The Prodigal: Valley Park Series 1

by Nicky Black

  Outside, Nicola blocked Lee and Jane Thompson coming up the path. ‘She’s not saying anything till she’s had some advice,’ she said. Lee stopped in front of her.

  ‘We just want to see if you need any help with –’

  ‘– We’ll go to the community centre for help,’ said Nicola.

  Thompson held out some leaflets to her. ‘We’ve brought some information here on funeral support and –’

  ‘– Are you here to arrest anyone?’ Nicola looked directly at Lee.

  ‘No, we –’

  ‘Or maybe you’ve come to plant some drugs in my house. That why you’re here?’

  DC Thompson pulled at Lee’s arm. ‘Come on, this is pointless,’ she said. Lee nodded resignedly, took the leaflets from Thompson, put them on the pavement in front of Nicola’s feet, then turned to follow Thompson back to the car.

  Funeral. Nicola heard the word and it rested in her throat, choking her. Kicking at the leaflets, she headed back into the house. She pushed past Micky who stood at the bottom of the stairs like Colossus. He grabbed Nicola’s arm and pointed into the living room.

  ‘She’s not staying here,’ he said.

  ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘I say who comes and goes in here.’

  ‘Oh aye, like Mooney?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘He’s a junkie.’

  ‘So who gives a fuck?’ shouted Micky.

  ‘Shhh! I do! I don’t want him here. Can you not show a bit of respect?’ She indicated Kim with her head.

  ‘What’s it got to do with me? I didn’t even know Mark was dealing.’

  ‘He wasn’t!’

  They turned to see Michael Jnr at the living room door, holding his football under his arm.

  ‘Wanna game, Dad?’

  ‘Not now,’ replied Nicola firmly. Michael Jnr turned back into the living room sulkily. Micky pointed a finger into Nicola’s face.

  ‘She’d just better be gone by tomorrow, that’s all,’ he said. Nicola’s bitter eyes burned into the back of his head as she followed him into the living room. Kim, having heard every word, eyed her sister-in-law with barely concealed hostility. Nicola slumped down onto the sofa and put her head in her hands as Micky and Mooney slammed out of the front door, leaving only the soaring music of The Lion King between her and Kim. She gathered her energy. ‘Right: bed, you two,’ she said. Michael Jnr dragged himself off the floor and out of the door quickly, his face like thunder. Liam stayed where he was, oblivious, happily playing with the contents of Nicola’s handbag.

  ‘Come on, soldier boy,’ she said, crouching behind him. Liam turned to her and she noticed the sherbet on his mouth.

  ‘What’ve you got? Show Mammy....’ Liam licked his finger and dipped it into the tinfoil wrap he had open between his chubby legs, putting his finger into his mouth just as Michael Jnr had shown him.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Nicola whipped him up off the floor and into the kitchen. She held him over the sink, frantically splashing water over his face and into his mouth. As he struggled and whinged, Nicola shrieked.

  ‘Kim! KIM!’

  Micky had been bouncing around the ring at the boxing gym with his door mate, Stevie, for about twenty minutes when Tiger pulled up outside the open double doors. Stevie was no match for Micky in sparring terms, but he’d let Micky pound the pads on his hands for as long as he wanted. And Micky was pounding today. Stevie’s arms were ablaze and he felt his forty-three years for the first time.

  Micky tried to punch Nicola’s fraught face from his mind. He didn’t want to see her like that. She couldn’t go to pieces, not now, not when he had opportunities to think about. Why did she have to be the grown-up all the time? Why was she always so busy looking after everyone else? Her and Margy, they just couldn’t leave it alone. Why couldn’t she just love him without question like before? He punched at Stevie’s pads with renewed vigour. He knew why. He wasn’t good enough. He’d known that all along. Why she’d fancied him in the first place he had no idea: he’d never considered himself much to look at. She was a mischievous seventeen-year-old, working in Greggs in the Green Market in town. He’d eaten a lot of cheese pasties in 1989. He’d thought she was in her twenties. She had the broad shoulders of an athlete, a mature voice and even some lines across her forehead and around the eyes. The full lips, wide green eyes and freckled nose made him want to shag her and look after her at the same time. And she’d loved him. Loved his body and his soul. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wasn’t even pregnant when they got married, so it wasn’t like she did it for any other reason than because she wanted to.

  Stevie sighed with relief when the sound of Tiger’s car diverted Micky’s attention. They both lowered their arms as Tiger paraded into the gym. At sixty years old, he was wearing well. Still in good shape, he sleeked back his full head of white hair with utmost precision, his tiny, albino eyes behind dark glasses. His heavy brow and thick, white eyebrows gave him a look of something primeval. He was dressed formally – Tiger Reay wouldn’t be seen dead without a shirt and tie, even at weekends.

  ‘Stevie!’ Tiger’s face lit up as he approached the ring, hand outstretched. Stevie pulled the pads off and climbed out of the ring. He was sweating profusely and Tiger, thinking better of it, put his hand back in his pocket. ‘Is he giving you the runaround?’ he asked warmly, nodding towards Micky.

  ‘Nah, it’s the weather, man,’ said Stevie, ‘just wait till there’s thirty kids in, the walls’ll be dripping.’

  Tiger looked around the grubby gym, a Portakabin stuck on the site of his old car lot. The Council had slapped a compulsory purchase order on it over a year ago. It blocked access to the site of a new supermarket, a B&Q and a bingo hall, but Tiger, realising he wasn’t going to profit enough from this much needed progress, was keeping them on their toes. The judicial review would delay things for a couple of years until they were so desperate for the land they’d pay him what he deserved. All sorted now with a little help from the miniature pisshead of a mayor who’d sell his own mother for a box seat at Newcastle United.

  He turned to Micky. ‘Y’alright, son?’

  ‘Aye, never better,’ replied Micky. You?’

  Tiger nodded and swivelled on his heels to face Stevie. ‘Right, Stevie, got you some cash for the football strips. What did we decide – purple and gold?’

  Stevie nodded approvingly. ‘D’you want the logo on the front or the back?

  Tiger shrugged. ‘Not bothered.’

  Stevie opened his mouth to speak, but Micky got there first. ‘You’ll want it on the front for the photos when they win,’ he said, ‘publicity like.’

  ‘Now that’s fighting talk,’ said Tiger, slapping Micky on the shoulder while Stevie inwardly curled his lip. Tiger took a fat roll of fifty pound notes out of his pocket and peeled off ten. ‘Reay’s Waste Management, then. No, Reay’s Skip Hire, it’ll fit better.’

  Stevie took the money and tapped it to his temple. ‘That’s very kind of you, Tiger, I’ll reserve the balcony for you and the lads.’

  Stevie glanced sideways at Micky and headed to the tiny office to put the money in a small, red cash box. Tiger took Micky to one side. ‘Make your mind up time,’ he said.

  ‘Never any doubt,’ replied Micky confidently, undoing the Velcro of his boxing gloves.

  ‘Put your money where your mouth is, then. Where is it?’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Here, I’m doing you a favour. If you haven’t got it, Stevie’ll take your place, no messing.’

  ‘Nah, I’ve got it, I’ve got it.’

  ‘Where?’

  Micky threw his gloves into the ring. ‘I’ll run and get it now. Just wait, will you? I’ll be twenty minutes. Max.’

  Tiger sighed and gave Micky a nod – if he was quick.

  Tania’s house was only a ten minute drive away in Gateshead. Tania wasn’t home – she was due back tomorrow from the caravan in Seahouses where she’d been with her sisters and all the
kids while it was cheaper during the school term. It meant he’d been able to spend a bit more time with Nicola and the boys. It tired him out, juggling these two lives, but Tania filled a gap that Nicola couldn’t anymore. Nicola was the love of his life, he worshipped her, would never leave her, ever. But Tania was tough, independent, didn’t let the sorry, sordid lives of other people get in the way. Some might call her rough, but to Micky she was a breath of fresh air, undemanding and uninhibited, just like it used to be with Nicola once upon a time. Now it was all about the kids, getting the house perfect, asking him where he was all the time, expecting responsibility, legitimacy, dependability. Tania asked for nothing, got on with life; she helped him with his work and took a cut of the profits. During sex, Nicola told him to slow down, to be gentle. But sometimes he just wanted to fuck. And Tania liked it rough. If it came down to it, though, Tania could take him or leave him. Nicola was his wife. She belonged to him. Tania belonged to no one and made it clear she never would. Micky dug the shoebox out of the airing cupboard where Tania kept the business proceeds. There should be just enough and, unlike Nicola, she wouldn’t question his reasons or motives. She’d trust that the investment would be worth it, for all of them.

  When he got back to the gym he found Tiger standing at the door in the dusk, shaking hands with the boxers as they arrived. Though small in stature, Tiger radiated an assurance that gave the impression he was towering above everyone else. Stevie stood next to him, proud as Punch. Micky indicated to Tiger to meet him inside and Tiger followed, leaving Stevie to usher in the spectators alone.

  ‘What do I have to do?’ Micky asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

  ‘Just pay your money and take your chance.’

  ‘What’ll I get?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see what’s on the boat.’

  ‘There’s five grand.’

  Tiger flicked through the money and raised a silvery eyebrow. ‘Well, that’ll do for starters, but if you want to be in the big league you’ve got to speculate to accumulate, Michael. Some of the lads are putting in twenty-five each.’

  ‘I would if I could.’

  ‘You can turn that five into twenty-five easy if it’s a good turnout. Then maybe next time, you can take a bit more of a lead. Put it back in the pot and we’ll see what comes up.’

  Micky nodded, eager to be up there, flashing the cash and living the Tiger Reay lifestyle. ‘I really appreciate the chance,’ he said. ‘I won’t mess you around.’

  ‘I know you won’t, son. But this is big, and if you do, there’s plenty out there ready to take your place. Understand?’

  ‘Aye. Cheers, Tiger.’

  Tiger slapped him on the back and squeezed his way out of the door, smiling at the punters as they paid their cash to Stevie for the fight. Stevie held his hand out to Tiger, but Tiger’s hand was back in his pocket. Stevie brushed over his bald head self-consciously instead, jealousy twitching in his biceps. As Tiger’s gleaming car pulled away, Micky wrung his hands. This was his chance to make something of himself at last. He’d always known it would happen. He’d bided his time, done the day job, earned the loyalty, kept his nose clean. He thought of his parents, scraping a living from the fruit and veg stall. Working from dawn till dusk, the weather beating the redness into their aging faces. They’d worked and then they’d worked more, and for nothing but a few quid saved for a week in Scarborough once a year. A city-centre stall was always the ambition, but forever out of their reach. They were happy enough, they saw the humour in it, they were loved by their punters, they had a laugh, but Micky couldn’t stand the pitiless counting of the pennies on a Saturday night. At first, at a young age, it was a novelty to help, but as time went on and the coins reduced in both number and value, the light-hearted Saturday night ritual became a dreaded portent of debt for him, despite his parents’ unfailing positivity. The new Safeway supermarket was the inevitable final nail in the coffin of that God-awful stall. His mother and father took it with their usual ‘what will be will be’ attitude. He vowed never to work hard for nothing. There had to be gain, there had to be advancement, and he would do it by knowing his marketplace, his customers, his suppliers and his enemies better than they knew themselves.

  ‘Hoy, Micky!’

  A piercing whistle brought Micky back to reality. Mooney stood greasily at the door to the gym. Micky’s face fell. To achieve this dream he would have to deal with toe-rags like Mooney, his stuttering but loyal foot soldier.

  ‘Are ye gannin back to Valley Park?’ Micky nodded. ‘Giz a lift.’

  Lee sat in his car and took out his phone. The number was burning a hole in his contacts list. He looked at the time, 11.15 p.m. He’d seen Louise close her curtains, the light going out just a few minutes later, but the living room was still brightly lit. He felt like a stalker. He dialled the number anyway and waited, his finger and thumb holding his eyes closed. After three rings, a chirpy female voice answered.

  ‘Hello?’

  Her voice was still the same, slightly deeper.

  Lee cleared his throat. ‘Debbie, it’s Lee.’ He waited for some sort of acknowledgement but none came. ‘Lee Jamieson.’ Silence. ‘Is that you, Debbie?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Debbie.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s late but...’

  ‘Lee, why are you ringing me?’

  ‘You know why, I hoped we could talk – about us, about Louise.’

  ‘Well…….no.’

  ‘Debbie, please, just hang on.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have to tell you something. I’m here now. I need to sort things…’

  ‘Where are you?’

  Lee hesitated. ‘Outside your house.’

  He saw the curtain being pulled to one side and her face appear at the window. He waved to her and she quickly snapped the curtain shut.

  ‘Go away,’ she said, and hung up.

  FIVE

  Another early morning in Lee Jamieson’s life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to lie snoozing in bed until the sun was high in the sky. Either work, insomnia or necessary occasions like this all too often dragged him from his pit before the dew had dried on the grass. He stood now at the red front door, the knuckle of his middle finger poised and ready to knock when it was flung open and Debbie stood there, frozen, coat half on with a slice of toast in her mouth.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked, nervously.

  It was a big, old Victorian living room, with high ceilings, picture rails and an ornate ceiling rose, tastefully decorated in grey and taupe shades. The large mirror over the marble fireplace threw his sleepless night right back at him. ‘Mind if I sit down?’ he asked, forcing a half-smile at her stony stare. Debbie nodded and he sat on the large sofa, plumped with huge cushions. Debbie crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘Well, what do you want? I need to get to work.’

  ‘Debbie, I haven’t seen you for sixteen years.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I’m sorry for just .... turning up.’

  ‘Like a bad penny.’

  Lee sighed. ‘Wait a minute, I tried....’

  ‘Shame you didn’t turn up when you were supposed to,’ she butted in, ‘at the doctors to talk about our ‘options’, remember that?’

  ‘Of course I remember. I remember my dad tearing me to shreds, ending up in the hospital. I couldn’t come, I just couldn’t, and I couldn’t get a message to you either.’ Debbie rolled her eyes as if she’d heard it all before. He carried on with his defence. ‘Nobody would speak to me, Debbie, how was I supposed to get word to you? You didn’t want anyone to know,’ he said desperately. He rubbed his forehead. ‘I’ve told you all this before. I wrote to you. I tried to explain it after Hoots told me about Louise.’

  Debbie scoffed. ‘I don’t believe you. I stood there waiting and waiting. You left me completely alone. You just pissed off.’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘You never even checked to see if I was alright.’
/>
  ‘I tried! Your mates told me you’d got rid of it, that I wasn’t allowed to see you. That your dad would have my legs broken. Or words to that effect.’

  ‘Shirking your responsibilities, more like.’

  ‘No. I had nowhere to go, I had to leave. You told them to lie to me, Debbie. If I’d known you’d gone through with it, I would’ve come back. Legs or no legs. You didn’t want me to be involved, so whose fault is it?’

  Debbie shuffled and looked at her fingers. Noticing a framed photograph of Louise and her mother on the nest of tables, Lee picked it up and looked straight into his own brown eyes. Debbie looked down at her feet.

  ‘You’d let me down once, that was enough,’ she said, ‘and my dad would have broken your legs for sure.’

  ‘But even later, when I found out, even then you didn’t want me to come. I was going to come.’

  ‘I was with somebody else, it was complicated....’ she said. ‘I sent you a photo.....’ She stopped herself, knowing how inadequate an excuse it sounded.

  ‘I shouldn’t have listened to you,’ said Lee, regretfully. ‘I should’ve been stronger. Well, now I am.’ He put the picture down and picked up another of Louise as a toddler, blowing out birthday candles. ‘You’re not married, then?’ He looked up into Debbie’s troubled face. She looked away, not sure if it was a question or a criticism. ‘She doesn’t have a stepdad?’

  Debbie shook her head, annoyed at his personal intrusion. Her voice became suspicious. ‘Have you lost your job or something?’

  ‘No, no. Just got a new one.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here.’

  There was a long, gaping silence. Debbie let her bag slip from her shoulder and she sat down in the armchair opposite him. ‘Shit,’ she said under her breath.

  ‘She knows I exist, doesn’t she?’

  Debbie stared at the floor. ‘Of course she does.’

  ‘Any chance I could see her?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, what if we bump into each other? I mean, isn’t she curious? Does she ask about me? What do you tell her?’

  Debbie bit at her fingers. What did she tell her? Childhood sweethearts, lost touch, probably for the best, one day they might meet again....