Highbridge (5 page)

‘Just seems odd. Him and Matt both here?' She tried to make it casual.

‘I think they're between jobs. And Matt just tagged along.' Joey did sound casual but he was making it up as he went, knowing he would have to stick as close to the truth as he could otherwise she would sense something was wrong. She had always been as good as his mum for knowing when he was lying. ‘I, er, don't really know. Think they've been working together. Since they were all made redundant in the cutbacks.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Do you fancy going to the Palace, if the house is occupied?'

‘Sure. Or we could go gatecrash your Sean's do.'

‘What's he doing tonight? Strategy, selling or syringes?'

‘Stepping Stones.'

‘Those stone heads again. Have they got something on him? Or hacked naked pictures of Sandra, or something?'

‘You know why. He's trying to do something. He's got a social conscience.'

Joey bristled at the implication that he didn't seem to care as much as his brother. He was doing something. But something he wanted to keep away from her. ‘I've got a social conscience. And we won't solve the drug problem by turning out in penguin suits and having raffles at the Golf Club.'

It was a bit too forceful. Natasha looked across. But he was staring out the window, chewing on his lip. What's he up to? she wondered, but knew now was not the time. Instead: ‘It's at Treetops.'

‘Then the Palace it is.' He reached over and felt for the bump.

She put her own hand on his and glanced across. What was going on in that head tonight? She had learned to give him about an hour after he came off the train. Whether it was the journey itself or the week away, but apart from the sex, which she looked forward to as much as him, he was always fixated on something. Whether they were acting as good role models for the kids? Was the separation worth the material returns? Whether society had its priorities right. How come the town had gone downhill? Should they just take the kids and go on a gap year? She knew tonight's brooding was all connected with the third anniversary of Janey's death and, like Luke's guilt, his own anxieties about being away so much. Especially after Tanya being threatened with a knife the week before last.

And when he came home he tried to cram everything into the weekend, but then became too tired to really enjoy it. He'd always put the hours in, something she admired about him. But at least he used to see the kids passing in the hall every now and then when he was home. The older the kids got, the more independent they became and the less he saw them at the weekend.

‘How long do you reckon this London job will go on?'

‘Dunno. Another few months. If they don't stop frigging about and adding things. Why?'

‘Just wondered how long I'd have to put up with this on a Friday night?' She pushed his hand on to the suspender clasp.

‘You're stuck with them, I'm afraid. As long as you're married to me.'

‘I could end it that easy, could I?'

‘Yep. But it'd be over then anyway.' She looked across at him. ‘Because if you ever left me, you'd be dead.'

‘Why don't I doubt that?'

‘Because you know me. Where I come from. And how much I adore you.'

And she did. Ever since the day he had pulled her out of the snow. It'd taken a couple of years to finally get together but she had known from that day. ‘Do you remember that day down in Bottom Edge?'

‘When I saved your life?'

‘I was only stuck in the snow.'

‘You could have frozen to death.'

‘It's a five-minute walk back to the High Street.'

‘Not in heels. Anyway, how could I forget? Why?'

‘Just remembering. I did get stuck with you, didn't I?'

At last the smile came back to his face.

‘What do you think the white coat's all about?' asked Luke watching Fatchops buttoning up the warehouse coat.

‘Obviously to give the place a bit of class,' Matt replied, before switching track. ‘You can tell a lot from a good scar, can't you?' Almost instinctively, he reached and rubbed his own scar before adding, ‘Initiation rite, perhaps?'

‘Initiation rites are supposed to be secret. Which is why the Yakuza wear suits to hide their tattoos.'

‘They do that Yacobutsomething-or-other though, don't they?'

‘Yubitsume.'

‘Yeah, chopping off bits of their little fingers so everyone knows when they've screwed up,' Matt replied. ‘I reckon Fatty's mates done him for something.'

‘I was thinking it being some form of accident,' Luke said.

‘Nah. Too boring that. Gotta be some form of ritual thing. They like their feuds over there. Remember that tale that squad in Cyprus told us about their tour in Serbia? About the fella who had kept an old wood saw in his house for fifty years waiting for the collapse of Communism. So he could use it to saw the head off the bloke who had used it to saw his own dad's head off? Fifty years. Guess Balloon Boy got off light then, if that scar's some sort of feud thing.'

‘If,' Luke said. Matt nodded, conceding the point. Or perhaps not, Luke continued the thought. The real scars are mental. Seen a few of those, even my own. Still, no matter what brought that and what it has or hasn't done to you, mate, even if you did or didn't deserve it, you shouldn't be doing what you're doing now.

To Luke, it was as simple as that. Now. There had been a time when he had tried to rationalise and understand what made people turn to crime or killing or terrorism. Before he met Janey he knew he was on some form of destructive path that he couldn't alter. It seemed that life had dealt him a particular hand. A poor one. He couldn't change his circumstances, no matter what they said in school. He knew at an early age he was already tagged and bagged. Factory fodder. Except that there weren't any. So what do you do then? What countless people had had to do in the past. Live for the day. Enjoy the moment. And fight. Not for what you want, or even need. But just to stand still. Upright. Whether that was walking the streets or leaning against a bar. Always someone wanting to prove they were bigger, harder, tougher than you. They had all come through it. But he had felt trapped by it. Until Janey. And even that had been a fight.

It was like a classic teen movie. It wasn't Janey's dad he had to get permission from, but her brother. His best mate. Joey. Perhaps that was why Janey had been attracted to him. Living, not with Joey, but under his protection. Anyone who went near her was quickly frightened off. Big brother was always watching. Until Joey's fourth child's, Lucy's, christening and Janey had kept on and on at him to dance. She wanted to have fun. Enjoy life and she wanted him to do the same.

She told him she had always enjoyed him coming to the house. Ended up longing for it and then, without Joey realising it, engineering it. You could get Luke to help. You could ask Luke. Luke wouldn't mind. And he didn't. Whatever it was. She was the first person who saw just him. Not a label. He was neither a tearaway nor a hooligan. Just a nice guy looking for someone to love him. And she did. She told Joey before she told him. She then gave him a reason for living. A belief that he could after all, like Joey with Natasha, change things. They could change things. And have a great life together.

Four years of being an item, three years of marriage and then she was snatched away. Senseless. Painful. Agonising. And the reason for living was replaced by a reason for killing.

After that, he'd finally decided that life, as his dad had always told him, just wasn't fair. Now, it was just good guys and bad guys. And bad guys were the ones who made life unfair. He'd also recognised that he'd always known this. Even at school. Then it was your mates against the psychos. The older he got the more he realised that there were psychos everywhere, but you couldn't just round up the posse and sort them out in a four o'clock ambush. They were often your bosses so you got sacked for fighting back. That's why he'd joined the army. See the world. Get a trade. Meet and sort out more bullies.

And, after Janey, he'd given up the rationalising. While those behind the gunsight provided the motivation for what he did, those in front of it gave the outlet for his frustrations. They got what they deserved. Nor did he any longer deny that he had found a home. A camaraderie he had not had since the old gang at school. With Janey he sometimes wished the trade he'd been given was something a bit more useful. Like fixing cars or plumbing. But afterwards he accepted that there didn't seem to be much call for No. 1 Snipers down the Job Centre. But he didn't care. Not the army's fault. He knew what he was getting into and now acknowledged that he actually enjoyed it. The covert positioning. Scoping. Picking the shot. The evac while avoiding detection. He also acknowledged that it was a deliberate choice. Being able to operate at distance. Know and pick his own targets. So he hadn't had some of the trauma he's seen in others who have gone through both sides of the friendly fire scenarios. On the other hand, he knew he had been desensitised to the obvious product of his job: killing. Now he had no compunction, worry or anxiety about taking out anyone he thought deserved it. Like this fat so-and-so in his reticule.

‘All right then. If it wasn't some homeland feud. What about the riots?' Matt asked.

‘What?'

‘I'm just trying to come down to your rather mundane take on life. So, if it was just an accident, perhaps it was during the 2011 riots, when he got it …' Matt hesitated for a second or two to build up the expectation. ‘He got it … On a smashed shop window when he was nicking some trainers.'

Luke started to laugh. ‘What? Does he look like he's ever gone looking for trainers?'

‘Just a thought,' Matt replied.

‘And we could lie here all night dreaming up daft ideas but in the end he's still what he is.'

‘A thievin' drug dealer?'

‘Which is probably all the explanation you need. The druggies like their knives too.'

Finally Matt seemed to concede the boring point, as Luke went back to wondering, once more, why life was like this.

‘Why do we have to do this anyway?' It was Becky, moaning again as she threw the Sanderson's bag on to the central reservation and set the oven to warm up while unwrapping the pizzas.

‘Why can't we just get a takeaway?'

‘Because it's healthier,' Tanya responded.

‘And,' added Carol, ‘we know which takeaway you would want to go to.'

‘No I wouldn't.'

‘Yes you would.'

‘Enough,' Tanya cut across again, throwing the ice-cream tubs to Becky. ‘Freezer. Carol, plates. And why does he hang out at that place anyway? It's horrible. That fat fella who looks like he's eaten all the pies.'

‘Oh God, yeah. And in that creepy doctor's coat he wears. What's that about?' Carol gave an exaggerated shudder at some obscure thought. Although she didn't share it, the others exchanged a look of not knowing exactly what she thought, but assumed it was from one of the freaky downloads she would later try and get them to watch.

‘He's his uncle or something,' Becky offered. ‘He's letting him stay there for a while.'

‘Why, though?' asked Carol.

‘Dunno.'

‘You don't seem to know much about this great love of yours.'

‘It's … It's something to do with his parents not liking his lifestyle.'

‘What? Like going out with white girls?'

‘You're being racist again.'

‘No I'm not. You read about it all the time. They want them to marry their own. Me dad's just as bad about wanting to know the ins and outs of everything and everyone I go out with.'

‘Tell me about,' Tanya added as she started to chop the now washed salad.

‘At least he'll be glad you're at home tonight.'

‘It's Friday night, Carol.'

‘Oh yeah.' She and Tanya exchanged a grin and then another exaggerated shudder at the thought of parental sex.

‘What?' asked Becky.

Tanya exchanged another look with Carol. She is clueless.

‘Is that why you find him attractive then, Becks,' Carol asked to get back on subject. ‘That you are his forbidden fruit?'

‘Well if I am he hasn't had a bite, yet.'

‘But you're thinking about it?'

‘No, well … No.'

Tanya dumped the salad on the table. ‘Anyone want dressing?'

‘Are we allowed, Mum?' Carol asked as she went to the fridge, synching her phone with Tanya's wireless speaker on the way.

‘It's your figure you're jeopardising, my girl,' Tanya responded in mum mode. ‘And not that playlist you had at Jules's party last month. It's all old people like Take That and I'm not quite my mum yet.'

‘She's into old people, aren't you, Becks?' Carol grinned.

‘Oh My God. Will you stop? You're obsessed.'

‘You're the one obsessed with the Pharaoh.'

‘And will you stop calling Husani that? He just happens to be Egyptian. And he's about twenty-six.'

‘That's older than Mr Hibbert in History and you wouldn't go out with him.'

‘Mr Hibbert wouldn't buy me a Chloé bag.'

Tanya laughed. She couldn't help it. ‘It's one of Bobby McBain's fakes. You can get one for about twenty quid at the end of market day.'

‘Mr H. wouldn't even buy me one of those,' Becky protested. Lamely.

‘No, because at twenty-five he's not sniffing round a sixteen-year-old schoolie either, is he?' asked Carol.

‘What's wrong with him giving me things?'

‘It's what he thinks he's paying for.'

‘I don't know why you two are so down on him.'

Tanya started slicing the first pizza. ‘I told you. He's creepy.'

‘Why, why do you say that?'