Human Conditioning

by Hirst, Louise

  Taking the mug from him, he passed both back to Vivien and ignored her scowl. The men immediately got on their coats and Vivien dutifully followed them out into the hallway. Sid landed a hard peck on Vivien’s cheek and shouted over her shoulder towards the kitchen. “See you later, Aiden!” He then stepped outside and sparked up a cigarette, calling something out to Vivien about having dinner someday that week.

  Before Duggie could follow him out, Vivien took his arm and whispered, heatedly, “Where you getting the money from to go out, Duggie? ’Cos we certainly haven’t got any and the gas needs paying!”

  Duggie frowned at her in disgust and shrugged her off him. “My fucking brother has just been released and you’re having a go?” He shook his head and headed for the door.

  “It’s not exactly the first time, is it?” Vivien retorted courageously, crossing her arms across her chest and blushing with nervousness.

  Duggie slowly pushed the front door closed. He stepped back over to his wife and pointed a stiff finger in her face. “Don’t…” He tailed off as Aiden came into the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” Aiden asked, tearing a piece of toast in half and stuffing it into his mouth.

  Duggie dropped his finger. “Your mother’s got the arse again…”

  “You going down the pub?” he enquired, intentionally ignoring his father’s remark. He wasn’t getting himself involved. “I’m coming…” he announced when Duggie didn’t reply.

  “No, you ain’t! You don’t come to the pub until you can buy a fucking round!”

  Aiden immediately turned and jogged up the stairs. When he came back down, Duggie was halfway out of the front door again. Dipping his hand into his pocket, Aiden pulled out fifty pounds in ten-pound notes. “Will this do?” he asked smugly.

  Duggie stared down in amazement at the money in his son’s hand. His eyes went to his wife, who was absorbing the money with the same expression. “Where’d you get that?” Vivien asked indignantly.

  Aiden knew that having such money at his disposal would be a kick in the teeth for both of his parents. They had always believed him to be a waste of space. That he would do anything other than live off the council and become a drunk had never crossed either of their minds. Only a very few who came out of the estates actually made any money. Whether it was earned legitimately or not was never really a factor; just making money was an achievement. That Aiden was ‘achieving’ galled and shocked both Duggie and Vivien equally, and never one to give praise where praise was due, Vivien pressed irately, “Have you had that all the time? And here I am worrying when the gas bill will get paid!”

  As for Duggie, he didn’t give two shits about the gas bill. All he cared for was having a blast down the pub with his brother and sticking two fingers up at his wife in the process. It was not in his nature to show any kind of gratitude towards his son for providing money. As far as he was concerned, this little shit should be paying his own way by now anyway.

  A greedy smile crept onto Duggie’s thin lips, and he eyed his wife with the same smugness as that of his son. He and Aiden could be so alike in many ways, though neither of them would want to accept that fact. “Yes, son,” he replied self-righteously. “That’ll do nicely…” and within seconds the house fell silent and Vivien was alone.

  Duggie, Sid and Aiden sat at a small round table in the corner of The Stag. The room was now decorated with tacky Christmas tinsel and a large tree that had seen better days. It was laden with multi-coloured baubles and stood forlornly in the far corner of the room. Duggie and Sid were already on their fourth pint, and Aiden on his second, when Reggie strolled in.

  Clocking Aiden, Reggie went over to see him. Sid eyed the large Rastafarian warily as he arrived at their table. He didn’t know who he was but was reassured that he wasn’t after any trouble when Aiden got to his feet and shook the man’s large, gold-ring-infested hand.

  “What you in here so early for?” Aiden asked cheerfully.

  “I could ask you the same thing!” Reggie replied, his green eyes glancing over at the man he didn’t recognise, but who looked oddly like the man next to him.

  “Oh, this is my Uncle Sid, Duggie’s brother,” Aiden announced, and turning to his uncle, he added, “Sid, this is Reggie Driscoll.”

  Sid stood up halfway and shook the Rasta’s hand. Reggie smiled politely. “Nice to meet you. I thought you might be related to the old man.”

  “Alright Reg? How’s it going?” Duggie asked, smiling reluctantly.

  Duggie had always been in two minds about Reggie Driscoll. He knew the business he was in and that he had given Aiden a job as his run-around. On the one hand, he was grateful that the man showed some interest in his boy because he was pretty sure no one else would. Aiden was a liability as far as he was concerned. On the other hand, he despised how the man paraded around as if he owned the estate, lock, stock and barrel, and equally resented how he always spouted on about how bloody diligent Aiden was, as if he knew him better than anyone, better than his own father.

  In reality, Duggie had never really got to know his firstborn – or his second, for that matter. He didn’t have a clue how much potential his boy had. Aiden had an extremely good work ethic, if you got him doing something he enjoyed doing. Reggie had seen that in him from the very start.

  In contrast to Duggie’s reservations about Reggie, Reggie thought Duggie Foster was a full-on tosser. Aiden spoke about his father often. He’d tell him how utterly useless Duggie was, how he spent all his money on booze and gambling and, worst of all, how he beat his family into submission. When Aiden had first arrived at his door, aged twelve, with a whacking great lump at the side of his head and a bleeding nose, he’d wanted to go round to the Fosters’ flat and beat the living crap out of Duggie Foster.

  “Reggie Driscoll?” Sid intervened, contemplating his name. “Any connection with Billy Wyatt?”

  Reggie’s face dropped into a solemn state. “No,” he replied, then turning to Aiden, he said, “Can I have a word at the bar?” Aiden obliged and, taking his pint with him, he followed Reggie out. “I’ve got a job for you…” Reggie announced as they reached the bar where, he acknowledged Damien with a nod then gestured to the bottle of tequila.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Fancy a pick-up?” Aiden smiled to his fullest and Reggie, as so often, was reminded that this boy was a good-looking bastard. His smile conveyed bags of confidence and his good looks hid a stack of malevolence that, during a pick-up, would bode well for Aiden, but not so well for the poor soul who found himself on the other end of his well-trained fists. “It’s on the Nightingale estate,” he explained. “A bloke called Dusty. He owes me a ton and hasn’t been so keen to pay.”

  Aiden nodded and sipped his pint. Damien placed two shots of tequila on the bar. “Pint as well?” he asked.

  “Nah, I’m not staying,” Reggie replied. He pushed one of the shots over to Aiden. “Have a go on that. You’re gonna need the buzz…”

  “You want me to go now?”

  Reggie grinned. “Well, there’s no time like the present!”

  Aiden lifted the shot to his mouth and threw it back, downed the rest of his pint then shouted over to his uncle that he’d see him later. As he and Reggie stepped outside, Reggie asked, “How does your uncle know Billy Wyatt?”

  “He used to knock about with him before he was raided with a bunch of Billy’s gear on him.”

  Reggie nodded and said nothing more of it. Aiden sparked up a cigarette and before he could get going, Reggie took both of his shoulders in his large hands. He stared down at him with a serious and concerned glint in his eyes. “You go tooled up, right? But you don’t use nothing but your fists and feet, unless Dusty gets out of hand. The last thing I need is you going down on my conscience.”

  Aiden smirked. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem…”

  “Don’t do nothing stupid and take care of yourself, alright?”

  Aiden felt a warm rush of affection for the large
Rasta before him. The man truly did care for him – more than Duggie did, more than his mother. Without even realising it, Aiden had spent the past five years going to this big man’s flat and offloading his problems and seeking advice. Reggie had been more of a guardian to him than his own parents, much like Grant. But the difference between Reggie and Grant was that Reggie had never once pried into his personal business or lectured him.

  Aiden had got it in the ear from his mother and Duggie after Grant had left for good. He did feel a twinge of guilt for how he had treated the man, but he was equally relieved that he had once and for all escaped from his scrutiny. It suddenly dawned on him that Grant had had no chance of being his mentor when he had Reggie Driscoll to confide in. It had been Reggie who had been the barricade that Grant could not break down in order to win his affection. Reggie had always allowed him to be himself. He had not once attempted to mould him into something he wanted him to be. He was massively fond of Reggie Driscoll, he had to admit it.

  “I can look after meself, you know that! Now, get off me before people think we’re about to give each other a kiss and a fucking cuddle!” Aiden jested and gently shrugged Reggie off. Reggie laughed and relaxed back to his usual easy-going self. “So, what flat number?” Aiden asked.

  “Three-two-five…”

  He nodded then headed off down the street. Now alone, a sensation of nervousness began to creep into his gut as he thought about the task ahead of him. Reggie was throwing him in the deep end here. He didn’t have a clue who this bloke was. With a name like Dusty, Aiden thought he sounded a bit of a cunt, but how the hell was he to know?

  Reggie wouldn’t put him in any danger, would he? It was his first time. Even so, he needed to be poised and ready. If he fucked this up, if he didn’t stamp his authority today, then that would be it. The tale of his failure would spread like wildfire and he would find it almost impossible to regain the respect he’d earned over the past months.

  When he returned home and closed himself into his bedroom, he took a deep breath. He could do this. He was a hard bastard. There was no doubt about that. He was unpredictable, and unpredictability bred wariness. He would have to use some of his unpredictability today. Surprise was the best form of attack.

  As he pulled a hammer out from a shoe box buried at the bottom of his wardrobe, he closed his eyes and imagined himself using it. A wicked smile crept onto his lips. The key was to think of Dusty as the enemy. Dusty was the blockade between him making something of his life and ending up like his father. Just the thought spawned a burning determination throughout his entire body, and when he opened his eyes, he suddenly felt as if he had purpose, and it felt good. No one was going to stop him from being somebody, and Dusty, whoever he was, was about to find that out.

  ************

  It was 4pm when Aiden knocked on Reggie’s front door. Reggie appeared holding a sports towel around his neck. He let Aiden in and led him to the lounge. “What you been up to?” Aiden asked with intrigue, peering at Reggie’s dark skin shining with sweat.

  “I’ve just bought a bench and some weights… an early Christmas present to myself…” he said with irony.

  Reggie had never celebrated Christmas. Aiden had never seen one decoration in his flat, not until New Year. Reggie was a big fan of New Year. He said it was the chance to leave behind all the shit that came before and start anew. Aiden didn’t usually agree. Every year from the moment he’d been old enough to recognise what he had been born into, he’d known that the New Year would be just as shit as the one before. However, as of today, he thought he might just allow himself to be a little more optimistic. Now that he was inevitably going to begin debt collecting for Reggie, and he had his little car business on the side, he actually dared to believe that 1987 could in fact be a good year for him.

  “What you got weights for?” he asked.

  “When you get to my age, son, you’re not blessed with having those big fucking muscles you’ve got without working for it!”

  “I already work out,” Aiden suggested provocatively.

  Reggie laughed. “Well, trust me, once you’re over thirty, even humping like a rabbit won’t keep you solid.”

  Aiden dipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a small stack of ten-pound notes and handed them over to him. Reggie counted them out. “There’s one fifty here. He only owed a ton?”

  Aiden grinned, again. “I know. I demanded a little interest for the inconvenience of you having to send someone round to get it…”

  “You cheeky little bastard!” Reggie beamed at him with pride. “Here y’are, then…” He handed forty pounds back. “That’s for today.” Aiden took the money happily and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. “How did it go, then?” Reggie asked, placing his money inside the tin where he stored his personal gear.

  “You never told me he was a skinny little runt! He nearly shit himself just at the sight of me!”

  “Well, I didn’t want to throw you right in the deep end. Did you have to be physical?”

  Aiden shook his head. “Nah, only a few shoves and that.” He shrugged. “I pinned him against the wall and gave him some lip, just for my own amusement. He was running off and getting the money before I’d even said anything… the little ponce.” Reggie laughed and Aiden went on, “Anyways, why would someone so fucking delicate try it on with you in the first place? Don’t he know who you are?”

  “Most of them get it from a mate and think it’s up to them to sort it out… they don’t have a clue how it all works. They’re just after the next buzz and don’t care where it comes from most of the time…”

  “Well, I care… any chance of a few lines? I’ve got a buzz on now. Wanna keep it going for a bit. I’m seeing Gina later.” Aiden slumped down onto the couch.

  Reggie smirked. Placing the tin on the coffee table, he knelt down and proceeded to rack up. “You enjoyed yourself, then?”

  “The collection? Yeah, ’course!”

  Reggie passed Aiden a rolled five-pound note and, once the lines had been prepared, Aiden snorted three in succession. Falling backwards, he spread his legs to get comfortable and rested his arms on the back of the couch. Reggie sparked up a joint and, both deep in thought, the room ran silent for a long moment before Aiden asked, “So… those weights you got. You reckon I could have a go on them some time?”

  “Yeah, ’course,” Reggie smiled, unsurprised by the request. “Now you’re a debt collector, you’re gonna need the extra muscle.”

  Chapter nine

  The Fosters approached Christmas Day like a habitual requirement rather than with any genuine excitement. Vivien and Kate had only put up the tree the night before. It was sparse, with just a few red and gold baubles and two pieces of tinsel thrown on it with no care or thought. There were no other decorations in the flat.

  It was early evening. Duggie, Aiden and Kate were sitting in the living room whilst Vivien flitted about in the kitchen. Aiden sat on the couch, Kate on the floor leaning against his legs and Duggie was slouching in his armchair, filled with booze and snoring lightly. Kate’s favourite Christmas movie, A Christmas Carol, was showing on the television, and she was watching it intently, content and happy in her brother’s company. Aiden wasn’t keen on the show. He watched it each year merely for the pleasure of seeing his sister so enthralled, and at that moment in time, he was far too distracted by the coming events of the evening.

  Reggie was owed over five grand by a small gang in Shoreditch and he had arranged for him and Aiden to take the gang members by surprise and retrieve the money tonight. Reggie already knew they were spending their Christmas Day at a lock-in in their local pub. It was the perfect opportunity to get them altogether in one place and cause some damage in order to get his money back.

  Aiden had already been in a fair few brawls during his short time as collector, but this was a different kettle of fish. One: this wasn’t an individual that Aiden could quite easily overpower, and two: this was a gang, a gang that wou
ld seek retribution if he and Reggie didn’t damage them good and proper to reinforce their authority.

  As Aiden sat staring at the television, though not actually watching it, the sound of his father’s snoring was beginning to nark him. He hated Christmas Day. It was forever the same tedious routine. They got up, opened shitty presents that he wouldn’t even give to a dog let alone his children, then his mother would start kicking off about the amount Duggie had already drunk before 11am, then they’d eat a dinner that was barely edible, his father would complain, his mother would get upset, then there would be this: his mother seething in the kitchen and his father, smashed, and snoring on the couch.

  When the adverts came on the television, Kate turned and smiled a knowing smile at Aiden. She glanced over at their father, then back at her brother and rolled her eyes. Aiden forced his anger away. He didn’t want to cause a fuss and land Kate in it all night whilst he pissed off out. It wouldn’t be fair.

  “What time you leaving?” she asked, beseeching him to stay, though she knew it was fruitless.

  “Not long now.” He smiled and patted a space next to him on the couch. “Give your big brother a hug on Christmas Day.”

  Kate beamed up at him. Jumping up from the floor, she slumped down next to him and, wrapping her arms around his neck, snuggled in close. “Love you, bro.”

  “Love you too, Bone,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

  “Are you two fucking each other or something?” Duggie mumbled from across the room. “I’ll have no incest in my house.”

  For a moment, both Aiden and Kate couldn’t quite believe what their father had just said to them. Kate recoiled with embarrassment. Noting her reaction, Aiden was suddenly off the couch, looming over his father, fists clenched. “You twat!” he seethed.

  “Leave it, Aiden,” Kate muttered and bowing her head, tears pricking her eyes, she left the room and headed upstairs to her bedroom.