A Kind of Hush

by Richard A. Johnson

  It's over, Stu, Mick. You can get on with your lives again. You can relax now. By the way,' he said finally, 'the social services say that I can keep Si. My brief arranged it through a friend of his.'

  That's brilliant,'I said.

  'Magic,' Mick said.

  'Where is he then?' I asked.

  'Who?' said Chris.

  'Si, you berk,' I said.

  'Ah, well I thought you would ask that,' he said. 'I'm afraid that we've got some problems with Si at the moment. I didn't want to tell you, as, well, quite frankly, you've got more than enough problems of your own to worry about at the moment.'

  'What's wrong, Chris?' I asked.

  'To tell you the truth, I think he's shit scared,' said Chris. 'After the Gus thing, he couldn't sleep, he'd just lay there in a cold sweat. We got very worried. I couldn't call in the doctor in case Si said something that he shouldn't. He shouldn't have been at that house you know. He shouldn't have seen all that shit. It's affected him quite badly. I blame myself, I should have known better.'

  'No, it's my fault,' I said. 'I knew he was just a kid.'

  'What a load of bollocks,' said Mick. 'You both know damn well that neither of you could have stopped him, and sitting here talking about who's to blame ain't gonna help the poor fucker either. Where is he, Chris?'

  'In the back,' he said. Chris took us through to the back room.

  Si was sitting cross-legged in a big fluffy armchair by the french windows, a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He was staring through the window and off up into space. He seemed miles away.

  He couldn't have heard us come in because when Mick said, 'Hello, mate' and touched his shoulder, he jumped, spilling some of his tea on to his legs.

  Fucking Jesus!' he yelped as he dropped his mug on the floor and jumped to his feet, pulling the fabric of his tracksuit bottoms away from the skin of his legs. 'Ow! Ow! Shit! That hurts. What the fucking hell you doing creeping up on someone like that?'

  Me and Mick were laughing as Si hopped first on one leg then the other, and pulling the legs of his tracksuit up to check his shins.

  'Oi! That's a new bloody carpet,' yelled Chris as he rushed over. He pushed Si aside and threw down a newspaper to soak up the spilled tea. The wife'll kill me,' he said as he stamped on the paper. Si landed back in his chair with his legs kicking the air. He looked really daft. That set me and Mick off into hysterics even more.

  'It ain't funny,' Si yelled at us, trying hard not to laugh, but he couldn't do it. His face cracked and he doubled up.

  Chris looked at him, shook his head and said, 'And here's me thinking you were depressed.'

  That only set us off again, even Chris joined in. It was funny, but I was more pleased that Si looked his old self again.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  'Police raided a house in Highbury in the early hours of this morning, after a tip off,' said the guy on the news, 'and discovered the bodies of two men. It is thought that there is some connection between this and the deaths of three men in an incident in the street earlier this week. We pass you now to our reporter on the scene.'

  The picture changed to a man standing by a pair of garage doors.

  The house is still a hive of activity,' he said. 'Police have removed at least two vanloads of material indicating that the owner of this house was involved in paedophilia and the selling of child pornography. I have beside me the senior officer in charge of this investigation.' He moved over and shoved his microphone in the face of a guy standing by the front steps. 'Can you tell me, Superintendent,' he said, 'just what it is that you've found here today?'

  'We've discovered at this house what could be some of the most significant information that we have ever had, concerning organised child sexual abuse in this country,' said the copper. 'There are books full of names and addresses of people who could be involved, plus a mass of information about the various rings and cells that seem to exist in London and the Home Counties. We are very, very excited with this find, although of course sad that our worst fears are being realised.'

  'Is it true then,' said the reporter, 'that the names of some very well-known people have been found on those lists?'

  'I cannot comment on that at this time,' said the policeman, 'but I do promise that if any of the names listed are proved to be involved in any way, then whoever they are, they shall feel the full weight of the law.'

  'And the deaths?' said the reporter. 'Five men died here this week. Are they all connected with this matter?'

  'Yes, indeed. I fully believe that there was some sort of internal struggle within this particular gang, and that developed into open warfare.'

  'At least while they are killing each other off, they are saving you the trouble of catching them,' said the reporter.

  'Precisely,' said the superintendent with a grin.

  'Thank you,' said the reporter, 'and now back to the studio.'

  Jen and Beryl turned to look at Mick and me. Jen's face was an absolute picture.

  'That was Gus's house,' she said, her eyes wide.

  'Hmm, hmm,' I mumbled, looking at Mick and smiling.

  'Was he one of those . . .?'

  'Hmm, hmm,' Mick mumbled, smiling back.

  'Serves him right,' she said. I knew they'd kill each other one day.'

  'Hmm, hmm,' mumbled Mick and me together now grinning.

  Bless her, I thought. Oh to be so innocent.

  Beryl said nothing.

  We made a lot of arrangements that night, Beryl making one that blew us apart and also solved most of our problems.

  With the sale of the house at Crouch End and the sale of her bungalow, she suggested that we buy a large place, big enough for Ali, Jen, Cheri, me and her to live together as a family.

  'As you know,' she said, 'Chef and me were never blessed with children and it's something that I've always regretted. I'd like to do this, if only for the girls.'

  'Please say yes,' said Jen. 'Please.'

  'Sounds good to me,' I said and Jen rushed over and threw her arms around my neck. Mick and me then helped get the front room ready for the arrival of the invalid.

  Mick came with me to collect Ali. When we got there she was ready and waiting for us. Both of her arms were still in plaster casts and were held close to her chest in slings. The drips and tubes had all been removed and she was complaining that for the first time since she had come into hospital, she was bursting for a pee. The nurse took her to the toilet while the ward sister gave us all the medication she needed and the written instructions for her care at home. She also gave us a letter for her doctor.

  The nurse brought Ali back to say goodbye to the other patients and the ward sister, then we went down to the car. Me pushing the wheelchair and Mick and the nurse carrying her stuff.

  The drive to Greenford wasn't without incident. We had to stop at least five times to let her relax herself. Every time that we went over a bump it hurt her and she tensed up. She became so tense that she started to get cramps, so we had to stop and let her stretch every so often. She also decided that she fancied an ice-cream, then she wanted a chocolate bar, then a Coke. In fact, we were bloody glad when we arrived at Beryl's.

  Jenny and Beryl were clucking around her like old mother hens. Cheri went absolutely crackers when she saw her mum. Everyone was crying again.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It'd been almost two months and we still hadn't seen Wiwa. Most of that time had been taken up with sorting ourselves out.

  Beryl had been making all of the arrangements for the new family home. Ali was much better, Cheri was in play school and coming on in leaps and bounds. Me and the lads met up a few times, not for business or anything, just to hang around and have a bit of fun.

  We were all worried about Wiwa and hoped that he'd got the message about Alan's funeral. It had taken so long to get permission to bury him because the police had kept him on ice while they finished their investigations. But at last it was time to put him to rest.

 
; Eight thousand, four hundred pounds buys the most amazing funeral.

  The coffin shone, real gold handles, pure silk inside. Alan was dressed in a new suit, Georgio Armani. Gucci shoes and a Dior shirt completed the look. His Raybans were placed over his eyes, he loved his shades. He looked the best we'd ever seen him. The undertaker must have worked miracles with his face, not a mark, not a scratch was to be seen.

  With the six of us were Beryl with Jen, Ali and Cheri and Chris and his family. About twenty of our own friends, past and present had also turned up. Not one of the slags from Alan's family was to be seen. Not even his Nan, the one who couldn't cope without him. They never even sent a card.

  We had nine limos with the hearse and a stunning amount of flowers. The first five motors were full of them. We had a special done by the florist which was in the shape of a star with Alan's name across the middle. It stood four and a half feet high and was mounted on top of the hearse at the front. The police superintendent sent some flowers too, that was nice, considering he didn't even know Alan.

  We were just about to move off when we heard a shout from the top of the road.

  'Oi!' it screamed, 'wait for me!' It was Wivva and he was in a fucking army uniform. He ran, clumping down the road in his heavy boots. We couldn't believe it.

  'What the bloody hell have you done now?' said Mick.

  'Joined up, ain't I?' said Wivva. 'I said I would.'

  'So that's where you've been all this time then,' said Si.

  'Yep, basic training in Colchester.'

  'Why didn't you tell us?' asked Mick.

  'Are you kidding, you would only have talked me out of it.'

  'You're enjoying it then?' I said.

  'Fucking right,' said Wivva. 'Best thing I've ever done.'

  'Look out, Iraq, here comes Wivva,' we all said together.

  'Too right,' said Wivva pumping out his chest. 'Too fucking right.'

  We cruised slowly from the funeral parlour in Holloway out to the cemetery in Barnet. All of the motors including the hearse were blasting out Alan's favourite sounds.

  You know we all used to take the piss something rotten out of Alan for the stuff he used to listen to, but I don't think anyone could have chosen better for the occasion. For the trip to the cemetery, the Smiths belted out their best. During and after the service, it was Ian Dury and Steve Harley. Alan was well into the Smiths because he was convinced that Morrissey was deaf and he admired Ian Dury because he was handicapped. He thought it was fucking brilliant how they had overcome their problems and made it big.

  As for Steve Harley? Well it was just the name of his band, Cockney Rebel. Alan lived that name to the full.

  We all carried his coffin into the chapel. The service was a bit heavy, we all cried, but Alan would have agreed that we did him proud. The headstone had his name and the dates of his birth and death, and in big gold letters, on the black marble were the words:

  THE

  MAGNIFICENT

  ONE

  We all went back to Max's, he amazed us with a five-course meal and all the booze that we could handle. We had to pay him mind you, in advance.

  We were about to tuck into the meal when Max stood on a chair and called for all of us to be quiet. He looked at us and said, 'I would like you all to raise your glasses please, to toast the memory of a boy who tragically had his life taken from him, when he had so much left to live for. A toast please to Alan, a very nice young man, a young man who knew the true meaning of friendship.'

  Max looked at us all when he spoke those last words. We knew exactly what he meant. We all toasted Alan.

  I started to fill up again. With all that was going on, none of us had remembered to toast Alan's memory. I was full of admiration for Max for doing that for us.

  Alan, if you're listening, mate, we miss you.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Epilogue

  Alan's funeral seemed to change us all. It's hard to explain but it was like we all no longer had a need to be together. The job was done and we were free at last to get on with our lives. We'd had enough of all of the violence and hurt. Enough of the sleaze and corruption and disgusting old men with their disgusting needs. It was time for us all to change, time to find another way of living. All of us that is except Mick.

  Mick was obsessed with getting the MP. Long after we had all gone our different ways Mick would still haunt the addresses in the book, in the hope that he could catch the MP at it. It took him six months or so before he had any success.

  He arrived at an address in South London late one night and saw the MP's Roller parked outside. Unable to do anything about the activities that he was sure were going on inside the house, he set fire to the car, nicked its Silver Lady emblem and legged it just before it blew up scattering burning debris all over the place. He took the emblem to Alan's grave and fixed it to the headstone. That was joined shortly after by a Jaguar emblem from the car of one of the television personalities whose name was in the book.

  When Mick's not working he can almost always be found at Alan's graveside, where he just sits and talks. There's no happy ending for Mick, though he'd never admit that. I make sure that I see him whenever I can.

  Wivva was the first to show us that there is a life other than the life that we had been living. By joining the army he'd made a whole new life for himself.

  He made it to Iraq, they even gave him his own gun, silly bastards. His first letter to us from there told us in great detail what had happened to a rat that had been foolish enough to run across his gun sight when he was on the practice range.

  'Five rounds rapid fire,' he wrote, 'and the rat was history. No arse, no head, no nothing.'

  A short time later he was nicked by the Military Police for going AWOL with a French Foreign Legion soldier named Albert who comes, believe it or not, from Hebden Bridge up in Yorkshire or something. It seems that they had nicked a load of booze from the American camp and got caught trying to sell it to their mates. So they did a runner. Wivva reckoned that he was lucky to be in the British Army because his mate got two years hard from the French. He only got one month and a caution. He's due back in a couple of weeks, so we are all going to get together, go out and get totally rat-arsed.

  Si's settled down really nicely with Uncle Chris and family. He's back in school and actually seems to like it. He's going for his GCSEs soon. The streets are something that Si used to do now, there's no need any more.

  I think the best thing is that Si has at last stopped sniffing. Chris took him up to the hospital and they found that he had a simple sinus problem. A small operation later and he was totally cured. No more sniffing, no more runny nose. Chris is really pissed off that no one cared enough about the kid to go and get him checked out sooner, especially when you see the change in him since that operation. He's like a whole new kid. He's happier and more confident now than he's ever been.

  Pete and Den got the idea into their heads that they could start a rock group. Trouble is that no one told them that they would actually have to be able to play their instruments, and strumming blow-up guitars at Quo concerts wasn't really the best way to learn. It was a disaster of course, but they had a lot of fun trying. They are now working for a bloke who touts tickets around the West End and can be seen most weekends working the queues outside the theatres. They seem happy enough.

  Tony's back with his mum. Lovely story this. He went to visit her, he says, to get her out of his system. But when she opened the door, she flung her arms around him, hugged him tight and cried her bleeding eyes out. He started blubbing too. She dragged him inside and they sat and talked for hours. The result is that she wants him to live with her again and rebuild their lives together. You know, all Tony ever wanted was his mother's love and now he's got it, we're all really chuffed for him.

  Beryl and the girls sold up and bought a big house out in the sticks. Ali's working and Jen is looking for work. Cheri is brilliant, she's in school and is getting on really well. If you didn'
t know better, you would swear that nothing had ever happened to her. Beryl's in her element caring for them all.

  As for me, well, I got my job back at the hotel. The new chef didn't want me because I'd let him down by leaving without telling him, but for some reason George pulled some strings with his family and I was taken back. I really feel shitty now about the way I treated him before.

  I went back to college, got my qualifications, and I'm soon going to be second chef. Beryl and the girls threw a big party for me when I qualified.

  I've also got a steady girlfriend now, we've been going together for some time. So much so that Ali and Jen are on my back trying to get me to make an honest woman of her. No chance. I've seen what marriage can do to people. And as for having kids, well they can forget that, I'm not bringing any kids into this shitty world.

  You know, all this time later and still no one's been done for all that shit we uncovered. Even the geezer we shut in the freezer truck was released. All that work for nothing, eh?

  Mick'll continue doing his bit I'm sure, and if he ever needs us, we're there for him. But I often wonder why the Old Bill didn't do anything. Was it because they couldn't? Or wouldn't? Were they stopped from acting by the MP and his cronies? Or were some of the Old Bill themselves involved? Maybe I'll never know, but one thing's for sure, I'm never going back to the way that I was, doing the things that I did. Not because I'm ashamed of it or anything, though to be honest, we did do some very stupid things during that time. But because there is no room for that shit in my life any more. After all, I've now got responsibilities, I'm gonna be the best chef this town's ever seen and have a restaurant that's second to none. Maybe I'll even be a telly cook. Well, a man can dream, can't he . . .