by KERRY BARNES
He remembered his mother calling him Richard, among other names, like ‘retard’ and even ‘goofy bastard’, and Tatum and Tyrone calling him Mouse. His last name was Menaces, but he even doubted that to be true. His memory was vague, but he wondered if before moving to the gypsy site in Ireland he’d perhaps had a past.
The recollection from all those years ago of being sick and waking up in a small room with a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and the distinctive smell of newness was somewhat unclear. It was hauntingly strange, and as he focused on his mother, even she appeared different. Her once blonde hair was now jet black. She spoke differently, her words were faster, and there were some he didn’t recognize. He would never forget the moment when he asked her why she was calling him Richard. ‘’Cos that’s ya fucking name, ya scabby little brat. Now, shut up with the questions. If you ask me one more time about ya father, then he’ll end up locked away for a long time, or dead, so not another flaming word. Ya name’s Richard Menaces, end of.’ Whatever happened after that, he simply couldn’t recall, except for the fact that whenever he was about to open his mouth to speak, no sound would come out.
As Ricky listened to his new idol, his eyes were distracted by the figure at the door. He nervously looked at the person who was standing there. Willie clocked the anxious expression on Ricky’s face and followed his gaze. It was Tatum, with Tyrone just behind him.
Willie was like a rat on speed. He jumped to his feet and stood in Tatum’s way. ‘What the fuck do you want?’
Tatum was holding a pair of trainers. ‘I got me boy some decent footwear.’
Tyrone, the image of his father, was there for backup, but the aggression plastered over Willie’s face caused him to shrink his shoulders and lower his otherwise cocky gaze.
‘Oh yeah? And where the fuck did those trainers miraculously appear from, eh? There’s only one bloke in ’ere that keeps a stock of fresh Nikes and that’s Dez!’
Tatum held the bright-white trainers like an offering. ‘Nah, straight up, bruv. These were me boy Tyrone’s, weren’t they, mush?’ He looked at Tyrone, who sheepishly nodded. ‘Also, Richard’s got a visit with his dear ol’ muvver. I’ve arranged a VO on the gate. She worries, so if she sees the boy looking cushty, it’ll ease her mind.’
Willie looked Tatum up and down. ‘If you’re lying, I promise you, you’ll regret it!’
Tatum furiously shook his head. ‘I swear down, it’s the truth, bruv!’
Willie smirked. ‘What’s with the fucking straight up and swear down? What are ya, a fucking jack-in-the-box? I’ll give the kid the trainers, but I promise you this. If they are from Dez, I’ll shove them down ya throat without an anaesthetic. Got it?’
Tatum didn’t move. He just smiled as Willie snatched them.
Chapter 25
When the buzzer went off again, it was morning. Ricky could hear men outside on the corridor walking and laughing. Willie knocked. ‘Are you up, lad?’
Ricky was awake and pulled his tracksuit bottoms on to open the cell door. He smiled at Willie, who looked so scruffy with his hair sticking up in all directions. ‘Grab ya toiletries. I’ll escort you to the showers.’
Ricky quickly did as he said, and as he turned to grab the towel hanging from the metal bedstead, Willie noted the scars on the boy’s back. They were so horrendous that it made him shudder and gave him even more reason to look out for the kid.
‘Sorry, son. I didn’t mean to startle you, but those scars look nasty. I know there’s no point in asking how ya got them. Ya can’t speak.’
Ricky turned to face Willie. If only he could find his voice to tell him what had happened.
Then Willie realized that Ricky hadn’t even tried on the trainers because the laces weren’t tied up yet.
The shower cubicles were empty except for Staffie. He was lathering his bald head, much to the amusement of Willie, who teased him.
In their company, Ricky felt safe to get showered. Staffie handed him a bar of soap. ‘All right?’ he asked with genuine concern.
Ricky smiled and held up his thumb. Ricky was unaware of Staffie staring at him longer than he normally would.
After the shower and some breakfast, Ricky felt much better. It was the unknown that he was probably more afraid of. Once the routine was sussed out, he would become familiar with his surroundings. By twelve o’clock, he had enjoyed time with Willie and his friends, playing more pool and learning the art of poker. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder anymore because he believed they had his back. The friendship that was beginning to blossom was like an answer to his prayers, and he was beginning to feel more at home in their company – certainly more than he’d ever done working with Tatum or living with his mother for that matter.
The card game was interrupted by Blair, who pointed towards Ricky with a cold stare.
‘You’re on a visit, so follow me. I’ll take you over.’ Ricky got up and followed as ordered, leaving his friends to carry on with the game.
‘I dunno what it is about that kid, but …’ Willie put down his cards, paused, and chuckled. ‘I must be going soft in me old age.’
Staffie looked down at his pair of queens. ‘It ain’t that, Willie. I feel the same. Maybe it’s ’cos the poor fucker can’t talk.’
Lou slapped his last card down. ‘That’s four aces.’
Willie pushed him hard, nearly knocking him to the floor. ‘Ya fucking did it again, ya cheat. Jesus, why I play with you, ya sneak, I don’t know. Ya probably had that ace up ya sleeve before we even started.’
Lou laughed. ‘Well, you should ’ave been keeping your eyes peeled … I like the kid. There’s something about him, ’cos he don’t come across like the other pikeys, does he?’
‘Nah, he don’t. Anyway, that bastard Dez is after him, and I for one ain’t gonna let that ’appen. And there’s another potential war on the horizon. Mike hates Dez with a fucking passion, and when he gets here, I can guarantee blood will be shed! He ain’t gonna forgive him, and he certainly ain’t forgotten that Dez burned all but one of his photos of Ricky. Mike doesn’t know Dez is ’ere but he’ll be fucking gunning for him.’
Staffie chuckled. ‘Cor, I can’t wait. It’s gonna be like old times.’
But Lou had his serious face on. ‘Mike’s changed, you know. You saw him in the Scrubs. He’s lost the fucking plot since Ricky …’ He struggled to say the words. ‘He ain’t the same. He’s angry and fucking dangerous.’
Staffie reshuffled the cards. ‘Well, that may be so, but he’s still our Mikey, and we can straighten him out and keep him on the right road to make sure he’s granted parole.’
* * *
As Ricky embarked on another new experience – the visit – he felt a little lost. All his life, he’d been told what to do and where to be and had no way of arguing about it. So this part of prison life was actually quite comfortable. He waited with other prisoners for his name to be called. Once it was, he walked from the holding area into a room that looked remarkably like a canteen. It was noisy and busy, with women, men, and children all excited to see their loved ones. There, on her own, like the queen of the gypsies, sat his mother. With her black hair piled high and her oversized gold looped earrings, she reminded him of a younger version of Bet Lynch from Coronation Street, one of his mother’s favourite programmes. Her skintight, leopard print dress, and the overuse of the sunbed, epitomized the old saying ‘mutton dressed as lamb’.
She saw him there, looking taller and much more confident than when he’d stood in the dock at court. He strolled over, sat down, leaned back, and grinned. He didn’t try to embrace his mother, and Jackie, for sure, wasn’t going to change the habit of a lifetime and be mother of the year.
He looked over at the tuck shop area and then back at his mother, who tutted, ‘All right. D’ya want tea and a cake or something?’
He gave a nod, followed by a satisfied smile. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. She wouldn’t raise her voice and call him names – this was too
public. For once in his life, he felt he had the upper hand, and he wondered if that was perhaps because Willie’s confidence had rubbed off on him. The pats on the back and the ruffling of his hair when he won at pool or cards had certainly boosted his spirits and made him feel liked and proud.
Jackie toddled back in shoes that were far too high. Not only did she have to steady the tray, but she had to balance on her heels as well. He looked around at some of the other women and noticed how respectable most of them looked – in comparison to Jackie. Dressed in jeans or over-the-knee dresses, they appeared mumsy, each hugging their son or husband with a softness in their eyes, all so different from Jackie. He had long gone past the stage of wanting a hug or a kind word; he knew neither would come from his mother.
She pushed the cake and tea towards him. ‘There ya go, Richard, and ’ere are a couple of chocolate bars.’ Her voice had changed again, seeming to be sweet, but it was a complete sham, and they both knew it.
‘How’s it going, Son? Tatum looking after ya, is he?’
He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t; instead, he glared before shaking his head. Jackie was visibly uncomfortable. That was when he knew there was something on her mind.
‘It’s tough at first, but trust me, boy, Tatum will make your life easier. Ya won’t know it, but he will.’
With a raised eyebrow, Ricky gave his mother a smirk, as if to say ‘Don’t bullshit me.’
Slyly, she looked around the room and then leaned into him. ‘Listen to me. In a minute, I’m gonna hand you something, and then, when the coast is clear, I’ll give you a nod, and you’ll quickly stick it up your arse. Don’t make a big thing of it. Don’t draw attention to yaself.’ She scanned the room and then slid her fingers up into her loose bun and retrieved a small package. She made a fist on the table. ‘Take this from me, and when I say so, wait for the nod.’ Her eyes then turned to meet his, but she frowned when she saw him slowly shaking his head, still with a stupid smirk on his face.
‘What’s up with you, Richard?’
His grin turned to a full-on smile, and again he shook his head.
‘What you saying? Ain’t ya gonna take this gear from me?’
Another shake of his head left her flummoxed. Her son had never said ‘no’ in his life. If he had, she would have given him what for, but she couldn’t whack him in here. Through gritted teeth, she growled, ‘Ya better had take it, or when you get back in there,’ she nodded to the door where he’d come from, ‘Tatum will rip you a new fucking arsehole. He’s trying to make life a fucking doddle for you, so just take the parcel and do as I say.’
Under normal circumstances, that tone would have had Ricky almost shitting himself, but not today. He picked up the tea, took a swig, and then he unwrapped the sealed fruit cake and ate a big bite. Jackie was seething and it showed: her oversized breasts heaved up and down whilst she tried to keep a lid on her temper. ‘For fuck’s sake, Richard. Hurry up and take the bleeding parcel, will ya? My liberty’s on the line, if I get caught.’
With new-found pride, he just shrugged his shoulders and took another bite of his cake, enjoying both the taste and the frustrated expression on Jackie’s face.
‘If you don’t take this parcel, ya do know that there’ll be serious consequences for ya, don’t ya? You’ll start a flaming riot, and I’ll tell Tatum it’s your fault. I will, Richard. I’ll fucking tell him.’
Much to her surprise and disgust, Ricky finished off the last of his cake, snatched the two chocolate bars, and then, with the other hand, he picked up the plastic cup and downed the rest of his tea.
‘Oi! Where are ya going?’ she asked, in a panic.
He blanked her, turned around, and walked towards the door where Officer Blair stood.
‘All right, Menaces? Are you ending your visit?’
Ricky nodded and held up the chocolate as if to ask permission to take it through. Blair glanced over Ricky’s shoulder to see Jackie, with a face like piss and vinegar, trying to shove something in her hair. He then guessed at what had probably just happened. He winked at Ricky. ‘Yeah, go on, take them with you, but just don’t tell the others.’
The boy had just earned Blair’s respect; he didn’t look like a druggy, and he didn’t show off a shitty attitude either.
* * *
Willie, Lou, and Staffie were all informed that the sweat box from the Scrubs had arrived. They couldn’t wait for their mate to join them – it would be like old times. They hoped.
As soon as the metal door started to slide aside and Officer Harris appeared, Staffie’s eyes lit up; he knew that Mike would be right behind the officer. And there, holding a big see-through plastic bag, was a monster of a man. He was bigger than ever, with arms the size of tree trunks and shoulders wide enough to carry a man on each. His cropped hair had greyed, which gave him a more urbane look, but his dove-grey eyes told another story. As he looked up a half-smile spread across his face.
Willie and Staffie patted him on the back. ‘Good to see ya, Mikey,’ said Staffie, with tearful eyes. Willie was hopping about, very excited, and Lou held out his hands, which were roughly snatched as Mike pulled him close and hugged him. In turn, he embraced each man, rubbing Staffie’s bald head and giving Willie a playful punch to the ribs.
‘Right, lads. Let me get settled in and we can then have a good catch-up. I think we’ve a lot to talk about. Oh boy, are you lot gonna be shocked!’
Officer Harris stood back and allowed the interaction. If it had been anyone else, he would have marched Regan past his friends and taken him straight to his cell. But this guy was too big to argue with, and he had been polite enough at reception.
Mike’s friends walked with him towards his new cell, and the crowd either nodded towards him or looked in the opposite direction; either way, his presence was felt, and the news spread faster than a dose of clap at an orgy.
* * *
The feeling that he had finally stood up to his mother was like having a weight lifted off his shoulders. At last, he could stand up for himself – and that was just the start. What could she actually do to him, anyway? The answer was, of course, nothing. As soon as he was back on his wing, Tatum and Tyrone came tearing along the corridor to his cell. But, this time, their imminent arrival didn’t have him quaking in his shoes, as it would have done before. He ignored their calls and headed towards Willie’s cell with the bars of chocolate – it was his gift to the man for helping him.
Tatum hollered even louder. ‘Richard! Wait up!’
Ricky still ignored him and was now outside Willie’s cell, although the big man wasn’t inside. Ricky felt the nerves creep back in, because there, arrogantly swaggering towards him, was Dez. He was on the landing, and as he walked, his shoulders moved in line with his hips, like a robot.
‘Tatum tells me you’ve a parcel with my name on it.’
Shaking his head, Ricky composed himself with his feet slightly apart; he now had to make a decision – to run or to fight. He’d never thrown a punch in his life, and the size of Dez told him that if he did so now he was unlikely to win.
Dez stepped forward, licking his lips. ‘Oh no? I think you’re telling porkies.’
Ricky was fixed to the spot, but his curiosity got the better of him when he heard loud cheers coming from downstairs. He managed to look down below and saw there was some kind of commotion. Dez also peered over the edge, but then quickly pulled his head back in shock. Grabbing Ricky by the collar of his sweatshirt, he dragged him along the landing into his own cell. After he’d slammed the door shut and kicked a rubber wedge underneath, he threw Ricky onto the bed and took a few large lungfuls of air.
‘You, ya little faggot, you’re gonna give me that parcel. Then, you’re gonna round up my men. I promise you that you’ll have my full protection. Ignore that ugly tramp Willie Ritz, ’cos believe me, when I say there’s gonna be a riot in ’ere, and you, sunshine, will be begging me for help.’
Ricky stared at Dez, taking in what the man was sayi
ng but thinking about what he’d seen downstairs. He’d only had a chance to see his friends and another big man, as they’d marched along the lower level, before Dez had hustled him away.
‘I ain’t got time to fuck about. Give me the gear!’ he snapped, holding out his hand and clenching his jaw.
Ricky tried to get up from the bed but was instantly pushed back down again.
‘I ain’t fucking about, boy. Where’s the gear?’
The harsh shove in the chest winded Ricky. It was a serious wake-up call. It made him realize that Dez was so much more powerful than him, and he could easily rip his head off. Accordingly, Ricky curled up against the wall into a shell shape. Dez was becoming incensed, and this was apparent when a heavy bang on the door made him yell back, ‘Fuck off!’
The door banged again. ‘Dez, it’s me, Tatum. Has me boy got yer gear?’ he asked, with a nervous gurgle in his throat, looking towards his son.
Ricky was pleading in his head for Tatum to keep on talking; it was at least providing a much-needed distraction and possibly creating attention on the landing so that someone might come to his rescue.
Whoever that man was on the ground floor, it was making Dez agitated; his eyes were flicking around like he was watching a bluebottle flying across the cell. Seeing Dez hop around from foot to foot, as if he had hot coals in his shoes, Ricky also noticed the beads of sweat across the cokehead’s brow. Thinking quickly, because Dez was about to erupt like a volcano, Ricky tried to come up with a plan.
‘Dez, is there a problem?’ called Tatum.