Harm

by Hugh Fraser

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Where you from, honey?’

  ‘England.’

  ‘Well, ain’t you a long way from home?’

  Although I routinely resist sentimentality, I feel the truth of her remark.

  ‘Good lookin’ pussy like you gonna need protection in here, honey.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘You got exercise period in ten minutes and you gonna find out different, out in that yard.’

  ‘I’ll be OK, thanks.’

  ‘I can help you, honey.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘They all stupid like you over in England?’

  I close my eyes and try to block out the voice of my neighbour and the racket of the prison.

  ‘Oh boy, you one dumb bitch.’

  She hits the bars with something metal and a guard shouts down the landing to keep it quiet.

  Moments later, a siren wails. Through the bars I can see guards positioning themselves at intervals along the walkway, mostly leaning on the rail. At a shout from one of them, the cell doors slide open in unison and prisoners emerge and move towards the staircases. I linger in my cell until a guard comes to the door.

  ‘Exercise. Go!’

  I follow my neighbour, who turns and scowls at me as we descend the stairs. She is a young, slender Hispanic woman whose cold-hearted stare belies the soft tone of her voice. We turn into a dimly lit passageway and, as we file through a gate into the prison yard, I see her talking to an older, thick-set Caucasian woman with a shaved head and tattooed arms.

  As I make my way towards the side wall, I am jostled into a corner of the yard and surrounded by a group of five or six prisoners, including my neighbour, who ignore the guards’ instructions to keep moving and stare accusingly at me. One of them steps forward and punches me in the stomach. I lunge for her neck with both hands, but two of them pull me off her and throw me against the wall.

  The circle parts to admit the shaven-headed one, who looks me up and down and says, in a deep rasping voice, ‘OK, fish. Now you find out who runs this joint.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ I reply.

  She slams a fist into my groin. I kick out at her but she has moved back and stands grinning at me.

  ‘You a tough gal, English? I like that, but you too nice a cunt to get damaged. So you just calm down a little and we work something out here.’

  I stare at her as she approaches me again.

  ‘OK, cunt, this is how it works. You belong to me and these guys. You do what you’re told and don’t fuck with us and you be OK.’ She thrusts her face close to mine, flicks my hair and licks my cheek. ‘First thing you gonna do is carry a little stash in your pussy and another one up your ass.’

  She beckons my neighbour and puts her arm round her.

  ‘You get yourself to the can straight after chow tonight, and Pixie here gonna shove it up you good and hard, and you gonna take it, or we throw you in the shower and take turns making a whole lot more room up there.’

  Her entourage snigger and leer. She takes her eyes off me for a second and I twist sideways, smash the heel of my right hand into her larynx and drop kick the woman beside her under her chin. I swing round and a blade glints in the sunlight as it slices towards me. I get a lucky kick at the hand that holds it and it clatters to the ground. I land beside it as a maelstrom of punches and kicks rain down on me and hands close round my throat. A hooter blasts insistently, my attackers are pulled off me and I am picked up, thrown up against the wall and handcuffed. The tattooed bear dyke lies on the floor beside me, clutching her throat and trying to breathe.

  Two guards drag me back into the building, across the main hall, along a dark corridor and down a flight of concrete steps. I am pushed into a dimly lit cell with no windows. The door slams shut behind me. I crawl to the bed and collapse.

  8

  I’m standing outside the school gate with Georgie, waiting for Jack to come out. She hasn’t said a word about last night, or anything else, come to that. She’s staring in front of her as if she’s in a dream.

  ‘You all right?’ I say.

  She looks at me and goes, ‘Mmm.’

  She looks away into the distance again. I say, ‘Last night …’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  Something about the way she cuts me off makes me go quiet. Maybe it’s best to leave her alone. I see Jack come out of the boys’ entrance and walk towards the gate. There’re a couple of boys a little way behind him, laughing. One of them flicks something at him. Jack sees us and walks faster towards us. The two boys also see us and stop laughing.

  When they get to the gate, I go over to them and say, ‘Hello, boys.’ One of them mumbles something and the other one giggles. ‘Have you met our Jack’s brother?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ says one. The other one shakes his head.

  ‘He’s looking forward to meeting you two. He’s just come out of the Scrubs.’

  One of them goes pale. The other one goes to say something but his mate grabs his wrist.

  ‘Come on,’ he mutters.

  They walk slowly away and I go back to Georgie and Jack.

  ‘Who’s for an ice cream?’ I say.

  That puts a spring in Jack’s step and it feels good to buy them a treat on the way back with his money. It was still stuffed into the armchair when I looked for it. Thirty-five quid and a few bob in change, which will last us a good long time, as long as I’m careful. Mum buys her own gin out of the money Dad left and pays the rent. She won’t tell me how much she’s got left but it can’t be much, so I don’t know how long we can hang on. I’ve told her to go to the National Assistance for money but she won’t. She says Dad taught her to never get your name down on any forms or official things, so they can never find you that way.

  It’s warm and sunny when we get back to the street and I sit on the steps and watch Jack join in with a football game in the road. I see a couple of Georgie’s friends with a skipping rope and a hula hoop on the other side, and I tell her to go over and join them, but she shakes her head and sits down on the pavement. She starts tracing something in the dirt with her finger. I try to see what it is but I can’t make it out.

  A gang of Teds are leaning on the railings outside Claire’s, smoking fags and combing their hair. One of them’s got a portable radio and he’s trying to get it working, holding it by his ear and twisting a knob. He finally gets it to give out some tinny rock and roll and hangs it on the railings by its handle. He starts moving to it and Claire comes up the basement steps. He takes her hand and twirls her round but she’s not in the mood and breaks away from him. His mates laugh at him as she walks away.

  She comes and sits next to me on the steps and speaks quietly. ‘Anything happened?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No one’s missed him yet, I suppose.’

  ‘They will.’

  ‘Yeah. That family, you don’t mess with the Prestons.’

  ‘I know.’

  The window opens above us and Mum calls to us to come up. We go upstairs and into the kitchen. Mum’s sitting at the table with Lizzie, who’s in her fluffy pink dressing gown, black lace undies and high heels. I feel a tingle as I sit down beside her and get a waft of her perfume. She puts her arm through mine and it feels nice. Claire sits down next to me and I notice there’s no gin bottle on the table for once.

  Mum says, ‘Right. We all know what’s gone on so there’s no point talking about it. You did well last night and I’ve got something for you both.’

  She takes two sheafs of notes out of her pocket and puts one in front of Claire, the other in front of Lizzie.

  ‘There’s a bullseye each for last night.’ Claire’s looking shocked.

  Lizzie picks up the notes and says, ‘Cheers, Alice.’

  ‘There’ll be another one for you both in a bit, if all’s well.’

  ‘Lovely,’ says Lizzie.

  ‘I don’t even need to say that no one knows except us,’ says Mum.
She looks directly at each of them. They both nod.

  ‘We don’t even talk about it between ourselves. One of us says something in a pub and someone hears it and that’s how it all comes apart. It never happened. All right?’

  ‘Understood,’ says Lizzie.

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘I’ve got you, Mrs Walker.’

  I’m thinking of how long it’s been since I’ve seen Mum like this.

  ‘Do you think it’s all right where it is?’ asks Lizzie.

  ‘If they ever get round to clearing that dump, he’ll be nothing but old bones and they won’t stand a chance of identifying him.’

  I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  Lizzie stands up and says, ‘Back to work. Thanks, Alice.’

  She gives Mum a hug and follows the footsteps upstairs. I can hear her greeting someone on the landing.

  Claire’s looking at the money as if she’s never seen fifty quid before. Maybe she hasn’t.

  Mum says, ‘Off you go now, love.’

  Claire gets up, puts the money in her pocket and says, ‘Thanks, Mrs Walker.’

  ‘Take care, love.’

  ‘You coming out later, Reen?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say.

  ‘See you then.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She stands by the door for a moment as if she wants to say something, then she opens it and leaves.

  I turn to Mum.

  ‘Where did you get that money?’

  Mum’s reaching into the cupboard under the sink with her back to me. She turns round holding a bottle of gin. She takes a glass off the draining board, fills it and drains it in one. She sits down heavily at the table and refills the glass, takes another drink and looks at me. Her eyes are narrowed and hard with hatred.

  ‘The fucking Prestons. How could you be so fucking stupid?’ she says.

  I feel a coldness in my stomach. I lean back as she swings her fist across the table at me. The gin bottle goes over and she lunges for it and rights it. She drains her glass again and fills it.

  I stand up. ‘Where did you get that money?’

  ‘What fucking money?’

  ‘What you just gave them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lizzie and Claire, who’d you think?’

  ‘I don’t fucking know.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘You do, I do, you do, I …’

  She’s slurring now and going into one of her turns. She stands bolt upright, points her finger at me and starts yelling.

  ‘I’ll tell your dad on you and he’ll fucking have you, you silly fucking …!’

  Her body jerks suddenly. She slumps back into the chair and falls sideways off it and onto the floor. She lies on her back, dribbling and making long moaning sounds. She rolls onto her side and tries to get up onto all fours. She can’t find the strength so she sinks back down onto the floorboards and lies still. Her mouth’s opening and closing and her eyes are searching about as if she’s looking for something she recognises.

  I’d normally help her to her mattress now, but I don’t. I go to the metal box she has by the mattress and look in it. I know Johnny was right. She knows where Dad’s money’s hidden and she’s used it to pay off Lizzie and Claire. She could have stopped him doing that to me and she didn’t. I know she’s going off her head, but when she’s got her mind straight, like she had last night and when he came round and asked her, she knows just what she’s doing.

  There’s nothing in the box but some of her old clothes, a couple of photos of her and Dad and us kids in the old days, and one of her and Dad getting married. A good-looking, happy young couple. I look at the pictures and I feel that cold feeling again.

  I rip them into shreds and fling them in the fire. I rip up her clothes and they go in too. I get some newspaper from the pile beside the fireplace, ball it up, shove it underneath and light it. I pick up another paper and fan the flames until the whole lot’s burning up. I could set fire to the whole kitchen and burn it all and her along with it. I think of her sitting there while he did that to me, knowing where the money is and saying nothing.

  I go and stand over her. She’s out cold. For two pins, I’d stick that carving knife into her like I did with him. Instead I pick it up and press the blade into the palm of my hand. The blood starts oozing and I’m going off into the pain and I’m not me anymore and all I feel is …

  The door opens and Georgie says, ‘We’re hungry. Can we have our tea?’

  I put the knife behind my back. I look at the two of them standing in the doorway and feel tears coming. I take a big breath and say, ‘Of course you can. Just help me get Mum into bed and I’ll make you a nice spam supper.’

  • • •

  I’m in the street with Claire and Sammy a couple of evenings later when I see Johnny’s brother Dave and two of his mates coming along the pavement. I turn to go indoors, but Claire holds my arm and stops me. People move a bit out of their way to show they know they’re from the Preston firm. They walk past us and stop to talk to a group of Teds a bit further up the street. After a bit, Dave leaves them and walks back towards us.

  He stands looking at me for a bit too long, and then he smiles in a twisted sort of a way.

  ‘Fancy a drink, Rina?’ he says.

  ‘I can’t, Dave. I’ve got the kids indoors.’

  Claire nudges me and says, ‘You go on. I’ll keep an eye.’

  I look at her. She’s telling me to act normal and I know she’s right. ‘All right, yeah, cheers, Dave,’ I say.

  ‘See you down the Elgin in half an hour?’

  I nod and he walks away. His mates follow him along the street. Sammy says, ‘What does that swanky git want?’

  ‘I’ll soon find out,’ I say.

  ‘He’s the runt of the litter, isn’t he?’ says Claire.

  Sammy laughs and says, ‘He tried to slash Bobby Teague and Bobby threw him in the canal.’

  ‘Yeah, then brother Johnny got hold of Bobby and smashed his knees,’ says Claire.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Sammy laughs and Claire says, ‘Go and get us ten Weights from the pub.’

  ‘Give us the money then.’

  She takes half a crown from her pocket and gives it to him. He walks off towards the Earl of Warwick.

  Claire says, ‘You’ve got to go.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You going to be all right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He might be nothing, but his Dad and his uncles aren’t.’

  ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, but you can lend me a decent skirt and blouse.’

  • • •

  As I come down Westbourne Park Road to the Elgin on the corner of the Grove, I can hear the singer crooning out a Frank Sinatra song. There’s a couple of Teds outside the pub arguing about something. There’s no one on the door so I go in. The bar’s full and noisy. The singer’s on a raised platform in the corner with some old girl on the piano and a bloke on the drums. He finishes his song and a couple of people clap. I can’t see Dave so I sneak through the crowd and get to the bar. The barman sees me and says something to an older man standing near him. The older one finishes serving someone and comes over. He folds his arms on the top of the pump handles and looks down at me.

  He says, ‘You’re joking, right?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say.

  ‘I mean you’re not eighteen, now piss off.’

  Someone behind me puts his hands on my shoulders. The barman looks past me and says, ‘Oh. Sorry, guv.’

  Dave comes beside me. Without taking his eyes off the barman, he says, ‘What you having, love?’

  ‘I’ll have a whisky.’

  Dave leans on the bar and says, ‘We’ll have a bottle.’

  The barman gets a bottle of whisky and two glasses from under the counter and puts them on the bar.

  Dave picks them up and turns away without payi
ng. ‘Let’s find a quiet corner, eh?’ he says.

  I follow him past the singer, who’s well away with his Al Jolson bit now, and we get a table against the wall at the back of the pub behind the piano. Dave sits close to me. He’s looking round and checking who’s in the pub. He turns to me but he doesn’t speak.

  I say, ‘Free drinks?’

  ‘We’ve got this place,’ he says.

  I know he means his family have got the protection.

  He pours us both a whisky, turns towards me and says, ‘I’m not going to fuck about, so you listen to me, all right?’

  I nod.

  He leans closer and says, ‘I know what you’ve done.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘I was with him when he went into yours and I know what you and them slags did with him.’

  I reach for my glass and take a drink. I should feel scared but I don’t. I feel myself relaxing. It’s like I’m watching myself and him from somewhere else.

  He refills his glass and says, ‘I’ll get his body off the dump and show it to the filth if you want.’

  I’m worried now for Lizzie and Claire, but I don’t speak. He looks at me and says, ‘Why don’t you say something?’

  I can’t work out what his game is. He knows I did it and now he’s got to get his revenge and kill me to save his face. Those are the rules. So why is he buying me whisky and giving me enough warning to go on the trot and get away with it? He sighs and puts his glass down. The piano stops and the song ends. A few people clap. He’s still waiting for me to speak.

  After a bit, he looks down at his drink and says, ‘Johnny was an evil bastard and I don’t blame you for what you did.’

  I say nothing.

  ‘He’s done that to a few.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And worse.’

  ‘He started on Georgie.’

  ‘What is she, ten?’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The Prestons are one of the hardest families with a top firm. The father, George Preston, is the most feared man on the manor, and I’ve got his second eldest son telling me I’ve done right by killing his brother.

  He says, ‘It’s not right to do that to kids.’

  ‘You stood there watching the first time he did it to me.’