Bernie was out and about this evening, down at some community women’s thing over in deepest, darkest Greenwich. They settled down in the flat’s small kitchen and, as was their custom, opened up a bottle of red. Lee and Bern had spent a lot of the last couple of months in the recording studio and Lee immediately played Tommy some of their new music. It was the usual wash of swirling guitars and synthetic percussion, underpinning Bern’s soulful voice and occasional freestyle warblings and yelps which always reminded him of a more tuneful version of Yoko. A couple of the tracks had a nice Asian feel to them. Lee, in particular, was eclectic and esoteric in his musical tastes and a mate of theirs had taken the music off in a new direction with some tasty tabla drumming.
They talked cursorily about life up north. Lee had never been that interested about the old crowd. It was yesterday’s chip wrapper as far as he was concerned.
In their youth, Lee hadn’t even been on the fringes of the in-crowd, whereas he had been a face, courtesy of sport and, in his opinion, a slightly inflated reputation for toughness. They’d been the two brightest boys in the class, right through primary school up until their successful university applications. Both pioneers of further education in their respective families, both of them raised on a pedestal by their kin because of it, and both resented for the fact by some of those same people. They had grown up in a row of two bedroom terraces - their family homes just three doors apart. A love of T-Rex, Bowie and Roxy Music had cemented their filial bonds. The music had offered them glimpses into another much more exotic world. The taste of the promise of the other had helped them through the drudge of those grey, winter days.
On Bern’s return they were heading off to Lewisham to watch a band that a couple of their mates played in. The gig, as another custom had it, would be followed by a probable detour for a curry on the way back to the flat. Deptford had a couple of good Indian restaurants, but Friday night on the High Street could be disconcertingly heavy and if there was one thing that Lee didn’t do it was heavy.
Bernie got back in about eight, a swirl of hastily applied red lipstick topped off tonight with a pill box leopard skin hat. She went for a kind of layered dress sense these days, which did a reasonable job of hiding her growing portliness. Bern shared Lee’s anathema of physical exercise but not his Jack Spratt genes.
It was good to spend time with them, Bern telling him about the various projects that she, Lee and various friends had on the boil. Lee chipping in to correct her at the times whenever she gap-filled with a blatant if innocuous non-fact.
The band that night were a jazz blues combo, the kind of stuff that Bern particularly liked and they had pulled her up on stage for a version of Strange Fruit. She’d got lost in it, eyes closed, right armed raised, her fingers slowly turning in the shadows beyond the spotlight. Lee looked on at her, a proud, slightly bashful smile playing on his lips. At the end of the band’s set the crowd cleared pronto, as if a stink bomb had been dropped in the room and the band went quickly and quietly about the business of packing up their gear. The guitarist was a dark haired Cornish guy with quick eyes who had been a paramour of Bern’s some time before she and Lee had started doing the twist together. He’d come came over for a brief chat with them, something about the possibility of doing a benefit together next month somewhere down Peckham way.
They had grabbed a takeaway on the way down to the mini-cab office, a couple of pissed blokes gave him the hairy eyeball when they’d walked into the crummy waiting room. Tommy ignored it, engagement with drunken strangers hadn’t rung his bell for a long time and Lee and Bern weren’t really into rolling around on the cobbles. Now if Jimbo had been with him? He shook it off - who cares.
Luckily, the drunks’ cab arrived within thirty seconds of the three of them sitting down. One of the guys had made a point of turning round on the way out and he’d held the gaze until the guy had broken away to make his exit into the sulphur lit night. Lee had clocked him ramping up the testosterone but he didn’t make any comment, Lee knew that part of him too. Bern was miles away, distractedly humming one of their new tunes. She preferred to live her life in a happy bubble, although that was a kind of coping mechanism because, in reality, she never really missed a beat. No more than a minute passed and it was their turn to catch a ride. A rangy silent guy in a turban drove the three of them back to Deptford.
Bern hit the sack as soon as they got back. She had ladies soccer in the morning. Tommy had seen her play a few times before, she spent most of the game giggling and talking to team mates and opponents alike.
He and Lee stayed up until the small hours. Lee asked him with a diffident dip of the head what his plans for the future were.
‘Don’t know yet Lee,’ he told him, ‘I’ll stay with the old man for as long as it takes.’ His voice trailed off and they remained silent for a moment or two.
‘Not missing it over there then Tommy; the sunshine, the beaches the big expanse, less bullshit, maybe?’
Tommy appraised his friend with a smile, he was a shrewd little bastard our Lee.
‘Yeah I do. But, you know bud, there is nobody that I really care about over there and, for that matter, nobody there who really cares about me.’
‘Sometimes people matter more than the place, eh Tommy?’
Tommy nodded in agreement, but he’d told Lee an approximation of the truth. There was still somebody there that he cared for - more than cared for really.
‘You two never made it to Sydney did yer?’ He said, just for the sake of making some noise.
Lee shook his head ruefully, ‘getting her out of Deptford and Greenwich is hard enough Tom.’
Tommy laughed and they had a refill for the road. Lee dug out the first Roxy Music album, which he found to be almost unlistenable. Lee supplied some levity with a more than passable impression of Ferry’s affected warble. Fuck, he had once thought the band the epitome of exotic cool. There you go, so much for all our yesterdays! As for Ferry’s voice, he and Lee had cracked up a couple of times, like two teenagers giddily sharing a joint.
All that time had gone, he thought and, tonight, he didn’t mind that fact at all.
Darrin had lucked out so far with the drug op, he’d been hoping for a pair up with Moz or even that stone faced fucker Clarke. But, no, no go, Johno and Jolika were given the nod instead. He’d badgered Sarge Thomas about it but to no fucking avail.
‘Not my decision son, don’t take it personal like. They like to rotate you anyway, sort out the potential diamonds from the turds.’ Thomas laughed loudly at his own mordant wit. There was no gilding the lily with that Taff prick.
‘Anyway PC May, there’s plenty else for you to do in’t there? It’s not the only bloody movie showin’ you know. There’s still plenty of patrol to be done, the desk and bringing me cups of tea…speaking of which, there’s a lad now, you know how I like it.’
And that was it, end of discussion and an outline of his next few weeks in a nutshell. He bitched about it until the crew started to get sick of him. Even good old indulgent Trish started to put a swerve on him and look in the other direction. He took the frustration out on the bags and pads at his old man’s gym - pistoning away at them in a mute fury until he had nothing left.
He’d got a collar towards the end of the week, some scrote caught nicking from the pound shop and he’s given the guy a quick dig in the kidneys on the way back to the car. Debbie Roach had clocked it but let it go, her silence as they headed back to the station was everything that he needed to know. He saw Mozzer a couple of times at change over, but all was quiet at the moment.
He’d asked Moz how Jolika was going just for the sake of talking about the op.
‘Yeah - good, patient she is, unlike you son, that is for fucking definite. Can’t get her to have a go at the cheese and pickle butties though.’
Darrin laughed and Moz patted him on the shoulder.
‘Don’t worry son, this shit is going nowhere. Heads will roll and new ones will replace them, just l
ike the fucking Medusa it is.’
Crumbs of fucking comfort, he thought. That night he’d got himself trashed and Johno and Clarkey had to pull him away from some civilian who’d made a half-hearted grab of Trish’s arse. With a gentle but persistent persuasion they had shepherded him into a taxi and Johno had climbed in with him to make sure that he had got all the way home.
Big Ged had approached him the next day as he was on his way back from the canteen, deliberately blocking his passage in the narrow corridor. Ged had been in the bar last night but had kept his distance when it had all kicked off.
The big man held his hand up and then leaned into him a little, giving Darrin a whiff of mints and something else that had a lot more fire to it. Keegan didn’t drop his hand when Darrin came to a dead halt in front of him. He kept it up and lightly placed his thick index finger against Darrin’s solar plexus. He could hear Keegan’s breath whistling through his nose. It was all a bit too close and personal.
‘You need to chill out a bit young Dazzler. Kicking up too much dust you are.’
The big man was smiling but the eyes held no comfort.
‘I heard you’re pissed off about not being asked to climb into a suit. But, well, that’s just fucking tough that is. We all serve our time here son. Team play that’s what we’re about, accepting the status quo. You’re not Wyatt Earp lad. Getting into it with a civilian in a boozer - now that is fucking stupid - right?’
The big man shook his head at him in disgust.
Keegan had slightly increased the pressure on his solar plexus just to underscore his point. His heart was racing but he held the gaze.
‘Right son?’ Keegan wanted a response from him.
‘Okay Sarge - sorted.’
Ged Keegan nodded at him amicably enough.
‘You’re a good-un young Daz. That’s what I get told anyways. Just stay with the program son - don’t fuck it up, alright?’
Darrin assented and Keegan amiably stood aside to let him move on towards the station’s lifts.
The next day on he was feeling notably more chilled and he even engaged with Debbie a little bit more than was their norm. Debbie with her interminable stories about her youngest son, an eight year old who had Asperger’s, she kept the whole of the fucking station abreast of that.
It was a nice day at least, getting up towards spring now and he managed to persuade her to let him drive up to the butty van that was always up near the ressies. He grabbed them two teas then parked the car so that he could gaze down towards the urban spread, which poured down from the hills onto the western plain that was a thousand feet below. It was even warm enough today for a bit of heat shimmer, the big radio telescope doing a little dance in the distance. February, he thought, fucking nuts that is.
The radio crackled - Trish’s voice came over, a purse snatch just off the High Street. A fast fifteen minute drive and they were there back down amongst the thick of it.
Tommy had caught the six o’clock train back up north on the Monday morning, he was a little tired with the early start to the day but felt mentally refreshed with the change of scene. It had been a stroll round Greenwich and a movie on Saturday and a kick around at the local park with Lee and Bern’s bohemian buddies on the Sunday. The football was good-natured and excruciatingly non competitive. Jimbo would have been apoplectic with it all; no mazy dribbles, no pathological reluctance to pass the ball and no scything tackles on display. A couple of the crew had come back to the flat including a comely but married blonde who seemed to get off on his banter a little bit more than what was the norm.
Before he had left on the Monday, Lee had met him in the kitchen and they’d said their goodbyes. Lee would be back up in a month or so to see his Mum and he had rebooked the standing reservation on Tommy’s couch. Lee always made the point of asking even though the arrangement between them was a given.
His good mood followed him on through the day and even the paperwork and the filing momentarily held no tedium for him.
The kid had come in for his one-on-one at eleven. He’d even got there a little bit early today. He handed Tommy the exercise that Tommy had given out to him last week. He had wanted the kid to focus on somebody in his life who had taught him something that he had really enjoyed learning. The kid had written a piece about a bloke called Kim, a friend of his mum’s, who, when he was eight years old, had shown him how to make origami. The kid was a little embarrassed at the disclosure and it took some courage for him to tell it, but he was visibly comforted by Tommy’s words of support and encouragement. The story was pretty well written too. Fuck knows why the kid had ended up here. Regardless, he’d keep the safety net out for as long as the kid needed it.
The day was unseasonably warm and he was amazed when a bumble bee nudged against the office window a few times. Still, they were forecasting snow for the upcoming weekend so it wasn’t knotted hankie time just yet.
He popped up to old man Aziz’s in his lunch break. When he turned the corner to the shop the first thing that he noticed was an expensive car, a late model Beamer no less that was parked right outside the store. Instinctively, he knew that it would be Noora and he unconsciously lengthened his stride as he walked towards the shop. He even felt the stirring of tumescence at the thought of seeing her again - rolling back the years alright.
Tommy forcefully opened the door and there she was, an urban, desert rose if ever there was one. Noora! She, Jamal and her father turned towards him as he stepped into the store. Her smile magnetized him as it always had and Jamal and Mr Aziz quickly receded into the background as they always did.
‘Hello Noora.’ Keeping it in check in front of her brother and the old man.
‘Tommy!’ That smooth voice of hers, educated and elegant, time folded in on itself.
Then there was a movement at the back of the shop, and a chubby faced boy of about seven or eight appeared. He trotted up to her and began tugging on her sleeve.
‘Mum, Mum can I have a drink now Mum?’ He implored, jiggling from foot to foot with impatience as he did so.
Her focus immediately switched to the boy, ‘ask your Grandfather Sanjeev, this is his home - remember.’
‘Poppy, can I, please, please Poppy?’
Mr Aziz nodded with all the gravitas of his decorous elder statesman benevolence.
‘Of course my boy and take one for your sister too Sanj.’
The phone rang behind the counter and Jamal nimbly turned to pick it up.
‘Dad for you - suppliers,’ Jamal then guided Sanjeev to the living area at the back of the shop.
He looked at her again and they both smiled and he gave her the once over; nice jewellery, tailored pants, manicured fingers - long and elegant and, he remembered, very dextrous too.
‘You look well Tommy - never thought I’d bump into you in here after all this time.’
She bowed forward slightly and clapped her hands together with pleasure, a mannerism of hers that he had always enjoyed.
He nodded at her, ‘yeah well more through necessity than design I guess…and you?’
The word divorce leapt hopefully into his mind.
‘Only a quick visit I’m afraid, Raj has been offered a job in Vancouver - he has family there.’
He swallowed, ‘Vancouver, my dad went there. Nice city by all accounts. Soon?’
‘Next month if he gets confirmation, his cousin has law firm contacts there. He’s busy negotiating a contract.’
‘Soon enough then.’
She nodded and he held her eyes a little longer than was probably appropriate, obviously causing her a little discomfort this time.
A girl’s voice called out from the back of the shop, she was upset - Sanjeev not sharing as he should. She tutted with annoyance at the boy.
‘I’d better go Tommy, sort them out.’ She gave him a little ‘what can you do’ shrug.
He held out his hand and that was that, a brief touch and then she turned and quickly walked away.
Tommy
was slightly dazed by their encounter and he had left the shop without buying anything. He took time out for ten minutes or so on a bench in the little park not far from the Community Centre and his thoughts ping-ponged around without any focus, clarity or conclusion. An old lady pushed a trolley full of midday shopping through his eye-line and she turned to him and wished him a good afternoon. He nodded back and returned her warm smile. Fuck it, he thought, it’s all about choices and dealing with their consequences, no more, no fucking less. He’d go back and do some work on that funding application and maybe Jimbo would be up for a drink or two a little later on.
Pasquale, M and Junior spent the Friday up on the Coleshaw, it had been a warm day but as soon as the low sun started to dip towards the horizon the temperature had quickly started to drop and they’d rode their bikes in looping circles just to keep warm, their chatter clouding their collective breath over their three heads. Junior’s brother Wes was now getting out as early as December and M’s mum had a new bloke, somebody who had a job according to M. He and Junior shared an amused glance at that bit of news but they’d kept their mouths shut.
He wanted to tell them about the literacy stuff but he knew they’d just take the piss. He was enjoying it. It was much, much better than school with its dumb-ass rules and smart-ass kids who didn’t know when to leave you alone. His mum was pleased too and yesterday she’d bought him some new trainers, mint they were and they got the thumbs up from the boys too. M never wanted to be a step behind and he told them that he’d blag a pair over the weekend.
Some of the older boys were hanging out just up the road, engrossed in flirting and talking bullshit with a gaggle of girls. M had engaged with the crew briefly and then returned to him and Junior with a package tucked into the top of his jeans under his zipped up top. He pulled up just past them and quickly put the package into his back pack. ‘Got to take this down to the Barrington, fancy it?’
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