Die Hard Mod (10 page)

Trevor started chuckling.

‘What gets me is that ye made it so fuckin’ easy for us. My manager at Temptations tells me you’ve been advertisin’ yerself on
BBC
2 then all I have to do is put in a few calls to fellas I know in the buildin’ trade over here ‘cos I knew rightly that’s the only kinda work you’d be able to get. Even more easy peasy ‘cos Donzo’s uncle’s workin’ as a site foreman in the same fuckin’ town and was able to put the feelers out nae bother.’

Donzo chipped in.

‘Thing is, its yer dopey fuckin’ haircut that was the dead giveaway when we started askin’ around. If you’d shaved yer oul’ bap like I do, no fucker would have noticed ye.’

Donzo indicated right and turned down
Waterloo Street
towards the seafront. Steve was still in a daze from their assault on him but managed to splutter out a question.

‘Where the fuck are youse takin’ me?’

Trevor smirked.

‘Thought ye might enjoy a wee trip along the coast. Me and Donzo have been gettin’ to know this part of the world the last couple ‘o days and there’s a nice wee spot called
Beachy Head
we thought ye might like to see.’

27

It was the first time Steve had seen the Seven Sisters cliffs but the view from
Beachy Head
was instantly recognisable to him because of the spectacular aerial footage in his favourite movie.

‘Thanks for taking me here, lads. It’s one of the locations from Quadrophenia that I’ve always really wanted to visit. It’s where Jimmy rode his scooter along the cliff-edge… fuckin’ class!’

‘Don’t waste yer time tryin’ to be a smartarse, ye sarky wee slabber’ snapped Trevor. ‘Yer not funny and I’m not fuckin’ interested in hearin’ about yer Quadro Fenian or any other kind of Fenian. Just keep movin’, fuckhead’.

Trevor and Donzo kept close behind Steve and whenever he was sure no-one in the vicinity was looking, Donzo shoved Steve forward with a fierce punch in the back. Steve let out a loud grunt.

‘Keep the fuckin’ noise down and don’t even think about makin’ a dash for it,’ said Trevor. ‘Donzo may be a big fella but he can out-run any bastard I know.’

Looking down on the five hundred foot drop below, Steve saw a lighthouse. He fleetingly thought of all the lives it must have saved but knew it wouldn’t be any use in helping to save his.

‘It’s a sad oul’ story, aint it Donzo?’

‘Sure is, Trevor.’

Steve turned around to face them. The two fat, red-faced, tattooed Ulstermen looked incongruous against the gentle rural
Sussex
backdrop. Donzo was wearing a Glasgow Rangers top while Trevor had squeezed his bulk into a beige summer suit from Next.

“Aye, it’s an awful shame, Donzo’ continued Trevor. ‘Poor wee fella from
Belfast
is so upset about his bum-chum dyin’ that he decides to top himself at a lonely spot far away from home. Happens all the time… I hear there were nearly twenty suicides here last year. What the oul’ Belfast Telegraph would call a ‘grim statistic’ eh?”

Steve could see an elderly couple walking their Scottish terrier nearby and thought of shouting something to them but they were soon out of view.

‘But before we conclude this wee bit o’ business, there’s also the matter of that wee whore-bag that you were seen with when ye got clocked on TV,’ said Trevor.

‘I suppose ye know we’ve got an issue with her too so ye better fuckin’ tell us where she is.’

Donzo licked his lips.

‘Aye, she’s a wee ride too and we’ll have a good oul’ rattle at her before we dole out the real punishment. Reckon we’ll have the bitch both ways, eh Trevor?’

Steve bristled.

‘For a start, you’re fuckin’ wastin’ yer time there ‘cos I don’t have a notion where she lives and …’

Steve took a deep breath.

‘… and if you ever lay a hand on her, you’re fuckin’ dead.’

Trevor and Donzo looked at each other and laughed loudly in unison.

‘Yer man’s a geg, aint he Donzo? A real fuckin’ joker.’

It was then that Steve chose his moment. He swiftly swung his boot into Donzo’s bollocks and when Trevor lurched towards him, Steve managed to land a crunching right hook straight into his throat. As the pair groaned, Steve stood at the cliff’s edge with the sea behind him and beckoned to them.

‘C’mon ta fuck ye fat bastards. I’ll batter the pair of youse’.

With Donzo still writhing in pain, Trevor came at Steve with both fists clenched.

‘If you think some fruity fucker like you can take us boys on, you’re a bigger head-the-ball than I thought,’ he croaked.

Trevor swung at him but as he did, Steve took a vicious kick at his ankle like the dirtiest football tackle ever.

Trevor stumbled sideways and stuck his arms out to try to break the fall but ended up diving right over the edge of
Beachy Head
. With screams ringing in their ears, Steve and Donzo were left facing each other.

‘Not so fuckin’ brave without a baseball bat, are ye fatboy?’

Steve maintained his stance on the cliff’s edge and flicked Donzo a fuck-off V-sign.

‘C’mon, ye scummy fat fucker. Do ye wanna end up like Trevor or do ye fancy yer chances?’

Steve began to tease Donzo, dancing around in a circle like Muhammad Ali and daring him to take him on. Disorientated and dizzy, Donzo kept lurching towards him until he unwittingly ended up on the precarious spot where Steve had just been standing.

Still cringing with pain, Donzo lumbered forward away from the cliff’s edge. With his shiny bald head glistening in the evening sunshine and rolls of flab wobbling underneath his Rangers top, he didn’t look quite so menacing in the wake of Trevor’s demise. Tears were streaming down his face.

‘You’ve …. you’ve killed my Trevor,’ sobbed Donzo.

Steve couldn’t help but grin.

‘So it’s
my
Trevor is it? So that’s what all that anti-gay shite was about… a big fuckin’ smokescreen. Fuck, I shoulda guessed. It’s always the one’s that slabber on about how much they hate fruits that are the biggest fruits of all. And all that ballix about what a ride Jeanie is and what you’d like to do to her… aye, right enough.’

If it hadn’t been for the fact that this was one of the monsters who’d taken Doug’s life away, Steve might even have started feeling a sense of pity that a community’s narrow-minded attitudes had forced Donzo into living a lie. But he kept remembering his dead friend. Doug, the dutiful son who was forever round his elderly folks’ place doing DIY jobs for them at weekends. Doug, the soft touch who’d always get all the rounds in when his drinking buddies were skint. Doug whose eyes would fill up if they were listening to Marvin Gaye’s
What’s Going On
album after a night at the pub.

‘You dirty murderin’ low-life cunt.’

Steve had only seen flying Kung Fu kicks in
Enter the Dragon
but Bruce Lee had left him with a vivid impression of the basic technique. Making a crazed monkey noise as he took a running jump, he made his assent and landed feet first onto Donzo’s protruding gut. As Donzo tumbled backwards, the shock on his fat face made him look even more gormless than usual. He teetered for a few seconds, flapping his arms and snorting like a pig as he tried to regain his balance. Gravity got the better of him.

With his work done, Steve got back onto his feet and took a look over the precipice. On the white rocks below, he could make out two blobs of blue and beige splattered with red. Seagulls were already taking an interest. ‘Hope they don’t mind a bit of gristle,’ thought Steve.

28

Steve wandered back towards the coast road with a strange sense of calm. He could see the headlines in The Belfast Telegraph. ‘Gay shame leads to paramilitary suicide pact’. Trevor and Donzo’s UDA cohorts were bound to have known about their secret love and would now be free to blab about it to anyone who would listen. Their trip to
Brighton
could be explained by the fact that it was a ‘well-known gay resort.’ The Northern Irish media would have a field day with salacious stuff like this. He felt safe now and also knew that the residents of North Belfast would be a little less endangered too though he couldn’t really kid himself that there weren’t a fair few wannabe Trevor McCanns and Donzos ready to follow in their psychopathic footsteps.

From the top deck of the 12A bus heading west, Steve admired the
Sussex
coast as the sun went down and he could see the lights of the Palace Pier in the distance. Teenagers in the seats in front of him chattered excitedly in anticipation of a night out in
Brighton
. When the bus stopped at Rottingdean, Steve could hear each of the departing passengers thank the bus driver. A few hours previously, he’d been frantically planning to leave this place. Now he wasn’t so sure that he needed or wanted to.

When Steve returned to
Lansdowne Place
, the holdall that he’d been carrying when he’d been abducted by Trevor and Donzo was still lying on the front steps. He checked its contents and nothing seemed to be missing. Back in the flat, he grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, put on a vinyl copy of Paul Weller’s first solo album and lay down on the sofa.

‘Aye, they said oul’ Paul was a washed-up has-been when he made this record and it’s probably the best thing he’s ever done,’ thought Steve. He held the album sleeve up and made a toast to it. ‘Here’s to great fuckin’ comebacks, eh Paul?’

29

Steve slept in later than usual and was awoken at around
midday
on Saturday by the sound of Bobby returning to the flat. He decided it was best not to burden Bobby with knowledge of recent events when he was asked what sort of night he’d had.

‘Ach just a quiet one, mate. Watched some oul’ ballix on the telly and had a few beers. Yerself?’

‘Went out for a couple of drinks with Helen at the Heart and Hand’ replied Bobby.

‘A nice young fair-haired lady was asking after you, as it goes …’

Steve felt a tingle of pleasure at this snippet of news.

‘Ye mean Sal? Thought she was back with yer man Rich.’

‘You mean Rich by name, tight as a gnat’s chuff by nature? Nah, she’s blown him out for perving after teenagers. Reckon you’re in there boss if you don’t majorly fuck it up. She mentioned that she’ll be at the Sidewinder on Sunday night ‘cos some mate of hers is DJ-ing… pretty bloody obvious that she wanted me to be passing on that bit of information to a certain
Belfast
boy.’

Steve smiled and clapped his hands.

‘Right mate, we’re goin’ for a few wee swallees at the Sidewinder tomorrow night, whaddayasay?’

‘Alright boss, anything to help you to get your leg over.’

The easy-going camaraderie that Steve had enjoyed with Bobby since he’d arrived in
Brighton
had helped him get through his darkest days and as they loafed around the flat exchanging banter, the world of promise and possibilities was starting to reveal itself to him again.

As Bobby pottered about the kitchen making a pot of tea, Steve began thinking about his future. He could sell his place in
Belfast
and try to buy somewhere in
Brighton
. He didn’t have to work on building sites forever either. Maybe he could make up for his previous academic underachievement by going to college. He’d always secretly fancied doing something creative like photography or graphic design but he’d never discussed his ambitions with his workmates in Belfast because he was already getting enough ribbing just for being a Mod.

When Bobby brought the tea in, he also handed Steve a letter.

‘Here ya go boss… this was in the hall when I came back this morning’.

Steve ripped the envelope open.

Dear Steve, It’s really important that I see you. There’s something I need to talk to you about. Please meet me at the end of the undercliff path past Saltdean at 7 on Sunday morning. Don’t worry, Anthony knows nothing about this. Love, Jeanie.

Steve silently passed the note to Bobby.

‘Jesus fucking Christ. That bitch is really messing with your head. You’re gonna ignore it boss, aren’t ya?’

Steve took a sup of tea and made no response but Bobby wasn’t going to let it lie.

‘I said you’re gonna ignore it, aren’t ya? Please tell me you’re not thinking of going near her again.’

Steve sombrely looked up at Bobby.

‘It can only mean one thing mate. I didn’t use a rubber that time I had her in the alleyway and you told me that Cubitt never shags without ‘em. I’m tellin’ ye, I’ve gone and got her up the fuckin’ duff.’

30

The possibility of Jeanie being pregnant made Steve drift helplessly into daydreams of them raising a child together. Maybe motherhood could be just the thing to tame her wildness, he pondered.