‘Me too, be nice to do more of it.’
She leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the lips that felt like an electrical charge, a palpable mutual exchange of energy. And, for the briefest of moments, that was all that there was, everything around them fell away - gone.
She pulled away and nodded, more to herself than to him.
‘Fancy a nightcap Tommy?’ She said it levelly - her eyes alive, maybe even a little hungry.
‘Sure, sure, you mean yours?’
She nodded again.
‘He’s home but a drink would be nice.’
Tommy felt his ardour cool a little at that, but if it was going to be done better sooner than later? Get the kid used to the idea Tommy thought, why not.
‘Well as long as…’ He didn’t finish the sentence, she was opening a door that was hers to open, as simple as.
They finished their drinks and made the short drive over to the house.
Pasquale was sat in the lounge when she ushered him through. The kid was no poker player, surprise plastered all over his face, no obvious resentment though and a pleasant enough hello.
Tommy gave him a smile and took the armchair next to the sofa while Donna went to the kitchen to grab them both a drink.
The kid was quiet, his eyes fixed on some late night chat show on the box.
‘You OK Pasquale, been out have yer?’
The kid nodded and briefly looked over at him.
‘Yeah - mates.’
Donna returned with the drinks and the kid got up off the sofa with a barely suppressed sigh.
‘Stay Pasquale, have a drink and a chat with us.’
‘No it’s OK Mum,’ a nod to the TV, ‘fucking bobbins this anyway.’ The tone was harsh, the kid engaged in some passive-aggressive chest beating.
Tommy kept his eyes neutral but felt a slight tightening in the shoulders.
Donna didn’t let him get away with it.
‘OK Pasquale - no need to swear is there love?’
The kid didn’t respond to that, he brushed past her and said a terse goodnight to him. Tommy returned the favour, as did his mum. Pasquale trudged off upstairs as morose as fuck, like he’d just found out that somebody had nicked his bicycle.
Donna made off to the bathroom, which gave him the chance to squiz the room. Clean modern furnishings - an expensive leather sofa with two matching chairs and an expensive looking sound system with plenty of neatly placed CD’s. She had told him in the restaurant how much she liked her music. Tucked into a corner was a six-seat dining table, which was near the entrance to the kitchen.
The TV was sat in a large mahogany display case the colour of which gave the room plenty of warmth. Its shelves, to his taste, were over filled with framed photographs. He stood up and had a closer look at them, quickly noting that Pasquale’s smile seemed to dim with age. She looked great in all of them though. There was only one photograph of her without the kid, what looked like a professional picture of Donna at her graduation, she looked as proud as punch in the mortarboard and gown.
A few minutes later she returned to the lounge room and sat on the sofa next to him, her thigh resting lightly against his and they held hands as they drank. He could hear the kid walking around a bit upstairs and directly above them. A fanfare of sound as the TV went on in his room quickly followed by both silence and stillness.
They made plans for another meet towards the end of the week and Tommy idly speculated about the notion of what it would be like to wake up under her (and the kid’s) roof.
They’d see, he thought, nice and easy does it - he could wait.
The next day he hit the local beer garden with his old man after a tidy Sunday lunch together (a takeaway curry from the Shaheen). It was warm enough for a couple of bumble bees to be busying themselves around an early blooming azalea bush.
His dad had taken a swill of his bitter then he’d let out an unprompted rasping snort.
‘Guess what I read yesterday Tom?’
This is why he came, he thought. He nodded to Mick, go on then, give it to me.
‘The latest thing for men - fucking cosmetic six packs!’
‘What - you mean like boob jobs for blokes?’
‘Yeah,’ Mick liked that - fodder for him. ‘Boob jobs for blokes - fucking la la land, I tell yer. Plastic body parts for plastic people in a plastic fucking age.’
‘How much then - did they say?’
‘Nah no word on that son - probably cost a lot more than your gym membership though.’
Tommy laughed and shook his head while Mick played out his indignation.
‘Times have changed, hey pop?’
‘That, my son, is an understatement.’
Fred popped his head out of the pool room door and called Mick to the pool table. Mick would be gone a while, he specialized in grind-a-thons, an uncompromising rake of snookers until his numbed opponent felt like gouging out his own eyes with the cue.
Tommy stretched his legs and picked up the scents of the blooming azaleas - at least everything wasn’t fucking plastic.
She’d invited him over for a meal on Thursday and the kid was going to be there too - see if they could get it off to a good start. Life, he thought, never simple and looking like it was about to get more complicated.
He and Junior hung out up the Coleshaw early in the week, edging into Dwayne’s group of arse kissing hangers on. They were kids his own age and younger, a few snot nosed preteens amongst them. A raggedy arsed bunch and all full of braggart bullshit. One of them, a goofy off white kid named Danny had mentioned M’s name loud enough for him to hear it, but not clearly enough for him to make out the context. It was smart arsey though, he could see it on the kid’s face. Dwayne had quickly hushed the kid, telling him to shut the fuck up.
A little later on Dwayne had pulled Junior over to the side and, while they talked, he had taken off for a little lap of the estate. He had no wish to engage with the chav numb nuts and he was still pissed off at the mention of M.
On his return Junior was still chatting to an animated Dwayne, Junior called him to come over to join them.
After a few moments of belt tugging and nut hugging Dwayne addressed him directly.
‘J here says you’re a pretty fuckin’ smart young un, that fuckin’ right then?’
Pasquale looked at Junior and then at Dwayne, he nodded, ‘smart enough.’ He told him.
‘Fuck me dead right on, smart a fuckin’ ‘nough eh? Well, that’s fuckin’ good blood, just been telling J here that we need a couple of new fuckin’ lads on the fuckin’ team. Shift some smoke around for us - J here is havin’ it like and says you and he run close together - that fuckin’ right young un?’
Pasquale glanced at Junior again and nodded, again - sure.
‘OK then - sorted. I’ll have a chat with the crew, check out your fuckin’ resume like, I know Junior has the goods, we’ll see if you fuckin’ do too.’
‘All well, you two get back up here on Friday right, and we’ll get you fuckin’ started then.’
Dwayne reached into his pocket and handed Junior a foil.
‘That for fuckin’ starters - you can have money or weed if you bring it, either fuckin’ way - no fuckin’ fuss to me.’
Junior and he exchanged a look and Junior gave Dwayne the smiling thumbs up.
Dwayne got business like again.
‘Mouths fuckin’ shut though yeah? You stepping up to the fuckin’ big boy stuff now?’
And that was that, Dwayne offered a bony palm to the pair of them and with that they rode off to the canal to have a puff down in the lee of the old mill.
As they smoked they excitedly talked business; cash projections, maybe as much as £250 a week each - ‘real fuckin’ dough for fuckin’ once,’ said Junior, taking the piss out of that knuckle dragger Dwayne.
During the conversation they reminded each other to be careful and not to blab. If M could keep that part of it quiet then they could too.
The mention
of his name took the edge off the giddy high for a little while but still, Pasquale thought, he could do a few more things now - maybe even save up for a flat.
Pasquale and Junior blew their smoke up to the sky as the pigeons roosted on the exposed beams above. The birds cooed, ruffled their feathers and shat on the old mill floor, indifferent to it all.
Jolika had asked him if he was interested in having a weekend away. Next week, she, Stuart and a few of their crew were heading down to Birmingham to a big ‘too hot to miss’ salsa bash that was happening down there. They checked out the website together during the lunch break, hot shot Cuban instructors would be doing lessons and workshops over the whole of the weekend - you could dance for eighteen fucking hours a day if you wanted to. He was rostered on for the Sunday but, with the approval of Sergeant Thomas, he quickly sorted out a swap out with Johno. The Sarge had looked at him for a few long hard seconds when he had told him why he had wanted the swap and, for a moment, he thought the prick was going to knock him back. The Sarge had finally given him the nod of approval and then went straight back to his Sudoku with a tuneful accompanying whistle of La Bamba.
He did a couple of hours up the Coleshaw, had a lateish work out at the old man’s gym and then stuck around to help his dad close the joint up. Numbers were still down, the old man chewing on his bottom lip, which was an old, old sign of worry and stress and, when the old man had been much younger, a warning portent of impending bad temper, a sure fire sign for Darrin to keep well out of the way.
Dougy had a couple of the older boys competing over the weekend down on Humberside. One of the boys was particularly promising, a heavy shouldered kid with a good right hand and reasonable footwork. His old man had hinted more than once as they put away the gloves, mitts and ropes, at him coming for the trip in order to help out. Darrin finally nipped it in the bud, telling the old man about the trip away without telling him exactly why he was going. He’d get a bit more shit than a whistled La Bamba from the old man.
Doug took the knock back pretty well though, confirmation that the space they now had between them was becoming, for him at least, a much more comfortable one.
Thursday and he was back in the Coleshaw flat - there was no booming bass from next door and not much action down below either. He was itching for something to happen and nothing much was, though a kid had been hospitalized through drug use over the weekend and that had reignited all the hoo ha in the press. A photo of Matthew Marshall had been slotted in next to the news story. So, it was all still on, and press bullshit apart it was a real concern. There’d been a bit of talk around the station about pulling in all the known faces just as a matter of course, but that was unlikely given the fact the brass had now committed to the costs of the op.
A movement caught his eye, pulling Darrin out of his slightly morose introspection - aye aye he thought, that car was back again - the wild gypsy rover. This time the Jag’ rolled all the way down Oak and pulled into The Admiral car park. Dalton pulled up close to the pub doors and went quickly in to the boozer with a robust, confident vigour - cock of the fucking block. Dalton had half an hour or so in there with the swamp creatures then came briskly back out to drive the couple of hundred yards back to Sycamore.
Be nice to find out where the prick’s living, Darrin thought, no current address - that would be a good gap to fill.
Thursday night and his leaky boat had come into port, they’d had a Malay style curry which was delicious and some cake that she’d picked up at Waitrose, helped down with plenty of both ice cream and cream. The kid had been OK if not exactly brimming over with good cheer and all throughout the evening Tommy had felt a tension between them that had never been present at the Community Centre. After the meal, the kid quickly excused himself leaving his plates on the table for his mum to clear up. As Pasquale walked away towards the hallway Tommy noticed how light on his feet the kid was as he left the room - as quick and silent as a cat. He helped her to wash up and, as they did so, they small talked about their respective working weeks. After he’d dried the last dish she thanked him with an arm around the waist and a kiss with some push in it, which sent his mind in a fairly obvious direction. Not here though, there was no way that was going to happen. They quickly compromised with an unplanned trip to the local. She let Pasquale know the plan and they made the walk to the pub, they had a couple of drinks but the hunger of that kiss hung heavily between them. After some relatively meaningless chat about plans for the summer blah, blah, blah, she laid her long fingers on the back of his hand.
‘Have you anything to drink at your place then Tommy?’
And that was it - in an instant his body followed his mind out of the door.
She stayed with him until three, where-upon she got up out of his bed with a little sigh. He watched her dress quickly and quietly in the half-light of his bedroom.
Two minutes later and she was ready to go. He rolled out of the bed, tugged on his tracksuit bottoms and walked her to the back door. He watched her move lightly down the wooden stairs and on into the yard. She got to the gate, turned and gave him a wave and then she was gone, as silent as a ripple in a pond.
And that was it for the next few days, the love nest tacitly sorted. He barely slept but he didn’t care, it was nice to have something new and alive again. She never mentioned Pasquale whilst they were at his place and that was jake with him. The kid was enough of a ghost at the banquet as it was. They both wanted to bask in the bubble and just let the hassle wash its way around them. She always kept the phone off, turning it back on again just before she made to leave. Messages were waiting for her every time.
Pasquale was a no show again on Monday - Sonny came in, in the afternoon and they talked about him for a while.
‘The people who run the refuge have a good programme Tommy.’
‘Yeah I know it. Lucy and Tim are the tutors over there - nice people.’
‘Yeah, they are - well meaning.’
Tommy raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Bit back handed there Sonny - faint praise and all that?’
Sonny shrugged and laughed a little - ‘yeah, yeah you’re right. Some of the staff there got that Christian thing going though eh?’
‘Yep, agreed, it is fucking tedious - but there again, we are a pair of pagans.’
‘The lapsed brothers.’ Sonny said with a smile
‘I reckon you’ll be back in the mosque before they get me back to the church.’
Sonny laughed, ‘you wanna bet on that altar boy?’
After more chuckles, Sonny changed the topic, he was all business again.
‘Did you read about the kid at the weekend - the overdose?’
‘Yeah I did, you know him?’
‘As it happens no, he’s from St Leonards way, not on my patch that.’
‘St Leonards - fuck me, the leafy suburbs, he talking yet, the kid?’
‘Not heard anything, I might get down the station today, see if Sarge Thomas knows ‘owt about it.’
‘Ah yeah, you get on with that old bruiser don’t yer?’
‘That’s right Tommy - told him I was a God fearing Methodist.’
‘He bought that did he? Ah well Sonny, as long as they always let you leave the station.’
‘Speaking of which, I was thinking that maybe I should have a chat with our mutual young pal again, Pasquale. You know about young Matthew, this thing with the new kid might have jogged something with him.’
‘You do reckon he knows a bit more than he’s letting on then?’
‘Probably, he’s not street though you know, not like our Junior. He might still see sense and give something up.’
Tommy coughed, ‘well the kid has a lot on his plate.’
Sonny nodded at him but he was a little puzzled, ‘yeah-why’s that then Tom?’
Fuck it, Tommy thought.
‘Yeah,’ he paused, ‘I’ve just started seeing his mum.’
Sonny shook his head at him and laughed long and hard and
Tommy felt himself blush slightly.
‘Tommy boy, you slick mover you. Ah well, she is a catch mind, I’ll give you that, you bloody rascal. How’s the kid with it then?’
‘Well I haven’t given him a bloody feedback form Sonny. I’m pretty sure he’s not ready to call me Dad yet.’
‘Hmmm well, Dad’s been gone a long time Tommy. You’ll be tip toeing through the tulips for a while yet mate.’
He nodded his head and pursed his lips into a thin smile - didn’t he fucking know it. Sonny stood up, ready to go.
‘Still what’s life without a challenge eh Tom?’
‘Thanks Sonny, that’s very fucking reassuring.’
He and Junior were making plenty of dough and that was a fact.
A couple of days ago, Dwayne had led them up to some alley on a part of the Coleshaw that was a fair distance from the pub and had told them to, ‘fuckin’ wait there.’
‘No fuckin’ noise too, right?’
Then off he strolled back onto Oak Street. Five or so minutes later Dwayne suddenly reappeared, stepping a little awkwardly through a gap in a nearby back yard fence, which he’d made by pushing the flimsy looking slats off to one side. The bottoms of Dwayne’s jeans were slicked by the wet of the long grass of the house’s unkempt garden. He gravely handed them a package each of tidy looking, flatly compressed weed.
‘There you go boys, run it down to those fuckin’ garages in Epsom Close on the Barrington, you know Johnny Talbot down there, don’t yer J?’
Junior nodded, he did.
‘He’ll be waiting for yers, get back here, fuckin’ transactions done fifty each, smooth as fuck.’
And that was it - a forty minute ride, a non-conversation with a lanky dude with bad skin and ta very much. They did two runs the next day and by three o’clock he had a ton thirty nestling in his pocket. He and Junior spent most of the day trying to think of new things to spend the money on. He’d have to be careful - his mum was like Sherlock and Robo Cop rolled into one - she didn’t miss a beat. He’d stash it and just buy the things that he could readily consume for the moment; food and smoke probably but he would have to sort something out longer term, maybe one of those cash deposit boxes or something.
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