Читать книгу Trilogy Collection - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 27

September

June couldn’t remember that last time she’d felt so happy and yet so anxious all at once. So much as if everything was slightly shifted off kilter. In some ways it had felt as if the time had passed so quickly, yet in others it felt like a lifetime had passed. Vinnie was almost 17. It didn’t seem possible.

She squealed when she saw him – her boy! Home at last! And then again as, when she ran to him to try and give him a squeeze, he lifted her up – right off her feet, too; she couldn’t believe he was tall enough to do that – and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

‘Alright, Mother?’ he said. ‘Well, I’m back.’

‘Oh, put me down, you daft bleeder,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t. Not just yet – he was home and she wished the whole world could see.

He did put her down then, and grinned at her, cupping a hand to his ear – God, his hair was so long now! – and saying, ‘What’s that? Nope – I can’t hear that kettle whistling!’

She followed him inside then, marvelling at him. He looked so different. She’d clocked that the minute she’d clapped eyes on him, studying him minutely from the first second she’d seen him, strolling up the road carrying his case with such a swagger. She hadn’t seen him since last Christmas, so it had been a while now. And that had been a rare treat in itself. He saved his visiting orders for Brendan so he could keep in touch with his mates. Which wasn’t surprising, she supposed. Why would he want to waste them on his mum? She’d reminded herself of that so many times over the last couple of years, so that Christmas visit had been a real shock. He’d grown so much. Become so manly.

And now he’d changed again. There was something. Something tangible.

He was taller still. That was a definite. He’d grown a good couple of inches. And he was leaner; not so much thinner – he’d always been a stringy little bleeder – as less soft, less boyish. He had proper man’s muscles now, as well – no doubt all that manual labour the screws made them do – and his jaw seemed to be set in a firm, angular line. He’d grown a moustache, too – a proper bushy one. It was red like his hair was, only flecked with brown and blond too. It was odd seeing him with it, but it suited him. June couldn’t wait to take him down the Bull and show him off.

She hurried into the kitchen to fill the kettle. He’d had a long journey: the train from Redditch, and then bus journey from the city centre, then the walk – it must have taken him a good five hours or so and, if she knew him, she didn’t doubt he’d have stopped along the way, too, to catch up with a couple of his mates.

It had been a bit of a shock opening the door to him after so long away; watching him carefully set his case down, take off his immaculate new Crombie coat, smooth that silky-looking shoulder-length hair. She’d have liked to touch it, but didn’t reckon that would go down too well.

Tea, that was the thing, she’d thought. Make him a cuppa. Let him settle. Josie’d be home soon – home like a bleedin’ whippet, June knew – she was that desperate to see him. Jock too, she thought, even though his only comment before he headed off to the bookies earlier was to say that he hoped his idiot son would keep his fucking nose clean from now on.

Which was a bit rich, coming from him, given how they’d spent their summer. She smiled to herself then; she couldn’t wait to show Vinnie the piece from the Telegraph & Argus. See where all those fivers came from – see where that smart coat had come from, for that matter.

‘Tea won’t be long, love!’ she called through to the living room, her face wreathed in steam as she poured.

Vinnie was watching TV when she went in with the cups, sitting in his dad’s chair, elbows on knees, leaning forward, intent on it, ignoring her.

‘What you watching?’ she wanted to know. ‘Here you are love –’

He took the proffered cup without speaking.

June sat down on the sofa, feeling ignored. ‘Turn that off, will you? I want to talk to you!’ There was a silence. He was really glued to it. ‘Vin!’ she said more insistently. She didn’t do being ignored. ‘You’ve only just got home, for fuck’s sake!’

Now he did turn towards her. ‘Shush, Mother!’ he said. Then he stood up and went over to turn the volume up a bit. ‘Look!’ he said, pointing. ‘Bombs! Bombs’ve been going off in London!’ He shook his head. ‘I fucking knew it. I knew they weren’t lying, the little fuckers. I knew it!’ He grinned at June as he sat down again, this time next to her on the couch.

‘Bombs?’

‘The IRA, Mother. They haven’t declared it yet, or owt, but they will do. Just you wait.’

June studied the screen. It was a station. King’s Cross. It looked bad. She turned to Vinnie. ‘How would you know about that, then?’

‘I was locked up with a couple of them, wasn’t I? Mad fuckers, the pair of them. Call themselves ‘political prisoners’ apparently. Looked just like any other fucking mad Irish to me.’

‘And they did that?’ June nodded her head towards the TV.

Vinnie shook his head. ‘Not them, Mam. Their “brothers” – that’s what they call their mates – they were the ones planning it. We weren’t supposed to know, or owt, but one of them got stoned one night and blabbed.’ He shook his head again and laughed. ‘And they fucking have!’

June felt her stomach clench, seeing Vinnie so excited. There they were, watching folk being led out of the station, bleeding and terrified, and her son was laughing – her son seemed to actually find it funny. There was blood and glass everywhere, loads of injuries, people shaking, people crying. She might not be perfect, she thought, but laugh at that? At all those innocent people hurt and – yes, they were already saying so – being killed? There was nothing funny about that. Nothing at all.

‘Vin, mate,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to laugh at. This is fucking terrible. Fucking IRA. Why’d you want to hang around with the likes of them?’

Vinnie laughed again, and it sounded strange. It was a man’s laugh. No longer a boy’s laugh. ‘Mother, you have no fucking idea, do you? It’s fuck all to do with me anyway. I was just saying – they said they’d do it and they did do it. You’ve got to think of it differently anyway. You’ve got to think of them as like soldiers. That’s what they are – soldiers. Fighting for their cause.’

‘They don’t look like soldiers to me,’ June said. ‘I’ve known plenty of soldiers, your own uncles included. Let me tell you, they don’t go around killing ordinary people going about their business.’

Vinnie got up again and switched the telly off, then slurped his tea. ‘Anyway, enough of that. What’s been happening around here, then? What have I missed?’

That was better. A change of subject. Maybe she’d feel a bit less on edge then. She leapt up and grabbed the cutting from its home on the mantelpiece. ‘Have a read,’ she ordered, passing it to him. ‘You’ll piss yourself laughing.’

And he duly did. ‘You mental bastards!’ he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘And you wonder where I get it from! And only a fine – how d’you manage to pull that off? You’re lucky you didn’t end up banged up yourselves!’

‘Not that lucky, really,’ June said. ‘I almost had a coronary when the bloody judge or whatever it was sentenced us. Right twat, he was. He read it out as though we were all going down for six months, then, right at the end, after a pause to make us sweat, the evil bleeder, he finally tells us that it’s “suspended”.’ She shook her head. She still blanched at the memory. ‘My life was flashing before me eyes, son, I can tell you.’

Vinnie laughed. ‘Oh, mother – how I wish I’d been there to see your silly face! But what about Titch? She wasn’t in on this, surely?’ The idea seemed to concern him.

‘You’re kidding,’ June reassured him. ‘She’s no different, son – still a goody two-shoes. Fuck knows where she gets it from – must be your dad’s side.’ She giggled. ‘Shivering bleeders, the lot of them.’

‘She’s alright, Mam,’ Vinnie said. ‘We’ve just all babied her, that’s all. And maybe that’s a good thing. When’s she home anyway? I’ve got to get on. People to see, places to go.’

June’s face fell. ‘You’re not out already are you? I was thinking we’d nip down and get some take-outs from the pub. I can pay him on Friday, and we’ll have a bit of a party to celebrate, eh?’

Vinnie shook his head. ‘Sorry, Mam, but I’ve got things I need to do. I’ve got to earn some money and I’ve got a couple of people I need to catch up with. Brendan and Pete, you know? They’ve been in touch and they promised me they’d sort me out when I got home. I’m meeting them in the Bull in a bit.’

‘Tonight?’ June tried again. ‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow? Little Robbie can’t wait to see you – been rabbiting on about you non-stop, he has. He even did you a picture. Another picture,’ she added, looking at him pointedly. She hadn’t intended to bring it up, but where letters and gifts were concerned it had all been a bit one-way fucking traffic these last months.

Vinnie gave her a look that seemed about to be accompanied by a rebuke, but he obviously thought better of it. Good, thought June. She wasn’t having him trying to throw his weight around. She was still his mam and her say-so was her say-so.

‘You just reminded me,’ he said instead, leaping up again and putting his tea down on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

He went out into the hall then and returned with the suitcase, which was brown and battered. June had never seen it before.

‘Where’d you get that?’ she asked him. ‘They give ’em out at borstal now, do they?’

Vinnie placed the suitcase down on the sofa and shook his head. ‘One of the screws gave it me,’ he said. ‘Said he didn’t need it any more. So I had something to put my stuff in …’ He opened up the lid.

There were two packages inside, all carefully wrapped in brown paper, and nestled between his few bits of clothing. He lifted one out and passed it to her. ‘Careful, mind,’ he said. ‘It’s delicate.’

June immediately felt bad for feeling cross with him. He might not have written but she obviously had been in his thoughts, after all. She placed the package on her knees and opened it carefully, as directed, peeling back the layers of paper, wanting to savour it, having absolutely no idea what it might be.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have, Vin,’ she said. ‘It’s not even like you’ve got any money. Oh, Vin, you shouldn’t have!’ she said again, unwrapping the final layer to reveal a china shire horse. And a big one too – almost a foot high, it was, complete with yoke and saddle and even little leather reins. ‘Oh, Vin!’ she said, pulling it free and holding it up so she could properly inspect it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘But give it here a minute, cos there’s more.’

‘More?’ June looked up at him wide-eyed as he took it from her and placed it on the floor.

‘Yes, to go with it. Here,’ he said, passing her another carefully wrapped parcel. ‘Now this one’s really delicate, so just be careful opening it, okay?’

June held the parcel on her lap like it was the Crown Jewels. She didn’t know what it was but it couldn’t have been more precious. She could feel tears pricking in her eyes and if she’d been their Mo looking at her, she’d have given her a slap and told her not to be so daft.

But how could you not? She thought, turning back the paper, how could you not, when … ‘Oh, Vin!’ she gasped, seeing what now sat on her lap. ‘Oh, Vin, this is amazing – it’s fucking gorgeous!’

It was, too. By anyone’s standards. It was a gypsy caravan, just the right size to sit behind the shire horse, made out of what looked like, no, definitely were, matchsticks. The detail was amazing, right down to the tiny curtains that hung in both the windows and the matching seat pads for the tiny table and chairs inside. It was all finished off with a gleaming golden varnish and a tasselled trim running around the arched entrance. It was the nicest thing she had ever seen or owned in her whole life and if a tear slipped down her cheek she no longer cared.

She stood up carefully and took it to the window-sill, clearing a space for it, then fetched the horse to hitch up to the front.

Vinnie looked on all the while. He didn’t say anything but she could see just how proud he was. As he should be, she thought. He was so clever with his hands.

‘I’m going to leave that right there,’ she said turning to hug him. He let her. ‘So all the neighbours can see it and see how talented you are.’

She sniffed and Vinnie laughed. ‘Mam, if you look around you’ll see plenty of them, honest. And the shire horses. Everyone makes the gypsy caravans in borstal and the shops in the town sell the horses to go with them. It’s a right racket.’

‘A racket?’

‘Well, not that kind of racket. But I didn’t just make mine. I made a few of them, actually. Some other things as well. You know, for the other lads, like, so they could take them home to their mams. Kept me in chocs and baccy, that did. And it passed the time.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ June said, clearing the rest of the clutter so her present could be properly centre-stage. ‘I’ve never seen one. Not round here, anyway. Oh, Vin,’ she said, moving the net aside and hooking it round one of the handles. ‘It’s just lovely.’

‘Well, I’m glad you like it, Mam. Cost me a fortune in matches, that did! Anyway, I’d better get on. Like I said –’

‘Things to do, people to see. You already told me. Oh, Vin, can’t you stop at home just for one bleeding night? And what about little Robbie?’

He re-clasped the suitcase clips and lifted it off the sofa. ‘Tell our Titch to nip up and tell him I’ll try to stop by and see him later. Right now I’m off to unpack, okay?’

He crossed the room then and patted her shoulder. He really had grown. ‘Mam, calm down,’ he said. ‘I’m home now, aren’t I? And I’m stopping home. For good. Which means I’ll be here the next day and the next day and the next day. I’m not going anywhere, okay?’

June crossed her fingers behind her back when he said that, hoping against hope that would turn out to be true, and that the stirring of anxiety in her stomach was just indigestion.

She’d take some Milk of Magnesia, she decided. That should sort it.