Nicholas Dane

by Melvin Burgess

  Shiner sat back in his chair and looked hard at the other man, but he had nothing to say.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about, Shiner. Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t...’

  ‘Don’t play silly fuckers with me, Sunshine,’ snarled Jones, leaning forward. ‘I know what’s going on. I can smell her from here. Where I come from, it’s not the way things go that you pinch a man’s girl when he’s inside. I know men have had their balls cut off for less.’

  Shiner held up his hands. ‘Now, Jones, you and... and Stella weren’t together when you went inside ...’

  ‘Me and Stella were up and down all the time. She’d have been back here in my pocket in another day or so... ’

  ‘Not this time, according to her.’

  Jones looked at the door. ‘If she’s got anything to say she can say it to me face, can’t she?’

  There was a pause. Jones stared fixedly at the door. Shiner shook his head and sucked his teeth, but Red had heard enough. She pushed the door open and walked into the room.

  ‘Hello, Ben,’ she said.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ sneered Jones. ‘What have we here? Someone who doesn’t exist, eh?’

  Shiner glared at her and shook his head in disgust.

  ‘I’d already said,’ said Stella shakily, ‘I’d had enough, you know that, I said it often enough.’

  ‘Prefer the nigger, do you?’ sneered Jones. Shiner flinched, but he didn’t dare object.

  ‘I didn’t get together with you to work the streets for you, you shouldn’t have made me do that, Ben. It wasn’t part of the deal.’

  ‘It was a partnership.’

  Red shook her head. ‘You shouldna made me do that.’ Jones jerked his head at Shiner. ‘Are you telling me it’s better here with him? You’re not a cage bird, Stella. You had more fun with me.’

  ‘More fun,’ said Stella. ‘And more bruises.’

  In a fury, Jones banged his hand on the table, and half rose from his seat. Stella stepped back and for a moment it looked as if he'd go for her. But Shiner suddenly sprang to life.

  ‘Now. man, now! We’re all friends here. Stella’s free to come and go, you always said that, Jones. Let’s just keep things sweet, shall we? Women, eh, man? No trusting them. You and Stella were up and down, it ended on a down note, that’s the way these things often work out. Here, here, Jones, meet the crowd. Here’s me new boy. Hey, Nick, come out of there and say hello to the notorious Jones.’

  Reluctantly Nick came out.

  ‘Nick, a good boy, full of daring, is our Nick. Say hello, Nick. Meet Jones. Jones... Nick... ’

  Jones snorted, cast barely a glance at Nick, and grabbed his bag.

  ‘You’re trying to tell me he never lifts a hand to you?’ he said to Red.

  ‘Not like you, Ben.’

  Jones turned to go, but paused with his back to them as he opened the door.

  ‘Don’t cross me, Stella. Or you, Sunshine.’

  ‘We haven’t, man! Come on, Jones, I’ve done nothing wrong. It was already over between you and her. I know you had hopes

  ‘You know nothing about my hopes, you black fucker,’ hissed Jones.

  Shiner shook his head. ‘Jones, Jones, don’t pick a fight over this, I’m begging you, man.’

  Jones paused, halfway to violence before he was able to control himself. The door banged and he was gone.

  Shiner threw his hands up in the air and cursed under his breath. Stella burst into tears and fled. Davey looked at Nick and rubbed his face. ‘That was the notorious Jones,’ he said. ‘Fun, in ’e?’

  26

  Piccadilly Gardens

  That night, Shiner and Red had a huge row. He was convinced she preferred Jones to him.

  ‘You’ve no reason to say that,’ she fumed.

  ‘Only the evidence of me ’eart,’ insisted Shiner, laying his hand on the affected organ. Usually Red backed down quickly enough when he was angry with her, but this time she was as stubborn as a rock. The argument ended with Stella slamming the door and rushing off downstairs.

  ‘Now see where she runs,’ hissed Sunshine, in a broad Bolton accent.

  He waited up for her for half the night, but at two in the morning when she wasn’t back, he pulled on his coat. ‘It’s over. Me and her’s finished,’ he insisted, and left, broken-hearted, to find solace elsewhere. But Stella did come back, an hour or so after he’d gone. She slept in the big room instead of keeping his bed warm as she usually did.

  Next morning he was back in the house before eight o’clock.

  ‘You been with him,’ he said flatly. Stella denied it, insisting she’d been round at her friend’s place in Blackley.

  There was another huge row.

  ‘Go round and ask her yourself,’ she yelled. Uncharacteristically, Shiner backed down. They made up, but things had changed. The rows became more and more frequent. Jones made a point of turning up almost every day and sat there grinning like a rat at the tension in the atmosphere. Eventually, one day he arrived in the middle of a row. It carried on all the while he sat there drinking a beer and smoking a spliff. At last he stood up, picked up his bag and jerked his head at the door.

  ‘You might as well come with me.’

  ‘You might as well,’ said Shiner bitterly. Stella stood up and followed Jones out of the room. She didn’t even stop to take her things and the next day, it was Jones who came back for them.

  Sunshine was heartbroken. He went to bed for a week and came out looking thin and old. He was soon back on form, smoking his weed, doing his rounds. But he carried the memory of Stella inside him like a wound. Nick missed her too. It was more lonely than ever without Red to keep him company.

  After a few weeks, Stella started to come round again, always with Jones. All her old confidence seemed to have vanished out of her, but she was in love with Jones, no way round it. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and followed him like a dog at heel - not at all like the Stella Nick thought he knew, who always did what Shiner told her, but always with her own brand of snapping and snarling at him, despite her frustrations. Bruises began to appear too, on her cheeks, on her eyes, and sometimes she walked in a lopsided way, as if her ribs were sore. No one ever dared ask her how she’d been hurt.

  It was around this time that Nick plucked up the courage to go round and see Jenny again, despite his fears of getting picked up, and her eagerness to do things officially. In fact, she’d already made up her mind that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with Mrs Batts and the social services and simply wanted to do her best to encourage him to come and see her as often as possible.

  Nick was damaged - that much was very soon clear to her. She didn’t understand why he was so traumatised, but something had made him very wary indeed, and that something had evidently happened inside Meadow Hill. He needed to be lured in with plates of food and a warm place to sleep, like a feral cat. As the weeks went by, the promise of a decent meal and a bed on the sofa seemed to be slowly working and by the end of November, he was coming round once, sometimes twice a week. But w ith such small successes she had to be content. She was still no wiser about where he stayed or what he did to keep body and soul together, or about what on earth had happened at Meadow Hill to make him like he was. As soon as she tried to bring the subject up, he was gone, out the door and away as soon as she turned her back.

  It was a fortnight before Christmas that Jenny had a letter forwarded to her by Mrs Batts, from Michael Moberley. It came as quite a shock - she had no idea the uncle had even been found. The letter was lying on the mat inside a social services envelope, so she opened it at once, always on the alert for anything that might affect Nick. Inside was a note from Mrs Batts, requesting that she forward on to her any information that might relate to Nick’s case, and the letter from the elusive great-uncle.

  It was just a few lines. He was living in Spain just now but was coming home for Christmas. He was curious as to how Nicholas was getting on. If she was still i
n touch with him or had any news of him, he’d be grateful to hear it. At the bottom of the page was a telephone number and a request to ring.

  Her heart leapt - or was it just cavorting anxiously around her chest? Everything that had happened with Nick so far had gone so disastrously wrong. She had to shoot off to work and deal with Grace and Joe, so she didn’t have time to deal with it then. She put it on a shelf in the kitchen to come back to later on.

  She kept picking it up and reading it through over and over during the evening, and waited till the kids were in bed before she did anything. She didn’t know what to say or how much to say, or even if she should just ignore it. She just prayed that making the call wouldn’t plunge Nick into more disaster.

  She ran through several conversations in her head before she thought, Sod it. She sat down, dialled the number and waited to see what happened.

  It was an odd sort of conversation, hedging, fencing, probing. Michael wanted information, but she was reluctant to give it. One thing she was certain of - nothing could happen without Nick’s full consent.

  Where was he? Round and about, she wasn’t sure. Did she see much of him? Every now and then. Was he OK? He looked well. Who was looking after him? No one in particular.

  ‘You know, love, you’re not giving a lot away,’ Michael scolded, rather irritated.

  ‘I suppose. The thing is, Mr Moberley, what exactly do you want?’

  Michael thought about it. It was a fair question. ‘I’m not sure,’ he confessed. ‘I suppose I want to know if there’s anything I can do for him.’

  ‘And what do you suppose that might be?’ Jenny wanted to know, her heart beating hard.

  ‘I have no idea whatsoever.’

  That was as far as they got that day. But they agreed to meet up the Wednesday before Christmas, to talk about Nick.

  It was one of those blowy days, with the wind dashing about in between the buildings and throwing little handfuls of rain in the air, when Michael Moberley and Jenny Hayes, the only two people in the world with the care and the wherewithal to rescue Nick from his downward spiral to jail, met in Piccadilly Gardens by the statue of Queen Victoria.

  Michael was delighted with the weather - there was something refreshing about the cold wind after a few weeks of warm air. He shook Jenny’s hand and they stood for a moment smiling at one another, while the wind pulled at coats and blew their hair.

  ‘Lunch,’ he said. They headed off towards a restaurant near the town hall, chatting about Christmas, how it came earlier every year, about shopping and how crowded the town was, while the wind pushed and pulled at them, and the pigeons battled their way down to the ground to eat their crusts.

  Jenny decided fairly quickly that Michael was on the right side, more or less - he certainly wasn’t any more impressed with Mrs Batts than she was. She started to tell him little bits and pieces while they were waiting for the main course and then, before she knew it, she was pouring out her heart. To her shame and surprise, she was suddenly ambushed by tears.

  ‘I’ve really let him down, I’ve just let him down so badly,’ she sobbed, overwhelmed by grief and guilt. Michael was completely taken by surprise. He didn’t know what he had been expecting - exasperation, a shrug, good riddance? Perhaps she was going to try and get some money out of him. The last thing he was expecting was this burst of passion and pity.

  ‘He was always so open and now he won’t tell me hardly anything anymore,’ wept Jenny, wiping her face with her napkin. ‘He doesn’t trust anybody. I don’t know where he’s living. He’s got somewhere to stay but God knows where or who with. He’s stealing, I think. I’m scared it’s drugs or something. I try and give him money, but when he comes round to my house he buys me stuff. He’s only fifteen, he should be at school. Muriel wanted him to go to university, now look, what’s he got? And it’s all my fault ... ’

  Jenny was inconsolable. Michael tried awkwardly to cheer her up, but it wasn’t until the food arrived that finally she managed to get a grip.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘He seems to have areal friend in you, anyway. He can’t be all bad, then.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Jenny. ‘He’s lovely. Everyone loves Nick.’

  Michael goggled. He thought back to his meeting with Mr Creal and thought to himself, what on earth is going on here?

  They had quite a nice afternoon, in the end. After lunch they wandered to the shops to get a present for Nick. Jenny was impressed. Michael was a nice man. She kept looking at him to work out if she could manage to fancy him - how handy would that be! And she did, too, even though he was far too old. But she had more sense than to try it on, partly at least, because she could see he had more sense than to accept.

  Rescuing people was never as easy as it looked, thought Michael, as he stood in Debenhams watching Jenny rifle through the racks to find something Nick might like. He had no illusions about himself. He was a generous man, a kind man, but a lazy man as well. Taking on a damaged teenage boy wasn’t something he had any inclination to try. Boarding school? The little bugger would run off. What did that leave?

  He had no idea.

  They ended up with a few pairs of jeans and a good coat for Nick. He insisted on getting a little something for Joe and Grace and bought a box of chocs for Jenny in the food hall while she was off doing something else, had them gift wrapped and slipped them into her bag while she wasn’t looking. They said goodbye where they met, in Piccadilly Gardens. He kissed her on the cheek and hurried away to the train station, grateful that he was leaving the problem behind him. He’d do what he could, he thought, so long as it wasn’t too much. First thing was to meet the boy himself. They had arranged a date early in the New Year, a few days before he flew back to Seville. Check it out. See what could be done - if the boy managed to stay out of trouble that long, that is.

  Jenny didn’t want to spring his new uncle on Nick, but she didn’t see him anyway until Christmas morning, when he turned up with his presents and what looked like a nasty hangover - she hoped. She needn’t have worried. It was what it looked like, alcohol. One thing about Shiner, he didn’t approve of drugs, hash in his eyes being no more a drug than beer to a drinker.

  Jenny left Grace and Joe playing with some of their new things and took Nick to one side to tell him about his new relative.

  He listened impassively.

  ‘He wants to meet you,’ she said. ‘He’s coming round here, all the way from Taunton just to see you, Nick, before he goes back to Spain.’ She nudged his arm. ‘He has a second home in Spain,’ she told him. She nudged him again. ‘He’s loaded,’ she said, and grinned.

  Nick looked away. Another one who wanted to help him. He wasn’t sure he wanted any more help. He was doing OK on his own.

  ‘Say you’ll be there, Nick,’ begged Jenny.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Nick. But he didn’t nod, or blink, and she didn’t really believe him.

  They had the full thing that day - the roast turkey, the tree, films in the afternoon. She got Nick a Walkman and never asked any questions about where the nice leather purse he got for her came from, or the radio-controlled car he got Joe, or the make-up bag and copy of the new album by Duran Duran, which Grace was mad about. She left the package from Michael until last.

  ‘What’s this?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Look at the label,’ she told him.

  ‘From your Uncle Michael,’ he read. He opened it. Clothes.

  ‘I helped him pick ’em,’ explained Jenny. Nick nodded and put them to one side.

  ‘Aren’t you going to try them on?’ she asked.

  ‘Later,’ he said.

  They spent the rest of the day playing games. Nick had won the two kids round, partly because he was popping in and out and not staying all the time, perhaps because of the money he spent on them. Jenny did her best to make him feel at home, but in fact, he was a bit crowded out by the end of it. He was used to Christmas with just him and Muriel on their own and the two other kids began to get o
n his nerves as the afternoon wore on. On Boxing Day they all went for a walk in the park, during which Nick quietly slipped away. When she got back home, Jenny found that he’d been back and picked up his presents, from her, Grace and Joe. But the pile of clothes Michael had left him were still tucked into their carrier bag by the sofa. He hadn’t even tried them on.

  27

  A Deal

  It was a miserable February night Jonesy came by, when the daffs on the municipal parks and roundabouts were poking their way through the dirty town grass. He was on his own.

  ‘What’s he doing here this time?’ grumbled Shiner. He waited a bit in the vain hope that Jones was drunk and might move on, but he kept ringing the bell and banging the door. As usual. Shiner pressed the button and let him in.

  He put on his usual broad smile for Jones, the bright Sunshiny smile that gave him his name, which he could turn on and off at w ill, and no one could ever tell whether it meant everything or nothing.

  ‘Jonesy! Come in, man. Have a beer and a likkle smoke. Just on me way to bed, you know, but you can join us for a nightcap, eh? Nice to see you, man, nice to see you.’ he beamed, waving Nick over to the fridge. In this respect, serving up the beer, Nick had taken Red’s place.

  ‘Early for you to be getting your shuteye,’ grumbled Jones, perching his backside on the table and watching Nick feeling the cans for a cold one in the fridge.

  ‘Early bird, that’s me,’ lied Sunshine cheerfully. Jones grunted doubtfully.

  ‘Where’s Stella? Don’t normally see you about without her,’ said Sunshine conversationally.

  ‘Tell you the truth, Shiner, she’s working.’

  ‘She’s got a job?’ enquired Sunshine, sharper than he would have liked.

  Jones sucked down his beer. ‘You could call it that,’ he said.

  Shiner said nothing but looked at Jones as if he wished him dead.

  ‘Tell you what, you can have her back for twenty quid,’ said Jones. ‘Twenty quid an hour, that is.’