‘And has there been anyone else? You know, since the first time we met.’
I struggle to find an answer to that. I want to curl away from it, like a worm from prodding fingers.
‘It’s just that you act like this is all new to you, like you don’t quite trust it.’
I almost say, ‘Of course I don’t trust it,’ but instead come out with, ‘Well, you’ll just have to keep up the persuasion.’
She bites me gently on the shoulder. ‘But am I your only one?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘There were others. Just not girlfriends.’
‘One-night stands?’
‘Aye. We used to go out on the town sometimes, me and Baz and Geoff.’
‘Oh, out on the pull. I see.’
‘Well, it’s not as if I made a very good average, is it?’
‘It’s quality that counts, not quantity.’
‘Well, there wasn’t much quality involved.’ I don’t know what I can tell her about it. ‘It just…It never worked out very well. That’s all.’
If I was expecting sympathetic noises, I’m not going to get them. She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Were you trying to pretend you knew what you were doing?’
‘Yeah.’ I shrug. It’s true, in a way. ‘Yeah, I was.’
‘Well, that was your first mistake.’ She swings her leg across my body and kneels above me. I relax and let her pin me down. She’s no older than me, but so full of experience that I really do feel as if she’s schooling me. How did she go through what she went through and end up like that, when I ended up like this? ‘So what you’re telling me,’ she says, ‘is that you need an education? I can corrupt you just how I want because you don’t know any better?’
I sit up and put my face on her neck, feel her pulse against my lips. ‘I don’t know about that.’
She pushes me back down. ‘Did Geoff ever chase women when you went out?’
‘Not very successfully.’
‘I mean after he was with me.’
‘No. We’d stopped doing that kind of thing by then. If you want the truth, he always said you were a dirty bitch and you were all he needed.’
‘Hm. You wouldn’t think it from looking at his Internet history.’
‘He was always daydreaming about this or that. It was how he lived. He would never…’ I stop.
‘You’ve just realized you’re talking like he’s dead, haven’t you?’
‘Aye.’
She climbs off me. ‘There’s something I’ve got to show you.’
She leaves the room and goes downstairs. She reappears with a piece of paper, which she hands to me. ‘Look at this.’
‘Mortgage Statement,’ it says.
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘Look at the numbers.’
I follow the column of figures down the page and they end with a zero. I look back up the column and realize what it means: the entire balance of the mortgage – plus the penalty – was cleared with a single payment last week.
‘Christ. Geoff did this?’
‘Who else?’
‘Where did he get the money?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘How long have you had this?’
‘It just came today.’
I look back at the statement, but it still ends with a big, fat nought. ‘Fuck me. I thought it was Barry that was on the make.’
‘Do you think Geoff’s into something dodgy?’
‘For sixty-odd grand, do you really think he isn’t?’
‘I’m scared.’
‘So am I.’
36
‘Come here, you little slut.’ The American at the corner table reaches out and pulls the whore into a wet, hard kiss. She twists away and giggles half-heartedly, but from where Geoff is sitting he can see that she isn’t comfortable. Her shoulders are stiff, and she keeps looking around the club. The American stuffs more cash into her stocking top. He’s been doing that all night. Geoff tosses back his shot and waggles the glass at the barman for another.
He turns to the Australian backpacker next to him at the bar. ‘Look at that cunt over there. He’s fucking mauling the poor lass.’
‘Are you sure you’re in the right place, mate?’
‘Course I’m in the right place; I’m no prune. I’d just like to see him treat her with a bit of respect and some fucking…what’s the word?’
‘Decency?’
‘Aye! Decency. He’s having his fun. Why does he have to treat her like shite and all?’
The Aussie shrugs. ‘She’s getting paid.’
‘I don’t like him.’
‘You’re pissed as a fart, mate. You should get out of here and go to bed.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Suit yourself.’ The Aussie picks up his drink and wanders off through a bead curtain into the brothel at the rear. As the beads swing back into place, Geoff just catches sight of him linking arms with the little girl in the hot pink skirt, the one who sucked Geoff off earlier. She was really gentle and Geoff had liked her a lot. He hopes the Australian isn’t a bastard to her.
‘Where’s the goddamned waitress?’ That American again – he’s so loud. ‘Well, fuck her.’ He turns to the whore. ‘Go to the bar and fetch me a drink.’
The whore looks momentarily confused and opens her mouth to speak, but the American grabs her by the shoulders and speaks loudly right into her face. ‘Go. To. The. Fucking. Bar. And. Get. Me. A. Goddamned. White. Russian. Do. You. Under. Stand. You. Dumb. Bitch?’ The whore nods quickly. The American pushes another note into her bra and pats her on the cheek. ‘Good girl.’
She walks up and briefly speaks to the barman in their gobbledygook language. Geoff hasn’t even worked out what ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ are yet, which makes him feel like a twat, but English has worked for him so far. ‘You all right, love?’ he asks the whore.
She looks him up and down. ‘You shouldn’t get so drunk in here. Not good place to drink alone.’ Then she turns her back to him and stands there studying her false nails, while the barman finishes the cocktail. Geoff doesn’t really blame her for playing along; the yank might be a total cunt, but at least he’s flash with his cash. Still, Geoff hates people who treat others like that. They remind him of Barry, for a start.
The whore goes back to the American with the drink, sits close to him, and runs one hand up the back of his neck; her other hand disappears under the table. The American throws his head back, mouth open like a pussy cat. Geoff begins to think that the whore has re-established control of the situation, but suddenly the American is looking at her through slitted eyes. ‘You know what we do to little exotic bitches like you in my country?’ He’s quieter now, but Geoff can still hear him. ‘We grab them by their ears and we fucking skull-fuck them.’ He holds up the first two fingers of his right hand and then jabs them straight into the whore’s mouth all the way up to the knuckle.
The whore gags immediately and tries to pull away, but the Yank’s too quick and too strong. He puts his left hand on the back of her head and holds her tight, his fingers still buried in her face. The whore throws up her hands, but there is nothing she can do, with her whole upper body shuddering and jerking in involuntary spasms. ‘You’d better get used to that, you little bitch, because you can bet your bottom dollar that my dick’s gonna go even deeper.’
The whore shoots to her feet with a huge retching sound, then collapses back onto the rolled vinyl bench with her hands at her throat, breathing hard. Her eyes are watering, but she’s not crying.
Geoff looks at the barman. ‘Are you going to let him do that?’
‘Not unconscious. Not bleed. Not problem.’
‘Fuck this!’ says Geoff, slams the rest of his drink, and marches over to the American. ‘Here, what do you think you’re doing? Leave the poor lass alone.’
‘What the fuck? Get the fuck outta here, man.’
‘You are not going to treat her like that.’
‘What the fuck are yo
u, Scottish or something? I can’t understand a goddamned word you’re saying.’
Geoff pounds his fist onto the tabletop, so hard that the American’s drink slops over the edge of the glass. ‘I’m from fucking County Durham, son, and you’re a cunt.’
The American seems to understand that. ‘You motherfucker.’ He stands up and Geoff begins to wonder if he’s made a mistake: the bastard must be all of six foot five and certainly isn’t skinny. It occurs to Geoff that violence was never really his strong point, and for the first time he wishes that Jim was here. The American glowers down at him. Geoff looks up into his eyes and sees the same stagnant little pools of pure fucking nastiness that Barry once looked at him with. Fuck you, he thinks. Then he straightens his back and says, with as much conviction as he can muster, ‘I’m going to rip your fucking head off, mate.’
Geoff was expecting the American to swing for him, but he wasn’t expecting to be attacked from behind. Something crashes into the back of his legs and Geoff drops to his knees with a thud that hurts like hell even after all that whisky. The table flies over, glasses shatter, and everything’s a blur. The next thing Geoff knows, he’s through the door and on his back in the street.
‘Gobbbledy-gobbledy-gobbledy-gobbledy-gobbledygook!’ the barman screams down at Geoff, and slashes a machete back and forth through the air.
Geoff flattens himself against the pavement, scared of losing his nose. ‘All right, all right, I’m fucking going. Put the fucking chopper away.’
‘Gobbledy-gobbledygook!’ Someone kicks Geoff in the ribs, and they stalk back into the club, leaving him groaning on the ground.
Eventually, Geoff sits up. Passers-by sidestep him as if he were dog shit. He feels sick and he’s shaking with fury. ‘Bastards being bastards for no bastard reason,’ he mutters to himself. ‘Just to feel big. Bastards!’ He wants revenge, but he can’t go back in there. Then it dawns on him. There is one bastard he can strike back at. Those accountants said they were at his service, didn’t they? And there’ll be a fax machine in the hotel. Maybe those accountants can be persuaded to post a little note for him. He’ll just tell them to ‘be discreet’.
37
The next day, I go to work and, in the rhythm of cutting a trench, forget about the mystery of the mortgage. When I get home, I half expect Joe to be on the doorstep again, but he isn’t there. I wash and then sit and read for an hour, waiting for him to turn up or call, but he doesn’t. I pick up the telephone and I’m about to dial his number when I think: No. It’s good that he isn’t here, and if he needs anything, I’ll be his first port of call anyway. I’d better just leave him to it for a while.
Instead, I phone Mr Green to alert him to events. He listens quietly and then says, ‘Well, at least he’s all right.’
‘He’ll be limping for a while.’
‘Probably a blessing in disguise: now he might stay put instead of roaming the village getting himself into bother.’
‘Aye, I suppose so. Did you get anywhere with the Social Services yet?’
‘Did I heck. But there is one bright spot on the horizon.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I spoke to Joe’s uncle, to find out about the estate, and it turns out there’s some money. Not a fortune, but more than you’d think. And some share certificates. And the house. It’ll all be held in trust and Joe’ll get maintenance. It’s probably enough for him to live on.’
‘That’s great news.’
After I hang up, I just stand there, almost stunned by relief. Joe’s going to be all right, and he’s not going to spend the rest of his life reliant on me. I can sense the dark shadows of all the things that could go wrong lurking at the back of my mind, but I dismiss them before they even take form in my imagination. I feel myself smiling. I pick up the phone and call Laura; I want somebody else to be happy with me.
—
The rest of the week passes quickly – I spend my days at work and my evenings with Laura – and I don’t see Joe again until Saturday. I go over to check that he knows to pay his bills. That’s what I’m going to tell him, at least. In truth, I just want to satisfy myself that he really is OK.
When I get there, the house isn’t spotless, but it’s much better than I expected; he’s obviously making an effort to look after the place. I make us a pot of tea and we sit at the kitchen table.
‘That leg of yours dropped off yet?’
‘Nope. It’s better.’
‘Good job.’
There’s a small stack of opened post on the table, so I pull it over to me and start to sort through it.
‘You’re nosy,’ says Joe.
‘I’m just looking for the bills.’
‘There’s only electric and phone.’
He’s right. I lay them out in front of me. ‘Look, you need to take them into the post office.’
‘I know. I’ve done it loads of times. It was my job.’
‘Oh. Well, have you got any cash?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll lend you some until we get you sorted out.’
‘Why?’
‘So you can pay these bills.’
‘Needn’t bother. I’ll just go to the machine.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looks at me like I’m stupid, then shifts in his chair, pulls his wallet from his back pocket, and takes out a debit card, which he holds up to my face. ‘I. Know. The. PIN.’ He pulls a spaz face at me and makes a gurgling noise.
‘If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that.’ I grab the card from him and inspect it more closely. It’s in his mother’s name. I suppose when they’re told she’s dead, they’ll want to close the account, but until then it’ll do.
‘You’ve been keeping the place clean.’
‘My job now.’
‘Aye, it is.’
I look into his face and he looks steadily back at me; it seems that he’s equipped to survive after all. He may not be able to cope with the world at large, but his mother left him with enough knowledge to run the house. All he had to do was decide to use it.
There’s only one other thing I can think of to check, so I get up and open the food cupboard; there’s not much in it.
‘Looks like you could do with getting some shopping in. Do you want a lift to the supermarket?’
‘Aye, that’s magnificent, that.’
—
Later, I go to Laura’s. We order a pizza and settle down in front of a film I don’t really want to watch.
I’m woken by knocking. My eyes flicker open and I’m looking straight up at Laura.
‘Someone’s here,’ she says. I sit up. I must have fallen asleep in her lap.
‘I’ll get it,’ I say automatically.
‘Oh, no, you won’t. I don’t want people talking. Stay here and don’t make any noise.’ She goes out and closes the door between the hall and the living room behind her. Moments later, I hear her say, ‘What do you want?’
I get up and cross the room, stand behind the door.
‘Geoff’s not here. You know he’s not here. Go away.’
I reach for the handle.
‘You fucking bitch, I’m not going to let you rip me off.’
Barry’s voice. I throw open the door and step out into the hall. A moment of silence and then Laura falls back against the wall with her hands to her face. ‘Oh Christ, no…’ she murmurs.
Barry looks at her, looks at me, and then starts to smile. I cut him off before he speaks: ‘Leave her alone.’
‘Are you in on this too, or are you just fucking the dirty bitch?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t fuck me around – I know what’s going on.’
‘Well, I bloody don’t. Are you going to fuck off yourself, or do I have to make you?’
‘You’re not going to scare me away. I’ve got proof.’
‘Proof of what?’
‘Proof that that fat bastard ripped me off!’
‘Barry,
I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’
‘Well, let me fucking educate you.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of paper from which he unfolds a sheet that he holds out in front of him. I go over. ‘Uh-uh. Look with your eyes, not your hands.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Barry.’
‘Just read it!’
I read it. A scrawled note, Geoff’s handwriting:
Check the numbers you nobsack. Ha ha ha.
‘So what? What’s that supposed to prove? I don’t even know what it means.’
‘Don’t play fucking stupid.’
‘I mean it. I don’t know anything about this.’
He unfolds another sheet, hands it to me this time. It’s full of rows of printed figures. One row is highlighted. ‘That’s off the Internet,’ he says, as if it explains everything. His eyes gleam like those of a mad vicar, preaching fire and brimstone. I shrug at him.
‘That fucking row there.’ He jabs at the highlight. ‘Don’t you recognize them?’
‘Of course I don’t fucking recognize them.’
‘They’re our fucking lottery numbers!’ He’s shouting now. ‘This is a list of all the numbers that have come up in the past two months, and ours are on there. Look – the jackpot was two point eight million, split between five winners. The fat fucker has taken us for over half a million quid!’
And then it hits me. The mortgage. The disappearance. This is why he didn’t stay to sort things out; he didn’t need to. And his words: ‘Nothing I want to share with you.’ Jesus Christ.
‘How do you know they’re our numbers?’
‘Because it’s my row and I remember them. I remember how I picked them: my birthday; your birthday; Geoff’s birthday…Do I need to go on?’
‘No. Shit. Show me that note again.’ He holds it out. It looks like a photocopy or something. ‘Is that the original?’
‘It’s what came through my fucking letterbox. Look, I want my fucking share. I’ve worked my hands bloody for years and I want my share.’
‘I haven’t got your share.’
Magnificent Joe Page 21