you should’ve!’

Carol shook her head. ‘No I shouldn’t. Not before you. But you could come round to mine and play it now, if you want to. And Titch,’ she said looking at Josie hard. ‘have you told your Lyndsey yet?’

Josie looked at the record. She was glad she had it back, but she suddenly wasn’t sure she did want to play it now. It felt tainted; like she’d never be able to look at it without remembering. And that made her angry. Angry with that bastard Melvin. But most of all with herself. No, this time she was telling. For definite.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’m going to. Swear on my life, Caz. That sicko’s not going to get away with it a second time.’

Josie spent the rest of the day brooding on it. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to tell someone who might be able to do something; on the other, the same feelings of fear and shame kept ambushing her as last time. She hated trouble and knew that this had trouble written all over it.

She needed to wait though. To time things so she’d get her sister on her own, because the one thing she didn’t want was for that idiot Robbo to start poking his nose in. He was an idiot druggy and you never knew what he might do if he found out. Most of all though, he had a big mouth and the one thing she felt sure of was that if he knew, the whole estate would too.

So she’d wait. She’d wait till she knew he wasn’t going to be in, or come barging in on them and start asking questions. And though she’d been up twice – once to get little Robbie down to see his nan, and once to take him back again – it wasn’t till the following Monday evening that the opportunity to get Lyndsey on her own finally presented itself.

It was tea-time and she was sitting in the lounge watching Crossroads, when she heard her mum call out something from the kitchen.

‘Did you want me, Mam?’ she called, and, when June didn’t answer, she got off the sofa and went in to see.

June was at the sink, with her back to her, scrubbing away at the collar on Jock’s one good white shirt. ‘Did you call me, Mam?’ Josie asked again.

June turned around, bar of Palmolive soap in hand, clearly surprised to see her standing there. ‘What? Oh – oh, no, love. I was just shouting at that gormless pillock out there.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the back yard.

‘What gormless pillock?’ Josie asked, joining her at the window and peering out. There was nothing and no one out there as far as she could see.

‘The gormless pillock who lives with your stupid sister,’ June told her. ‘He’s gone now. I just clocked him scampering over the backs like a bleeding ten-year-old. Pound to a penny he’ll be on the trot for some drugs or that bloody wacky baccy. Idiot …’

She turned back to the sink.

‘What d’you want him for?’ Josie asked, realising she might have found her moment.

‘Want him for? Nothing! Just wanted to let him know I’d seen him. He’s good for nothing, that one, and shifty with it.’ She turned around again. ‘Anyway, why’d you want to know?’

‘Oh, nothing. I just thought I’d pop up to our Lyndsey’s and see the kids while he’s out, that’s all.’

Her mother lifted her carefully painted brows and observed her. ‘What, now, you mean? In the middle of your precious Crossroads?’

Josie felt a guilty blush start. She didn’t miss a thing, her mam, that was for sure. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to think on her feet. ‘I promised Robbie yesterday. He’s been doing me a painting and I told him I’d go round and pick it up. You know, and have a play, and that.’

‘What about your tea?’ June wanted to know. ‘I’m dishing up soon as I’ve done this. I thought taties, mince and cabbage was your favourite?’

‘It is, Mam,’ Josie said, once again feeling guilty, ‘but I won’t be long. Just leave mine in the oven, it’ll stay warm enough for me.’

‘Well, okay,’ said June. ‘But me and your dad are off up to the Bull for a couple as soon as he’s out of the bath and we’ve eaten, so we won’t be in when you get back. Don’t forget your tea, mind, or you’ll be getting it dished up tomorrow, okay?’

Josie grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch and slung it over her shoulder. ‘I won’t, Mam!’ she promised as she slammed the front door.

Josie ran the length of the few houses with her eyes fixed ahead of her, the horrible memories she’d worked so hard to bury over the years now fresh and sharp and ugly in her head. Bastard. Bastard. He was not going to get away with it again.

She went in via the front door to find her sister in the living room, sitting on the couch smoking, as per usual. She had Crossroads on too, though Josie could see she wasn’t really watching it. Just staring in the general direction of the telly. What was she thinking? What the fuck did drugs do to the contents of a person’s head?

The girls were on the floor playing with an old catalogue and some pencils. But there was no sign of her nephew.

‘Hi Lynds,’ she said. ‘Where’s Robbie?’

‘Auntie Titch!’ the girls cried, pleased as usual to have someone round who might actually play with them. ‘Auntie Titch!’

Her sister looked up at her. And she didn’t look that stoned, thank goodness. Just tired. Which perhaps anyone would be with three nippers running around.

‘Off round at some kid’s from school,’ Lyndsey said, then looked at Josie more carefully. ‘You alright, mate?’ she asked. ‘You look like shit.’

‘Oh, Lynds,’ she said, glancing at her nieces, who were now headed towards her, arms outstretched. ‘I’ve got something I have to tell you. Something bad.’

‘Bad? In what way bad?’ Lyndsey asked, as Josie dropped down to give the girls a cuddle. ‘Upstairs, you two,’ she told them. ‘Go and play in your bedroom. Your Auntie Titch and I have things we’ve got to talk about. Go on – scoot.’

She scooped a couple of magazines onto the floor to clear a space, than patted the space next to her on the sofa she’d created. Josie duly sat down.

‘It’s Mucky Melvin,’ she began.

‘That old fucker?’ Lyndsey said mildly. ‘What about him?’

Josie swallowed. Where did she start? But almost as soon as she opened her mouth to answer, she found she didn’t need to think – it was as if her brain had long ago written the script, ready for the telling. She told Lyndsey everything, even though she hadn’t meant to. She was only going to tell about him grabbing her the previous Friday; about him pulling her into the alley, about losing the record, about telling Caz and what she’d said about Lyndsey being the one who’d know what to do. But once she started, it was as if she had no control over her own mouth. It seemed to come out like a torrent, with a mind of its own, and before she knew it she was telling Lyndsey how he’d lured her into his house with the promise of a ciggie, how he’d made her go upstairs to give him them and have a fag and then overpowered her, how he’d ripped down her pants and how he’d forced himself inside her – and all the while Lyndsey, probably a bit stoned because she generally was, sat and listened, her eyes widening to saucers as she drew on a tiny roll-up.

‘The filthy old cunt!’ she said finally, batting smoke from in front of her. At least it wasn’t that horrible sweet wacky baccy smoke, Josie thought. And at least she didn’t seem that stoned. Not yet. Her hands were shaking again, she realised, and she balled them into little fists. Would they shake every time she thought about it, always?

‘So you’re saying he raped you?’ Lyndsey went on. ‘That fucking pervert! You really mean that? That he stuck his fucking prick in you three years back?’

Josie nodded miserably. ‘It was just after our Vinnie left. Right after.’

Jesus!’ said Lyndsey. ‘That makes you – what – 11? God, that’s disgusting that is. Jesus! No, no – it’s more ’n that, actually. It’s child abuse, Titch. That’s what that is. That’s molesting you! Jesus!’ she said again, stabbing the end of the fag into the overflowing glass ashtray on the sofa arm. ‘Why the fuck did you never tell anyone about this?’

‘Because I couldn’t,’ Josie said plaintively. ‘Mam would’ve killed me!’

‘She fucking would, Titch – what were you thinking even going in there? How many times have you been told? Were you mad?’

‘Exactly! I just … I just …’

Just what? She wasn’t even sure she knew. She could hardly articulate it, even though the memory was still pin-sharp in her head. Would that it wasn’t, but it would always be. She was beginning to understand that. How she’d stomped off, feeling angry, feeling like everything was about Vinnie, feeling, somehow, like ‘sod it’, like she’d do what she liked. Was there even a part of her that wanted something bad to happen to her? Just so her mam would notice she was there?

Well she’d certainly got her wish. No doubt about it.

‘I know,’ she said now. ‘I know that now, Lynds.’

‘And now he’s back for seconds, is he? God, just you wait till I tell Robbo. He’ll kill the old fucking tramp.’

‘No!’ Josie cried out, ‘No, Lynds!’ Then, remembering the girls upstairs, she lowered her voice again. ‘No, Lynds, no. What’d you have to tell him for? I didn’t tell you because I wanted Robbo to know. That’s the last thing I want! I’m only telling you because you’re my sister, and I thought you might know what to do!’

Lyndsey shook her head and, in a rare gesture of physical warmth, grabbed one of Josie’s hands between her own. ‘Titch,’ she said, ‘that’s just it. I do know what to do. Have Rob go round there with me and help me punch his fucking lights out!’

‘No!’ Josie said again. ‘You mustn’t tell him, Lynds. You mustn’t! If you do that, then it’ll be all round the estate and I can’t bear that. And s’pose our Vinnie gets to hear of it once he’s home? He’d go apeshit! No, Lynds, you mustn’t tell Robbo!’

Lyndsey let Josie’s hand go and reached for her baccy tin. ‘Okay, okay!’ she said. ‘But what do you want to do then?’

Which was the problem. Had always been the problem, right from the first time. What did she want to happen now? She didn’t even know. She hadn’t thought past the business of unburdening herself – of just telling. Of not having to carry it all around any more.

‘I just thought – oh, I don’t know, Lynds – couldn’t you speak to the police or something? Have them go round there? You know – warn him off and that? Threaten him?’

Lyndsey snorted disgustedly. ‘The fucking bizzies? That’s the last thing we’d do, divvy! No, mate – trust me, if anyone’s going to threaten him it’s going to be me and Robbo.’

‘But I don’t want you to tell Robbo. You promised you wouldn’t tell Robbo!’

‘Titch, you’re not being sensible. Don’t you see, I’ve got to tell Robbo. Yeah, I could warn him off, but Robbo can properly warn him off, can’t he? No, that’s the way. We’ll put the frighteners on. We’ll sort everything out for you.’

‘But you won’t tell mam and dad?’

‘No, I won’t, Titch.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘No, let me think this through for a bit … No,’ she said at last. ‘No, you’re right. No point in telling them, is there?’

‘Promise?’

Lyndsey reached out and patted Josie’s forearm with her cold fingers. ‘I promise. Don’t you worry, kid, leave it with us. We’ll sort the bastard out for you. And don’t you be telling anyone else either, alright? You got that?’

Josie nodded. As if she was going to tell anyone anything about it! Why would her sister even think that?

‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘Not anyone. Only Caz knows, that’s all. And she’ll never, ever tell because we’re blood sisters.’

‘Good,’ Lyndsey said comfortingly, patting her for a second time. ‘Just forget about it now, okay? Don’t you worry. Mucky Melvin won’t be touching you again.’

‘But what are you gonna do?’ Josie wanted to know, still fearful about involving Robbo. He was so off his fucking head most of the time he might do anything.

‘We’re gonna make that bastard wish he’d never been born, mate,’ Lyndsey told her. ‘I’m going to make him wish that so much. It’ll be my pleasure. So don’t you worry about it. And if he ever tries to touch you – or even speak to you again – you just tell him to fuck off and that you’ll be speaking to me, okay?’

Josie refused Lyndsey’s offer to make her supper and walked home feeling thoroughly miserable. She’d thought she’d feel better now – and maybe she did – but it was completely overshadowed by another worrying feeling. What was that story she remembered hearing in school? That was it – Pandora’s Box. She remembered going home and asking Vinnie if he’d heard of it; how she opened the box and all the bad things flew out, and she couldn’t get them back inside again, except for one – hope. And Vinnie had told her that it was something called an ‘allegory’, about how humans should know when to leave well alone. Should she have done that? She knew she shouldn’t but she felt that all the same. That a lot of bad things would come flying out. Having hope didn’t seem much of a consolation, either. Nothing she ever hoped for worked out.

She was glad to get home to a quiet empty house, and went straight to her bedroom without bothering with her tea. It was way too early for bed yet, so she spent some time trying to read but failing, so just lay in the gathering darkness, silently saying an ‘Our Father’ and hoping that tonight she would sleep without dreaming. She wasn’t a holy person but the nuns always said that you could pray to God for anything. She mused for a moment about why the nuns always looked so miserable and then threw in a ‘Hail Mary’ for good measure.

She thought of Robbo and what the nuns might think of someone like him, and how he might react when Lyndsey told him what she’d told her. How weird it was that it was him, of all people, who was going to put the frighteners on Mucky Melvin – when he’d tried doing almost the exact same thing himself. Well, kind of, in his pathetic, stoned, ineffectual way. Looking back, she decided she could have fought him off easily. He just thought he’d try it on and when he realised he wasn’t wanted … She wasn’t scared of Robbo. Not really. He was just what he was – a stupid idiot. And what he’d done was something she’d definitely not be telling Lyndsey – not at any time, ever. Which depressed her to think about – why did she have all this horrible shit to deal with? What was it about her that made these things happen?

It was because she never told. That’s what she kept coming back to – what the nuns would say. Because she didn’t tell in the first place. If she’d told then maybe someone would’ve got rid of Mucky Melvin. Maybe Saggy Tits Sally would have had him arrested. That was the sort of thing she was good at. And if she had told, Robbo would’ve known to keep his filthy druggy hands off her, and Melvin himself would be history. She so wished he was history right now.

She stared at the David Cassidy poster pinned to the back of her bedroom door, and tried to tell herself she’d done the right thing telling Lyndsey. That Carol was right – that it had made her feel a bit better, and that she could trust her sister to put him straight and scare him off. But though she could just about persuade herself that telling Lynds was better than having not told, she couldn’t see anything good coming out of that idiot Robbo being involved.

But she had told. So there was nothing she could do now either way.

The banging on the door had started as a distant, muted drumming. In a jungle somewhere, deadened by miles of dense and dripping foliage; a jungle in which June was currently hacking her way, in order to get to … now, where exactly was she headed? All she knew was that the sound was getting louder and louder, and that soon she’d be … Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

Consciousness came all at once, hammering against her eardrums, and she yanked the eiderdown up round her ears. Where was Jock? Was it him? What the fuck was going on?

Bang, bang, bang! Finally it hit her. It was the front door.

‘All fucking right!’ she screamed down, at the top of her lungs. ‘Shut the fuck up! I’m coming, okay?’

She threw the covers back, shivering as the cold air hit her bare legs, and rose unsteadily to her feet, feeling groggy. Unable to locate anything warmer, she reached for the negligee that matched her new baby-doll black nightie, then padded downstairs, popping her head round the living-room door when she reached the bottom, to check the time on the guitar clock on the wall. Eleven thirty in the morning – Christ! She’d slept that late? How had that happened? And where was Jock?

‘Okay, okay, leave the fucking knocker on!’ she yelled as she approached the front door, only stopping in bewilderment as she pulled it open to reveal two uniformed policemen on the step.

‘Morning, June,’ said the tallest of the two – who appeared to be a sergeant. He grinned at his colleague before taking his time looking her appreciatively up and down. ‘Good,’ he said brightly. ‘I see you were expecting us.’

June scowled at him, in no mood for grinning cops on any morning, let alone one after the night she decided she must have had last night. Eleven thirty? What fucking time did she make it to bed?

‘In yer bleedin’ dreams, plod,’ she snapped. ‘What do you want anyway? Only I’m freezing me tits off stood here.’

‘Mind if we come in, June?’ the other copper said, equally brightly. What the fuck did these two have to be so cheerful about?

‘I do mind, as it goes,’ she said. ‘Our Vinnie’s still locked up, so we’ve got – let me see – about three more months before you start harassing us again. Now, what do you want?’

The tallest copper cleared his throat. ‘Well, June,’ he said, ‘it’s about these stolen club cheques – the ones that were taken from the site your Jock was working at a while back. We’ve been following a bit of a chain and it all seems to lead back to you, June. So again, shall we come in or do you want to conduct this on the doorstep?’

June managed to curl her lip into what she hoped was an innocent-looking smile. ‘Club cheques?’ she asked. ‘Club cheques? Are you right in the fucking head? I’ve no idea what you’re on about, mate. Now, is that it? Because from where I’m standing, you couldn’t conduct a fucking church choir, let alone an investigation.’

June glanced at the shorter of the two, who seemed to be staring at something on the floor. She followed his eyes to see her morning post scattered on the lino in the hallway. Just as her mind registered what it was he was staring at, the copper bent down and picked up a postcard. A postcard that might have meant nothing whatsoever, were it not for the ‘Greetings from Blackpool’ written in swirly writing diagonally across the front.

He was way too quick for her. Before she could reach out and snatch it up, he’d already done so and was now holding it out of arm’s reach to read. Typical Maureen, she thought, staring at the back of it, or rather the front of it: a cartoon couple, fat and sunburned, eating ice-creams on the beach. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. He started reading aloud now.

‘Dear Jock and June,’ he read, addressing his words mostly to his sniggering colleague, and adopting a high-pitched posh lady’s voice, ‘cash the rest of our paper money in – wink, wink, nudge, nudge – because me and Steven might come back here with you and Jock. Wish you were here, love Mo.’

June made a second attempt to grab the postcard, but once again the copper was too quick for her. ‘Give it here, you lousy bastard. I’m sure that’s a fucking offence, that is – tampering with the Royal Mail!’

He held it above his head now, seeming amused to see her jumping up to try and get it. How dare he fucking laugh at her, he and his dumb fucking mate.

‘Sorry, June,’ he said pleasantly, ‘not when it’s evidence, it isn’t. Shouldn’t have been so greedy, love, should you?’

He slipped it into a pocket then, and patted it for good measure. ‘And just so you know, there’s no point in you putting on that “butter wouldn’t melt” face, either. This –’ he patted the pocket again ‘– just sort of seals it. We already knew most of the picture already. Them fuckers up Buttershaw are not as scared of you as you and your little gang like to think. Anyway, Jock around?’

‘No,’ said June, her mood growing as black as her expensive nightie. ‘He’s gone to Torre-fucking-molinos. What do you think?’

And how she wished that they really could. Ideally now.

Two months later, June was carefully cutting an article out of the Telegraph & Argus newspaper. ‘Oh What a Tangled Web We Weave’ read the headline, and beneath it was a black-and-white picture of June, Jock and eight others, all in their Sunday best, outside Bradford Courts, smiling for the camera.

Our Vinnie’s gonna love this, thought June as she folded the cutting and placed it on the fireplace. She grinned as she remembered the day in court. The judge had shaken his head in disbelief as they all, one after the other, had been called up. They had all pleaded guilty of course. No getting out of it, but the fine and the warning had been worth it. All that money they’d spent and enjoyed, and then the look on that judge’s face. Priceless.