Our Vinnie (16 page)

The screws weren’t gone long. The lads were still only halfway through their breakfast when Downey and Conlan returned, expressions set, either side of a now broken-looking Kenny Francis. They escorted him up to the counter to get a tray of food and then quickly guided him back out, through the now silent dining hall. He would be going down to the block for at least five days, everyone knew, and Vinnie wondered what he had
really
done for them to be so keen to get him off the main landings.

‘He’ll have done fuck all,’ Mick answered when Vinnie asked him. ‘Them cunts are just a bunch of racist bastards. They’re just trying to break him down, that’s all. Just doing it because they fucking can. Scum, the lot of them.’ He shook his head and pushed the remainder of his breakfast away. ‘Poor cunt will have had Father Duffy up his fucking arse, just because his face don’t fit. That’s how it works, Vin.’

Vinnie gave an involuntary shudder. The thought of it was putting him off his jam duff as well. And with the grim image came a sudden and intense sense of claustrophobia. A kind of nausea. He needed to be out of this sick, depraved hell. ‘I’ve got to get out of this fucking hole, Mick,’ he said. ‘If that fucker comes near me, I’ll kill the cunt, I know I will.’

Mick laughed. ‘You’ll be alright, McKellan,’ he said. ‘Duffy’s not into ginger snaps.’ He clapped Vinnie on the back as he scraped back his chair. ‘Must dash, got a fun-packed day building walls ahead. So have you. Or are you doing your Percy Thrower bit? Either way, don’t work too hard, mush, okay?’

Vinnie smiled as Mick left, his mood lifted slightly. He wasn’t that bad, as far as roommates went. He could be quite entertaining when he wasn’t slapping Vinnie about, and today Vinnie needed a laugh. He downed the rest of his chocolate and then went to check the damage in his room in the half hour he had to kill before he was due to meet his team down in the visitors’ grounds.

Once in there, his mood plummeted again. Surveying the chaos in the one place he felt he could let his guard down, he felt a bad feeling mushroom in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling that assaulted him regularly these days; a mish-mash of loneliness because he so missed his mum and his little sister, and anger and frustration and weariness. It was exhausting living with constant threat, having to maintain that constant vigilance; of knowing you existed in a dog-eat-dog environment and if you weren’t top, at best you got shit happen to you, and in the worst case scenario, serious shit happen to you – you got fucked, both literally and figuratively. Those
fucking
nonces – it sickened him just how everyday a thing it was that the screws used the boys there for their own perverted ends. And you could do fuck-all about it –
he
could do fuck all about it. Just count the days, count the days, count the days. And hope against hope that nothing happened – nothing that would require him to do something that would see his sentence extended again.

He thought about writing to Titch, then thought better of it. He’d eased off on the letters now – hadn’t written home in ages. Was grateful whenever he lost the privilege of writing home. Because he just couldn’t do it. He’d try but he’d always end up giving up, because he didn’t have a single fucking light-hearted thing to say.

He did some desultory tidying then sat down on the bed, his photo of Titch looking down at him accusingly. Sod it – he had to do it. No excuses.
Sit and write to your fucking mother, at least!
He ordered himself. Then, rummaging for a pen and his refill pad, he began.

Dear Mam

Bet you thought I’d done myself in or something didn’t you? Ha-ha …

But his mind wouldn’t deliver up a single next sentence. He stared for a couple of minutes, willing himself to just get on and write
something
. But nothing came. And it was almost time to go now anyway.

He closed the pad and set off to start another mind-numbing day.

Chapter 12

June was getting irritated. It had all seemed like such fun at first, raking in all the lovely money. It had been so good to have it – to feel it and smell it – that she hadn’t minded Jock banging on about them not arousing suspicion, hadn’t minded not being able to spend most of it. She wasn’t stupid – she knew just how fast curtains could start twitching if they started doing up their houses and going out in fancy clothes, so, initially, at least, she’d been happy to play it safe, and restrict herself to bags of food and extra coal.

But being so careful had gone on long enough now, surely? It had been almost a month now and she was sick of having money but not being allowed to spend it. Yes, she’d sent a few fivers off to Vinnie – though, given the strike, fuck knew where they’d ended up – and she’d also been able to sneak the odd miniskirt but, to her mind, Jock and the others were being way too cautious. Most of the cheques had been cashed now and nothing bad had happened, so wasn’t it about time they all started letting their hair down? She had a wish list and she was itching to start ticking things off it, principal among them being a much longed-for holiday in Blackpool.

‘Oh I don’t know, June,’ Maureen said, when she popped round to run the idea by her. ‘We do something like that and the rest of ’em’ll go fucking apeshit. And you know what the nosey bastards round here are like. Someone’ll grass. Just you watch.’

‘But what’s to bleeding grass
about
, Mo?’ June persisted. ‘No one knows where it’s come from, do they? And how can anyone grass about us taking a bleeding holiday?’

Maureen shook her head. ‘I don’t know, June. We really don’t want to blow this. What does Jock say?’

‘Jock?’ June said. ‘Nothing! He doesn’t know anything, does he? You know what he’s like. Which is why I thought we should just go ahead and
do
it. Once it’s done and paid for he won’t be able to bring himself
not
to go. Be like burning tenners. No, we just have to get on and
book
it.’

Maureen laughed. ‘Tell you what then, I’ll agree to it, but we can’t all go together – we’ll need to do it in turns. How about me and Steve go this weekend –’

‘Why should
you
go this weekend?’

‘Because that’s the deal, June. People’ll take much more notice if you and Jock go.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve been so flashy! And you know what Jock’s said – you’ve got to be a bit more savvy and a
lot
less all about with it. Which means it’ll be much more sensible – and much less likely to annoy your husband – if me and Steve go first.’

June scowled. Maureen was right, of course, which really annoyed her. ‘Anyway,’ her sister-in-law rattled on, ‘I’ve thought what’s best to do. If anyone asks you can tell them we’ve gone to me mam’s, and you and our Jock can go next week. Yes, that’ll work. I can say you’ve gone to visit our Vinnie, can’t I? And our Titch can stop with us while you’re away.’

June thought for a minute, still a bit narked that Maureen was going to get to go before them, despite knowing it was probably the right thing to do. It had been her idea after all.
And
it had been her idea to sell the remaining cheques around Buttershaw – the women there would snatch their hands off for a cigarette butt, let alone club cheques at a couple of quid a go. They’d keep their traps shut as well, as long as June went along personally. No one in the area – unless they were really stupid – would want to get on the wrong side of either Jock or June’s families.

So, really, June thought irritably, it was her
right
to go first, and having to let Maureen and Steve do it annoyed her. She’d already planned it in her mind – her and Jock relaxing with knickerbocker glorys, having their photos taken wearing ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hats, strolling along the prom, followed by a piss-up at one of those posh pubs by the central pier.

‘Alright then,’ she relented, feeling the excitement dampen the irritation, ‘you go first, but not a word to Jock or anyone. Especially our Titch. If she finds out we’re off on hols without her, she’ll go bleeding mental, the maungy little mare.’

‘So why don’t you take her?’

‘Take her with us? You have got to be joking! I spend more than enough time looking at that miserable face of hers as it is.’

‘Well, she
is
a teenager, Ju,’ Maureen pointed out.

‘Yeah, but our Vinnie was never like this. It’s like she’s had a fucking personality transplant, honestly it is.’

‘Well, she’s probably missing him, isn’t she? They were always very close, Ju.’ She sighed. ‘But you’re right. I was thinking only the other day. Where’s that lovely little niece of mine gone?’

June shook her head. ‘Been possessed by a moody mare, is what, Maureen. Even Jock can’t seem to make her smile, and he
always
could, couldn’t he? Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps she’s just missing Vin – God,
I
fucking am, bless the little bleeder – well, the not so little bleeder these days. Though that won’t stop me cuffing him round the ear when he
does
get home, believe me.’ She frowned then. ‘No, we’ll go on our own this time. Then – well, next time, we’ll see about Titch coming along. In the meantime, let’s get on and get this lovely lolly, eh?’

It didn’t take long to raise sufficient to pay for the holidays. It was only a matter of a couple of days of going round the Boulevard on the neighbouring Buttershaw Estate, and they’d finally got the last of the club cheques off their hands, and a tidy pile of cash to divvy up between them.

And Maureen hadn’t wasted any time booking her holiday – had gone into town on the bus and straight down to Wallace Arnold’s to book a coach.

She was round at June’s that very Friday afternoon, ready to go, standing on the doorstep dangling her door keys and giggling like a school girl.
So much for being against the whole idea
, June thought, taking the bunch of keys irritably.

‘So you’ll keep an eye on the house for us an’ that?’ Maureen wanted to know. ‘Water the cactus? And, um … June?’

June looked hard at her sister-in-law, knowing that something else was coming, and that it wasn’t going to be something she wanted to hear. She felt as prickly as her sister-in-law’s ridiculous spiky plant.

Maureen blushed the colour of her lippy. ‘Look, don’t go mad but I’ve got a confession. It was so cheap that I booked for five days.’

‘
What
?’ June demanded. ‘We’re supposed to be keeping this fucking quiet!’

Maureen flapped her hands to try and shush her. ‘I know, June, but –’

‘But nothing, you greedy cow! They’ll all be asking questions if you’re gone that long – you
cannot go
for that long! You’re just a greedy bleeder and you’re going to fuck this right up!’

Maureen’s expression hardened then. She clearly wasn’t going to take that. ‘I’ve booked for five days, June, and I’m going for five days, and that’s the end of it. Wasn’t it you who called it a gift horse? Well, I’m having my fucking gift! We’ve never had a proper holiday before and we’re going, so stop your mithering. It’s booked now, so that’s that. Like it or lump it.’

There was nothing June could do apart from swallow her sister-in-law’s attitude, but she was seething as she finally waved her off. Why should Maureen go swanning off on holiday before her, anyway? It wasn’t fair – it was she and Jock who’d masterminded everything – well, mostly – so it should be her who had first dibs at reaping the rewards. Blackpool really rankled. Blackpool made her furious; now she’d have to listen to Maureen droning on about it endlessly, when it should have been her and Jock doing it first and droning at
her
.

Selfish cow
, she thought, firing up a cigarette and puffing the smoke out angrily. Mo had spoilt her day now. Put her in a thoroughly bad mood.

Right, she decided, looking at the clock. Still plenty of daytime left. She needed cheering up now and she had some time to kill before she had to meet Jock and their mates in the Bull, and she intended to spend every bit of it shopping. Why shouldn’t she, after all? If that bleeding Maureen could just piss off for five days, then she was going to have a right old spending spree herself. And everyone else could just shove it up their arses.

Titch had been sitting reading her dad’s morning newspaper when she heard the sound of the car pulling up. After quickly throwing away the cig she was puffing on, she ran to look out of the window. Wafting away the smoke clouds, so her mam didn’t know she’d been smoking in the house, she almost choked on her fag-smoke as she saw her, laden down with carrier bags, waving a taxi off.
What the fuck has she come as?
Titch thought.

June was wearing a fur coat – a real beast of a coat, big and spotty. The sort of coat you only saw on the TV or at the cinema. The sort of coat she was pretty sure she’d never seen in Bradford. Bloody March too! Only a show-off like her bleeding mother would think it apt to wear a fur coat in the spring. She must be roasting alive, Josie thought. And what was in all those bags? She ran into the hall and pulled the front door open.

June looked up. ‘Ah, you’re in. Go on, give us a hand then, simpleton. Don’t just stand there looking gormless – grab some of this lot!’

Titch untwizzled some of the plastic bag handles that had become tangled around her mother’s fingers, aghast at the weight of them once she’d finally got them free. She took them into the lounge and plonked them down on the sofa, where they slithered and spread out, all white and pink and yellow, like glossy butterflies’ wings.

It was like Christmas. No, more that that, better than that. She’d obviously been to Kirkgate market, and – Josie gasped, realising – even Busby’s. Was that where she’d got the coat from? Fucking hell, she never even got to go to Busby’s at
Christmas
, to see Santa, like all the other kids seemed to, no matter how hard she pleaded and begged.

‘I bet you haven’t got me owt, have you?’ she asked her mother hopefully. Though at the same time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted anything anyway – where had the money come from? There must be so much of it to get all this lot. Which frightened her. What exactly had they done?