It was a boss laugh though. When we got Ayax out at last, the Manc stepped in to bat. Then Hanzi. He didn’t last long. Then Rodney bowled Casho. By the end it was me and Rodney. Him hitting the big shots and calling the runs. He looked like he’d stay in forever. He whacked one towards Hanzi, thinking the lad would spoon it up and he’d get an easy two. Then out of nowhere came Raz. Yelled at Hanzi to throw it to him halfway. Fielded it, flicked his wrist and cracked it onto Rodney’s wicket from twenty yards.
He jogged over to give high fives to Hanzi. The little lad smiled.
I sat on my heels and watched Raz romping around like a big kid. He paused for breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees, and looked at his watch.
“Nearly ten.” He yelled at the lads to pack up the kit. “Home,” he said. “Meet the new kid.”
Rodney whacked the ball off again in a huff. It whizzed over the far side of the park. Raz walked over to have a word with him. Called to me as he went. Told me to jog and get it.
It had landed in a flower bed across the far path.
I stepped in the squishy soil, leaned over and picked the ball out. Hopped back onto the path and lobbed it towards the lads. Rodney trotted forward and fielded it.
I was about to jog back when I heard a voice behind me. Rough, dopey. Blocked nose.
“Uv yer gorra spurr ciggie thurr mayce?”
I looked at him. Skanky-looking twat. Sick pale skin, sticky-out ears. Baggy sunken eyes.
“Sorry, mate,” I muttered.
I started walking away. Glanced at him again, over my shoulder. I stopped.
Greasy hair. Scraggy neck covered in spots.
I crapped myself.
He was wearing the same manky tracksuit as before. The second lad I decked in The Grace. The dead one’s mate. He still had the scar on his top lip from where I’d hit him.
“Sorry mate,” I muttered again.
He was looking right at me. I turned my face away and carried on walking. But the voice came again, weak and raw.
“’Ey, laz.”
I stopped walking. Stayed calm. Turned around.
He stared hard at me. Looked mad. Then scared. His face crumpled. He coughed and spat, turned and stumbled away.
I went after him. He walked faster.
“Come ’ead mate,” I said. “Let me talk to you.”
He started running, yelling back at me down the path. “I call the bizzies. They should have sent you down.”
I broke into a run myself.
“I get Gary’s folks on you,” he yelled.
I tried to stay calm.
“I just want to talk to you,” I shouted. I didn’t know what about though. What I really wanted to do was call Paterson. I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and looked at the time. Almost five to ten. I’d be late back. Raz would be mad.
The lad turned to face me. Got his balls up now he was a way off. He pointed a finger.
“Keep looking over your shoulder,” he yelled. “We’ll stab the lot of yous. You first of all, nig-nog. You’re fuckin’ dead!”
He darted to the right through one of the park gates.
I squinted through the trees. The lads were gathering up their stuff. Raz was standing there, looking around. Wondering where I’d got to. I didn’t know what story I’d tell him. No time to think though. I turned my back on them, ran to the gate and out of the park.
The lad was heading down a side road.
I followed him, creeping behind trees and cars. People stared, wondering what I was up to. On her majesty’s secret knobcheese, I wanted to tell them. Go home. Nothing to see.
The lad slowed down. He thought he’d lost me but I kept him in sight. He turned off west. Then right, onto a main road towards the docks.
Left again. This web of old terraces. At the bottom of one there was a battered wire fence with a gap in it. Then a slope down to the railway.
I caught up with him on the other side of the gap. Legged him up as he was crouching to slide down the embankment.
He rolled to the bottom, swearing and grunting.
I slithered down after him on my arse in the soil. Wet and oily it was. Scattered with cans and needles. I grabbed him as he rolled in a heap at the bottom. Hoisted him up by his trackie top and sat him on his arse on the slope.
He tried to spring up and leg it. I slammed him down again.
“I just want to talk to you.”
“Get off us.”
I looked up the slope to the street. Head lights sweeping over as the cars swished by. Shadows of people walking past.
He started yelling. I smacked him in the gob. He stopped. Looked at me. Scared now.
“Where you off to, lad?” I asked him.
He said nothing.
“Do your mate’s folks live round here?”
His look gave it away. Over my shoulder, towards the slate-roofs across the track. Back yards. Pants hanging on lines.
“Listen lad,” I said. “I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll make it up to you.”
I took out my phone and dialled Paterson’s number. I could have him send someone to take the lad in. Stop him blowing my cover. Paterson would understand. He said he’d always be there. Said he’d make the bother go away.
It was ringing.
The lad tried to get up and bolt again. I grabbed him by the trackie top and shoved him back down. He punched me in the knackers. I half crumpled over. Dropped the phone. Dreno softened the pain though. Sharpened me up. I still had hold of him, his trackie bunched in my fist. He was trying to stand up on the slope.
I leaned forward, clicked my neck and nutted him with the side of my head. Caught him on the eye. He fell on his hip with a whimper.
I picked the phone back up out of the dirt. I held the lad still there, my fist clutching his top, my knuckles up at his collar bone digging in his throat.
The call had cut off when I dropped it. I dialled Paterson again.
He didn’t answer.
The lad was looking at me. Rubbing his hip and his forehead. It was nearly dark. His eyes shone in the half-light. Scared. Hateful.
I called Paterson again. Ten rings. Twenty. No voicemail. Nothing.
I put the phone back in my pocket. Gazed across the tracks at the sun going down beyond the docks. Lighting up the cranes, slate roofs, breezeblock towers. Orange, pink, purple.
I stared at the colours and let it sink in.
No Paterson.
I was on my own. No one there for me but Raz, back at the house. Some new scrote coming in for me to bully. I saw it in my mind. Raz, looking at his watch. Badmouthing me. Wondering where I was.
The lad had another go, tearing free of my hand. His trackie ripped. He scrambled away and legged it along the embankment, heading for a spot where he could cross the tracks.
I ran after him. He fumbled something out of his pocket as he ran and put it to his ear. I closed on him. Reached out and got an arm round his scrawny neck. It felt like it’d break.
I grabbed his arm and twisted his wrist round with my free hand till he dropped it. Shiny and white. I picked it out of the mud. A slinky little smartphone. Poor little scrote. It must have cost him months’ worth of dole.
He’d put a call through as he was running. Someone answered just as I got my finger on the touch-screen. I squeezed the side button, shut the phone down and slipped it in my pocket with my free hand.
I squeezed his windpipe and dragged his head down level with my waist. He started gurgling and sobbing.
“Kick my head in then, you knob,” he said. “You’re still dead.”
I locked his neck tighter. Tried to make him shut up so I could think. He wouldn’t.
“I’ll tell Gary’s dad,” he said. His voice was strangled and thin, but somehow it came out. “He’ll come after you. Even if the bizzies won’t.”
I looked up the slope towards the street where the headlights came and went. I dropped to my knees, wrestling the lad down with me. I tried Paterson a
third time.
I counted thirty rings, then lost it. Roared. Sobbed. Sweared. Then I made myself hold it in. Swallowed it and choked it down.
The lad was too shit-up to move now.
I looked up at the sunset again. Tried to breathe. Faced this new world I was in. More alone than ever. Something settled down in me. Something nasty. I let it settle.
I saw the car lights coming and going up on Stanley Road.
I breathed slower. Calmer. I knew what I was doing. Easy, in a way. Having no choice.
It took a couple of minutes. I got both hands on his neck. Pressed on them juicy pipes either side of his windpipe. Tightened till he stopped struggling.
I heard the tracks snapping and shuddering as a train headed our way.
I held him there a minute longer then left his body on the track.
18
Numb. Blind. Trembling. I couldn’t think about what I’d done, so I thought of the next worst thing: what was waiting for me when I got to the house.
Raz, wondering where I’d been. Why I’d not come back to meet the new lad. Why I wasn’t there to settle them all down at bedtime.
That lying bastard Paterson. I’ll always be there, lad. I’ll always answer.
I’ll teach him, I thought. I’d wreck this whole game. He could send me down if he liked. At least I’d have ended it my own way. Reckoned he was untouchable, he did. But I knew what would get to him. I’d take away the one thing he was after.
I’d do Raz.
He had it coming. More than the scrote lying on the tracks did. Raz, rounding up lads who were too poor and messed up to say no. Using them. Him and Paterson would get on great together.
Giving up? Yeah, I guess I was. I’d not last long anyway once they found that lad dead.
Ali was better off without me. I saw that now. There was a reason he lived with her and not with me. True what that lawyer had said. Not fit to, I wasn’t. Who wanted a killer for a dad?
I must have stopped at the garage on the way because when I got near the house I had a pack of Regals in my hand and was smoking one. I flicked it away as I turned in the front gate.
Raz was on his way out. White tracksuit. Car keys in his hand. Frowning. Mad. He looked up and saw me coming.
I’d do him right there on the doorstep. Bare hands. Bring the whole shithouse down. Let Paterson pick up the pieces.
Raz stood there, filling the doorway. He squared his shoulders and pointed at me. Spoke low and husky with anger.
“Where you been?”
I didn’t answer. I pounded up the path towards him, my hands twitching. Raz raised his voice.
“I told you we had to make it back for ten. You just bunked off and left us all?”
He stepped down onto the path. Mossie came up behind him in the doorway. Shovelling pot noodles in his gob. Do him too, then, would I? Fine. Almost there now. Four paces away. Two.
There was a sound. They turned to look behind them.
Hanzi was stood there in the hall. He muttered something and rubbed his eyes.
Raz growled at him to get back upstairs. Mossie raised his hand at the boy. Hanzi moved back a step and then stopped. Stood there. Didn’t turn away. Stared up at Mossie.
I was meant to be dancing on the big man’s corpse by now. Change of plan though, eh. Do Hanzi a favour for once. Don’t make him watch a murder. I bought some time to sort my head out.
“It’s alright Raz,” I said. “I’ll take him up.”
They stared at me. No more killing that night then. More acting instead. More bullshit.
“Raz, mate. Mossie. I’m so sorry,” I said. My honest Scouser act. Trying to laugh and clown around, never mind the din in my head. “I couldn’t walk back with you. I saw this bird I know, Linzi.”
Not much of a plan, was it. Owning up that I’d let him down at the first sniff of muff. Best I could come up with though.
They were staring at me still.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Raz, mate. I messed up.”
Raz narrowed his eyes. Didn’t know what to make of it. He looked me up and down. Oil and mud on my trackie bottoms.
“We was copping off in the trees,” I said. “It’s well manky.”
“And?”
“I’ll see her next Sunday, if you don’t need me.”
Cheeky twat, me. Still. I’d chosen my story. All or nothing.
Raz raised his eyebrows and thought to himself for a sec. Mossie chewed his noodles, glaring at me. Shaking his head.
“What?” I stared Mossie out over Raz’s shoulder. “Did you have a hot date lined up too, did you? That’d be a first. Not seen many birds round here.”
I gave Mossie a smirk and threw a glance up towards the lads’ bedrooms. So he knew what I meant alright. Now he’d have to start on me or let it go.
“What?” I said again, still frowning at Mossie. “Not much shagging at your meetings either is there? It was either here or the Boy Scouts, eh?”
Raz turned on me. Gone too far, had I? Fight instead? Fine.
I braced myself, rocking lightly on the balls of my feet. But Raz was too fast. A swish of his arm, and my neck was in his hand. Choking. Crippling. His thumb digging up under my jaw. Perfect grip. He didn’t squeeze, just held me there. His huge green eyes glaring into mine. Searching for something. Looking for lies.
I felt my feet leave the ground.
I gurgled and tried to swallow. Couldn’t. I reached up with both hands and gripped his arm. Steel bar.
He held me there, dangling like a dead cat from his one hand. He shifted on his feet so the porch light shone on my face. Looking in my eyes the whole time.
The blood was churning up into my head. My skull felt like it’d pop open. My eyes straining out of their holes. Somehow I held his gaze. Kept up the act.
“Come ’ead, then,” I gurgled.
I’d almost passed out when he let me down. I dropped to my hands and knees, coughing and spluttering. Waited for the clouds to clear from my eyes. Tottered to my feet.
I stepped away from Raz and gave him a narky stare, holding my throat. Walked round on the path in a little circle, with tight, sulky paces, trying to cool off. Sparked up a Regal. Got to keep up the act, eh. That was why he hired me after all. For better or worse. Angry, randy, scrappy. He’d not want me to change.
My breath came back. Calmer. I didn’t speak. Waited for Raz to.
Whatever he was looking for in my face, he had found it. He waved me into the house.
I stepped past them both. Mossie scowled at me and slurped his noodles. Hanzi was still stood there, watching. His little black eyes staring me out. I took his hand. My thoughts back in my head where they belonged. Not in my fists. My heartbeat eased.
I took Hanzi in the kitchen and made him a hot Ribena. Followed him upstairs and sat with him as he lay under the Spiderman cover, drinking. The Manc snoring in the next bed.
I talked to Hanzi in a low voice. Didn’t know how much he understood, but I kept gobbing. It calmed me down.
I told him about Ali and Frank. The Grace. Then about my dad. I went on and on. I told Hanzi not to worry. I’d see he got looked after. He seemed to understand. I was still spouting as he drifted off.
I climbed the ladder to my attic. Felt the weight of the dead lad’s phone in my pocket, knocking against my hip as I went. I took it out, wrapped it in a pair of pants and stashed it under my bed.
I crawled under the duvet. Freaked, knackered. As the sleep came, so did the dread.
Nightmares. I was running to catch a train but it was getting faster and faster away. My dad was on it. His three-stripe and muzzy. He stretched his arms out to haul me in but I couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t see his face, like always. A blur with floppy back hair and moustache. He drifted away, and the bodies of dozens of Hanzis crunched under the train wheels.
19
My eyes weren’t open yet, but my mind and body had woken up. Legs and arms aching. Scratches and bruises on my arse. I knew
I was in my bed in Raz’s house. And I knew what I’d done.
The skylight was right over my head. No blind on it. Sun right on my eyelids. I rolled over and faced the bedside table.
Cup of tea on it.
I sat up with a jerk and looked around. No one there.
Raz? Or one of the lads? First time it had happened since I’d been here. And I hadn’t done much to earn a favour.
My throat was all dry so I sat up and tried it. Stewy and strong. I sat and drank it and thought about what to do.
I was going down, now Paterson had dropped me. I saw what happened. He knew about Ali. Knew I’d broke the deal. And now I’d killed. Again. He’d haul me in. But he’d not come to the house to get me, would he. That’d give him away to Raz. The house was the safest place for me.
I needed a piss so I got up and creaked down the ladder in my boxies. I was late up. No one about on the landing. I listened. Heard voices downstairs. Clink of dishes. The lads in the kitchen having their Coco Pops.
I plodded across to the bathroom. No lock on the door. I knocked once and pushed it open.
She was sitting there on the toilet with the lid down.
The new one.
Bare feet with red toenails. Light blue Kappa trackie bottoms, white vest, no bra. Hair all wet, hiding her face as she leaned over to the mat at her feet, fiddling with something.
I didn’t say nothing. I peered at her, trying to see what she’d got there. An old red biscuit tin. She pressed the lid down on it and slipped it behind the toilet bowl. Straightened up and flicked her hair back.
These big nutty dark eyes. Thin nose with a crystal stud. Thin face. Her jaw moving, chewing gum clicking round in her mouth.
She gave me this dirty grin, like she’d known I was coming.
“I thought you was never waking up,” she said. “Thought your tea would get cold.”
“The tea,” I said. “Ta.”
“You’re welcome.”
She sat there on the toilet lid, stretched her toes out and looked at the nail paint.
House of Lads Page 8