The Burnley Boys

by Drew Black

  "Are you okay?" Jack asked gently placing his hand on Jane's knee a gesture that didn't elude Helen as she sat laughing and joking with Tom.

  "Yes, fine thanks, are you?"

  Jack nodded; "Yeah, I've really enjoyed it."

  "Me too."

  "Do you want to dance?" Jack asked as the music slowed.

  "Yes."

  Jack got up and led Jane to the dance floor. He put his hands around her waist and held her close. He could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest and felt a twinge of excitement. Jane leant her head against Jack's shoulder and stroked the back of his hair. Jack was becoming aroused and was desperately trying to fight it. He'd already brushed against her a couple of times and concluded that it wasn’t the best way of impressing a dance partner. He pulled away from her slightly and looked into her eyes, and his earlier thought re-occurred to him; she was looking younger, he was sure of it. Maybe it was because she was home again, or because she was happy. He touched her hair and it felt as good as it looked. Suddenly he realised she had tears in her eyes. He was about to say something but stopped himself and kissed her instead, she responded, and he pulled her against him.

  Helen kept a discreet eye on the scene, she smiled to herself.

  "Do you want another drink Hel?" Tom asked studying his empty glass.

  "No, let's dance instead." Helen said hopefully, and to her surprise Tom agreed. Tom was going to dance next to Jack and Jane until Helen steered him to another part of the dance floor. However, she made no comment on his lack of discretion, she was just happy to have him hold her. Please God let us have a baby she thought as she nuzzled into his shoulder.

  Tom had noticed the pretty blonde waitress who had served them earlier at Ray's place. She looked much older in her going out gear he thought, he couldn't believe the geek she was dancing with though. All of a sudden, their eyes met, and Tom smiled at her. She smiled back before closing her eyes.

  16

  Jack turned the fire on and sat in his chair staring at it’s glow. He could still hear the beat of the music or a fuzzy remnant of it at least. He heard Jane's footfalls on the stairs and got up and went into the kitchen. Mcilroy was curled up, for the night, in her box. She lifted her head wearily, looked at Jack, and then put it back down and went back to sleep. He brewed two cups of coffee and gave both a healthy stir before tossing the used teaspoon into the empty washing up bowl.

  "Thanks." Jane said taking her cup of coffee and cradling it in both her hands.

  "Are you cold?" Jack asked her.

  "Just a little." Jane replied politely, when the truth was, she was chilled to the bone.

  "Come on, we'll go through to the lounge, I've put the fire on. Jane went through, and as Jack went to flick out the light switch, he paused briefly to admire his kitchen, he was extremely proud of his house although he rarely spoke about it.

  Jane was knelt by the fire, Jack knelt behind her and began to rub her exposed arms, she trembled slightly. "God, you are cold." he said as he felt her skin beneath his fingers.

  Jane said nothing.

  "I'll get you a jumper."

  "No, I'm fine, honestly." Jane said looking back at him over her shoulder.

  "It's no problem." Jack said getting up.

  Jane hoped that the moment wasn't lost. If it didn't happen tonight, she'd ... well she wasn't sure what she'd do. Oh, sod it she thought he can think of me whatever he likes. She unzipped the back of her dress and slipped it off her shoulders. She carefully stepped out of it and placed it over the chair. she then removed her stockings and placed them with it, kneeling back down in front of the fire just as Jack returned with the jumper.

  "Jesus!" he said on seeing her in her bra and panties.

  Jane smiled, taking the jumper from him and slipping it over her head. It felt nice and soft and had a pleasant smell to it.

  Jane's bare tummy disappeared, much to Jack's regret, as she pulled the jumper down. Jack knelt and kissed her, and Jane put her arms around his neck. Their kissing soon became more intense and Jack felt Jane's breast through the soft lambswool. Jane deliberately slowed things down and Jack responded. He'd waited his whole life for this moment, and he wanted to take it all in; the look of her, the feel of her, he wanted to touch her every nerve ending. He took hold of the jumper and Jane lifted her arms to allow him to remove it. As he removed the sweater, he kissed her under her arms. She began to undo his shirt, kissing and licking his chest as she did so. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and lowered her head and licked his left nipple. The sensation made Jack shudder slightly. He lifted her head and kissed her again before unhooking her bra and sliding it from her shoulders. He continued to kiss her has he traced his fingers gently down her tummy. She shivered and he pulled her close to him. He moved a hand between her thighs, and she adjusted her position to allow him room to manoeuvre. He stroked her through her panties and her wetness increased his passion. He pulled them to one side and slid a finger inside her. Jane groaned and pushed her pelvis against his hand to accentuate the feeling. She undid his trousers and Jack stood and removed them. Jane looked at Jack's erect penis before coyly looking away. "Make love to me Jack." Jane said as she lay on the rug next to the fire. Jack lifted her bottom and place a cushion beneath her. He smiled feeling a little embarrassed at his action; "So you don't hurt your back." he said. She smiled back, but if she was honest, at this precise moment, she didn't give a shit about her back, all she wanted was to have him inside her. Within seconds her wish was granted.

  They made love again upstairs and fell asleep in each other's arms. Jack awoke first and checked the clock, it was ten past twelve. He got out of bed as quietly as he could and Jane didn't awake for which he was grateful, he showered and got ready. Downstairs he made them some breakfast. He had a hangover and mixed feelings about the previous evening. Yes, it was true, he'd liked Jane all his life. In fact, he'd idolised her when he was younger, but he was a completely different person now. He didn't know whether he was capable of loving her like he had done long ago. He felt confused and needed time to think. Unfortunately, the one thing he didn't have at the moment was time, what with the syndicate, his job, the house. He knew that he'd lose her if he messed her around though, but maybe that would be just as well. Did he really want to drag a woman he cared for into this crazy fuckin' set up? He hadn't promised her anything though, neither of them had, so perhaps he should just walk away. Yeah, but the problem was he'd loved her his whole life, and he still did. He knew if he lost her again, she'd be gone for good.

  As if by magic, Jane appeared in the kitchen wearing his lambswool sweater "Hi." she said. "Hi Jane, God, you're going to catch your death." he said observing her bare feet on the tiled floor. "I've made you some breakfast, is grapefruit and toast okay?"

  Jane nodded; "That's fine, thank you."

  "Come back upstairs and I'll find you something to wear."

  Upstairs Jane said, "Jack, I just want you to know that I don't regret a single thing that happened between us last night."

  Jack stopped rummaging through his wardrobe and looked at her. He was about to tell her that he still loved her but now just wasn't the right time for him to get into a serious relationship, but as he looked into her big brown eyes what he found himself saying was; "Nor me Jane, and if you're not doing anything tonight, I'll cook us both a meal."

  Jane felt ecstatic inside. However, she concealed it because she didn't want to come across to him as being too eager. "Yes, I'd like that." she said, "but I won't stay too late, I know how much your work means to you.”

  "That's okay, stay over if you like." Jack said before his brain had time to compute what it was he was saying to her. He could walk away from one night of passion with her, but two, well that was kind of like starting a relationship.

  "No, honestly, I have to be up early myself, anyway."

  "Okay, here put these on." he said handing her a pair of faded denims. "I'll just get you a belt."

  When Ja
ck returned Jane was in the process of hitching the denims over her panty-clad bottom, and suddenly the events of the previous evening came flooding back to him.

  Jane brought wine round and was pleasantly surprised at how good Jack's cooking was. He cooked them Chicken Chasseur, and it was absolutely delicious. They talked about old times and people neither of them had thought about in years. Jane resisted the urge to tell Jack the real reason for her sudden departure to London all those years ago, and was glad that she did, she would instinctively know when the time to tell him was right. That evening she felt truly happy, and it would've been the easiest thing in the world to take Jack up on his earlier offer to stay over, but she kept to her word, and as she drove back home that evening, her headlights cutting a swathe through the darkness, she smiled to herself, and realised that now she was with Jack, she felt truly at home.

  17

  Quilter lay on his bed listening to the voice of the recently deceased Craig Moores drone away in the corner. "Wa Jimmy Jacobs, a cud tell ye loweds aboot him. A 'ardly naas ware te begin."

  "Just get on with it you daft get. Sorry, I mean go on then tell us a bit aboot him." Quilter smiled to himself as he took a long drag on his cigarette. His bedside clock said, five past twelve. His heart picked up a beat, in just less than twelve hours he had to become this Geordie retard. Could he pull it off? He sighed deeply, got up and went to the bathroom, but this didn't deter young Craig he was full of it with or without an audience.

  'You just killed a man tonight,' a voice inside his head announced. 'how does that make you feel?' The voice got no reply, Quilter simply did his zip up and washed his hands. Twelve hours and counting.

  Quilter dusted off his suitcase and started to pack. He checked every drawer twice, that would just have to do, besides he'd have half an hour spare in the morning. He set his alarm and checked the setting three times. He was about to check it again when he thought for fuck's sake chill out Dave, you're becoming paranoid, the alarm clock's set correctly, okay. He glanced at it instead - ten to one it's face smiled back at him. He pointed at it and growled "You fuckin' let me down, and I'm going to bust your guts all over this room. Do you hear me?" The clock's hands moved to nine minutes to one. "Asshole." he said starting to undress.

  "Well a think tha just aboot brings us up te dayet ..."

  "Thank fuck for that." Quilter said before remembering that Craig had had several curtain calls before he had brought Moores's life up to date for good.

  Quilter went over to the tape machine. He resisted the urge to stamp on it, especially in light of the fact that he was barefoot, and instead calmly pressed the 'stop' button. The silence was music to his ears, he rubbed at his temples. A good seven hours is what he needed; it had been a long day.

  Quilter awoke with a start, "No, Eddie, I'm not lying to you ..." he said before realising that he'd been dreaming. "Shut up!" he shouted at the alarm clock before banging it's 'off' button. Briggs had been laughing at him and calling him a fraud. He'd just kept on laughing, that was the scariest part.

  Quilter pulled back the bed covers, and reluctantly swung his feet out onto the floor. He felt like shit warmed up, and probably smelt not too dissimilar, he wiped at his eyes and yawned. He found his way to the bathroom. It seemed quite bright outside, he thought absently as he turned on the shower yawning heavily again. He felt different and hoped it was because he was becoming Craig Moores; ‘me friends call me Craggs leek’ but concluded that it was more likely that he had a dose of the shits coming on. That would just make his day. "Well ay-ah Eddie, am Craig Moores frem New-castle, am pleased to meet ye. Oops de ye maand if a use ye nettie gadgie, am desperate!"

  He could just see Briggs's face now his expression set in a bemused kind of a grimace. Mind you on reflection, he'd probably be acting pretty much in character for that numb-nuts Moores, “if ye naas wot a mean?” Quilter shook his head, what the fuck was he getting himself in to? He stepped into the shower and turned it on; "Argh, argh, shit, that's cold!" Quilter braced himself and began lathering himself with soap.

  When he dressed, he went outside on to the landing and found a couple of cards for taxis in the phone kiosk. He lifted the receiver dialled one of the numbers and inserted his money.

  "Hi this is K-Cabs how may I help you?" a girl said in a perky voice on the other end of the line.

  I could tell you darlin’, but I doubt you offer that kind of service Quilter thought with a smile. "Can I have a cab to Burnley Bus Station please?

  Quilter picked up his case and left his flat. As he locked the door behind him, he wondered whether he'd ever see it again.

  18

  The engraver stood back from the wall and admired his handiwork. He gave the brass plaque a gentle rub over with his cloth. The sign read; 'Jessop International - Corporate Head Quarters'. Yes, he'd made a damn good job of that even if he did say so himself. Maybe Jessop might see to it that he got a few extra bob on account of it. Then again, these rich bastards didn't become rich by throwing their money around now, did they. Whatever, he’d loaded the price a bit anyway, well even us mere mortals were entitled to one or two of life's luxuries he thought as he descended the steps of Jessop's mansion. The luxuries in question were a night out with the lads on Friday, going to see The Clarets on Saturday afternoon, and if the money stretched to it, he'd treat the missus to the pictures on Saturday night. All courtesy of; Jessop fuckin' International or whatever it was his stupid company was called. Assholes, he thought as he stowed his tools in the back of his van.

  19

  Christine combed back her blonde hair as she sat studying her reflection in her dressing table mirror. She took the top off her lipstick and twisted the bottom. Shit, she was nearly out of her favourite shade, that showed just how much the events of the past few days had screwed up her mind. She parted her lips and applied the bright red colour sparingly.

  John Jessop her boss, for the last seven years, had offered her a promotion, if that's what you could call it. Maybe she was doing herself a dis-service, which wasn't out of character for someone who had spent the whole of her adult life getting involved with one toe-rag after the other. The only good thing she had to show for her life to date was her gorgeous little boy, Luke, who was nearly three, but going on thirty-three. Jessop wanted to make her the first female member of a crime syndicate he ran known locally as The Burnley Boys.

  Her role within it would, in essence, be fronting up the new company HQ which was to be based at his estate which was located on the outskirts of town. She'd accepted on the spot, which she thought, on reflection, had pleased him. Nevertheless, he had still asked her to take time to consider her decision, but she'd insisted that she didn't need to consider it, she wanted the new role, and she wanted to join the syndicate.

  Christine realised that this was her opportunity to take control of her life which was drifting, to say the least. It was her chance to make a better life for her and her son, and she was determined to grab it with both hands.

  Jessop had offered them accommodation at the estate. He hadn't pressurised her but said an apartment was available there if she wanted it.

  She spread her fingers out in front of her, they were trembling slightly. Today was the big day, her first day in her new job. She mussed her hair and blew herself a small kiss for good look. Her dad had always said that how successful a person was or wasn't in their lives always boiled down to just a few key moments. "Well dad," she said straightening the hem of her skirt and psyching herself up, "this is certainly one of mine, and I'm not going to let you down, I promise."

  20

  Quilter dismounted the bus at Chorlton Street Bus Station Manchester. He had over an hour to kill before Moores's train from Newcastle got into Piccadilly, so he decided to go and get a cup of tea. Conveniently, there was a cafe on the station, it didn't look too salubrious, but he'd been in worse.

  "Morning pal, what can I get you?” the guy behind the counter asked him.

  "Just a cup o
f tea please, make it strong."

  Quilter paid the guy, added milk and sugar and went and took a seat at one of the tables. He felt tense, a bit like a coiled spring, he breathed deeply and took a sip of his tea, it wasn't bad if he was honest.

  "Hello sailor-boy, do you mind if I join You?"

  Quilter looked up to be met by a middle-aged man wearing heavy eye make-up. For fuck sake, this was all he needed.

  "The name's Norman, but people usually call me Norma." the guy said holding out a hand.

  "Listen mate, if you sit on that seat, the next thing your little tush will be touching is The Leeds-Liverpool. Do you understand?"

  "Well, I've never been so insulted in all my life, I was only trying to be friendly, it's not as if I asked you for a blow Job now, is it?"

  Quilter started to get to his feet.

  "Okay sugar-pie, keep your hair on, I'll sit over here on my own.

  Quilter sighed and sat back down. He glanced at his watch-five past eleven, his train was due in at twelve, he'd give it another ten minutes and then he'd set off walking to Piccadilly. He was trying to gather his thoughts but was struggling. He was certain Norman-Norma, whatever the fuck he called himself, was staring at him, but perhaps he was just imagining it because to say he felt paranoid at the moment in time was an understatement. Quilter looked over to where Norman was sitting and was rewarded by an audacious little wink. He couldn't help but smile at the guy, he had to admit irrespective of his sexual preferences the guy had guts.

  The guy's parting shot to Quilter was to tell him not to knock it until he'd tried it, and as he made his way up to the train station, in the freezing cold, he thought how appropriate those words were for the situation he now found himself in.