“Don’t mean a thing. Speak to im ya’self.”
Before Andrew had a chance to stop her, the drunken woman was shouting up the stairs, yelling for Frankie to come down. Andrew felt his skin tighten as he anticipated another encounter with the young thug.
Frankie appeared behind his mother only a moment later, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. She turned to look at him as he arrived. “Man says you been botherin’ him.”
Frankie looked at Andrew, and his face lit up with recognition, but all he gave was a smirk. “Dunno what the bloke’s on about. Never seen him before.”
Frankie’s mother shrugged her shoulders at Andrew. The motion made her nightdress ride inappropriately high. “Never seen ya in his life, he sez.”
“With all due respect,” said Andrew, “that’s a lie.”
Frankie pushed past his mother and stood in the doorway. “Who you calling a fuckin’ liar?”
Andrew sighed. He wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument. “Frankie, can we please just stop this? I have done nothing to you.”
“I think you need a lie down, mate, cus I ain’t got a clue what you’re on about. Like I said, I ain’t never seen you before.”
Andrew clenched his fists, but then willed them to open again. Losing his cool would not help the situation. “Frankie, the police know all about you and what you’ve been doing. If you don’t stop now you’ll end up in trouble.”
“I don’t see how,” said a young girl appearing in the doorway beside Frankie’s mother, the same one who’d been with Frankie’s group the night everything started–the one who had called Andrew a perv. She wore only a skimpy pair of pink shorts and a bra.
“He’s been with me,” she said. “Last couple of days we ain’t left the bedroom, except to eat.”
“See, yer wrong.” Frankie’s mother slurred at Andrew. “Want to watch who ya start accusin’, mate.”
“I am not wrong,” Andrew stated firmly. “This young lady has been just as much involved in what’s been going on as he has.”
The girl laughed at him mockingly. “You must be stoned, mate. I would remember an old perv like you. You’re talking a load of shit.”
“You’re Charlie’s friend, aren’t you?” Andrew said.
A spark of confusion flittered through the girl’s eyes, and for a moment, her mocking contempt was completely diluted. A moment later it was back in full force. “Don’t know a Charlie, mate. Who is he?”
Andrew finally lost his temper. “Look, you evil little shits. If you come near my family again, you’ll regret it, okay? You’ve had your fun, but now it’s time to move on. No more games.”
Frankie leapt out of the doorway and shoved Andrew back along the path. “You think you can come down my manor and threaten me? You must be trippin’.”
“Yeah,” added Frankie’s mother. “Get away from my house before I call the police.”
“You’ll call the police. That’s bloody rich.” Andrew was about to say more but realised it was pointless. He put his palms in the air and backed away. “Fine, have it your way, but this is going to stop one way or another.”
“Just fuck off,” Frankie shouted. “You come here again and you’re a dead man.”
Andrew sneered. “Same goes for you, my friend.”
“He ain’t your fuckin’ friend,” said the girl.
Andrew turned his back and walked away. He couldn’t help wondering if he had just made things worse. The walk home was a long one.
6
Davie had watched Frankie’s altercation from the top step. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his brother in an argument, and it would, no doubt, not be the last. Their mother getting involved and making things worse wasn’t particularly unusual either.
The man at the door had been middle-aged, older than the usual type of person Frankie had misdealings with. Davie assumed the man was the same one his brother had delivered a beat down to recently. Frankie hadn’t mentioned it himself directly, but Dom and Jordan had been laughing about it at last night’s party. The man had come to the door angry, but seemed more desperate than anything else–like he just wanted to call a truce.
Frankie was coming up the stairs now, casually, as if nothing had happened. Michelle was with him, both of them laughing.
“Hey,” Davie said. “Who was that?”
“Fuck knows,” said Frankie, “but the guy has a death wish to get all up in my face like he did.”
Davie shook his head. “Don’t shit me. Who was it?”
“Just some perv,” answered Michelle. “Don’t worry about it, D.”
“My name is Davie. How did he know where we live?”
Frankie shrugged. Michelle answered again. “Stupid bitch, Charlie, must have told him. He knew we used to be friends, so she obviously spoke to him at the chippy or summin’.”
“Okay,” said Davie, “so what did he want?”
“Fuck should I know?” said Frankie.
Davie looked at his brother and sighed. “I’m your brother, man. Tell me the truth.”
After a couple seconds, Frankie finally relented and let his guard down, his demeanour softening. “Okay, little bro, you’re right. He’s just some geezer I had to teach a lesson in manners to the other night. I gave him some grief, and he just came round to kick off about it.”
“So you’re going to leave off now?”
Frankie laughed and patted Davie on the shoulder. “Hell no! Shit is only just getting started. Now get out my way. This bitch needs a good seeing to.”
Michelle punched Frankie on the arm, but giggled as she did so. Davie got out of his brother’s way without saying anything more. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. Frankie would do as Frankie wanted; that was the way it had always been.
Davie decided to descend the stairs rather than return to his room. He entered the downstairs hallway on his way to the kitchen. It was unlikely there would be anything to eat–but stranger things had happened. The malodour of alcohol and weed was stronger downstairs than up and managed to permeate every corner of the house. The sound of daytime television polluted Davie’s ears as much as the smell polluted his nose–the additional noise of Frankie and Michelle screwing loudly upstairs only added to the assault on his senses.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” his mother asked as tried to sneak past the living room.
“Half-term,” he told her truthfully.
Davie’s mother stared at him, trying to work out if he was lying or not. Davie stared right back at her. Eventually, she seemed satisfied. “Okay, sweetheart,” she said. “Come sit with your old mom.”
Davie smiled uncomfortably, but joined his mother on the grimy settee as he was told. She pretty much lived in this room, sprawled in front of the television. Davie sometimes wondered whether her sweat-soaked flesh would someday fuse with the festering cloth of the cushions and keep her there forever.
His mother took a long swig of beer and followed it with a throaty belch. She looked at him. “So whaya bin up to, Davie?”
Davie shrugged and stared at the television. “Nothing really. Just hanging out with Frankie. I’m glad he’s back.”
His mother huffed and took another swig of beer. “Boy’s a bad un. Done nothing but embarrass me his whole life. All I ever did was try to raise him like a good mother. You need to stay out of his way, Davie. You study hard and make your old mum proud. That boy will only bring you down with him–drinking, drugs, sex. He’s no good.”
“He’s my brother. He just does what he needs to survive.”
Davie’s mother laughed a wet cackle that eventually became a hacking cough. Phlegm and spittle flew from between her cracked lips and settled on the grungy carpet. When she finally managed to get control of her lungs again, she said to him: “He tell ya that, did he? Bloody swine.”
Davie didn’t answer. He hated it when his mother started on about Frankie–it never ended well. There was a real, palpable hatred between the two of them. Davie was
the unfortunate victim in the middle. He loved them both, but when it came right down to it, only one of them was really looking out for him–and it wasn’t his mother.
The sounds of sex grew louder and more frenzied. Michelle cried out in orgasm, lacking regard for anyone forced to listen.
Davie’s mother looked up at the ceiling and sneered. “Goddamn whore! Where does Frankie find ‘em? Regret the day I gave birth to that monster, I really do.”
“Mum, don’t say that.” Davie knew where things were going: same place they always did. “Just watch your TV show. Okay?”
Suddenly her demeanour changed. Her eyes turned dark and her expression exuded a deep, hateful bitterness. “Don’t you tell me what to do, you ungrateful little shit. Who do you think you are?”
“Mum…”
Davie’s mother struck him across the face. His instincts almost made him strike her right back, but he managed to refrain from any retaliation. You never hit women, Frankie always used to tell him, those are the rules. So instead, Davie stood up calmly to exit the room.
His mother shouted after him as he left. “That’s right. Get outta my sight. Devil-child, that’s what you are. You and your brother make my life a living hell.” She started sobbing to herself. “What did I do to deserve this? I do my best…”
Davie ignored the rest of her comments, had heard them too often to let them settle in his mind. He turned away and went back up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. Maybe he would while away the day with a videogame or two. Before he got there, though, Frankie exited his own bedroom and stepped out onto the landing.
“What that bitch say to you?” he demanded. “I heard shouting.”
“Nothing,” said Davie. “She’s just mouthing off at the television again. You know what she’s like when she’s been drinking.”
Frankie examined Davie’s face, trying to work him out. Eventually he nodded and said okay. “It’s what she’s like when she hasn’t been drinking that I know nothing about. Woman’s a waste of space.” Frankie stepped over to Davie and put his hands on his shoulders. “Go find your coat, little bro. We’re going out.”
“Where to?”
Frankie smirked, his twitch turning the expression into an alternating grimace. “To go and have some fun.”
Great, thought Davie, heading to fetch his coat. More fun…
7
Andrew was upset, frightened, angry, and a multitude of other unwanted states of emotion. The amount of adrenaline in his body had at one point almost driven him to full blown panic. It was only thanks to a combination of deep breathing and the brisk walk home that managed to keep his anxiety under control. Now that he was rounding the final corner to his house, his predominant emotion had become anger.
Frankie’s attitude had been aggressive, just like Andrew had expected it to be. What he had not expected was that the boy’s mother would be just as confrontational as her son. In many ways, it explained a lot–almost made the monster that was Frankie understandable and perhaps even forgivable. It didn’t make things right, though. Enough was enough.
Frankie was just a teenager, living with his mother and dating a schoolgirl. Andrew was willing to bet his watch that the lad was all front and little substance. He’d only had the guts to throw a punch at Andrew the previous night because of a gang backing him up. People were only afraid of Frankie because of the reputation he worked so hard to cultivate. Things would be different if people fought back instead of buying into it.
Andrew was an average sized guy and man enough to throw a punch if he had to. If Frankie wanted to try and victimise him, then he was welcomed to try. Andrew knew where he lived now and who his family was. They were on an equal playing field.
He reached the path to his house and started walking up it. He could see the shape of Pen and Bex through the net curtains of the front window and smiled at the thought of seeing them. He didn’t expect them both to be home yet.
Was it that time already?
Andrew checked his wristwatch and saw that it was getting on for six-o-clock. As if in affirmation of the late hour, his stomach began to grumble. Food was something he hadn’t thought about all day, but perhaps his appetite returning was a good sign–a sign that things were no longer getting to him quite so much.
Andrew unlocked his front door and stepped inside the porch. Then he kicked off his shoes, removed his jacket, and passed through into the hallway. Pen and Bex were on the sofa in the living room. The carpets were still a mess, but the smell was mostly gone now. They gawped at him as he entered.
“Where have you been?” Pen demanded. “Have you seen what they’ve done to your car?”
Andrew set himself down in his armchair and released a long, weary sigh. “I know. I went to that lad’s home to try and put a stop to things.”
Pen’s eyes widened. “Really? What happened?”
Andrew leaned back into the chair’s cushion and shrugged his shoulders. “Not a fat lot. The kid’s whole family is as bad as he is. Was like banging my head against a brick wall.”
“So this isn’t over then?” Bex asked, sitting beside her mother and still wearing her school blazer.
Andrew shrugged again. “I’m hoping so, honey. The swine knows that I know where he lives now and that I’m not afraid to confront him. Hopefully that will be enough to make him think twice from now on. Either way, don’t let it worry you. Things will be okay.”
Bex seemed unconvinced. “How do you know?”
“I just do, okay? I’m not going to let anything bad happen.”
“Okay,” said Pen, finally sounding less on the defensive. “Let’s just move on then.” She looked at Andrew and grinned. “I think we’re still owed an evening of fish and chips, so I think I’ll walk over to the shops in a bit.”
Andrew stood up from the armchair. “Don’t be silly. I’ll go.”
“You sure?”
Andrew nodded emphatically. “Yes, of course. There’s nothing to worry about. Last thing I thought you’d fancy though is fish and chips after last night.”
“Like I said, we should just move on. Besides, I don’t feel like cooking tonight. You certain you don’t want me to fetch them?”
Andrew nodded. “Certain as can be.” He left the living room and went to get his jacket from the porch. It was chillier now as night fell, so he decided on a scarf also. Once he checked for his wallet and keys, he left the porch and started down the front path.
The sight of the empty road ahead was comforting—the soft buzzing of the streetlights the only sound he could hear. Right now, the memory of being attacked by a gang of bloody-minded yobos seemed impossible–a nightmare he had woken from long ago. Still, it would be smart to remain alert, and Andrew wasn’t entirely confident as he ambled down the street. But at least for now it seemed like things would be okay and that events would soon blow over.
What a day. Just when life seems to be routine and unexciting, something crazy can happen and turn everything on its head. It’s over now though. A little bit of grovelling at work and things will soon be back to normal.
Andrew didn’t notice the ambulance at first. He became aware of the flashing lights at the edge of his vision, but was too lost in his own thoughts to recognise their immediate connotation. When he came to realise that someone was undoubtedly injured, Andrew hastened his steps and headed towards the gathering crowd.
The ambulance was parked outside the small group of local shops that Andrew had been heading for. When he realised that the emergency vehicle was parked directly outside of the chip shop, his stomach tied itself in knots. A bad feeling enveloped him like a shroud. He rushed forward and looked for the nearest paramedic. There was a young blond man in a white shirt and green jacket. He was carrying a large holdall and NHS emblems adorned his clothing in several places. Andrew approached him.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Who’s hurt?”
The paramedic pushed past him, not making eye contact. “Please move aside, s
ir.”
Andrew went to grab out at the man’s sleeve but missed. The medical worker hurried away before there was any opportunity for another try. Several spectators stood around in various corners of the shopping area and car park. Andrew examined them one after the other, eventually spotting a young girl wearing the same chip shop uniform that Charlie always wore. He sighed with relief.
“What happened?” Andrew asked the chip shop girl as he closed the distance between them.
The girl’s eyes pointed at him and were moist with recently shed tears. It was obvious she’d witnessed whatever accident had befallen the poor soul in the ambulance.
Andrew put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I said what happened?”
For a brief moment it looked like the girl was going to faint. Somehow she managed to refocus herself and look Andrew in the eye. “She… she got burned.”
“Who got burned?”
“Cha… Charlie.”
Andrew’s knees threatened to fold beneath him. “Charlie is the one who got hurt?”
The grief-stricken girl nodded.
Andrew shook his head, hoping she was mistaken. “What happened?”
The girl gave no answer and just stared into space.
Andrew gave her a little shove. “Tell me!”
She snapped back to reality again. “I… I don’t know. She fell into the fat fryer. Got her arm all burned.”
Andrew examined her expression closely. She was staring into space again as if she were incapable of eye contact.
“Bullshit!” he said to her.
The girl flinched then looked at him, but still she said nothing. More tears began to expel themselves down her cheeks.
“Frankie did this, didn’t he?”
The girl shrugged off his grasp and rushed inside the chip shop, locking the door behind her. Andrew shook his head and felt tears of his own well up in his eyes.
So much for answers, he thought.
The ambulance revved its engine and started to pull away. Andrew tried to get a look in through the back windows, to see if Charlie was okay, but the glass was frosted and gave no opportunity to do so. So he stood there in shock for several minutes, praying to God that the poor girl on her way to the hospital was not hurt because of him.
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