Magnificent Joe (23 page)

The next day, I go to work and, in the rhythm of cutting a trench, forget about the mystery of the mortgage. When I get home, I half expect Joe to be on the doorstep again, but he isn't there. I wash and then sit and read for an hour, waiting for him to turn up or call, but he doesn't. I pick up the telephone and I'm about to dial his number when I think: No. It's good that he isn't here, and if he needs anything, I'll be his first port of call anyway. I'd better just leave him to it for a while.

Instead, I phone Mr Green to alert him to events. He listens quietly and then says, ‘Well, at least he's all right.'

‘He'll be limping for a while.'

‘Probably a blessing in disguise: now he might stay put instead of roaming the village getting himself into bother.'

‘Aye, I suppose so. Did you get anywhere with the Social Services
yet?'

‘Did I heck. But there is one bright spot on the horizon.'

‘What's that?'

‘I spoke to Joe's uncle, to find out about the estate, and it turns out there's some money. Not a fortune, but more than you'd think. And some share certificates. And the house. It'll all be held in trust and Joe'll get maintenance. It's probably enough for him to live
on.'

‘That's great news.'

After I hang up, I just stand there, almost stunned by relief. Joe's going to be all right, and he's not going to spend the rest of his life reliant on me. I can sense the dark shadows of all the things that could go wrong lurking at the back of my mind, but I dismiss them before they even take form in my imagination. I feel myself smiling. I pick up the phone and call Laura; I want somebody else to be happy with
me.

—

The rest of the week passes quickly – I spend my days at work and my evenings with Laura – and I don't see Joe again until Saturday. I go over to check that he knows to pay his bills. That's what I'm going to tell him, at least. In truth, I just want to satisfy myself that he really is
OK.

When I get there, the house isn't spotless, but it's much better than I expected; he's obviously making an effort to look after the place. I make us a pot of tea and we sit at the kitchen table.

‘That leg of yours dropped off
yet?'

‘Nope. It's better.'

‘Good
job.'

There's a small stack of opened post on the table, so I pull it over to me and start to sort through
it.

‘You're nosy,' says
Joe.

‘I'm just looking for the bills.'

‘There's only electric and phone.'

He's right. I lay them out in front of me. ‘Look, you need to take them into the post office.'

‘I know. I've done it loads of times. It was my
job.'

‘Oh. Well, have you got any cash?'

‘No.'

‘I'll lend you some until we get you sorted
out.'

‘Why?'

‘So you can pay these bills.'

‘Needn't bother. I'll just go to the machine.'

‘What do you mean?'

He looks at me like I'm stupid, then shifts in his chair, pulls his wallet from his back pocket, and takes out a debit card, which he holds up to my face. ‘I. Know. The. PIN.' He pulls a spaz face at me and makes a gurgling noise.

‘If the wind changes, you'll stay like that.' I grab the card from him and inspect it more closely. It's in his mother's name. I suppose when they're told she's dead, they'll want to close the account, but until then it'll
do.

‘You've been keeping the place clean.'

‘My job
now.'

‘Aye, it
is.'

I look into his face and he looks steadily back at me; it seems that he's equipped to survive after all. He may not be able to cope with the world at large, but his mother left him with enough knowledge to run the house. All he had to do was decide to use
it.

There's only one other thing I can think of to check, so I get up and open the food cupboard; there's not much in
it.

‘Looks like you could do with getting some shopping in. Do you want a lift to the supermarket?'

‘Aye, that's magnificent, that.'

—

Later, I go to Laura's. We order a pizza and settle down in front of a film I don't really want to watch.

I'm woken by knocking. My eyes flicker open and I'm looking straight up at Laura.

‘Someone's here,' she says. I sit up. I must have fallen asleep in her
lap.

‘I'll get it,' I say automatically.

‘Oh, no, you won't. I don't want people talking. Stay here and don't make any noise.' She goes out and closes the door between the hall and the living room behind her. Moments later, I hear her say, ‘What do you want?'

I get up and cross the room, stand behind the
door.

‘Geoff's not here. You know he's not here. Go away.'

I reach for the handle.

‘You fucking bitch, I'm not going to let you rip me
off.'

Barry's voice. I throw open the door and step out into the hall. A moment of silence and then Laura falls back against the wall with her hands to her face. ‘Oh Christ, no…' she murmurs.

Barry looks at her, looks at me, and then starts to smile. I cut him off before he speaks: ‘Leave her alone.'

‘Are you in on this too, or are you just fucking the dirty bitch?'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Don't fuck me around – I know what's going
on.'

‘Well, I bloody don't. Are you going to fuck off yourself, or do I have to make
you?'

‘You're not going to scare me away. I've got proof.'

‘Proof of what?'

‘Proof that that fat bastard ripped me
off!'

‘Barry, I've no idea what you're on about.'

‘Well, let me fucking educate you.' He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of paper from which he unfolds a sheet that he holds out in front of him. I go over. ‘Uh-uh. Look with your eyes, not your hands.'

‘For fuck's sake, Barry.'

‘Just read
it!'

I read it. A scrawled note, Geoff's handwriting:

Check the numbers you nobsack. Ha ha ha.

‘So what? What's that supposed to prove? I don't even know what it means.'

‘Don't play fucking stupid.'

‘I mean it. I don't know anything about this.'

He unfolds another sheet, hands it to me this time. It's full of rows of printed figures. One row is highlighted. ‘That's off the Internet,' he says, as if it explains everything. His eyes gleam like those of a mad vicar, preaching fire and brimstone. I shrug at
him.

‘That fucking row there.' He jabs at the highlight. ‘Don't you recognize them?'

‘Of course I don't fucking recognize them.'

‘They're our fucking lottery numbers!' He's shouting now. ‘This is a list of all the numbers that have come up in the past two months, and ours are on there. Look – the jackpot was two point eight million, split between five winners. The fat fucker has taken us for over half a million quid!'

And then it hits me. The mortgage. The disappearance. This is why he didn't stay to sort things out; he didn't need to. And his words: ‘Nothing I want to share with you.' Jesus Christ.

‘How do you know they're our numbers?'

‘Because it's my row and I remember them. I remember how I picked them: my birthday; your birthday; Geoff's birthday…Do I need to go
on?'

‘No. Shit. Show me that note again.' He holds it out. It looks like a photocopy or something. ‘Is that the original?'

‘It's what came through my fucking letterbox. Look, I want my fucking share. I've worked my hands bloody for years and I want my share.'

‘I haven't got your share.'

‘But that slut knows where he
is.'

‘She doesn't know anything.'

‘She's been lying to you. She knows. I'll break her legs if I have
to.'

I'm suddenly angry, but not with Geoff. ‘Fuck
you.'

‘What? It's money, you idiot! It's yours
too.'

‘Hold on a minute. You don't have
real
proof. All you've got is that note. That could mean anything.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘I'm saying I'm not going to help you. I'm keeping my mouth shut. You can't prove we ever had a lottery syndicate, and you're not getting any of the money.'

‘You're in on this! You bastard!'

He throws himself at me and I punch him in the teeth. He hits the ground like a sack of
shit.

‘Oh God.' Laura.

‘He'll be all right – he always had a glass
jaw.'

Geoff's letter is still clutched in his fist. I lean over and take it from him, stuff it in my pocket. Then I grab him by one ankle and drag him off the property. A woman crossing the road stops to stare.

‘Just taking out the rubbish,' I tell
her.

I leave Barry in the gutter, groaning.

Back inside, Laura is crouched against the wall with her head in her hands. I pull her to her feet. ‘Did you know about this?'

‘No. Honestly.'

‘Why did you react like that when I came out? You said you'd never take Geoff back anyway, so why would it matter if Barry knows about
us?'

‘I don't know. I'm just…scared. I don't want that bastard to think he was right all along.'

She's telling the truth. I let her go. ‘Where's Geoff's tool
hod?'

‘In the garage.'

I go out and look for it; it's sitting on a workbench just as he left it. The little policeman's notebook is inside, just as it always was: our numbers on the first page, then the running account of all the money we've ever staked. There are even some old tickets stuck between the leaves. This is the physical proof that Geoff ripped us off. I can't believe the fat bloody fool forgot to take it with
him.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with
it?

‘What is it?' Laura comes up behind
me.

‘It's the account. Geoff organized the syndicate. Me and Baz never took it that seriously. Half the time we forgot to bloody pay
him.'

‘So Barry's right?'

‘Yeah. Your husband's taken us for idiots.'

‘Jesus.'

We both stare at the notebook.

‘How much do you hate Barry?' I ask
her.

‘Completely. I've never hated anyone so much in my life.'

‘Me
too.'

I decide what to do. I take the notebook into the kitchen, tear out the pages, and drop them into the sink with Geoff's letter and Barry's list. I open the windows, close the door, and look around for a lighter. I find a pack of five in a drawer, shrink-wrapped, straight off a market stall. I pull one out. Laura follows me
in.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Burning it
all.'

‘What about
us?'

‘We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, you already got a free house out of the deal.'

‘It's not your decision to make. I'm his wife; some of that money is mine.'

‘There's no way I'm going to let Barry get his share, but if we don't get rid of this, that's exactly what will happen.'

‘Jesus. I don't want to watch this.'

She walks out. I burn
it.

I don't see her again for several days, but then she turns up at my house one evening after work. She stands on the doorstep, doesn't know what to
say.

Eventually, ‘Hello.'

‘Have you forgiven me?' I
ask.

‘Maybe.'

‘I wasn't sure I'd see you again.'

‘Well, here I
am.'

Yes. Here she is. We had fallen into a routine and then fallen out of it and I saw again how tenuous things are between us, but she has come back. And I'm glad to see
her.

I lead her into the living room and we climb into my armchair together, Laura curled up in my lap. I stroke her hair and feel her heartbeat against my chest and her breath against my
skin.

‘Are we just making more trouble for ourselves with this?'

‘I don't know,' she says. The only possible answer.

‘And what about Barry?'

‘I haven't heard anything else from
him.'

‘He'll be planning his next move. He won't give up
yet.'

‘I want to stay here tonight.'

‘That's fine.'

—

A crash from below and I'm on my feet, breathing hard. I charge downstairs and skid into the living room. Broken glass glitters on the carpet, and the curtains billow in the wind. I flick on the light just as Laura appears behind
me.

‘Don't come any further. There's glass everywhere.'

‘What happened?'

I point at the brick on the floor. ‘That happened.' We look at each other. ‘Barry,' I
say.

She sags and turns away. ‘For fuck's sake. Is this all there is? Is this what we
get?'

‘Laura—'

‘I can't live in this shithole anymore. I'm sick of everything.'

She goes back to bed without another word. I stand motionless, staring at the glass. If I lose her because of Barry, I'm going to kill
him.

I sweep away the mess and tape a bin bag and a piece of card over the broken window. Finally, I pick up the brick.

PAEDOS
OUT

The words are scrawled on the flat underside in white chalk. This isn't for me; it's for Joe. I drop the brick.
But he's innocent. He's innocent.

I run upstairs, turn on the lights in the bedroom, start pulling on clothes. Laura sits
up.

‘What are you doing?'

‘I need to go to Joe's.'

‘What?
Why?'

‘They're after
him.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'll explain later. I've got to
go.'

I get in the car and set off. My chest is tight, and I can feel my guts slithering inside me. Is Barry behind this? I don't know now. I reach Joe's place and everything looks quiet: no lights on, no people around, no strange cars, nothing out of place. I get out and knock on his door, but I don't wait long before checking if it's locked. It isn't – again – so I just go in. I walk through the ground floor, turning on all the lights as I go. There's no sign of anything untoward. All I sense is the living stillness of a house at night: the dirty mug on the coffee table, the cushions arranged at random on the couch.

‘What are you doing?' Behind
me.

I spin on my heel and face him. He stands at the bottom of the stairs in his pyjamas, all sleepy-faced. ‘You need to keep the fucking door locked,
Joe!'

‘All right, keep your hair
on.'

‘I could've been anyone.'

‘No, you couldn't. You're only
you.'

I feel stupid. What am I supposed to do now? I can't tell him the truth; his existence here is fragile enough. If I scare him, everything will go to shit again. ‘Look, just keep the door locked,' I
say.

‘I'll put the kettle
on.'

‘Don't bother – I'm going.'

‘You're crackers,
you.'

‘I'm coming close, mate.' I walk back into the kitchen and pause at the door. ‘Look, has anyone been here apart from
me?'

He shakes his head. ‘Nope.'

‘Right. Lock the door behind me and go back to bed. Call me if you need anything.'

He yawns, loudly. I leave his house, sit in the car, and watch his windows go dark. I wonder why someone put a brick through my window but left Joe alone. Maybe whoever it was thought Joe was still staying with me, or maybe he just couldn't be bothered to come all the way out here, and chose a more conveniently located victim. Or maybe it really was Barry, using Joe as an excuse to get to me. If someone is spreading false rumours, though, I need to put a stop to it. The question is, how the hell do I do that? Especially if I'm part of the rumour.

I drive home, and when I get in, I find Laura sitting at the table, fully clothed with the brick in her hands. She holds it up to
me.

‘This is disgusting.'

‘Yeah, I know.'

‘Look, while you were gone, I was thinking. There's no reason for either of us to stay here. Let's go away.'

‘My whole life's here.'

‘Life? In a place where people do things like this? Why would you want to stay?'

‘What about Joe? I can't leave him to face this on his
own.'

‘Just tell the police and have done with
it.'

‘Fuck the police. The police can't help.'

‘Jesus. Sometimes I think you're just looking for more reasons to punish yourself for what happened. You could have so much more. You made one mistake! Geoff told me what happened that day. It was an accident. You were just trying to defend your mates, and all the rest of it – your mam dying, what your dad did to himself – was not your fault. This isn't your responsibility.'

‘It's nothing to do with that!' I'm almost shouting now. ‘I can't leave Joe.' Why doesn't she understand?

‘You're just using that as an excuse. You don't have to let prison hold you back anymore. You could leave here. You could go to college, like you wanted to when you were a kid. I'll help
you.'

‘All that might be true, but it doesn't matter now. I need to be here for
Joe.'

‘Fine.' She puts the brick on the table. ‘But I can't deal with
it.'

‘You don't have to deal with it. It's not your problem.'

‘I'm scared and I'm going home. I'm sorry.' She gets up and leaves. I hear the front door close behind her, then I go to
bed.

—

I wake up late the next morning and swear at my unset alarm clock as it ticks towards 10 a.m. I have to go to work; there's nothing else I can
do.

When I arrive at the site, I find Rupert and Lee in the barn, just starting their lunch. They watch me walk in, but don't say anything.

‘Sorry I'm so late.' I search for a realistic excuse, but I can't think of anything, so I just shut up. The kettle is still hot. I make myself a cup of tea and go and sit on my deckchair. Rupert puts the lid on his lunchbox and goes outside.

‘He all right?'

‘Dunno.' Lee shrugs. ‘You'll have to ask him.' He takes a bite of his sandwich and starts to
chew.

‘Right. I'll get on with that digging out, then.'

‘Suit yourself.'

Down the lane, I can see Rupert sitting in his car, eating and fiddling with his radio. I grab my pickaxe and shovel, and go into the other barn, where I'm supposed to be tearing out the years of compacted mud. Really, it's a job for the excavator, but Jethro wasn't prepared to let us knock a hole in the wall large enough for us to drive it through, so I'm doing it by hand. I swing myself into the work and lose track of time. The next thing I know, Rupert comes in and starts digging at the opposite end of the building. For the past two days, we've been working next to each other.

‘You all right?' I
ask.

No answer.

‘I said sorry for being late.'

He swings his mattock into the floor with unnecessary violence and stalks out, leaving it jammed there with the blade buried almost to the handle.

‘Fuck's sake,' I mutter, and start work again, but Lee comes
in.

‘Look, just don't talk to him, all right? He's got strong opinions on the subject.'

‘What fucking subject?'

‘You know what I'm talking about.'

‘I bloody don't.' But the truth is, I'm starting to get an
idea.

‘Just keep your head down.'

He walks away. I follow him out into the yard and call after him, ‘What's going on here?' I sound lame. I know what's going on here, and I'm only asking out of a last, desperate hope that I'm wrong.

‘Look, I don't believe you had anything to do with what he did, but you cannat be protecting a bloke like that.'

‘Christ. Where did you hear about this?'

‘Jethro told us this morning, before you got here.'

‘And where did he hear
it?'

Lee shrugs. ‘Friend of the family, he said.'

‘Joe didn't do it. He's innocent. The police let him go because it was all a load of bullshit.'

‘So you say. We heard he was caught red-handed.'

‘So why isn't he in prison, then, if it was all so bang to rights?'

‘Because he's mental. Special treatment and that. Anyway, even if he didn't do it, it's just weird you being mates with him. He's…fucking…y'know.' Lee looks less sure of himself
now.

‘Don't be so bloody daft. You know where this has come from? Fucking Barry, that's who. Do you really believe any gossip that comes from that bastard?'

‘You'd better take this up with Jethro. He was looking for you this morning anyway.'

‘Oh brilliant.'

‘Here he comes
now.'

I turn and see that Lee is right: Jethro's car is coming up the lane right towards us. I feel like I've walked into an ambush. He keeps driving right at me, and for a moment I don't think he's going to stop. He pulls up with about a foot to spare, the door flies open, and he throws himself out of the car. Without his hat, I see that he's completely
bald.

‘Well, if they're too scared to tell you, I'll tell you myself. You're sacked!'

‘Are you completely insane?' If he comes any closer, I'll knock him
out.

‘I know all about you. I know the things you've done. And now this. Bosom bloody buddies with a paedophile? I don't want you on my property.'

‘Who the hell have you been talking
to?'

‘Your mate Barry's sister-in-law is married to my wife's brother. Didn't know that, did you? But I've had your number from the start.'

Well, at least now I know how Barry knew I worked here. I realize that I'm not going to hit Jethro – there's no point – so I just say, ‘It's not true. Joe didn't do anything.'

‘I hope someone cuts your balls
off.'

‘What?'

‘You're thick as thieves with him. You knew what he was. You've probably been covering up for him for years. You probably do it yourself – Baz says you've always been a weirdo.'

‘Baz is a lying, evil bastard. If you've got any sense, you should know that just as well as I
do.'

‘Get lost, and don't come back.'

‘Aye, I'm going. Don't worry about that.'

I walk back to the car and change out of my boots. I'm about to leave when Lee taps on the window. I wind it
down.

‘Look,' he says, ‘I don't know who to believe now, but the way Jethro told it, there are certain people who aren't going to let this
lie.'

‘Neither am
I.'

I drive off and leave him standing there.