‘Why wouldn’t the police come out when Jack called them?’
Dad’s still ranting and fuming about what’s happened, like he never reads the papers or watches the news. I just let him get on with it. Then Dad reaches into his pocket and takes out a ten pound note and hands it to me.
‘What’s that for?’
‘The taxi this morning. I’m really proud of you, looking after Jack and Margaret like that.’
Dad isn’t looking at me when he says this. And I’m glad, because I’d be embarrassed too. We don’t go in for that sort of soppy sentimental praise in our family. But I’m also wondering how proud Dad would be if he knew that I’d seen the Rogers kid and his goblin friends starting it all off last night and did nothing. I wonder how proud he’d be if he found out I’d stood and watched Uncle Jack getting arrested last night, then just walked on by. Just being reminded of that makes me ashamed all over again.
Mum looks up, ‘I’m going to go around later, make sure they’re alright. I’ll take one of these cakes.’
She’s been baking all afternoon. Probably to take her mind off it all.
‘I’ll come with you.’
That’s Mum and Dad all over. They usually go down to the social club on Saturday nights. A few drinks, a few games of bingo. A few laughs with friends. But they’ll forgo this to sit with Uncle Jack and Aunty Margaret. And, actually, there are a lot of people like Mum and Dad on this estate, so that you wonder why it’s actually got such a bad reputation.
Mum looks at me and I see that she’s weary with sadness.
‘I called Catherine earlier.’
‘I’m amazed she was in.’
I say this because I call Catherine all the time. Not because we’re so wonderfully close or anything, but because I want her to keep telling me about university, about Brighton. I use her to stoke the fire that keeps my dream alight.
‘She’s coming back tonight. She’s going to take a few days off.’
This is so unlike Catherine. She hardly ever comes back here. She has a job in Brighton and she uses that as the excuse, but when I talk to her I know that she just isn’t comfortable back here. I don’t mean with us, with Mum and Dad and me and Sean. I mean it’s this town, this estate. She’s moved on and she’s no longer a part of it. And, amazingly, it’s no longer a part of her either. That’s the magic I so desperately want for myself. It’s why I call her all the time, like somehow she’ll one day give up a great secret that she’s so far been keeping from me.
‘Did she say what time she’s getting here?’
‘She’ll be late. She’s going to start out after she’s finished work.’
And that means she will be late. It’s a six-hour drive up from Brighton. But it’s good because it means that I’ll be in when she gets here. I’m going over to Andy’s, but we’re only going to hang out. Nothing special. And that reminds me; I’d better get going or I’m going to be late.
I’m walking down the road wearing a black cotton jacket and my hands are in the pockets. In the right pocket sits the Ruger, caressed by my fingertips. Usually I’m not as relaxed as this when I’m out and about. And what’s really strange is that I didn’t realise that until now. It’s taken the degree of confidence and lack of fear that I’m now experiencing to make me understand just how tight and wary I usually am when I’m walking the streets. Surely there can only be one reason for that, and it’s sitting in my pocket. That’s not a comfortable thought at all. Because I’m analysing it now as I make my way over to Andy’s in the fading light. And the only way that the Ruger can make me safe is if I am prepared to use it. I don’t believe that I am. But I still feel that confidence it brings all the same. I have to fight the urge to take the Ruger out of my pocket and just look at it right there in the open.
CHAPTER 11
After school activities
Another dreary Wednesday at school. The days are all starting to drag with the mornings getting darker and the evenings coming in quicker.
On the weekend, Catherine came and Catherine went. She spent all of Sunday with Uncle Jack and Aunty Margaret. I went round there with her for the morning, but I had to go home in the afternoon. I had a ton of homework to do. And on Sunday night, Catherine set off back to Brighton, so we didn’t get to talk much at all. She’s coming back this weekend though, driving up on Friday night. I think it shocked her to see how unhappy we all are, Mum and Dad and Sean and me. And how depressed Uncle Jack and Aunty Margaret are. Before we even knocked on the door of Uncle Jack and Aunty Margaret’s place, she saw the little Nissan all damaged and smashed up and she just broke down and cried. I had to hold her and comfort her for ages. Anyway, she’s coming back at the weekend. It’s taken something like this to remind her that we are her family and that some part of her will always be lodged here with us.
It’s been a pretty dismal day at school today, all told, and I’m glad it’s over now. I’m walking with Andy towards the school gates and we’re in the middle of a crowd of kids who move faster now that it’s home time than they ever did to get here in the morning. Andy and me are not going straight home tonight, despite the mound of homework we both have. We’re going into the town centre to the shopping mall. Andy still has birthday money left over and he wants to get a couple of DVDs. He says he doesn’t know what he wants to get but I’m betting he walks away with the first two Jason Bourne movies. I kind of hope he does, because I’d like to watch them again too.
‘Stevie, Andy, wait!’
I turn to look and Rebecca Wardle is waving over at us. Rebecca is in the same class as me for French and, I have to admit, I like her. She’s got this sort of dark blonde hair that’s thick and kind of straight and her mum is a hairdresser so it always looks fantastic. Right now it’s cut to look like Jennifer Aniston’s and it suits Rebecca down to the ground. Our school is pretty casual about what we have to wear, but Rebecca is wearing this grey pleated skirt and a white blouse under a black sweater and these flat black leather shoes and white socks. She’s sixteen like Andy and me and she looks pretty fantastic – she must be one of only a few girls at school who just look impossibly cute in a school uniform.
Andy and me stop and wait as she hurries over to us without running, carrying a pile of loose books awkwardly in her arms.
‘Qu’est-ce que vous allez?’
She’s all smiles and a little breathless as she asks. Andy just rolls his eyes, but I’m looking at the brilliant white smile and I can’t help but think it’s cute the way she talks in French like this.
‘We’re just going into town to get some DVDs.’
I answer in English for two reasons; my French is nowhere near as good as Rebecca’s, and Andy doesn’t take French.
Some of the books she’s holding start to slip, and she reacts quickly to clutch them to her.
‘Here, let me take those.’
‘No, it’s OK, I can manage.’
But she’s already handing them to me, and we’re starting to saunter slowly towards the school gates, the three of us.
‘I was wondering if you wanted to come round tonight to do that French assignment. But if you’re going to be out…’
Rebecca lives on our estate and sometimes we have got together to do French homework. I really should ask her out sometime. I want to. But I’m kind of scared that she’ll say no. And I don’t take rejection well at all. I mean, I think she likes me. And it’s been her asking me to come around to do homework. But I keep wondering if that’s all there is to it. Maybe one day I’ll pick up the nerve to ask her.
‘We’re not going to be long.’
The words slip out and I look at Andy, who just shrugs to say he doesn’t care either way.
‘I could come around later if that’s OK? What time do you want me to come?’
‘I dunno… is seven o’clock OK?’
‘Yeah, we’ll be back ages before then.’
I nearly ask her if she wants to come into town with us right now, but I bottle out of i
t.
As we approach the gates, I notice the groups of kids milling about there. Lots are smoking already with absolutely no fear of reproach; seeing them makes me want to reach for my own smokes, but my hands are full with Rebecca’s books.
Sammy Williams is standing among one group of lads. Sammy hasn’t been to school all week, but he’s here now. He’s keeping pretty low key, I can tell, and so are those around him and it all seems so unnatural. Everywhere else the kids are noisy and boisterous. As you’d expect.
I can see what’s happening of course; they’re being as discreet as possible, but I can see the little packets being passed, palm to palm. It’s like Sammy is giving out secret sweets. Only, let’s face it, it’s not sweets. It’s some drug or other. I can’t say which from here.
I watch Sammy break away from the group and walk quickly, his hands in his pockets and the peak of his Burberry cap pulled way down, to the corner of the road a little way away, where a couple of older lads, maybe eighteen or nineteen, are standing around, their eyes roaming everywhere. I don’t recognise them so they are not from our estate.
We’ve already crossed the road as we approach Sammy and these other two. I see one of the older lads reach quickly into a pocket and just as quickly his hand comes out again and something is handed to Sammy, who stuffs it out of sight in a pocket of his own. It all happens so quickly and smoothly that you’d think they were stage conjurers.
Sammy turns to head back towards the school gates and, as he does, he notices us. Well, I think it’s me he’s noticing. It’s pretty obvious that Sammy is a cog in the local drugs machine. And that the two older lads are bigger cogs in that same machine. I immediately think of Big Roddy and what he might have been doing over at the Concrete Canyon where he was stabbed to death. Has Sammy simply taken Big Roddy’s place?
Sammy nods at me and just carries on hurrying back to the school gates. What the hell did that nod mean? I’m thinking about the Ruger of course. Is Sammy going to ask for it back? In a way, it would be great to just hand it over to Sammy. At least then there would be no link between him and me. For now, I can’t help feeling that the Ruger is somehow binding us, simply because Sammy knows that I’m holding it. On the other hand, I don’t want to let it go.
‘OK, I’ll see you at seven then?’
Startled, I turn to Rebecca. We’re standing next to a parked car at the bus stop and I know that it’s her mum’s.
‘Wake up dream boy, pay attention.’
I grin sarcastically at Andy to let him know what I think of his comment as I pass the pile of books to Rebecca who has already got into the car.
‘Yeah, seven. I won’t be late.’
I shut the car door for Rebecca, nodding hello at her mum, who smiles back at me. Rebecca has already turned her attention to something else and I see her saying something to her mum as the car pulls away into the traffic. Now Andy and me are left standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to take us into town.
I keep thinking that those older boys on the street corner opposite are looking at me. As though they know that I have Roddy Thompson’s gun. A shiver runs through me at the thought that it might have been their gun, loaned to Roddy.
I’m willing the bus to arrive, even though I know I’m probably just being paranoid. And anyway, it’s not like being on the bus makes you safe. There was a story in the news recently where two kids were being obnoxious and actually smoking dope or something – I think it might even have been crack – on a bus somewhere. They wouldn’t get off when the driver asked them, so that driver took his bus directly to the nearest police station. No kidding, that’s what he did. And here’s the great part. When he got out and went into the police station to report what was happening on his bus, parked right outside, you know what they told him? They told him that they couldn’t come out to deal with it and suggested that he should call 999. Can you believe it? You’d better believe it because it truly happened. He’s there, inside a police station, reporting a crime going on right outside the door, and they told him to call the emergency number.
So I don’t know why I think I’ll be safe when the bus comes. If those guys want to follow me onto that bus, I’ll just be trapped. Not for the first time since I got it, I’m wishing that I had my gun with me.
CHAPTER 12
Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?
So it’s just gone ten o’clock at night and I’m out walking the streets again. I’ve been to Rebecca’s place and we did the French homework. But I don’t know how. We went up to her room to work while her mum stayed downstairs, setting the hair of one of their neighbours. Rebecca’s mum often does work at home like that for extra money. Rebecca’s dad left them years ago and there’s only the two of them. They seem to get by OK. Rebecca always has cool things and cool clothes, and her and her mum go on holiday to Spain every year. So don’t let me make you think they’re in the depth of grinding poverty. It’s not like a scene from Orwell’s Road to Wigan Pier or anything.
Anyway, we go up to Rebecca’s room and she shuts the door behind us. I put my books on the desk she has there under the window and when I turn round, she’s standing right there in front of me.
‘Do you like me?’
Well, what am I supposed to say to that?
‘Yeah, of course I like you.’
I try to say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and shouldn’t really need saying. It’s lame but it’s a start.
‘No, I mean really like me…’
She’s wearing this cute little fitted top and Kate Moss-style kind of cinched in waistcoat over these neat little shorts and she has the straightest whitest teeth and… well, next thing you know, she’s raising herself up on her toes and her eyes are starting to close as her face comes close to mine and her lips part slightly so that I can taste her minty breath. It’s something else, kissing Rebecca, let me tell you. But I’m not giving it my full attention, oh no. Because all I can think of as she’s slipping her arms around me and slipping her sweet wet tongue between my lips, is that she mustn’t feel the Ruger lying heavy in my jacket pocket. And I almost blow it by nearly pissing myself laughing at an old joke that springs to mind – is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me? When we come up for air eventually, I begin to slip the jacket off.
‘See. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
I’m glad she’s talking, looking at me, because I’m sure she’ll see the way my jacket hangs heavy at the pocket with the Ruger in it and she’ll ask me what it is.
‘Not bad at all.’
I’m smiling and maintaining eye contact with her as I put my jacket over the back of a chair. Once it’s safely out of touching range, I take her in my arms again, and this time… well, it’s just out of this world.
We did actually finish the French assignment, believe it or not, but we did spend a lot of time kissing and holding each other and talking crap too. When it came time to leave, and we came downstairs, I swear that Rebecca’s mum was looking at us with a twinkle in her eye. Like she knew we hadn’t just been working up there. In fact I’m sure she knew. She’s cool, is Rebecca’s mum. But I think I must have felt a little embarrassed all the same, because I’ve gone and left my homework and stuff at Rebecca’s house. I’m trusting that she’ll bring it to school with her on Friday when we next have French. And it’s funny, because we’ve not said anything, but I’m pretty sure that me and Rebecca are now going out together. That’s how it feels to me anyway. I hope that we are.
So now I’m out walking in the dark, beneath the orange glow of the street-lamps, and I’m thinking about all this, and what those kisses meant, and how there’s a lot more than kissing that I’d like to be doing with Rebecca. Anyway, I’m thinking about all this, and it’s actually cool to be out walking and going over and over stuff in my mind, so I’m not going straight home. I’m already on the far side of our estate on streets that I don’t know well, but I’m far from being l
ost. It’s getting cold, like there’s going to be a frost in the night, and I slip my hands into the pockets of my black cotton jacket. And my right hand comes instantly into contact with the cold black angular polymer frame of the Ruger.
Ruger P95
Double Action Trigger Pressure: Fourteen Pounds
Single Action Trigger Pressure: Five Pounds
Firing Pin Action Point: Centre Fire
It gets me to thinking about earlier. I’m in my room at home and it’s after I got back from town with Andy – he did get the two Jason Bourne movies – and before going over to Rebecca’s. I have the Ruger on my desk and I’m prowling the internet in search of more information about it. There’s lots. But one site even shows me how to strip it down.
First I clear the pistol of ammunition, in other words, I make sure that there isn’t a round already in the firing chamber. Then the slide, the mechanism that ejects the spent cartridge and loads the next round from the magazine, is locked to the rear with the slide lock. I put my finger in the ejection port where spent cartridges are spat out, and I press the ejector down. Now I can let the slide run off the frame by releasing the slide lock. The slide lock is then pulled away from the frame. I pull the guide rod and spring away from the barrel, and then remove the barrel from the slide. See; easy when you know how. I must have practised stripping it down and putting it back together about twenty times. I still can’t do it blindfold, but I have to say, I’m getting pretty good.
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