Flesh and Blood

by Emma Salisbury

  ‘Two hundred quid,’ he said firmly.

  I was confused. That was the amount of my original loan. I’d been due to pay it off fifty pounds a week until Mickey got bored but now he seemed to be giving me the chance to pay off the debt in full. It’d be a stretch, after tax I’ll be clearing two fifty a week but it’d be worth it. Bike Boy smiled, not altogether unkindly but there was a glimmer of pleasure there, even so.

  ‘Two hundred a week until further notice,’ he clarified matter of factly.

  ‘Yer havin’ a laugh!’ I began to object but the kid was already pedalling away, job done. I know my spell inside meant Mickey’d had to wait for his money but this was some penalty. After bus fares and board I’d be working for nothing.

  And so this morning I’m trying to manage my expectations. To start my day as I mean to go on. Good things don’t happen to Davy Johnson, never have done, never will. I’m your original walking talking magnet for bucket loads of shit but today I’m going to look on the bright side; the sun is shining, I have a pack of smokes in my pocket and I have a job. I take a cigarette from the pack and light it, drawing down hard, enjoying the sensation of the nicotine inflating my lungs. Is it so wrong to be drawn to something that really isn’t good for you?

  The sun’s rays beam down steadily and I roll my overalls to my waist before lying back on the wooden bench, savouring each lungful of smoke. My upper body tingles; already the skin on my chest is beginning to turn pink. Be good to get some colour, get rid of the grey pallor that is the trademark of a stretch inside. I close my eyes, lifting my cigarette for a final drag before returning to the pallet of cartons waiting for me. All I need to top the day off is a nice cold beer and I promise myself one at the end of the shift with a couple of guys from the shop floor if they’re up for it.

  A cold chill across my stomach makes my eye lids snap open. There, in my eye line, blocking out the sun like a spiteful raincloud stands a familiar but unfriendly face. Police Constable MacIntyre arrested me six months ago and here he is larger than life staring down at me as though I’m a giant turd. I look past MacIntyre to the squad car parked by the factory gates and the officer in the passenger seat picking his nose while scrolling through messages on a mobile. I don’t think they’re supposed to use their phones on duty but I know better than to air unasked-for views. Instead, I push myself to a sitting position, pulling my overalls up over my shoulders whilst checking across the factory yard to see if my visitors can be seen from the main building. Candy Staton, the boss’s PA, has her back to the canteen window while she busies herself getting drinks for the managers. Petite with long shiny hair tied back in a ponytail, she is the prettiest girl I’ve set eyes on in a long while. She smiled at me on my first day here even though she must have seen my personnel file. I wonder what she’ll make of the new guy not yet a week in and bringing police to the door.

  ‘Heard they’d let ye oot.’ PC MacIntyre is a prize prick with eyes that tell you he likes a drink almost as much as he loves a ruck. Thick-set arms protruding from a dumpy body, his Kevlar vest provides an illusion of muscle. ‘Thought I’d come see for myself.’

  I say nothing. I learned long ago not to rise to the bait; that smart mouth answers got me locked up for the night. Instead, I stare at the man’s forehead as though looking for his third eye. ‘What’s this… fancy dress?’ MacIntyre smirks at my overalls and work boots while at the same time taking a step closer, all the better to intimidate. Slowly I push myself up from the bench, making us equal in height though we both knew which man has the upper hand. Over the officer’s shoulder I can see Candy pause by the window, watching us.

  ‘Look,’ I reason, arms outstretched to let MacIntyre know he’ll get no trouble from me, ‘I need to get back, we only get ten minutes for a break.’

  The officer sniggers as though this is the funniest thing he’s heard in ages. ‘“We only get ten minutes for a break!”’ he mimics. ‘Who ye trying tae kid, son? Work’s no’ good enough fe the likes o’ you,’ he snipes. ‘I know for a fact ye’ll no’ last the shift.’

  Not for the first time I wonder whether there is a section in the police training manual called Easy steps to Provoking and Needling, only this is a skill MacIntyre really works hard at. Each meeting is like an Olympic pissing contest except there can only ever be one winner. I stay silent, yet still there’s only a slim chance of me coming through unscathed.

  ‘What they got ye doing then, sweeping the floor?’ MacIntyre smiles but his eyes are cold and hard.

  ‘Packing boxes,’ I mutter, wondering if this simple answer can incriminate me in some way, although for what, I can’t imagine.

  MacIntyre nods as though he already knows this answer and I’ve merely been sitting some kind of test. ‘Ye don’t have to be Einstein then, eh?’ he smirks. I shrug. I’ve been told I was thick by every teacher in school; if this insult is intended to wind me up he’s way off beam; you can’t be offended by a fact.

  ‘Then again, with your pedigree…’ MacIntyre taunts. Here it comes, the bit about my Dad being an alkie and handy with his fists, especially where Mum was concerned. How come his jibes always end up with my Dad? He was a wrong ‘un so I’m destined to be one too, is that it?

  ‘I mean,’ MacIntyre grins as though he’s second guessed my thoughts and has deliberately chosen to change tack, ‘what with ye mum being on the game and all, not exactly going tae come across many great male role models are ye?’

  I keep my mouth clamped shut but it’s getting really hard not to rise to his bait. Digs about me or my old man I can cope with, but there’s not a soul on this earth who’ll get away with saying anything bad about Mum. She put food on the table every day of my childhood, made sure I had decent clothes and a roof over our heads. In fact life improved once Dad was no longer around and Mum was grateful to have a job that meant she was there for me when I’d been small. Ye gotta roll with the punches, Son, was the way she explained it, ye have to deal with the hand ye’ve been dealt. It wasn’t her fault I’d got in with a bad crowd. Yes, my bravado cost me a stint inside, but it was a mistake I had no intention of repeating.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’ MacIntyre’s sly little eyes follow my gaze toward the office window and Candy, a knowing look flitting across his face. ‘Way out of your league, Sunshine,’ he smirks, nodding in her direction, ‘Especially when she hears about your pedigree.’

  ‘Go fuck yersel’.’ The words shoot out before I can stop them and in that moment I know how the rest of the day will pan out. Even at that point, there is little I can do to change the pattern of events. PC MacIntyre’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning, ‘What did ye say, ye lanky streak o’ piss?’

  ‘Ye heard me,’ I say, in for a penny, in for a pound. I pull myself up to my full height, which I know will look to the copper in the car like I’m squaring up but by now I no longer give a shit. I turn towards the wedged-open fire exit I’d emerged from fifteen minutes earlier. The prefab building which has been my place of work for two whole days had offered endless possibilities; even the vain hope that Candy Staton would notice my existence. I look back to the canteen window; she’s noticed me now, right enough, but for all the wrong reasons.

  I turn to MacIntyre. ‘They’re expecting me,’ I say simply.

  ‘They’re expecting ye to fuck up,’ he says scornfully. ‘Why don’t you do everyone a favour and crawl back under your stone?’

  Ignoring him, I walk towards the open factory door; I figure putting some space between us might stop him feeling the need to intimidate.

  ‘Not so fast, pal,’ he warns, putting his hand on my chest to prevent me from moving, but I brush it aside; the sooner I get back indoors the better. A crowd has gathered beside Candy at the canteen window, watching as MacIntyre’s bulk blocks the entrance into the building, a smile plastered across his face.

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