Читать книгу Trilogy Collection - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 28

Vinnie’s room hadn’t changed. Not one bit. It was exactly the same as when he’d left it three years earlier, as if locked in a time warp, or sealed up because the contents were radioactive.

The door creaked as he opened it wider and stepped in. Literally nothing seemed to be different. Not a clean lick of paint, no different blanket top, nothing. Even his old drawers were still drooping out of their casings just the same the day he’d gathered his few things from them and filled the bag he was to take to approved school.

He sighed as he ran a finger along the dust that had gathered on his beloved bookcase and wondered, not for the first time, if all mothers were as lacking as June when it came to making an effort. He felt strangely disgruntled at the prospect of living again amid so much mess and squalor. Whatever else Redditch had been, it had been clean. But at least all his books were still there. He checked the titles that he’d left behind – a few Agatha Christie novels, a book about James Dean and his second favourite book, Nicholas Nickleby. He’d loved that one, because Nicholas was a bit like him really. Yes, his own dad was still alive and kicking, whereas Nicholas’s wasn’t, but Vinnie still felt it was him who had to look out for his mam and sister, and he certainly had an uncle who never thought he’d amount to anything. Actually, scrub that – he had two or three of them.

He touched the spine. He’d left that one for Josie to read while he was gone and she must have put it back again, bless her.

‘Que sera, sera,’ he said out loud, flinging the case onto the bed. It was now a bit lighter – and, without his mam’s gifts, a lot less fragile – but it still caused a mushroom-cloud of dust.

There wasn’t much in the case bar his books and his clothes, but at least the latter were clean. Putting the novels to one side, he pulled out a T-shirt and some jeans from the few items of clothing he possessed. He changed into them quickly, feeling the chill on his bare skin. Even though it was only September, it was an unwelcome reminder of things to come. There would be no more warm pad to return to on winter evenings; he was back to a place with only one source of heat – the fireplace in the living room downstairs.

Dressed and warm again, he hurriedly placed the books back in the bookcase, smiling wryly as he slid each into the space it had created; time really had stood still in here. His few photos went on top, his remaining clothes into the creaking drawers – another wry smile then; he’d have to go back to relying on his mum to wash his laundry. Fat chance! It more likely meant a weekly visit to the bag wash, if he was to have any chance of keeping his things half-decent.

Once changed, he hurried down again, grabbing his Crombie from the newel post, and shrugging it back onto his shoulders. It was as precious to him as his matchstick-modelled caravan was to his mam, and the most expensive piece of clothing he’d ever owned. Camel, rather than the usual black, it hung remarkably well on him, given that his mum had no choice but to guess which size to get. He felt a familiar flicker of guilt for not having written in so long, because he couldn’t have been more excited when the parcel had arrived for him at Redditch. It was the envy of everyone, the coolest thing ever – particularly worn with his ox-blood dealer boots, too. He smoothed it down appreciatively – not bad for a Canterbury lad, eh? – then smiled, realising where the cash had probably come from. Odds on it was the proceeds of a few of those stolen club cheques. Well, he could do worse than get a bit of that kind of action himself. ‘Don’t wait up!’ he called to June as he left.

He wondered about Pete and Brendan as he walked. Would they look different? Would they still have room for him in their lives? He also wondered if they’d got themselves birds while he’d been away. That whole business had been worrying him a bit when he was locked up. They’d both written him letters, quite regularly, too – and now and again had mentioned some girl or other. Vinnie hadn’t had the pleasure of such encounters and it bothered him – he didn’t want to look stupid if his mates decided to talk about shagging and stuff. He decided he’d lie if he had to. Say he’d pulled loads of birds when he’d had weekend leave or something. And if they didn’t believe him? Well, he’d just threaten them with a slap.

Vinnie was looking for lots of things – sex being one of them – but he definitely wasn’t looking for trouble. It might come and find him – probably would, in fact. And if it did, so be it. He would deal with it. But he wasn’t on the hunt for it right now. He was much more interested in settling back into estate life, re-establishing his order in the hierarchy (and in that regard his ‘just-out’ status would definitely be a major asset) and getting a piece of whatever was currently going down. Yes, one day, he’d get a proper job – something with woodworking, perhaps. He really fancied that. But real work – proper grown-up work – that could wait for a while. Right now he had some living to do.

Living and re-connecting, Vinnie thought, particularly with his little sister. He didn’t need reminding how much she had missed him, and as he drew up outside the pub he felt a slight pang of guilt about not hanging around to see her. But only a small one – after so long away, the thought of being looked at and scrutinised and (in his aunties’ case) patted was reason enough to make the Bull his first stop and to first celebrate his return with his mates.

Pete laughed at loud as soon as he saw him. ‘Fucking hell, Vin,’ he said, slapping him across the shoulder. ‘You look like fucking McCloud with that ’tache, mate!’

Vinnie laughed. It was good to see his mates after so long. ‘And you two still look like the ugly cunts I remember,’ he answered. ‘Alright, Brendan? You getting the beers in, kiddo?’

‘Kiddo?’ Brendan snorted. ‘I’ll get the first one for your cheek, but you can’t con me. I know you jail wallahs get a bit of spends to come home with.’

You’re on,’ said Vinnie as they headed up to the bar. It was almost like he’d never been away.

Though there was still a fair bit of catching up to do. No talk of birds, thankfully, but lots of gossip about who’d been up to what and, more importantly, who was on the up and who wasn’t. He’d returned at a pretty low time, what with the miners working to rule and everyone fearful of losing their jobs – that three-day week he’d been hearing about and everything – not that either concept meant much; none of his mates had regular jobs not to go to. It just meant less money around and less stuff to rob.

‘So, what’s going on?’ Vinnie asked his mates as soon as they’d got their second pints in.

‘Not a lot, mate, If I’m honest,’ Brendan told him. ‘Things aren’t great. There’s a scrap yard we’ve been keeping our eye on, but nothing’s concrete yet.’

‘What about your Robbo?’ asked Pete. ‘You’re not already knee deep into his little scam, then?’

‘Gimme a chance,’ Vinnie said. ‘I’ve only been back five fucking minutes! Anyway, what scam? We’re talking the same idiot Robbo? I’m surprised he’s still standing, let alone running a scam. It’s all he can do to tie his own fucking shoelaces, isn’t it? Well, that was the case last I heard.’

‘Same one,’ Pete confirmed. ‘So I’m told. Something to do with Melvin, up by yours.’

‘Melvin? What, Mucky Melvin? You being serious?’

Pete nodded. ‘Yep. And he’s on a right little earner by all accounts.’

Vinnie laughed scornfully. ‘Robbo? Teaming up with old fucking Mucky Mel? Well I knew he was a chancer but getting involved with him? That’s low, even for that prick!’ Vinnie laughed and ordered another pint, while his friends exchanged what looked like an anxious glance.

‘What?’ he said. He didn’t miss much these days. And what he didn’t miss he wanted to know about.

Brendan finished his pint and slid the glass across the bar next to Vinnie’s empty. ‘You got the wrong end of the stick, mate,’ he said. ‘He’s not doing a scam with Mucky Melvin. He’s doing one on him.’

‘Now that makes much more sense,’ he agreed. ‘What’s he got on him?’

Again, he sensed an anxious pause. ‘What?’ he demanded.

‘Listen, mate,’ Brendan said. ‘It’s not for me to say, is it? People talk an’ that, but no one really knows, and that’s the truth. You maybe want to ask your Lyndsey.’

‘So she’s in on it, too, is she?’

‘I dunno, mate,’ Brendan said again. ‘Look, you need to ask her.’

It had been a long time since Vinnie had tasted alcohol and he’d intended to savour it. And he had been, but there was something in Brendan’s tone that took his appetite for beer away suddenly. What was his idiot sister up to now? Prostituting herself for drug money? He wouldn’t put it past her, and he wouldn’t put anything past that moron of a boyfriend of hers either. Perhaps he’d better go see, though, because there was something in Brendan’s tone that wasn’t sitting easily with him. His sister was 26 now. She could do what the fuck she liked. So why the looks?

‘You know what, mate?’ he said to Brendan. ‘I might just do that right now. I promised little Robbie that I’d look in on him anyway.’ He drained his second pint and clapped his hand against his mates’ backs. ‘Maybe catch up with you in here later?’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Brendan agreed, though he didn’t look hopeful.

Odd, Vinnie decided. Very odd. But then this was his sister and that idiot they were talking about. Nothing that pair got up to would surprise him.

Walking back up through the snicket to his sister’s in the gathering dusk, Vinnie wondered how well his nephew and nieces would remember him. Three years was a long time when you were just a nipper – would Sammy and Lou even know who he was? By now, their memories of him would be pretty hazy.

Little Robbie, though – perhaps he would, because Titch would have reminded him. He knew the lad still thought about him at least because Josie had sent a fire-engine picture he’d done for him in with one of her letters. It even had Vinnie’s name emblazoned on the side of the truck. He’d displayed it proudly on the wall of his room along with his family photos and posters. Bless the little tyke. He wondered how he was. Was it a bit better than it used to be? He hoped so.

But the evidence outside told a different story. As he walked up their path it was like going back in time. Had anything changed here? He doubted it. The front was certainly no different – a mess of broken toys, overgrown weeds and random bits of wood – and when he knocked on the same peeling paint on the same filthy door, it felt like he’d never been away.

It was no different inside. Getting no response from his knocking he tried the front door and finding it unlocked, pushed it open and stepped into the hall. A couple more steps took him to the living room and, pushing that door open too, he was greeted with the scene he half expected. The TV was on, the fire was lit, the room was a sea of the usual mess and, in the midst of it, his older sister and his nephew.

‘Now then!’ he boomed.

‘Uncle Vin!’

Robbie leapt up on seeing him. ‘Yay! Uncle Vin!’ He ran across the room then and cannoned into Vinnie, arms as wide as his grin. ‘Nan said you were coming home! Have you come to watch the telly with us?’

‘Fucking hell, mate!’ he said, casting his eyes over his nephew. ‘Whoah there! You’ll have me over! And look at you! You’re so big – how old are you now?’

‘I’m ten!’ Robbie told him proudly. ‘An’ I’ll be 11 in January! Mam! Mam, look who’s here! Auntie Titch, come downstairs! Uncle Vin’s here!’

Robbie ran into the hall to shout for Josie to come down and Vinnie smiled at his enthusiasm. It felt good to be looked up to, which he knew he was. Young Robbie thought of him as some kind of hero, always had. Hardly surprising given the idiot of a man he currently lived with.

Robbie had certainly grown up a bit, and from the size of him, he was going to be a big lad. He already had impressive muscles and looked a lot older than his years. He’d be okay, Vinnie decided. Able to look after himself. Well, as long as he didn’t take after his excuse for a mother.

Vinnie looked across at his elder sister, who barely stirred at the sound of her son’s voice. She was sitting in exactly the same place on exactly the same couch, the same lazy-lidded half-smile frozen on her face. So, here too, absolutely nothing had changed. No, it was worse – she couldn’t even wait till the fucking kids were in bed before chasing the fucking dragon, by the looks of things.

‘Vinnie!’ he turned around to see his younger sister enter the room. Christ, he thought – now she had changed. Where’d she get those lanky legs from?

Just like Robbie had, she crossed the room in an instant and threw her arms round him. ‘You might have fucking waited for me to get home!’ she told him, her voice muffled by his coat as she clung to him.

‘And you,’ he countered, ‘might have made the fucking effort to bunk off school so you could be home!’

She was still in her uniform. In fact, if Vinnie wasn’t mistaken, she was wearing one of his old school jumpers. He recognised the frayed cuffs and a splat of green paint that had never washed off. He chuckled to himself and did a quick mental calculation. What was she – 14? Fuck. When he’d left she’d still been in primary school. He pulled her off him and held her away from him, grinning, trying to get his head around how much she’d changed. And she was obviously doing the same, because she laughed at him. ‘You growing that bum-fluff on your face for a joke?’

He glanced across at his older sister. Thank fuck for his younger one, all things considered. She’d got sharper since he’d left, but in a good way. ‘Where’s the girls?’

‘In bed,’ Titch said. ‘I just got them off.’ She frowned. ‘Again. They were already off – and then you come banging on the door.’

He became aware of a tugging on his coat. Robbie. ‘Uncle Vin! Uncle Vin! Can we go out and play footy?’

‘With me in this?’ Vinnie joked, smoothing the lapels of his Crombie. ‘You’ll be lucky, mate! Tomorrow, maybe. After school. I gotta speak to your mum now, okay?’

‘And it’s time for bed,’ Titch said. ‘Because I have to get off now too.’

‘You’re off?’ Vinnie asked, feigning disappointment. Much as he was pleased to see his little sis, he didn’t want her earwigging while he was talking business with Lynds. ‘Charming!’ he pretended to huff. ‘Thought you’d be desperate to see me! I walk in the door and you walk out of it!’

‘I told you,’ she said. ‘I rushed home specially. But mam said you were off to the Bull for the night, didn’t she? And there was no way I was sitting in on my own, was there?’ Her expression softened then. ‘And I’ve got to meet up with Caz anyway. We’ve got some homework to get finished.’

Vinnie grinned again. ‘Mam said you were still a goody goody. She was right, then? Right, young fella,’ he added, sweeping Robbie up onto his hip. ‘Time for bed, then, mate, I think.’

‘Yay!’ said Robbie, throwing his arms around Vinnie’s neck. ‘You going to tuck me in, Uncle Vin?’

‘Tuck you in, mate? How old d’you say you are now?’ He smiled at his nephew and glanced across at his feckless older sister. ‘Oh, go on, then, you big sissy,’ he said. The poor little bleeder. What kid deserved that for a mother?

He said goodnight to Titch, promising to catch up with her properly the next day, and by the time he came down again, the kitchen strip light was switched off and she’d gone. Lyndsey, however, seemed not to have stirred since he’d left her, and there was still no sign of Robbo. There was just the smell of him – the stale greasy stink the whole place had, and which he remembered as if it was yesterday.

Jesus, he thought crossing the room and roughly shaking his older sister, what a way to live a life. If there was one thing he was never getting into, ever, it was fucking heroin – it fucked you up like nothing else.

‘Christ, sis,’ he said, as she spluttered and cleared her throat. ‘I can’t believe you’re on the gear already. Can’t you wait till they’re in fucking bed at least?’

She roused herself a little and pulled herself up into a semi-sitting position. She looked a state; even worse than he’d remembered her. Her long hair – once dark and glossy – was as lank and dirty as his was clean, she had dirt under her nails and spots on her face.

‘Fuck off, Vin,’ she said. ‘You come to see us or just fucking moan?’

‘Let me see,’ he said, casting his gaze around. ‘Bit of both. State you fucking live in. Those poor fucking kids. Don’t you have any shame?’

‘Yeah, yeah, save your sermon for someone who cares,’ she said, flapping a dismissive arm and reaching for her baccy tin. Anyway, you alright? How was your holiday?’

‘Educational,’ he told her, feeling suddenly twice the age that was written on his birth certificate; as if he’d lived more life in three years than she had in ten. ‘Anyway, it’s Robbo I’m after. I hear he’s got something going on that I might be able to get a piece of. Where is he?’

He could see Lyndsey struggling to focus as she tried to roll a joint, squinting as she crumbled a warmed lump of Lebanese black onto the tobacco. He watched her with distaste. Fucking drugs were for morons. She was out of it on heroin almost as soon as she got up in the mornings. And now she was topping up with this shit as well.

‘Out and about,’ she said.

‘Collecting off Melvin?’

She looked up then. ‘You know about that?’

‘I know about lots,’ he said, sensing that there was something he ought to know here. ‘So. What’s he into him for?’

Lyndsey blinked at him, then stared at him, then eventually lifted a finger and tapped it clumsily against the side of her nose. ‘None of your sodding business, little brother,’ she told him, enunciating the words carefully.

‘Course it’s my business,’ he said, expecting that. They wouldn’t want to cut him in, would they? ‘Look, we’re family, aren’t we? Anyway,’ he said, thinking on his feet, the bit between his teeth now,’ I know why he’s into him because everyone knows why anyone would be into him – because he’s a fucking nonce, Lynds – I just wondered how much he was into him for.’

Lyndsey’s expression changed then. ‘You do?’ She looked shocked. ‘Well, for fuck’s sake don’t tell her anything about it, okay?’ She shook her head. ‘Because what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, can it? We said we’d sort it and we sorted it …’ Her slurring was getting worse now. ‘An’ maybe, now you’re back –’ he watched her lips curl into a half-smile. ‘We could even put the price up a bit, couldn’t we?’