by Liza Cody
‘Oh well, t’rific. That’s you sorted. Mr Deeds takes what I want and offers it to you on a plate. And you don’t fuckin’ want it.’
‘Knew it’d make you sad,’ Keif said. ‘What I think is – you should work for my dad too, make a wage, pay your personal trainer. I should go back into a non-contact sport, like decathlon. Serious this time, no schoolboy stuff. I used to be good at that.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I said. ‘Ain’t you full of surprises today. Nice to know you’re good at something other than talking the hind leg off a donkey. If you got paid for exercising your mouth you’d make a fortune.’
‘Hey, yeah, chicken-little,’ he said. ‘I could be a DJ. Yeah, you got good ideas, babe.’ He grinned that piano grin.
Don’t you just hate it when you cheer someone up by mistake? When you ain’t got a future and someone else suddenly sees his and it’s all fizz, buzz and bubbles?
I finished my chips and looked around for more. If this was going to be my last good feed I wanted it to be big. ‘You want all your chips?’ I said.
See, I’m all give and no take. I give Keif all these good ideas and what’s he give me? He doesn’t even give me the chips off his plate. I got to ask.
‘Still hungry, cherry-o?’ He pushed his plate over. He said, ‘You like my rap the other night? Wasn’t that something? Yeah, man, I’ll do a bit of DJ-ing – make money in no time.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ I said. ‘I got stuff to do too. My sister’s going into business for herself. I told you – we’re going to start a fitness centre.’
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘You sure about that?’
‘What you know about it?’ I said. ‘What you heard?’
‘Nothing, babe,’ he said. ‘Only, is fitness really her scene?’
‘Why not? She’s a model. Models got to get in shape.’
‘Yeah but, well, not that sort of model.’
‘What you know about it?’
‘Hey, chill. I don’t read that sort of magazine myself but you see them around sometimes.’
‘I don’t read women’s mags neither,’ I said. ‘But you still got to be slim and fit if you’re modelling handbags or lipstick.’
‘It ain’t women’s magazines,’ he said, ‘and it ain’t handbags.’
‘Well, lipstick, whatever.’
He was staring at me with Cousin Carmen eyes, which made me shiver. But he said, ‘OK, baby-buns, lipstick, whatever.’
‘Models got to be fit,’ I said.
‘OK, child,’ Keif said. ‘They got to be fit.’
‘So?’
‘So, nothing. Just thought it wasn’t your scene. Just thought you might like it if I put a word in with my dad. It’s a proper gym – all weights and punch-bags. There’s a pool there too and a basketball court. All sorts of good gear. But, like, if you prefer the glamour game …’
I finished his chips. I was still hungry. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Simone ain’t in business yet. So I got to find something temporary.’
‘Now you talking,’ he said. ‘And mebbe I’ll be working there too. Just temporary. And I got to get you running again.’
‘No running,’ I said. ‘I fucking hate running.’
‘Skipping then. You got to work on your lungs. I was watching you, night before last. Lotta raw power, lotta speed, but it ain’t no good if you out of breath.’
‘Wasn’t out of breath,’ I said. ‘I want some pudding.’
‘Fruit,’ he said. ‘You don’t want that sticky pudding. You going to eat good hard apples from now on.’
‘Bugger off,’ I said. See, he always thinks he knows what’s good for me and he’s always wrong. Sticky pudding is good for me. It keeps the cold out, gives me energy. Apples make my teeth ache.
‘Apples ain’t sweet enough for you?’ Keif said. ‘You eat what I tell you, then I’ll be your sugar. I sweet enough for both of us.’
But I wasn’t listening ‘cos I suddenly had a thought about the yard. See, it was my yard now. The owner wasn’t coming back. He’d be in Spain or Bermuda if he had any sense. He’d let all his employees take the heat and he wouldn’t come back till it was safe. At least, that’s what I’d do if I was him.
So I’d have the yard all to myself. Just me and Ramses and Lineker and Milo. I’d paint the Static and put some glass in the windows. And Simone could come and stay. And maybe I’d plant a tree so she could look out of the window and see something growing. She’s sensitive so she probably likes trees and flowers. The yard could be a home for the two of us.
I’d go out to work at the gym, and my personal trainer would get me ring-ready. He could come round sometimes and give me a back-rub with those voodoo digits and Cousin Carmen’s embrocation. But only if he promised not to annoy Simone. Oh yes. I could see it all.
‘Apples?’ said Keif. ‘I ain’t gonna waste time training you ‘less you change your diet.’
‘OK, apples,’ I said. ‘But I want some sticky pudding first. After that you can buy me all the apples you like. And while you’re doing that I’m going to check out my lottery numbers. I feel some good strong mojo coming my way.’
A Note on the Author
Liza Cody, one of Britain’s most inventive contemporary writers, grew up in London. She studied painting at the City and Guilds of London Art School and the Royal Academy School. She has worked as a painter, furniture-maker, photographer and graphic designer. Her first novel, Dupe, won the John Creasey Prize for Crime Fiction. In 1992 she won the Crime Writers’ Association Silver Dagger Award for Bucket Nut which introduces Eva. Wylie, the heroine of Monkey Wrench and the latest novel of the trilogy, Musclebound. She lives in Somerset.
By the Same Author
Dupe
Bad Company
Stalker
Headcase
Under Contract
Rift
Backhand
Bucket Nut
Monkey Wrench
First published in Great Britain 1997
This electronic edition published in 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © 1997 by Liza Cody
The moral right of the author has been asserted
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eISBN: 9781408837313
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