by Ian Ayris
'Fagin,' Keith says, like he's just found a pot of fuckin gold.
'That's it,' I say. 'Fuckin Fagin.'
We both sit back on the swings, sort of relieved.
'What the fuck's that gotta do with anything?' Thommo says.
Gonna have to tell him. Only fair. So Keith gives it to him straight.
'It's your old man, Thommo. Me and John's thinkin of knockin it on the head.'
Thommo puts his head down a bit, like he don't wanna look at us, and puts his hands in his pockets.
'Yeah?' he says.
Me and Keith nod our heads. He's a good mate, Thommo, but his old man's a waste of fuckin space. I mean, he's got his own fuckin boy out thievin for him. His own fuckin boy.
Thommo goes and sits on the bottom of the slide and starts chuckin bits of dirt at the roundabout.
'Have a look at this,' Keith says to me, and pulls this week’s local out his back pocket.
The front page got a picture of an offie with loads of Police tape over the front.
'Been done three times last six months,' Keith says. 'And again last Friday.'
Move it up a notch. Makes fuckin sense to me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The job's set for Friday night. Thommo's been beggin us to have him along, but he's so smacked off his face half the time, Keith reckons he'll be a fuckin liability. In the end, just to shut him up, we tell him he can keep an eye out front while me and Keith go in and do the business. Thommo's promised he won't stick nothing up his snout for a couple of days before, but I don't believe a fuckin word of that.
The offie's up the end of the Mile End Road, near Stepney Green Station. Keith reckons we can get the job done in five minutes, hop on a train, and be back in bed for cocoa and crumpets before you can say Jack fuckin Robinson.
***
Couple weeks beforehand, me and Keith goes in to case the joint, check out the lay of the land. We get out at Stepney Green, and the gaff's right on top of us.
It's just your normal offie. Stacks of beer in pyramids, wall to wall bottles, couple of birds, mid-fifties, behind the counter, till apiece. One of em looks a bit rough, like she'd stripe you soon as look at you, but the other one looks all right. There's a back room through a curtain, but it's shut and we can't see in. Probably just a little tea-room or something. No wonder the gaff's been done over so fuckin much. Fuckin askin for it with this set-up.
We don't wanna hurt no one, specially not a couple of birds old enough to be our mums, but if push comes to shove, you know, job’s gotta get done proper. You can't be too fuckin careful in this game.
***
So, Friday night comes round, and it's fuckin pissin down. A couple of minutes out of Stepney Green, we're soaked to the fuckin skin. Turns out to be a bit of a touch though, the rain sheetin down like this, cos there ain't no bastard about. We come to the row of shops where the offie is. I look at me watch. Five minutes to closin. Bang on the dot. Everything other than the kebab shop and the offie are shuttered up. Wind's gettin up and the rain’s comin right into our faces. Fuckin weather.
'You ready for this, John?' Keith says.
I'm fuckin ready. Never felt more ready in me whole fuckin life.
Thommo parks himself one side of the door.
'I'll just hang about here then, you know, watch out for Old Bill,' he says, and we leave him there. He seems a bit jumpy to me. Bit too fuckin keen. Dunno whether it's his nerves or he's had a sneaky fuckin snifter of something when we weren't lookin.
I'm feelin fuckin fantastic. More alive than I felt me whole fuckin life.
Keith checks again if I'm all right.
'Yeah, mate. You?'
Keith nods, the way he does sometimes when you know he's thinkin about something but ain't quite worked out how it's makin him feel. Thommo's yackin away, talkin absolute fuckin bollocks. He better be clean. He better be fuckin clean.
Here we go.
Keith's in first. Little bell rings on the door. He goes left, I go right. And we both see it at the same time – a fuckin metal grill thing all the way round the fuckin counter right up to the ceilin, just a gap at the front to slip the booze through and take the money, and a flip top to go in and out one side. Fuck. Never expected a fuckin metal grill thing. Don't reckon Keith did neither. But he ain't showin it. It's me what's shittin it. I ain't got a fuckin clue what to do. Must have had it put up since last time we was in. Same two birds, though. The one with the front's clocked the look on our faces, and you can tell she’s ready for a fuckin tear-up. Got a smile on her like someone's cut it into her face with a Stanley knife. The other one's comin out the little room out the back just as we come in the shop.
'Can I help you, love?
It's the lairy one. She's talkin to Keith. She knows we ain’t on the fuckin level and we gotta go. And we gotta fuckin go. But Keith, he’s goin up to the counter and he’s fetchin something out his coat. Fuckin hell, he never said nothing about no shooters. I'm shittin myself, now, really fuckin shittin it. But it's only his wallet, and he picks up three beers. Me face is givin it away all over the gaff, and that hard bitch has gotta be pissin herself.
Keith pays for the beers and we turn round to go, then . . .
CRASH
Thommo's burst in through the fuckin door, all balaclavered up.
For fuck’s sake.
'GIVE US THE FUCKIN' MONEY!' he screams. Off his nut, obviously. He tries to jump the counter but he don't know about the fuckin metal grill thing, can't even fuckin see it the state he's in. And he bounces straight off. Stupid bastard's sparko by the counter.
I dunno what to do, but Keith's got this look on him like this ain't over. Right calm, he puts two of the bottles on the floor then breaks the other one on a shelf. Then he walks up to the side of the counter, frontin the hard bitch.
'The man said, give us the fuckin money,' he says, cold, you know, like Clint Eastwood.
The other bird's took off out the back soon as Thommo smashed into the screen, but the one Keith's frontin up, fuck, she's broke a bottle for herself and she's wavin it about in Keith's face like she's done this sort of thing a million fuckin times.
'Come on then, you little fucker!' she says. 'Fuckin come on then!'
I'm fuckin froze. It's all gone fuckin pear-shaped and I can't think. I got two mates in the whole fuckin world. One's knocked himself out on a fuckin metal grill thing, and the other one's about to get bottled by a granny. I feel for the penknife in me pocket. Never go nowhere without it. Habit. I know the Old Bill's comin in a minute, cos the other bird must've rung em by now. And all I'm seein's Thommo sparko on the floor and this old girl wavin a broken bottle in Keith's face. And I fuckin lose it. I jump over Thommo, knockin over a stack of beers on the way, and stand side to side with Keith. I get me blade right close in her face. I can see it's rattled her. She's hard, fuck me, she is, but this is two geezers frontin her now, and she ain't havin none of that. She lets Keith past. But while Keith's unloadin the till, she takes a swing at the back of his head with the bottle.
Can't have that. And when the Old Bill crash in, I've got her by the hair and the blade at her throat. Keith's fuckin red-handed, stuffin the cash in his coat. There's six of em, Old Bill, that is.
'Put the fuckin blade down, son. Put the blade down.’
And I'm lookin at them, and they're lookin at me, and I'm lookin at this bird. Her eyes have all softened up, like she wants out. And I might as well be lookin at me own mum, you know, or me nan. Then she changes again. It's in her eyes, that's where I see it first. She ain't cocky no more, or even soft. She's just fuckin terrified. And, for a moment, in them eyes, I see Kenny and his old girl and how they looked when the old man was tearin into em that time I was over for tea. And a million other times, I should fuckin reckon. And this old girl's eyes, they look like that. But it ain’t Kenny’s old man she's scared of. It’s me. And I dunno why she's lookin at me like that, like she thinks I'm really gonna hurt her or something.
I
lower the blade a bit.
'Look,' I says. 'Look, shit, we didn't mean nothing, you know, we didn't wanna hurt no one. We just, look, fuckin, sorry. All right? Sorry.'
And I fuckin am. I know I am. I can feel the tears burnin in me eyes.
'Son, put it down.'
The Old Bill are gettin nearer. Edgin closer. I can see Keith out the corner of me eye. He's got his hands up, cos there ain't nothin else he can do, and he's starin at em like he's some sort of fuckin nutter. Then I see two of the Old Bill grab hold of Thommo and start draggin him out. And that's it for me. It's just like Kenny all over, that time in the playground. And I go again. I drop the old girl and go for the nearest copper. I can feel Keith behind me, and I know he's thinkin the same. Side by side. To the fuckin end. But this ain't school no more, this is real fuckin life. And we're on the ground in seconds, hands up our backs, gettin dragged out the shop in the rain.
***
They had us on remand in separate J.D.C.s - Juvenile Detention Centres. Thatcher shut down the Borstals proper about the time Kenny got banged up, but it's the same shit, just a different name. While I'm here, I get used to just shuttin me eyes to it all. Don' t wanna think about nothing no more. By the time our case comes up, I can't hardly remember what I done.
And there weren't never gonna be no fuckin sympathy for the likes of us. Judge would've fuckin had us hung from the nearest fuckin lamp-post, if he'd had his way. In the end, he might as well of done.
Keith holds his hands up to bein behind the whole fuckin job. Says he twisted me and Thommo's arms to help him out. I tell the judge it weren't fuckin true, told him I was in it all the way.
All three of us is in the dock at the end. Keith's starin straight at the beak, same way like when I first see him in class all them years back. Me, I'm shittin myself, but I'm starin at the beak like Keith best I can. And it’s easier than what I thought cos I don't even feel sorry for what I done or nothing. The whole world’s gone all too fuckin dark for that.
I can't look at Mum, though, so I'm sort of just lookin at the floor most of the time, other than when I'm starin the beak down. But Thommo, poor old Thommo, he's fuckin lost it. Dunno if it's the glue all them years what's done it, or what, but he's jabberin to himself, all quiet, teeth all gritted, foamin at the sides of his mouth. Shakin all over, he is. And every now and then he'll shout out 'CUNTS!' then go back to his jabberin. Second time he does it, Judge has him took straight out.
Judge said me and Keith weren't nothing but a couple of cold-hearted thugs. Give us six year apiece. J.D.C. till we're twenty-one, then the rest in the big nick. Neither one of us bats a fuckin eyelid. And Thommo, poor fuckin Thommo, he gets fuckin sectioned. Another one for the nut-house. Judge seemed proper fuckin sad for him, though. So was I. Poor bastard.
Mum comes and sees me in the cells under the court before they take me away, Mum and Uncle Derek. She's sittin on the bed next to me, and Uncle Derek's leanin up against the bars, his arms folded, lookin at the floor. I can't look at neither fuckin one of em much, specially not that cunt. Dunno what the fuck he's doin here, anyway. Or Mum. I mean, she ain't sayin nothing, just fuckin cryin. Like I fuckin need that, don't I. Cryin really soft, she is, like you can't hardly hear her.
Then I close me eyes till everything's black, and her cryin's the only sound I can hear.
***
When the Old Bill comes to take me away, Mum stays sittin on the bed. She don't move a muscle. Don't even turn round and see me out. And when I go past Uncle Derek, I'm about to give him a piece of me fuckin mind, you know, leave him with something to really fuckin chew on, when I see he's got tears runnin down his face, and he's shakin like a leaf.
Something moves inside me, makes me wanna throw up, and I can't walk.
'It's all right, son,' says one of the coppers. ‘Take your time.'
Uncle Derek looks at me, puts a hand on me shoulder and holds it round the back of me neck. Puts his forehead on mine. Just holds it there. He ain't sayin a word. Don't have to. That touch, the tears in his eyes, it's all fuckin too much. And there's Mum, sittin on the bed, still not bearin to look at me. I wanna say sorry. I wanna get down on me knees and tell em from me heart how sorry I am, but I know it'd fuckin rip me in half to do it.
The copper tugs me arm a bit, meanin for me to go.
'Come on, son,' he says.
Uncle Derek takes his hand from me neck and rubs it backwards through his hair, and sits down on the bed next to Mum, a broken fuckin man.
I close me eyes as the copper's takin me away, and all I can hear are his footsteps marchin down the corridor and Elvis bangin in me head.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I'm in the Old Bill van, comin away from the court, on me way to the J.D.C. in Wandsworth nick. There's me and half a dozen other lads, all givin it the bigg'un, sizin each other up, tryin to make out we ain't fuckin shittin ourselves. Dunno about them, but I'm fuckin cackin it. Had it in me head to play it like Ray Winstone in 'Scum' but lookin round at these lads, I know that's a non-fuckin-starter. Half of em's got eyes like Kenny, which fuckin freaks me out, and the other cunts, they're three times me fuckin size.
I'm way out me depth here. Fuckin know it. Deep breath. Keep me head down, me nose clean, and do me bird like a good little boy, and with a bit of luck, I'll be out in three.
Dunno where they've sent Thommo or Keith. Last time I see Keith was when the beak sent us down, and last time I see Thommo he was bein dragged out of court by his toes, screamin, callin everyone a cunt.
***
I get the piss ripped out of me soon as I get in the nick. Screws must've put the word out beforehand, and I'm down as Sissy Sissons the Granny-Basher. They're all at me. Screws, lags, fuckin everyone.
But as it goes, days ain't bad in here, after a while. Not much different from when I was at school. We got our jobs, you know, gardenin, kitchens, cleanin, that sort of shit. Like I says, it's all right. Every day's the fuckin same, though, which does your head in sometimes, but fair’s fair, I had it comin.
Mum's here every week, bang on the dot. Brings me bits what I need, you know, whatever I tell her. Won't bring no snouts, though, not for all the fuckin askin. Tells me bits of news, mostly what I don't give a fuck about, other than I was fuckin gutted when she said Old Cartwright pegged it. Scared the fuck out of me as a kid, he did, but I'll never forget him at Dad's funeral, tears in his big, scratched-up eyes, army medals hangin off his chest. Sort of would've liked to have known him better, if you know what I mean, if I had me time over.
Mad Mrs Jessup passed not long after, and Mum says the Council's moved these Indian families straight in, both sides. Reckons they're nice people an all, but me and her both know the old street ain't never gonna be the same.
First few visits, Mum's got Becky with her. And all the while, in that noisy, filthy visiting room, the whole time she's there, all Becky does is sit there readin her book like she ain't got a care in the fuckin world. Mum's talkin to me but I'm lookin at Becky cos I miss her so fuckin much.
Even when one of the lads kicks off, or one of the mums or dads goes garrity or something, Becky don't take no notice. And at the end, when the bell goes, she just shuts her book, holds Mum's hand, and looks at the floor. Won't look at me, let alone say anything. It's even so Mum's gotta tell her to say goodbye.
Starts me thinkin. And first time Mum comes on her own, hits me Becky never wanted to come here in the first place. And that really fuckin hurts. But you can't get into that sort of shit in here. Not in here. Gotta shut down. Do your fuckin bird and move on.
But the nights, they're the worst. Ain't nothing like a night in here. That's when the words come in your head and the faces and the missin and the heartbreak. And we all turn from fuckin effin, blindin hard bastards into little fuckin kids what just want their mums. Always someone cryin in the the dark, snifflin, you know. And age and size don't make no fuckin difference.
But it ain't never me. Not no more. You ain't got time for that sh
it. Can't let it drag you down. Cos tears, tears don't get you fuckin nowhere. But sometimes I lie awake at night and I can't see nothing but black and it feels like me whole body's breakin into tiny, little pieces and that if I don't cry soon I'll fuckin start drownin.
There's fights all the time. Bound to be in a place like this, but the screws crack down hard as you like. You only get caught scrappin once, if you can fuckin help it, but it don't stop some of em. Get beat black and blue by each other and black and blue by the screws. Gotta be fuckin mad. Me, I stay well fuckin clear. I don't want no trouble.
They move me to Wandsworh proper on me twenty-first, just like they promised. Mum come in with a birthday card. Footballer on the front. Fifteen nicker inside. 'Love, Mum.' I give her the card back and keep the dough for snouts. Can't hardly bear lookin at her. Every time she comes she tries to put a brave face on it, you know, tries to make it like it's just me and her at the kitchen table at home, havin a cuppa. I wish she'd just fuckin let rip sometimes, like Dad would or Uncle Derek, you know, really fuckin tear into me. All this 'love' bollocks, can't fuckin put up with much more of that.
***
I'm on 'C' wing first night in the big nick. That's where they put you before they sort you out proper. Next day, I'm shifted to 'A' wing, with the Lifers and the Remandos, and whatever poor fuckers like me they choose to send there for no fuckin reason at all.
Whole place is massive. They got five floors just on this wing, and you can't fuckin move for lags and screws.
I'm sharin a cell on the third floor, with two Remandos – Billy and Adie – and a broken shit-house. At night, there's cockroaches and fuck knows what scrabblin about. Billy and Adie's all right. Harmless enough. In here, anyway. Outside's a different fuckin matter.
Billy, he’s a big bastard. Forties, skinhead, tattoos. Banged up for nearly toppin his ex's new bloke with a baseball bat. Adie, he don't say fuck all, but Billy says he's in for letter-bombin McDonald’s after they give him a Big Mac instead of a Veggie Burger. Bein all coked up, Adie says he didn't notice till he's ate the whole fuckin lot. Weren't till he found the Big Mac box in his motor and the burger sick down his shirt next mornin, that he guessed what happened. And, as you do, thought he'd get the bastards back by blowin the livin shit out of em.