76

 

 

            I returned home, but I could not remember the journey.  There were no thoughts inside my head.  Only, black, smoking rage.  I found myself sat in the car in the driveway, breathing heavily through my nostrils, as the windscreen steamed up before my eyes.  The next minute I was at the front door, shouldering my way roughly through it, slamming my body against the wood until it yielded to me, and I couldn’t remember climbing out of the car, or if I had locked it behind me.  I was in the hallway then.  They had painted it an off white.  Antique Cream, they called it.  The new carpet was a dusky yellow.  A huge mirror hung on the wall next to the lounge and I stared back at my reflection, and saw a hulk, a brute, steaming, sweating, my insides burning, my brain frying, and I wanted to smash my skull into the mirror.  I looked down and to my right.  We had bought a new table for the hall, solid dark mahogany, with a two deep drawers to store notepaper and telephone directories.  The phone sat in its cradle on the top.  Next to it, a sparkling crystal vase stuffed full of lemon and white flowers.  The phone went first.  Dragged from the socket and hurled against the far wall.  Then the vase went.  I threw it into the kitchen.

 I heard a noise of fear and surprise, and whirled into the room.  It shone back at me, hurting my eyes.  The new floor we’d had laid, black and white tiles, sunlight streaming from the window and bouncing back from them into my face, and Kay was stood there, mopping at them in her dressing gown, her face frozen, her eyes wide.  The vase lay shattered all across the floor, the flowers limp in a puddle of water.  I was at her then.  I had to, before she opened her mouth and spoke.  I was at her, slipping both my hands around her throat, and the mop handle slipped from her hands and banged to the floor and there was a horrible, dreamlike silence as she stared up into my eyes, not seeing me, not knowing me.

It was over before it began.  I released her and walked out.  I ran up the stairs and shut myself in the bedroom.  I found the bed and crawled onto it and lay on my stomach with my arms right over my head.  My brain pulsed like a heartbeat.  Pain shot spikes around my temples and into my eyes. 

 

I heard her out on the balcony that afternoon.  I must have slept for a long time.  I woke up groggy and bewildered, rubbing at my forehead, greeting the last traces of my headache.  I sat up on the bed and could see her out there.  Still in that bloody silk dressing gown.  Did she think she was on a permanent holiday or something?  I stretched out my limbs, yawned, and blinked rapidly.  My head felt like I had been in a car crash or something.  Thick and thumping and wrong.  She was sat out there, at the little table, a mug of coffee in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.  I could see a paperback book on the table, and a small white plate.  She was smoking her cigarette, and sipping her coffee, and gazing out at the sea, as it shimmered on the horizon.  I found myself wondering what she was thinking about.  I wondered if I had left marks on her neck.  I wondered why she was still here, yet somehow I had known that she would be.

Her head jerked to look at me when I rose slowly from the bed, stretching out my limbs yet again, shaking them out, flexing the tight muscles.  I was hungry.  Must have slept through lunch.  My stomach was a dark pit of desires and needs.  I walked to the doors and eased them gently aside.  Her eyes took me in, and the hand holding the cigarette drooped slightly towards her lap.  She didn’t say anything.  I stared into her eyes and tried to read them.  I couldn’t quite tell what I saw there.  I moved forward and knelt down before her.  She looked a little surprised then, a little taken back.  She tapped her cigarette against the ash tray and put her coffee mug down. 

I put my big head into her lap, and I let the tears come.  My face, hot and hurting, rubbed into the delicate silk of her gown, and my hands moved up, to reach around her waist, to clutch her there, and I sobbed.  I sobbed, and her lap grew wet.  “I’m sorry,” I gulped, when I finally felt one of her hands landing lightly upon my head.  I rubbed my eyes into her gown, the tears balling up and rolling like beads across the material.  “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry baby…so sorry, oh baby….”

After a while, she cleared her throat.  “What is it?” she asked.  I lifted my head and looked into her still face.  She looked at once, pained and wary, weak and haughty.  I had no idea what she was thinking about me.  Tears spilled rapidly from my stinging eyes.

“Oh I’ve messed up, I’ve messed everything up!” I moaned, finding her hands with my own and holding them tight.  I felt her thin fingers like sticks inside my palms.  “My head…oh it was hurting so much, and I’ve took it out on you, I’ve taken everything out on you, and oh I am so sorry baby, so sorry…it’s all got too much!  All of it!  I can’t think straight!”

She smiled, slightly.  It came and went.  She pushed my head back down into her lap, and tugged one hand free of mine.  It came back to my head, pausing, before rifling gently through my hair.  “Calm down,” I heard her say to me.  “You just need to calm down.  It’s okay.”

“I went to the shop,” I mumbled from her lap.  “He was there.  I spoke to him.”

Her hand froze on my scalp.  “Danny?”

“Yes..yes baby, he’s okay, he’s back working there.”

“Well see, I told you didn’t I?” She sounded nervous I thought.  She swallowed and coughed.  “I told you he would be okay.  We have to respect his decision Lee.  He doesn’t have to live with us if he doesn’t want to.  Give him some time.”

“I know, I know, I see that now,” I told her, squeezing her one hand between mine.  “I know you were right baby, you were right about it all…I think it just all got to me, all the moving house, and stress at work, and him running off, because I didn’t want you to be hurt and upset baby.  I didn’t want that.”

Her body felt stiff under my head.  I nestled my cheek into her thigh.  “He was okay though?”

“Oh yes, yes, full of it as always.  His boss threatened to call the cops on me if I didn’t leave.”

“Well just don’t go there again,” she told me, her tone a little brittle I thought, a little annoyed.  “Just leave him alone, let him have his space.  He’ll be fine as he is.  Perhaps he’ll call me or come and see me when he’s ready.  But I’m just going to wait Lee.  I just want to wait.  Alright?”

I felt tight with resentment and spite, but I reeled it in, and closed my eyes in her lap.  I took deep breaths and spoke softly to her.  “I know, you’re right.  I keep trying to be a dad to him, and it’s not what he wants, is it?  I just thought, you know, eventually…And work, god it’s a nightmare honey…so much to do, so much going on…oh I know it will all iron itself out eventually, but oh god, I’ve got to relax, I’ve got to stop taking on so much and taking it all out on you.  It just pains me you know?  Do you know?”  I gave her a moment to reply and when she didn’t, I sighed against her legs.  “Honey, I never thought I wanted kids until I met you, and then I realised I had just never met the person I wanted to have kids with…and now it’s too late. I thought I could be a dad to Danny but he never wanted to let me, did he?  That’s why it mattered so much to me, you know? That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to find him.  It’s not good baby, the way his life is gonna’ go, holed up in some shitty godforsaken place with druggies and criminals!  Throwing his life away…He could have worked for me, you know?  I was hoping he would.  I could have shown him the ropes at the club.”

“Well he is not like you,” she said then, and her voice came like an icy wind, slicing into my brain, bristling under my skin.  “He’s not into flash cars, and sharp suits, and fancy clubs Lee.  He just likes his music and his friends, so that was never going to happen.”

I forced the words out before I could think about it too much.  “I know, I know, I was wrong. I know that now.  I’ll leave him alone.”

“For now,” she added, her tone softening just a little bit, and her hand returning to stroke hesitantly at my skull.  “It’s best for now.  We can concentrate on us, hey?  Being on our own.”

“Yes, I know, yes, you’re right.  You’re right honey.”

The right words, I thought, chosen carefully. 

Leave him alone.

Alright then.

Give it time.  For now.  For now. 

75

 

 

            It was Anthony who opened the door to a strained looking Billy, five days after we had moved into the bed-sit.  He shuffled quickly in through the door, checking back over his shoulder as he did, his hands jammed so deep into his pockets that his shoulders appeared hunched right up to his ears.  Anthony looked him over with a quizzical frown. “Alright there Billy?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

            Billy shrunk past him.  “More like a monster,” he mumbled unhappily. 

            “You what?”

            Billy released a weary sigh, and looked at Michael and I, sprawled out lazily on the bed.  Anthony closed and locked the door, and turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest.  “I’ve got bad news,” Billy told us remorsefully.  I sat up then, my eyes narrowing and my mouth closing.  He was looking right at me, so I guessed it was my bad news.  Billy sighed again, and grimaced back at me.  “Howard attacked Jake.  Last night.  Beat him up.”

            There was an audible gasp from all of us.  Michael jerked up beside me, his mouth gaping at Billy. “You are fucking kidding me!” he cried.  I just stared.  Billy shook his head in misery.  To me, he appeared small and scared then, reduced to a childlike status, and I found myself wondering, what the hell Jake must look like.

            “After he finished work,” he told us.  “Out the back of the café.  Just crept up behind and attacked him.”

            I got up from the bed then, shaking my head and pressing my hands to each side of my face.  I was wearing my old Nirvana t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.  We had been enjoying a lazy morning, our favourite kind.  Crappy TV on low, music on loud, a bit of a smoke, and Anthony’s cooking.  Billy looked like he was about to say more, but wasn’t sure how to.  I nodded at him, and he blew his breath out unhappily.  “He told Jake to give you a message Danny.”  We all stared back at him in silence, our breath held, our hearts thumping.  Billy swallowed.  “He had a knife and he cut off a chunk of Jake’s hair and told him to give it to you, and to tell you that if you don’t go home, he’ll start cutting bits off all of us.”

            “Oh my god,” breathed Michael in horror, stumbling up from the bed. “Shittinghell!”

            I looked at Anthony and saw that he was still, and calm, his dark eyes intense and focused solely on Billy. “And then what happened Bill?” he asked him.  Billy took a deep breath before going on. 

            “Jake came to my house, and my mum opened the door to him, and he said who did it, and she called the police.”

            Anthony nodded, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

            “Yep.  They came and took a statement off him, and said they’d go and find Howard, and they asked if we knew where Danny was, and we said no.”  Billy took another breath, licked his lips and eyed us nervously.  “And Jake didn’t tell Howard either.  He didn’t tell him where you lot are. You think he’s been arrested by now Anthony?”

            “Who knows?” shrugged Anthony, pushing his hand back through his hair.  He looked at me then, wonderingly.  “Well mate, sounds like the prick has lost it big time.  I don’t know whether we should be pleased or scared, eh?”

            I found the edge of the bed and sat back down. “Is Jake okay Billy?”

            “He’s fine, yeah,” Billy nodded. “Just a bit shook up, you know.  He said to tell you sorry, by the way.”

            I frowned. “What the hell for?”

            Billy shrugged awkwardly. “Dunno, I guess for not sticking by you when things were tough, you know, when you were skipping school and high and stuff.  He thinks he was harsh on you.  He didn’t know, you know?” Billy scratched his head and stuck his hands back into his pockets.  “We didn’t know,” he said, sounding confused. “We had no idea.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” I told him softly.

            “Did we do the right thing?” he asked then, his tone slightly desperate as he looked back at Anthony for the reassurance he so often gave us.  “Telling the police and that?  My mum, she just took over!”

            “Serves him right,” was Anthony’s reply.

            “It’s fine,” I agreed. “Maybe they’ll catch up with him, hey?  God.  Poor Jake though.  Tell him I’m sorry, will you?”

            “Sorry?” Anthony looked at me sharply.  “What have you got to be sorry for, you twat?”

            “He’s after me,” I sighed. “I’m not gonna’ let him go through you guys to get to me.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “He won’t get us anyway!” Michael blurted out then, staring from me to Anthony, to Billy, his brow creased, and his eyes fearful.  “He’ll be arrested by now, won’t he?  He can’t just attack Jake in broad daylight like that and get away with it!  He can’t do anything to us, now that’s on record, he just can’t!  Isn’t that right Anthony?”

            Anthony nodded sombrely. “He’d be nuts if he did.  Danny?”  I looked up.  “What are you thinking?”

            I bit down on my lip and slid from the bed again.  I felt their eyes on me curiously as I found my jeans on the floor and pulled them on.  “I’m thinking about going back to work,” I said quietly. 

            Billy gasped.  “Are you insane?” he yelled at me.  “After what just happened to Jake?”

            I sat back down to pull on my socks.  “I’ve got no choice Bill.  The fat man won’t keep my job open forever, and I haven’t even thanked him for those tickets yet, for christs sake.  I’ve messed him about enough.  I need to be there.”

            Billy turned helplessly to Anthony.  “Are you gonna’ let him do this?”

            “What?” he shrugged in reply, a sparkle in his eyes and a grin on his face.  “He can’t spend the rest of his life in this room, can he Bill?  He’s got no choice.”

            “You going now?” asked Michael.  “I’ll come with you!” he started searching the floor for signs of his own clothes.  We hadn’t exactly shown ourselves to be house proud so far in our new surroundings.  The floor was so covered with discarded clothes and dirty dishes and cups, that the carpet was barely visible.  He set about tossing and kicking things aside until he found his black jeans, and started to yank them on.  “I’ll go with you to work, then I’ll go and see Jake.  Come back and meet you when you’re done, yeah?”  He looked at me hopefully, shaking his hair from his eyes. 

            “Cool,” I nodded.  Billy groaned loudly and raked both his hands violently back through his stiff auburn hair.

            “Oh for fucks sake,” he complained. “I’ll come too.  Jesus Christ.”

            As for Anthony, he made me smile.  He dropped down onto his sofa bed, crossed his legs at the ankles and picked up his little tin from the arm of the chair.  He was grinning like a fool, this long, lazy smile lighting up his eyes, as he pulled the lid from his tin and set about rolling himself a little smoke.  “Proud of you all,” he announced cheerily, as we began to troop solemnly from the room.  “Get on out there and take no shit!  Fight back!”

 

            The three of us emerged cautiously from the darkness of the hall downstairs, blinking and feeling the urge to rub at or shield our eyes from the bright August sunshine.  No one spoke, as we rounded the corner and waited at the bus stop together.  And we were silent when we boarded the bus, paid our fares and took our seats.  It was only a fifteen minute bus ride back into Redchurch, and I felt the tension building in me with every second that passed.  I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a criminal, returning to the scene of his crime.  I looked at my friends, at their sick and frightened expressions, and I felt another layer of guilt settle over the first one.  I gazed out of the window and thought, I owe it to them not to be scared anymore.  When we got the stop closest to The Record Shop, we got up and jumped off the bus.  The sunlight was dazzling in that area of town, bouncing and rebouncing from every available surface, shop front and car.  I closed my eyes briefly, breathed in and then faced them with a smile.  I owed it to them to stand up, and I was going to show them, we had no reason to hide.  “Could be an interesting day,” I joked, as they walked me towards the shop.

            Billy was fiddling anxiously with the leather bracelets around his wrist. “What’ll you do if the cops come here to see you?” he asked me and I shrugged.

            “I dunno.  I really don’t.  Hey, say hi to Jake for me, won’t you? Tell him I said sorry, won’t you, that he got caught up in all of this.”

            “Well maybe he’ll be more on your side from now on,” Michael muttered somewhat darkly, as his eyes flitted restlessly up and down the street.  He patted me on the shoulder and attempted a smile. “I’ll be back around three, yeah?  After I’ve seen Jake I’m gonna’ pop into work and see if they’ve got me some more shifts yet.  Some girl quit last week, so I should get offered some.”

            “No problem,” I nodded, and watched them go.  I had an awful feeling Billy was going to say something terrible and depressing like good luck, but he didn’t. If anything he looked too nervous to speak, and as white as a sheet.  I turned around and pushed gratefully into the shop.  I was met with a warmth and a smell that was instantly and indescribably comforting.  I could have bathed in it.  I wanted to breathe it in, and let it settle through me, and on me. The smell of old things, coated in dust, smeared in finger prints, and aged by love.  Radioheads Bones was playing and I paused to hear the lyrics; I don’t want to be crippled and cracked, shoulders, knees, wrist and back…crawling on all fours…when you’ve got to feel it in your bones… I inhaled it all and approached the counter, where Terry looked up at me from his stool, a brief and surprised smile filling his face. 

            “Oh look who it is!” he boomed.  “All better now I see?”

            “Was the funniest thing,” I grinned back at him, resting my arms wearily on the counter top.  “Couldn’t stop puking for days.  You wouldn’t have wanted to catch it Terry.”

            “Got a delivery at the back,” he told me, jerking his head in that direction.  “Some old bird just dropped it off in the alley.  Four bloody boxes of records.  I can’t go near ‘em mate.  Makes me sneeze.”

            “I’ll put the kettle on first shall I?” I laughed, and he looked pleased and handed me his empty mug.

            “Oh, just to warn you,” he said then, “you’ve had a pretty constant visitor these last few days.”

            I paused in the doorway and forced another smile.  “Let me guess.  Massive angry bloke?  Wanting to know where I am?”

            “That’s the one,” Terry nodded grimly and made a little grimace of disgust. “Bloody thick necked twat.  Been getting right on my wick, he has.  You know I like my peace and quiet in here.  He your step-dad is he?” He sort of winced as he asked the question, as if the very thought of it offended him.

            “Yeah.  That’s him.”

            Terry rolled his eyes, made a little grumbling noise in his throat and swivelled on his stool to face me properly. “Fucking beefed up, testosterone fuelled, monkey brained psychopath by the look of him.”

            I laughed out loud.  I wanted to hug him.  “Yes!  That’s him!  Brilliant Terry!”

            Terry grunted. “He the cunt that runs that club down the road now?”

            “Yep.  He owns it.  Doesn’t like music though.  Nothing.”

            Terry’s eyebrows shot up towards his receding hairline.  “Fuck me,” he snarled. “God I could really get to hate some people, couldn’t you?”

            “I’ve left home,” I told him then, lowering my voice slightly, but keeping the smile upon my lips to let him know that all was good.  “Just so you know.  Moved in with Mike and Anthony.  That’s what he’s pissed about.”

            “Well who could fucking blame you?” Terry roared at me, making me laugh again.  “I’ll call the bloody cops if he comes in here again, shouting the odds.”  He shook his head and clicked his tongue and looked back down at his copy of NME.

            “You do that Terry,” I told him.  “And hey?”  He looked back up, wonderingly.  I felt a little embarrassed then, but I stepped forward and held my hand out to him.  I didn’t know how else to thank him for the Oasis tickets.  I wanted to let him know how amazing and beautiful it was, how it meant the world to me, and made me smile from morning til night, just thinking about October.  He frowned and raised his lip up and took my hand in a confused manner.  “Thanks,” I said, and shook it before dropping it and stepping back again.  Terry looked completely baffled. “For the tickets,” I nodded. “Fucking amazing.  Best present ever.  Can’t even….” I shrugged and shook my head and sighed.  It was useless.  There were no words in the world to describe what those tickets meant to me.  “Just…thanks Terry.  I owe you.  I mean, you’ve been bloody brilliant.”

            Terry rolled his eyes, and waved his magazine at me irritably. “Oh that!  Jesus Christ I got them to shut you the hell up!  Forget about it.”

            “Amazing though Terry…I can’t even…”

            “Oh go and put the kettle on and stop embarrassing us both,” he sort of grinned at me then, and there was a pinkness creeping into his soft round cheeks.  “I did it for the shop, yeah?  Can’t have staff working for me if they’ve never even been to a live gig for fucks sake!  Can’t call yourself a music fan if you don’t go and see it live!  Go on now.  Tea.”

           

            It was coming up to one o’clock, and I had just brought out another round of tea and biscuits for me and Terry.  I had spent all morning sorting through the boxes the old lady had left for him in the alley.  I found a copy of Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, and Terry insisted I keep it. “Beautiful songs, bloody good singer,” was all he would tell me.  I put the tea and biscuits on the counter and turned to the record player.  Blonde On Blonde had just finished, so I took it off and slid it carefully back inside its sleeve. I flicked through the pile Terry had chosen.  He had a couple of Neil Young records in the pile, and Sandanista by The Clash.  I fancied something a bit livelier, so put that on while he was farting away in the toilet out the back.  I stuck my tongue out, urggh, he sounded like he was having a hard time in there, and I put the record on, closed the lid with care, and turned around, just in time to see a maniacal face pressed up against the shop window.  Howard.

            All at once, the rest of the shop just fell away from me and disappeared from view, even the music seemed to fade quickly away to nothing. There was just nothing, except me and his wild, leering face.  He seemed to materialise inside the shop without even opening the door or walking in.  He was just suddenly right there, filling the space as always, dominating the atmosphere and stealing all of the air.  An icy coldness flooded my veins.  “Well look who it is!” he declared in delight, the words rolling from his hanging tongue, dripping with glee, as he closed the space between us and slammed both his hands down upon the counter.  I jumped.  Moved back.  Felt the memory of fists against skin jarring through my body.  I watched his tongue flicking rapidly around the edges of his gaping mouth.  “The original whizz kid eh!  Finally crawled out from his hiding place! I ought to grab hold of you and drag you down the police station for what you did to Jack!”

            I forced myself to breathe.  It was like I had forgotten how to, but I opened my mouth, felt the air tickle the back of my throat and sucked it in, sending it swirling through to my lungs.  I ran my eyes over the monstrous man who stood before me, and then it occurred to me that I had never seen him appear so dishevelled before.  He was unshaven, and his hair and beard looked like they needed a trim.  His eyes were all wrong; like they had been forced open for too long, and now were too big and round and staring to close properly.  “And I’ll tell them what you sent him for, you sick motherfucker,” I said to him, speaking my words slowly and softly, and as I spoke, I remembered the fire of defiance that had lived in me such a long time ago, the constant urge to fight everyone, to rail against everything, to be heard.  I searched for it now.  I dug deep down inside of myself to bring it back to the surface, and I clung to it now as I stared into the eyes of a man who looked scarily close to the edge of reason.

            His top lip rose like a hungry dogs.  “Oh yeah?  You little fucker!”

            “Yeah,” I said. “I hear they’re looking for you anyway, after you attacked Jake for no reason!”

            His face loomed closer to mine, and I moved back instinctively. “Oh yeah?  Well smart arse I think you’ll find they’ve already spoken to me about that, and they were perfectly happy with my alibi!  I was with my bar manager Mark at that exact time, and he was only too happy to verify that for them!”

            “You mean you paid him, or threatened him to give you an alibi?”

            Howard snorted violently through his nose.  “Whatever.  I told the cops how your drug addled friends have always had it in for me.  They were very keen to know where you were, you know.  Maybe Jack’s made a complaint, eh? Could find yourself in all sorts of shit now.”

            I shook my head and bit down on the retorts that sprung to mind.  I didn’t want him here, infecting the air, wrecking my space and my peace.  I sighed, and I was tired of it all, of this never ending game of trading insults.  “Look I’m busy,” I told him. “Was there something you wanted?  A record you’re after?”  I heard Terry flushing the toilet out the back.

            “Don’t give me that you fucking little piss bag!” Howard spoke viciously, his nostrils flaring wide as spittle flew from his lips and sprayed the counter.  I watched the droplets land and spread on Terry’s magazine.  “You know why I’m here.  To take you home.  To give you another chance.”

            “I don’t think so,” I told him, looking him right in the eye.  I stared at him, I stared right into him and I willed him to see how much I meant it.  “Never gonna’ happen.”

            Just then Terry came shuffling around the corner, hoisting up his gut to buckle his belt under it.  His eyes clouded with rage when he spotted Howard in his shop, and he headed for his stool on his puny legs. “You again!” he bellowed instantly. “I thought I told you to sling your hook bully boy!  Go on!  Out you go!”

            Howard straightened up and stiffened, his hands falling away from the counter.  I regarded him curiously, and saw his face changing.  I saw fear there, I knew I did, fear, and panic and uncertainty. It fascinated me because I didn’t think I had ever seen him like that before.  It was the face of someone losing control, losing their grip.  “I hope you know the kind of scum you’ve got working for you,” he snarled at Terry.  Terry climbed onto his stool and waved an impatient hand at him.  Howard pointed at me. “This kid is a drug addict! He has a police record as long as my arm, did you know that?  You ought to check your till and your stock carefully fat man!”

            “Go on,” Terry repeated in absolute distain, waving a podgy hand as if swatting at a fly that was irritating him.  “I don’t want you in here causing trouble!  I’ll call the law!”

            “Oh really?” Howard fixed his manic stare back on me.  “Well then, little man, aren’t you the popular one these days eh?  Yeah.  Ooh everyone loves Danny so much!  Danny has so many people sticking up for him!  Don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so great when you’ve been nothing but a little fuck up from day one!”

            I just stared back at him, steady and unflinching.  I felt almost drowsy with the strength that was building up inside of me.  It made me want to smile, and laugh, and sit down and let it all through spin through my head.  Lee Howard, I thought, look at you, falling apart before my very eyes.  I didn’t have to say or do a thing.  Behind me Terry had picked up the phone and was dialling.  “Calling the cops!” he said to Howard. “Come in here, insulting my staff!”

            He was starting to retreat.  Backing slowly towards the door.  He had come for something and he was being forced to leave without it again.  He looked like he was panting slightly as he raised a finger again to point at me.  He nodded his head and reached out for the door behind him.  “This isn’t over,” he told me.  “I’ll be coming for you!  I’ll be coming for you you little cunt when you least fucking expect it!  You can count on that little man.  I’ll be coming for you.  You still got a lot of lessons to learn off me!”

            “Get out!” Terry yelled, and he went.  The door eased itself shut behind him.  I said nothing.  I closed my eyes and released a massive, shaky sigh of relief.  I could hear Terry muttering away indignantly beside me.  I opened my eyes and rubbed at my face and gave him a thankful, withering smile. 

75

 

 

            It was Anthony who opened the door to a strained looking Billy, five days after we had moved into the bed-sit.  He shuffled quickly in through the door, checking back over his shoulder as he did, his hands jammed so deep into his pockets that his shoulders appeared hunched right up to his ears.  Anthony looked him over with a quizzical frown. “Alright there Billy?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

            Billy shrunk past him.  “More like a monster,” he mumbled unhappily. 

            “You what?”

            Billy released a weary sigh, and looked at Michael and I, sprawled out lazily on the bed.  Anthony closed and locked the door, and turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest.  “I’ve got bad news,” Billy told us remorsefully.  I sat up then, my eyes narrowing and my mouth closing.  He was looking right at me, so I guessed it was my bad news.  Billy sighed again, and grimaced back at me.  “Howard attacked Jake.  Last night.  Beat him up.”

            There was an audible gasp from all of us.  Michael jerked up beside me, his mouth gaping at Billy. “You are fucking kidding me!” he cried.  I just stared.  Billy shook his head in misery.  To me, he appeared small and scared then, reduced to a childlike status, and I found myself wondering, what the hell Jake must look like.

            “After he finished work,” he told us.  “Out the back of the café.  Just crept up behind and attacked him.”

            I got up from the bed then, shaking my head and pressing my hands to each side of my face.  I was wearing my old Nirvana t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.  We had been enjoying a lazy morning, our favourite kind.  Crappy TV on low, music on loud, a bit of a smoke, and Anthony’s cooking.  Billy looked like he was about to say more, but wasn’t sure how to.  I nodded at him, and he blew his breath out unhappily.  “He told Jake to give you a message Danny.”  We all stared back at him in silence, our breath held, our hearts thumping.  Billy swallowed.  “He had a knife and he cut off a chunk of Jake’s hair and told him to give it to you, and to tell you that if you don’t go home, he’ll start cutting bits off all of us.”

            “Oh my god,” breathed Michael in horror, stumbling up from the bed. “Shittinghell!”

            I looked at Anthony and saw that he was still, and calm, his dark eyes intense and focused solely on Billy. “And then what happened Bill?” he asked him.  Billy took a deep breath before going on. 

            “Jake came to my house, and my mum opened the door to him, and he said who did it, and she called the police.”

            Anthony nodded, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

            “Yep.  They came and took a statement off him, and said they’d go and find Howard, and they asked if we knew where Danny was, and we said no.”  Billy took another breath, licked his lips and eyed us nervously.  “And Jake didn’t tell Howard either.  He didn’t tell him where you lot are. You think he’s been arrested by now Anthony?”

            “Who knows?” shrugged Anthony, pushing his hand back through his hair.  He looked at me then, wonderingly.  “Well mate, sounds like the prick has lost it big time.  I don’t know whether we should be pleased or scared, eh?”

            I found the edge of the bed and sat back down. “Is Jake okay Billy?”

            “He’s fine, yeah,” Billy nodded. “Just a bit shook up, you know.  He said to tell you sorry, by the way.”

            I frowned. “What the hell for?”

            Billy shrugged awkwardly. “Dunno, I guess for not sticking by you when things were tough, you know, when you were skipping school and high and stuff.  He thinks he was harsh on you.  He didn’t know, you know?” Billy scratched his head and stuck his hands back into his pockets.  “We didn’t know,” he said, sounding confused. “We had no idea.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” I told him softly.

            “Did we do the right thing?” he asked then, his tone slightly desperate as he looked back at Anthony for the reassurance he so often gave us.  “Telling the police and that?  My mum, she just took over!”

            “Serves him right,” was Anthony’s reply.

            “It’s fine,” I agreed. “Maybe they’ll catch up with him, hey?  God.  Poor Jake though.  Tell him I’m sorry, will you?”

            “Sorry?” Anthony looked at me sharply.  “What have you got to be sorry for, you twat?”

            “He’s after me,” I sighed. “I’m not gonna’ let him go through you guys to get to me.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “He won’t get us anyway!” Michael blurted out then, staring from me to Anthony, to Billy, his brow creased, and his eyes fearful.  “He’ll be arrested by now, won’t he?  He can’t just attack Jake in broad daylight like that and get away with it!  He can’t do anything to us, now that’s on record, he just can’t!  Isn’t that right Anthony?”

            Anthony nodded sombrely. “He’d be nuts if he did.  Danny?”  I looked up.  “What are you thinking?”

            I bit down on my lip and slid from the bed again.  I felt their eyes on me curiously as I found my jeans on the floor and pulled them on.  “I’m thinking about going back to work,” I said quietly. 

            Billy gasped.  “Are you insane?” he yelled at me.  “After what just happened to Jake?”

            I sat back down to pull on my socks.  “I’ve got no choice Bill.  The fat man won’t keep my job open forever, and I haven’t even thanked him for those tickets yet, for christs sake.  I’ve messed him about enough.  I need to be there.”

            Billy turned helplessly to Anthony.  “Are you gonna’ let him do this?”

            “What?” he shrugged in reply, a sparkle in his eyes and a grin on his face.  “He can’t spend the rest of his life in this room, can he Bill?  He’s got no choice.”

            “You going now?” asked Michael.  “I’ll come with you!” he started searching the floor for signs of his own clothes.  We hadn’t exactly shown ourselves to be house proud so far in our new surroundings.  The floor was so covered with discarded clothes and dirty dishes and cups, that the carpet was barely visible.  He set about tossing and kicking things aside until he found his black jeans, and started to yank them on.  “I’ll go with you to work, then I’ll go and see Jake.  Come back and meet you when you’re done, yeah?”  He looked at me hopefully, shaking his hair from his eyes. 

            “Cool,” I nodded.  Billy groaned loudly and raked both his hands violently back through his stiff auburn hair.

            “Oh for fucks sake,” he complained. “I’ll come too.  Jesus Christ.”

            As for Anthony, he made me smile.  He dropped down onto his sofa bed, crossed his legs at the ankles and picked up his little tin from the arm of the chair.  He was grinning like a fool, this long, lazy smile lighting up his eyes, as he pulled the lid from his tin and set about rolling himself a little smoke.  “Proud of you all,” he announced cheerily, as we began to troop solemnly from the room.  “Get on out there and take no shit!  Fight back!”

 

            The three of us emerged cautiously from the darkness of the hall downstairs, blinking and feeling the urge to rub at or shield our eyes from the bright August sunshine.  No one spoke, as we rounded the corner and waited at the bus stop together.  And we were silent when we boarded the bus, paid our fares and took our seats.  It was only a fifteen minute bus ride back into Redchurch, and I felt the tension building in me with every second that passed.  I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a criminal, returning to the scene of his crime.  I looked at my friends, at their sick and frightened expressions, and I felt another layer of guilt settle over the first one.  I gazed out of the window and thought, I owe it to them not to be scared anymore.  When we got the stop closest to The Record Shop, we got up and jumped off the bus.  The sunlight was dazzling in that area of town, bouncing and rebouncing from every available surface, shop front and car.  I closed my eyes briefly, breathed in and then faced them with a smile.  I owed it to them to stand up, and I was going to show them, we had no reason to hide.  “Could be an interesting day,” I joked, as they walked me towards the shop.

            Billy was fiddling anxiously with the leather bracelets around his wrist. “What’ll you do if the cops come here to see you?” he asked me and I shrugged.

            “I dunno.  I really don’t.  Hey, say hi to Jake for me, won’t you? Tell him I said sorry, won’t you, that he got caught up in all of this.”

            “Well maybe he’ll be more on your side from now on,” Michael muttered somewhat darkly, as his eyes flitted restlessly up and down the street.  He patted me on the shoulder and attempted a smile. “I’ll be back around three, yeah?  After I’ve seen Jake I’m gonna’ pop into work and see if they’ve got me some more shifts yet.  Some girl quit last week, so I should get offered some.”

            “No problem,” I nodded, and watched them go.  I had an awful feeling Billy was going to say something terrible and depressing like good luck, but he didn’t. If anything he looked too nervous to speak, and as white as a sheet.  I turned around and pushed gratefully into the shop.  I was met with a warmth and a smell that was instantly and indescribably comforting.  I could have bathed in it.  I wanted to breathe it in, and let it settle through me, and on me. The smell of old things, coated in dust, smeared in finger prints, and aged by love.  Radioheads Bones was playing and I paused to hear the lyrics; I don’t want to be crippled and cracked, shoulders, knees, wrist and back…crawling on all fours…when you’ve got to feel it in your bones… I inhaled it all and approached the counter, where Terry looked up at me from his stool, a brief and surprised smile filling his face. 

            “Oh look who it is!” he boomed.  “All better now I see?”

            “Was the funniest thing,” I grinned back at him, resting my arms wearily on the counter top.  “Couldn’t stop puking for days.  You wouldn’t have wanted to catch it Terry.”

            “Got a delivery at the back,” he told me, jerking his head in that direction.  “Some old bird just dropped it off in the alley.  Four bloody boxes of records.  I can’t go near ‘em mate.  Makes me sneeze.”

            “I’ll put the kettle on first shall I?” I laughed, and he looked pleased and handed me his empty mug.

            “Oh, just to warn you,” he said then, “you’ve had a pretty constant visitor these last few days.”

            I paused in the doorway and forced another smile.  “Let me guess.  Massive angry bloke?  Wanting to know where I am?”

            “That’s the one,” Terry nodded grimly and made a little grimace of disgust. “Bloody thick necked twat.  Been getting right on my wick, he has.  You know I like my peace and quiet in here.  He your step-dad is he?” He sort of winced as he asked the question, as if the very thought of it offended him.

            “Yeah.  That’s him.”

            Terry rolled his eyes, made a little grumbling noise in his throat and swivelled on his stool to face me properly. “Fucking beefed up, testosterone fuelled, monkey brained psychopath by the look of him.”

            I laughed out loud.  I wanted to hug him.  “Yes!  That’s him!  Brilliant Terry!”

            Terry grunted. “He the cunt that runs that club down the road now?”

            “Yep.  He owns it.  Doesn’t like music though.  Nothing.”

            Terry’s eyebrows shot up towards his receding hairline.  “Fuck me,” he snarled. “God I could really get to hate some people, couldn’t you?”

            “I’ve left home,” I told him then, lowering my voice slightly, but keeping the smile upon my lips to let him know that all was good.  “Just so you know.  Moved in with Mike and Anthony.  That’s what he’s pissed about.”

            “Well who could fucking blame you?” Terry roared at me, making me laugh again.  “I’ll call the bloody cops if he comes in here again, shouting the odds.”  He shook his head and clicked his tongue and looked back down at his copy of NME.

            “You do that Terry,” I told him.  “And hey?”  He looked back up, wonderingly.  I felt a little embarrassed then, but I stepped forward and held my hand out to him.  I didn’t know how else to thank him for the Oasis tickets.  I wanted to let him know how amazing and beautiful it was, how it meant the world to me, and made me smile from morning til night, just thinking about October.  He frowned and raised his lip up and took my hand in a confused manner.  “Thanks,” I said, and shook it before dropping it and stepping back again.  Terry looked completely baffled. “For the tickets,” I nodded. “Fucking amazing.  Best present ever.  Can’t even….” I shrugged and shook my head and sighed.  It was useless.  There were no words in the world to describe what those tickets meant to me.  “Just…thanks Terry.  I owe you.  I mean, you’ve been bloody brilliant.”

            Terry rolled his eyes, and waved his magazine at me irritably. “Oh that!  Jesus Christ I got them to shut you the hell up!  Forget about it.”

            “Amazing though Terry…I can’t even…”

            “Oh go and put the kettle on and stop embarrassing us both,” he sort of grinned at me then, and there was a pinkness creeping into his soft round cheeks.  “I did it for the shop, yeah?  Can’t have staff working for me if they’ve never even been to a live gig for fucks sake!  Can’t call yourself a music fan if you don’t go and see it live!  Go on now.  Tea.”

           

            It was coming up to one o’clock, and I had just brought out another round of tea and biscuits for me and Terry.  I had spent all morning sorting through the boxes the old lady had left for him in the alley.  I found a copy of Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, and Terry insisted I keep it. “Beautiful songs, bloody good singer,” was all he would tell me.  I put the tea and biscuits on the counter and turned to the record player.  Blonde On Blonde had just finished, so I took it off and slid it carefully back inside its sleeve. I flicked through the pile Terry had chosen.  He had a couple of Neil Young records in the pile, and Sandanista by The Clash.  I fancied something a bit livelier, so put that on while he was farting away in the toilet out the back.  I stuck my tongue out, urggh, he sounded like he was having a hard time in there, and I put the record on, closed the lid with care, and turned around, just in time to see a maniacal face pressed up against the shop window.  Howard.

            All at once, the rest of the shop just fell away from me and disappeared from view, even the music seemed to fade quickly away to nothing. There was just nothing, except me and his wild, leering face.  He seemed to materialise inside the shop without even opening the door or walking in.  He was just suddenly right there, filling the space as always, dominating the atmosphere and stealing all of the air.  An icy coldness flooded my veins.  “Well look who it is!” he declared in delight, the words rolling from his hanging tongue, dripping with glee, as he closed the space between us and slammed both his hands down upon the counter.  I jumped.  Moved back.  Felt the memory of fists against skin jarring through my body.  I watched his tongue flicking rapidly around the edges of his gaping mouth.  “The original whizz kid eh!  Finally crawled out from his hiding place! I ought to grab hold of you and drag you down the police station for what you did to Jack!”

            I forced myself to breathe.  It was like I had forgotten how to, but I opened my mouth, felt the air tickle the back of my throat and sucked it in, sending it swirling through to my lungs.  I ran my eyes over the monstrous man who stood before me, and then it occurred to me that I had never seen him appear so dishevelled before.  He was unshaven, and his hair and beard looked like they needed a trim.  His eyes were all wrong; like they had been forced open for too long, and now were too big and round and staring to close properly.  “And I’ll tell them what you sent him for, you sick motherfucker,” I said to him, speaking my words slowly and softly, and as I spoke, I remembered the fire of defiance that had lived in me such a long time ago, the constant urge to fight everyone, to rail against everything, to be heard.  I searched for it now.  I dug deep down inside of myself to bring it back to the surface, and I clung to it now as I stared into the eyes of a man who looked scarily close to the edge of reason.

            His top lip rose like a hungry dogs.  “Oh yeah?  You little fucker!”

            “Yeah,” I said. “I hear they’re looking for you anyway, after you attacked Jake for no reason!”

            His face loomed closer to mine, and I moved back instinctively. “Oh yeah?  Well smart arse I think you’ll find they’ve already spoken to me about that, and they were perfectly happy with my alibi!  I was with my bar manager Mark at that exact time, and he was only too happy to verify that for them!”

            “You mean you paid him, or threatened him to give you an alibi?”

            Howard snorted violently through his nose.  “Whatever.  I told the cops how your drug addled friends have always had it in for me.  They were very keen to know where you were, you know.  Maybe Jack’s made a complaint, eh? Could find yourself in all sorts of shit now.”

            I shook my head and bit down on the retorts that sprung to mind.  I didn’t want him here, infecting the air, wrecking my space and my peace.  I sighed, and I was tired of it all, of this never ending game of trading insults.  “Look I’m busy,” I told him. “Was there something you wanted?  A record you’re after?”  I heard Terry flushing the toilet out the back.

            “Don’t give me that you fucking little piss bag!” Howard spoke viciously, his nostrils flaring wide as spittle flew from his lips and sprayed the counter.  I watched the droplets land and spread on Terry’s magazine.  “You know why I’m here.  To take you home.  To give you another chance.”

            “I don’t think so,” I told him, looking him right in the eye.  I stared at him, I stared right into him and I willed him to see how much I meant it.  “Never gonna’ happen.”

            Just then Terry came shuffling around the corner, hoisting up his gut to buckle his belt under it.  His eyes clouded with rage when he spotted Howard in his shop, and he headed for his stool on his puny legs. “You again!” he bellowed instantly. “I thought I told you to sling your hook bully boy!  Go on!  Out you go!”

            Howard straightened up and stiffened, his hands falling away from the counter.  I regarded him curiously, and saw his face changing.  I saw fear there, I knew I did, fear, and panic and uncertainty. It fascinated me because I didn’t think I had ever seen him like that before.  It was the face of someone losing control, losing their grip.  “I hope you know the kind of scum you’ve got working for you,” he snarled at Terry.  Terry climbed onto his stool and waved an impatient hand at him.  Howard pointed at me. “This kid is a drug addict! He has a police record as long as my arm, did you know that?  You ought to check your till and your stock carefully fat man!”

            “Go on,” Terry repeated in absolute distain, waving a podgy hand as if swatting at a fly that was irritating him.  “I don’t want you in here causing trouble!  I’ll call the law!”

            “Oh really?” Howard fixed his manic stare back on me.  “Well then, little man, aren’t you the popular one these days eh?  Yeah.  Ooh everyone loves Danny so much!  Danny has so many people sticking up for him!  Don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so great when you’ve been nothing but a little fuck up from day one!”

            I just stared back at him, steady and unflinching.  I felt almost drowsy with the strength that was building up inside of me.  It made me want to smile, and laugh, and sit down and let it all through spin through my head.  Lee Howard, I thought, look at you, falling apart before my very eyes.  I didn’t have to say or do a thing.  Behind me Terry had picked up the phone and was dialling.  “Calling the cops!” he said to Howard. “Come in here, insulting my staff!”

            He was starting to retreat.  Backing slowly towards the door.  He had come for something and he was being forced to leave without it again.  He looked like he was panting slightly as he raised a finger again to point at me.  He nodded his head and reached out for the door behind him.  “This isn’t over,” he told me.  “I’ll be coming for you!  I’ll be coming for you you little cunt when you least fucking expect it!  You can count on that little man.  I’ll be coming for you.  You still got a lot of lessons to learn off me!”

            “Get out!” Terry yelled, and he went.  The door eased itself shut behind him.  I said nothing.  I closed my eyes and released a massive, shaky sigh of relief.  I could hear Terry muttering away indignantly beside me.  I opened my eyes and rubbed at my face and gave him a thankful, withering smile. 

74

 

 

            I spent the next few days moving house, and trying to control my ever spiralling rage and confusion.  In between barking orders and screaming at the removal men, I punched vicious messages into my mobile phone, and called Jack repeatedly.  There were no replies to either.  The flat was empty, and Jack gone.  I’d stalked around the empty barren flat like a madman, like someone possessed, my hands clawing at my head, my eyes bulging and refusing to believe what they saw.  It was the not knowing that was doing me in.  Danny and the Anderson boys had vanished into thin air.  That was one thing.  But Jack shooting through and refusing to answer my calls, was just about enough to send me over the edge.  My mind was playing tricks on me, convincing me of endless ridiculous scenarios.  I almost had myself believing that Danny and the other boys had killed Jack off, got rid of him somehow, and cleaned up the evidence.  I mean, why the hell wouldn’t the man answer his phone?  What was his problem?  What the hell had gone on and why wasn’t he talking? 

            I had become a very nervous man, and I did not like it, not one little bit.  Kay told me it was because of the stress.  Moving house is as stressful as death and divorce you know, she kept saying this stupid useless thing every time she saw me looking aggrieved, or angry.  I could only look back at her blankly, fold my fingers into a fist that had nowhere to go and wonder how close I was to punching her lights out. 

            I avoided her where I could.  I had to.  Such was my constant and burning desire to grab her by her skinny neck every time she opened her stupid mouth.  She was driving me insane with her endless inane chatter about colour schemes and furniture, seemingly determined to pick airy fairy girlish styles that made me want to throw up.  She wasn’t going to get her way over any of it, but she didn’t know that yet.  I’d see what she was really made of when it all kicked off.  I had already instructed the painters and decorators, and the colour schemes, had been picked weeks ago.  You’re a grown woman, I wanted to scream at her when she got excited about pictures in home improvement magazines, and you don’t even care where your own son is!  The only times I could bear to converse with her, was if the talk concerned his whereabouts.

            “Have you heard from him?” I’d ask her whenever I came home.  “Have you called John?  He could be there you know.”

            “He’s not there honey, he was the first person I called, remember?”

            “He’s probably lying, hiding him.”

            “Honey, why would he do that?  He knows how worried we are!”

            “I’m going round to those other boys houses again.  Speak to their parents this time.  Maybe they don’t even know we’re looking for him!  You know what those bloody kids are like.”

            She wouldn’t answer me half of the time.  She wasn’t making any effort to look for him herself.  Knowing this increased my paranoia daily.  Maybe she was in on it too.  Maybe she knew where he was.  It was becoming harder and harder to look at her face without slapping it really, really hard.  I lay awake at night, my fists clenched tightly at my sides, and I pictured her face whipping from side to side as I lashed at it.  I thought about how her eyes would look, like blue marbles rolling around inside her skull.  I thought about what she would say to me if I did it.  I imagined the look upon her face, the horror and the knowing clouding her eyes.  Stupid, stupid cow. 

 

            I showed my face in The Record Shop every day, hoping to catch him there unawares.  Surely he’d return there at some point?  The fat bastard behind the till regarded me with increasing frustration and disgust.  “Has he called you?  Has he given you notice?” I asked him every time. “His mother is going off her head you know!  If any of you are hiding him!”

            “Why would we need to hide him?” the fat man spat back at me churlishly from over the top of his magazine.  “What is your problem anyway?  Why the constant red face and anger?”

            “He’s missing,” I took deep breaths and stayed near the door.  I feared getting too close to that fat sack of shit, that rotten excuse for a man.  He had the kind of soggy flabby face that would have made a great noise slapping down onto the counter.  “We need to know where he is…If you have any idea, or if you hear from him at all…” I was trying to keep calm, trying my hardest to be reasonable with the man.  But he made a face  that told me exactly what he thought of my request.  He snorted.

            “I wouldn’t tell you!” he blurted out aggressively. “Because I get the funny feeling it’s you that boy is hiding from, now go on, get out of my bloody shop!”

            I had to leave.  I had to back slowly out before I found his face with my fists and reshaped it into a squashed and bloody pulp.  It was all so unfair, and so frustrating and I was becoming more and more convinced that they were all in on it.  All of them.  Kay, and John, and the fucking fat pig in the shop, and Lawler the shifty little scumbag, the fucking lot of them!  I longed to put the frighteners on all of them, but with Jack gone, I felt naked and exposed. 

            “I think you helped him leave,” I said to Kay when I returned home from the club one night, exhausted by the weight of it all on my shoulders alone.  She was sat out on the balcony with a glass of wine and a pile of home improvement magazine set out on the little bistro table I had let her order.  She was wearing a new silk gown, and her feet were bare.  She frowned at me, and decided to ignore me.  Instead she tried to show me a picture of the kind of bathroom she longed for.  “Too old fashioned,” I snapped, shoving it away from me. “Why do you want to make the house look like it belongs in the nineteen bloody thirties?  This is a modern house Kay!  For christs sake!  What’s wrong with modern things eh?  Nice things!” I turned away from her and gripped hold of the railings.  The security lights bathed the front lawn in a yellow glow which lit up the flower beds she had been digging around the edges.  Flower beds, for fucks sake. 

            “I didn’t help him leave,” she spoke in a small and tight voice from behind me. “Why on earth would you think that?  I had no idea Lee.  I thought he was okay…I thought he’d settled down, with Lucy, and everything.”

            “Well that was all an act wasn’t it?” I turned around and shouted at her. “And I bloody knew it was, and I bloody told you he was up to something, but you wouldn’t have it would you!”

            She stared back at me, a thick magazine held rigidly on her lap.  “You’re exhausted,” she told me stiffly.  “You need to go to bed.”

            “Don’t tell me what I need to do.”

            “Lee,” she breathed out slowly, her eyes fixing on the magazine, instead of on me.  She uncrossed her legs and sat forward on the chair.  “We have to accept what he wrote in that letter.  He doesn’t want to live with us.  He’ll be in contact when he’s ready.  We just have to wait for that, and then we will get some answers.”  She looked up at me, and her expression was cautious, her position frozen.  I had to get away from her.  I had to.  I couldn’t even open my mouth and give her what for.  I stalked past her, through the bedroom, down the stairs and out of the house. 

 

            Finally, on the fourth day, just as I was getting increasingly anxious about my own sanity, I punched in Jack’s number, and he answered.  “What do you want?” his washed out voice, asked me dully.  He sounded exactly as I had expected him to sound; as if he had been lost inside a bottle of Jack Daniels for the past few days.  I was gripping my phone so hard my knuckles began to ache.  I strode briskly out of the house, shoving my way through the French doors and stalking my way down the garden, away from listening ears.  The house was full of people all the fucking time.  Painters and decorators, and neighbours Kay seemed intent on impressing.  She was swishing around the house with this lost and pained look on her face, just because I wouldn’t allow her to paint our bedroom dusky fucking pink.

            “What do I want?” I hissed through my teeth as I stormed down the long green lawn, away from the house.  “What do I fucking want?  Why haven’t you been answering your phone?  I’ve been going out of my fucking mind these last few days!  Where the hell have you been?”

            “Been busy,” he replied, haughtily like a sulky child. “Had stuff to sort out.”

            “Yeah, you’ve been busy getting the fuck out of town!” I roared at him incredulously.  He sniffed in response. “Yeah I’ve been to the flat, you disgusting waste of space, what the hell is going on?”

            He sniffed again.  “You’ve seen the boy?”

            “No I haven’t seen the fucking boy!” I had to stop walking, I was so apoplectic with rage.  I was at the end of the garden, shielded by thick summer shrubs and a six foot wood panelled fence.  “Why do you think I’ve been going out of my fucking mind you stupid useless bastard?  What the hell went on?  You fucked up didn’t you?  Because he’s fucking vanished!  Gone!”

            “It’s your own fault,” his groggy, alcohol soaked voice informed me smugly. 

            “Just tell me what happened Jack, I am not dicking around here.” I looked at the fence, and remembered that another garden stretched down to meet it from the other side.  I lowered my tone and edged slowly away from it.  “Where are you anyway?”

            “Essex,” came the dull, uncaring reply.

            “Why? Why did you leave?”

            “It’s your fault, you know,” he told me yet again.  “You had to push things, didn’t you?  You couldn’t just let things lie.  You couldn’t be satisfied, could you?  You had to have complete control of everybody!”

            “You’re talking crap.”

            “It’s true Lee, and you know it, and you’ve always been the same. You’re just ten times worse now you’ve got money behind you.  You’ve turned into a monster.”

            I could feel the black rage, creeping up on me again, colouring my mind a vivid shade of fury, and threatening to overspill and consume me.  Heat was snaking around my neck, and the electricity was flying through me, setting me on fire.  “Just tell me what the fuck happened you useless shitting pervert!”

            Jack sighed heavily and dramatically on the other side of the phone.  He cleared his throat, gurgling on thick smokers phlegm and I closed my eyes and moved my ear from the phone in repulsion.  “You shouldn’t have done any of it,” he said.  “You shouldn’t have set me up in the flat like that, with boys coming over.  You knew exactly what you were doing.”

            “Why not?  You liked it, didn’t you?  Thought we were on the same page!”

            “Does the word torture mean anything to you Lee?  Does it?”  He sounded angrier now, I thought, and I almost wanted to laugh at him.  I was starting to wonder why I had ever called on him in the first place, why I ever thought I could rely on him.  He was weak.

            “What’s the matter with you Jack?” I questioned him brashly. “I thought you were hard!  Turns out you’re all soft and squishy like the rest of them.  You didn’t have to take me up on the offer you fat fuck.  You can say no, can’t you?”

            “It’s not easy to say no to someone who can destroy your whole life in a second Lee,” Jack replied hoarsely.  “It’s not easy to say no to someone when they hold all the strings.  When they dangle temptations in front of you like fucking smack!”

            “What are you whining on about man?”

            “You know what I’m on about Lee. I couldn’t say no to you, not when you know everything about me.  Not when you’ve always made it perfectly clear that you could, and would, destroy me in a heartbeat.”

            I was getting tired.  I shook my head and gritted my teeth. “Jack, I think you’re forgetting it’s always me who helps you out. It was me who sorted that little rat out for you back home wasn’t it eh?  You would have done time otherwise mate.  Time.”

            “Exactly what I’m saying Lee.  You know everything.”

            “Well if you don’t like it Jack, maybe you ought to do a better job of controlling yourself! Don’t try and blame me for your shitty little perversions.”

            “But you got me here Lee,” Jack replied, his voice a growl of indignation.  “You obviously have your own perversions, ever thought about that?”

            I rolled my eyes impatiently.  How I longed to have him right in front of me then.  How I longed to grab him by his grubby shirt collar and ram my mobile phone right into his eye socket.  “Just shut up whining,” I snapped.  “Just tell me what the hell happened when you went to the house.  That’s all I’m asking you.  Then you can go to your own sick hell for all I care!”

            “You’re the sick one,” he rasped at me spitefully.  “At least I try to control myself.  You!  You fucking love it don’t you eh?  You seek it out, and you always have done! Weaker people you can scare and control and hurt.  Like your own brother!”

            I laughed coldly. “Don’t mention that pointless sack of piss to me,” I told him.  “Just tell me what the fuck happened.  Just tell me how badly you fucked up the job I gave you.”

            “He stabbed me alright!” Jack barked suddenly down the phone. “The little shit stabbed me with his fucking knife, which, by the way, you neglected to tell me he had!  I did what you said.  I went round there pissed up and hard as a fucking rock, and the little shit knew everything about me Lee, he knew about what happened in Essex, somehow he knew, and that’s why they stopped coming to the flat! Then he stabbed me, right in my fucking foot!  You happy now!  Are you?”

            I laughed.  Oh, how I laughed.  I laughed until my belly ached and my eyes watered, and the whole time, I could hear him roaring his anger down the phone at me, and I could see him in my mind, fat and grey and washed up and nursing a mammoth hangover as well as a mammoth hard on.  “Your foot?” I managed to utter in response.  “Your fucking foot? How the hell did that happen?  You were drunk Jack.  Drunk and weak and pathetic.  I bet you tried romancing him, eh?  Was that it?  Did you ask him out on a fucking date?”  I creased up again, my hands on my knees and the phone jammed between my neck and my shoulder. 

            “He said you’ve got the same coming to you,” he muttered at me. “If you don’t leave him alone.  So there you go.  Now you fucking know.”

            “You think he’d try that on me?  Oh you are funny Jack.  You really are.  Did he say where he was going?  Did you get any clues?”

            “Course he didn’t bloody tell me where he was going! You know, if you’ve got any sense you’ll forget about it Lee.  It’s over.  He’s gone. Why don’t you forget about it and leave him alone eh?  Everyone will be better off if you do.”

            I chuckled and straightened up. “Don’t think so Jack.”

            “What’s the point?  What’s the point in it now eh?”

            “Point is Jack,” I replied, standing completely still while a righteous picture formed neatly in my mind.  “I didn’t give him permission to fucking go.” I removed the phone from my ear and hung up on him. 

            For a few still and calm moments, I just stood there, in the middle of my lush green lawn, and my tongue flicked back and forth across my lower lip.  Then I got myself moving, shoving the phone into my back pocket and swinging my arms as I marched past the house.  I saw Kay frowning at the French doors. “Got to go to work baby!” I called out to her, waving one hand.  “Problems!”

            She nodded back unsurely and pulled the doors shut.  I walked around to the front of the house, down the drive, and turned left towards the Chapmans house.  Of course, Kay had already spoken to them a couple of times about Danny’s whereabouts, but asking again wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?  It was three doors down.  I could already see Mr Chapmans modest navy blue Renault parked neatly on their drive.  I felt a welcome calm take hold of me, now that I didn’t have to worry about Jack anymore, and I approached their door brashly, lifted the heavy knocker and let it drop again.  I stepped back, jamming my hands into my jeans pockets and when the bespectacled Mr Chapman opened the door to me, I cocked my head in a friendly, chirpy manner and offered him my most sociable smile.  Instantly, a worried line appeared on the mans’ forehead, and his eyes flicked left and right behind the lenses of his glasses, as if looking out for someone or something. 

            “I’m sorry to bother you Mr Chapman,” I told him amiably. “I was wondering if I could have a quick word?” I could see his expression was troubled and nervous.

            He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

            I took my hands from my pockets, planted one on my hip and the other on his door frame as I leant into it.  “Look,” I said, “I don’t know how much your daughter has told you, but it’s been four whole days now since we saw Danny, and we still have no idea where he is, or who he’s with, which as you can imagine is very worrying for us.”

            “What do the police say?”

            I rolled my eyes. “Oh you know what they’re like, Mr Chapman, they’re sympathetic but they haven’t got the time or the resources to go round chasing teenage runaways.  They’ve said all they can do is keep checking in with his friends to see if any of them have heard from him. I mean, Lucy, she must have heard from Danny, mustn’t she?”

            “Listen to me Mr Howard,” Mr Chapman spoke very softly, but firmly, and as he spoke he pulled his front door close behind him, as if shielding his home from me.  He peered at me over the rims of his glasses and his eyes were like steel.  “Look, I’m afraid I know all about you, my daughter has filled me in on every distressing detail, and all I can say to you sir, is even if I did know where Danny is, I would not be passing that information on to you. From what my daughter tells me, the boy ran away from you, for his own safety, and I think it’s probably best if it stays that way.” He nodded very curtly, indicating that the conversation was over, and he stepped back, preparing to close the door.  My lip curled back in anger.  I tossed my head and glared at him.

            “Kids?” I spat. “Delinquent kids?  And you believe them over me?  That’s intelligent!”

            “I believe my own daughter, Mr Howard.”

            “You’re mistaken,” I said, jabbing a finger at him. “About everything.  And that’s a dangerous mistake to make Mr Chapman, because that boy who your precious daughter is so fond of, is a drug addict who stabbed a good friend of mine in the foot the other day because he refused to give him money to buy more drugs!  Is that the kind of boy you want your daughter hanging around with, is it?” I shook my head in dismay at his blank face.  “Well it’s up to you I suppose, she’s your child. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” I turned on my heel and marched away from him, back towards my own house, and the car.  I could feel the desperation spreading through me, jerking through my muscles, the urge for violence, tightening me up, taking me over like a disease. I got into the car, turned on the engine and screeched off down the road.

 

            I drove into town, and parked in a space along the high street. I sat there for five minutes, with the radio on low, just telling myself to calm down, to think clearly, to be clever and careful.  I will find that little son-of-a-bitch, I said to myself, just nodding and breathing, as I tried to loosen my fingers on the steering wheel.  I will find him, I nodded, I will, but I have to be patient, that’s all, patient.  I pulled my hands away from the steering wheel.  They ached, and were greased with sweat.  I shook them out, and rested my head back for a moment, forcing myself to breathe in and out slowly, and purposefully.  That little shit would destroy me if I let him.  He would destroy everything I had worked so hard for.  People wouldn’t want to come in the club anymore if the word got out about Jack and his past indiscretions.  The police would start sniffing around.  They would have no choice.  It would all be over.  Ruined.  I tried to stay calm, but the pent up anger swirled like a tornado inside my gut and my chest.  It wanted to come out.  It was battering me from the inside.  My head felt thick and heavy with it, and my eyes hurt.  Mr Chapman had not helped me.  Stuck up, condescending prick.  I looked to the right then, a movement outside the café catching my eye.

            A young woman with a bright red dress on, was bumping her baby’s pushchair down the step, and waving goodbye to some people still inside.  I narrowed my eyes and watched, and drummed my fingers against the wheel.  Two figures came towards the door.  One was another young girl, blonde haired and fiddling with something inside her oversized handbag.  She was chatting and laughing to the young man who came out with her, and then he waved her off, and stooped down to pick up the sign from the pavement.  It was Danny’s friend.  The tall thin one with the floppy hair.

            I lit a cigarette and turned the engine back on.  The tall kid carried the sign back into the café and closed the door behind him.  One of the café lights went out, and the shutters started to come down.  I signalled and pulled out of the parking space.  I drove slowly away and turned down the next road to the right.  I parked up again, got out, and sauntered casually down the long and narrow alley that ran behind the row of shops.  I leant against the wall there and smoked my cigarette down to the butt.  I looked up when there was a noise from the back of the café.  The back door was shoved open with a metallic groan, and the tall kid stepped out, shook back his floppy long hair, and walked off in the opposite direction.  I had a huge smile on my face, watching him go.  The thought of a little dose of genuine fear was enough to send tingles down my spine.  I scratched my balls, flicked my cigarette butt away and moved after him.

            I stalked him down the alley.  I felt like a big cat hunting its prey.  There was nothing like it.  I watched his thin legs, moving stick like within loose blue jeans.  I watched the way his spiky elbows jutted out as he marched along.  I watched him shaking and tossing back his hair and thought why the fuck don’t you just get it cut you miserable girls blouse?  When I was ready, I scrunched my boots into the gravel, and the kid whirled around suddenly in surprise.  I moved fast then.  I was on him in seconds, snatching up the front of his t-shirt and ramming him back into the nearest wall, enjoying the satisfying sound of his bony spine cracking against the concrete. 

            The boy doubled up, winded and wordless. His face hung down low so I brought my knee up to say hello to it.  With a loud grunt of pain, and a spray of blood, the tall kid fell forward into the dirt, and I towered above his crumpled body, smiling grimly.  “Tell me where Danny is,” I said to the boy, as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and coughed up blood and dirt.  I glanced quickly up and down the alley to ensure we were still alone, and then I squatted down next to him.  I took his hair and wrenched his head back so that we could see each other properly.  I greeted his terrified face with a sunny smile. “Tell me where he is.”

            The boy coughed up another spray of gravel and gore, and shook his head in my grip.  “Don’t know, don’t know! I really don’t!”

            I cocked my head to one side and clicked my tongue at him. “I don’t believe you prick.”

            He shook his head again, straining against my hold. “I don’t!  I really don’t!  I have no idea, I swear I don’t!  We’re not friends!  Haven’t been for ages!”

            “Not sure I believe you,” I mused, rising to my feet and dragging him up with me. I used my body to back him up against the wall.  I looked him up and down with a sneer.  He was bigger than Danny, but he was still no match for me.  He was a skinny, wiry, floppy haired little cunt.  I took my old Swiss army knife out from the front pocket of my jeans and showed it to him.  His eyes grew even bigger and rounder.  I laughed, and then whipped the knife upwards, using it to hack at a handful of his stupid long hair.  Then I presented a handful of mousy brown fluff to his terrified face.  I pressed my face into his. “Give this to him when you see him,” I said. “Tell him it’s just the start.  Tell him if he doesn’t come back home right now, I’m going to hunt down all of his friends, including that pretty little girlfriend of his, and I’m going to cut bits off of all of them, okay?” I stuffed the knife back into my jeans, pressed the hair into his hand and let him go.  “You tell him that when you see him okay?  Tell him it’s not over until I say it is.”  He nodded at me silently, dumbly, his face a mess, his eyes watering.  I felt much better.  I felt refreshed and new again.  I left him where he was and headed back down to where I had parked the car.