Our Vinnie (20 page)

Vinnie shook his head. ‘Not them, Mam. Their “brothers” – that’s what they call their mates – they were the ones planning it. We weren’t supposed to know, or owt, but one of them got stoned one night and blabbed.’ He shook his head again and laughed. ‘And they fucking have!’

June felt her stomach clench, seeing Vinnie so excited. There they were, watching folk being led out of the station, bleeding and terrified, and her son was laughing – her son seemed to actually find it funny. There was blood and glass everywhere, loads of injuries, people shaking, people crying. She might not be perfect, she thought, but laugh at
that
? At all those innocent people hurt and – yes, they were already saying so – being killed? There was nothing funny about that. Nothing at all.

‘Vin, mate,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to laugh at. This is fucking terrible. Fucking IRA. Why’d you want to hang around with the likes of them?’

Vinnie laughed again, and it sounded strange. It was a man’s laugh. No longer a boy’s laugh. ‘Mother, you have no fucking idea, do you? It’s fuck all to do with me anyway. I was just saying – they said they’d do it and they did do it. You’ve got to think of it differently anyway. You’ve got to think of them as like soldiers. That’s what they are – soldiers. Fighting for their cause.’

‘They don’t look like soldiers to me,’ June said. ‘I’ve known plenty of soldiers, your own uncles included. Let me tell you, they don’t go around killing ordinary people going about their business.’

Vinnie got up again and switched the telly off, then slurped his tea. ‘Anyway, enough of that. What’s been happening around here, then? What have I missed?’

That was better. A change of subject. Maybe she’d feel a bit less on edge then. She leapt up and grabbed the cutting from its home on the mantelpiece. ‘Have a read,’ she ordered, passing it to him. ‘You’ll piss yourself laughing.’

And he duly did. ‘You mental bastards!’ he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘And you wonder where I get it from! And only a fine – how d’you manage to pull that off? You’re lucky you didn’t end up banged up yourselves!’

‘Not that lucky, really,’ June said. ‘I almost had a coronary when the bloody judge or whatever it was sentenced us. Right twat, he was. He read it out as though we were all going down for six months, then, right at the end, after a pause to make us sweat, the evil bleeder, he finally tells us that it’s “suspended”.’ She shook her head. She still blanched at the memory. ‘My life was flashing before me eyes, son, I can tell you.’

Vinnie laughed. ‘Oh, mother – how I wish I’d been there to see your silly face! But what about Titch? She wasn’t in on this, surely?’ The idea seemed to concern him.

‘You’re kidding,’ June reassured him. ‘She’s no different, son – still a goody two-shoes. Fuck knows where she gets it from – must be your dad’s side.’ She giggled. ‘Shivering bleeders, the lot of them.’

‘She’s alright, Mam,’ Vinnie said. ‘We’ve just all babied her, that’s all. And maybe that’s a good thing. When’s she home anyway? I’ve got to get on. People to see, places to go.’

June’s face fell. ‘You’re not out already are you? I was thinking we’d nip down and get some take-outs from the pub. I can pay him on Friday, and we’ll have a bit of a party to celebrate, eh?’

Vinnie shook his head. ‘Sorry, Mam, but I’ve got things I need to do. I’ve got to earn some money and I’ve got a couple of people I need to catch up with. Brendan and Pete, you know? They’ve been in touch and they promised me they’d sort me out when I got home. I’m meeting them in the Bull in a bit.’

‘Tonight?’ June tried again. ‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow? Little Robbie can’t wait to see you – been rabbiting on about you non-stop, he has. He even did you a picture.
Another
picture,’ she added, looking at him pointedly. She hadn’t intended to bring it up, but where letters and gifts were concerned it had all been a bit one-way fucking traffic these last months.

Vinnie gave her a look that seemed about to be accompanied by a rebuke, but he obviously thought better of it.
Good
, thought June. She wasn’t having him trying to throw his weight around. She was still his mam and her say-so was her say-so.

‘You just reminded me,’ he said instead, leaping up again and putting his tea down on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

He went out into the hall then and returned with the suitcase, which was brown and battered. June had never seen it before.

‘Where’d you get that?’ she asked him. ‘They give ’em out at borstal now, do they?’

Vinnie placed the suitcase down on the sofa and shook his head. ‘One of the screws gave it me,’ he said. ‘Said he didn’t need it any more. So I had something to put my stuff in …’ He opened up the lid.

There were two packages inside, all carefully wrapped in brown paper, and nestled between his few bits of clothing. He lifted one out and passed it to her. ‘Careful, mind,’ he said. ‘It’s delicate.’

June immediately felt bad for feeling cross with him. He might not have written but she obviously
had
been in his thoughts, after all. She placed the package on her knees and opened it carefully, as directed, peeling back the layers of paper, wanting to savour it, having absolutely no idea what it might be.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have, Vin,’ she said. ‘It’s not even like you’ve got any money. Oh, Vin, you
shouldn’t
have!’ she said again, unwrapping the final layer to reveal a china shire horse. And a big one too – almost a foot high, it was, complete with yoke and saddle and even little leather reins. ‘Oh, Vin!’ she said, pulling it free and holding it up so she could properly inspect it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘But give it here a minute, cos there’s more.’

‘More?’ June looked up at him wide-eyed as he took it from her and placed it on the floor.

‘Yes, to
go
with it. Here,’ he said, passing her another carefully wrapped parcel. ‘Now this one’s
really
delicate, so just be careful opening it, okay?’

June held the parcel on her lap like it was the Crown Jewels. She didn’t know what it was but it couldn’t have been more precious. She could feel tears pricking in her eyes and if she’d been their Mo looking at her, she’d have given her a slap and told her not to be so daft.

But how could you not?
She thought, turning back the paper,
how could you not, when
… ‘Oh, Vin!’ she gasped, seeing what now sat on her lap. ‘Oh, Vin, this is
amazing
– it’s fucking gorgeous!’

It was, too. By anyone’s standards. It was a gypsy caravan, just the right size to sit behind the shire horse, made out of what looked like, no, definitely were, matchsticks. The detail was amazing, right down to the tiny curtains that hung in both the windows and the matching seat pads for the tiny table and chairs inside. It was all finished off with a gleaming golden varnish and a tasselled trim running around the arched entrance. It was the nicest thing she had ever seen or owned in her whole life and if a tear slipped down her cheek she no longer cared.

She stood up carefully and took it to the window-sill, clearing a space for it, then fetched the horse to hitch up to the front.

Vinnie looked on all the while. He didn’t say anything but she could see just how proud he was. As he should be, she thought. He was so clever with his hands.

‘I’m going to leave that right there,’ she said turning to hug him. He let her. ‘So all the neighbours can see it and see how talented you are.’

She sniffed and Vinnie laughed. ‘Mam, if you look around you’ll see plenty of them, honest. And the shire horses. Everyone makes the gypsy caravans in borstal and the shops in the town sell the horses to go with them. It’s a right racket.’

‘A racket?’

‘Well, not that kind of racket. But I didn’t just make mine. I made a few of them, actually. Some other things as well. You know, for the other lads, like, so they could take them home to
their
mams. Kept me in chocs and baccy, that did. And it passed the time.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ June said, clearing the rest of the clutter so her present could be properly centre-stage. ‘
I’ve
never seen one. Not round here, anyway. Oh, Vin,’ she said, moving the net aside and hooking it round one of the handles. ‘It’s just lovely.’

‘Well, I’m glad you like it, Mam. Cost me a fortune in matches, that did! Anyway, I’d better get on. Like I said –’

‘Things to do, people to see. You already told me. Oh, Vin, can’t you stop at home just for one bleeding night? And what about little Robbie?’

He re-clasped the suitcase clips and lifted it off the sofa. ‘Tell our Titch to nip up and tell him I’ll try to stop by and see him later. Right now I’m off to unpack, okay?’

He crossed the room then and patted her shoulder. He really
had
grown. ‘Mam, calm
down
,’ he said. ‘I’m home now, aren’t I? And I’m stopping home. For good. Which means I’ll be here the next day and the next day and the next day. I’m not going anywhere, okay?’

June crossed her fingers behind her back when he said that, hoping against hope that would turn out to be true, and that the stirring of anxiety in her stomach was just indigestion.

She’d take some Milk of Magnesia, she decided. That should sort it.

Chapter 16

Vinnie’s room hadn’t changed. Not one bit. It was exactly the same as when he’d left it three years earlier, as if locked in a time warp, or sealed up because the contents were radioactive.

The door creaked as he opened it wider and stepped in. Literally nothing seemed to be different. Not a clean lick of paint, no different blanket top, nothing. Even his old drawers were still drooping out of their casings just the same the day he’d gathered his few things from them and filled the bag he was to take to approved school.

He sighed as he ran a finger along the dust that had gathered on his beloved bookcase and wondered, not for the first time, if all mothers were as lacking as June when it came to making an effort. He felt strangely disgruntled at the prospect of living again amid so much mess and squalor. Whatever else Redditch had been, it had been clean. But at least all his books were still there. He checked the titles that he’d left behind – a few Agatha Christie novels, a book about James Dean and his second favourite book,
Nicholas Nickleby
. He’d loved that one, because Nicholas was a bit like him really. Yes, his own dad was still alive and kicking, whereas Nicholas’s wasn’t, but Vinnie still felt it was him who had to look out for his mam and sister, and he certainly had an uncle who never thought he’d amount to anything. Actually, scrub that – he had two or three of them.

He touched the spine. He’d left that one for Josie to read while he was gone and she must have put it back again, bless her.

‘
Que sera, sera
,’ he said out loud, flinging the case onto the bed. It was now a bit lighter – and, without his mam’s gifts, a lot less fragile – but it still caused a mushroom-cloud of dust.

There wasn’t much in the case bar his books and his clothes, but at least the latter were clean. Putting the novels to one side, he pulled out a T-shirt and some jeans from the few items of clothing he possessed. He changed into them quickly, feeling the chill on his bare skin. Even though it was only September, it was an unwelcome reminder of things to come. There would be no more warm pad to return to on winter evenings; he was back to a place with only one source of heat – the fireplace in the living room downstairs.

Dressed and warm again, he hurriedly placed the books back in the bookcase, smiling wryly as he slid each into the space it had created; time really had stood still in here. His few photos went on top, his remaining clothes into the creaking drawers – another wry smile then; he’d have to go back to relying on his mum to wash his laundry. Fat chance! It more likely meant a weekly visit to the bag wash, if he was to have any chance of keeping his things half-decent.

Once changed, he hurried down again, grabbing his Crombie from the newel post, and shrugging it back onto his shoulders. It was as precious to him as his matchstick-modelled caravan was to his mam, and the most expensive piece of clothing he’d ever owned. Camel, rather than the usual black, it hung remarkably well on him, given that his mum had no choice but to guess which size to get. He felt a familiar flicker of guilt for not having written in so long, because he couldn’t have been more excited when the parcel had arrived for him at Redditch. It was the envy of everyone, the coolest thing ever – particularly worn with his ox-blood dealer boots, too. He smoothed it down appreciatively –
not bad for a Canterbury lad, eh?
– then smiled, realising where the cash had probably come from. Odds on it was the proceeds of a few of those stolen club cheques. Well, he could do worse than get a bit of that kind of action himself. ‘Don’t wait up!’ he called to June as he left.

He wondered about Pete and Brendan as he walked. Would they look different? Would they still have room for him in their lives? He also wondered if they’d got themselves birds while he’d been away. That whole business had been worrying him a bit when he was locked up. They’d both written him letters, quite regularly, too – and now and again had mentioned some girl or other. Vinnie hadn’t had the pleasure of such encounters and it bothered him – he didn’t want to look stupid if his mates decided to talk about shagging and stuff. He decided he’d lie if he had to. Say he’d pulled loads of birds when he’d had weekend leave or something. And if they didn’t believe him? Well, he’d just threaten them with a slap.

Vinnie was looking for lots of things – sex being one of them – but he definitely wasn’t looking for trouble. It might come and find him – probably would, in fact. And if it did, so be it. He would deal with it. But he wasn’t on the hunt for it right now. He was much more interested in settling back into estate life, re-establishing his order in the hierarchy (and in that regard his ‘just-out’ status would definitely be a major asset) and getting a piece of whatever was currently going down. Yes, one day, he’d get a proper job – something with woodworking, perhaps. He really fancied that. But real work – proper grown-up work – that could wait for a while. Right now he had some living to do.