White Goods (42 page)

‘So, is our
Roy a bummer or not?’ Jim joked and I expected another
fuck-off
from Roy, but I
guess he knew his place now, because he kept quiet. Reluctantly, I
reckoned.

Sharon shrugged again,
taking another tug on the stick, making the end glow amber through
the shadows.

‘So, what did you want?’
Rory asked, stepping a little closer to her. ‘Said you wanted to
meet up. So, what do you want?’

‘Well, I don’t want an
audience, that’s for sure,’ she replied, finishing the fag,
stubbing it out on the ground with a heel. I took in her shoes for
the first time: they were stilettoes, black and a little too big
for her feet.

Chrissie’s,
I thought to
myself.

‘Can’t you ask them to
go? I just wanted you and Jim here.’

‘Wanted?’ Jim.

‘What is it
you
wanted
then,
Sharon?’ Rory. ‘You got quite a reputation, did you know that? That
Lee bloke you been seeing had quite a bit to say about that, you
know. Reckoned you got up to all sorts.’

Another shrug from
Sharon. She was gazing down, avoiding looking at them.

‘Sure you don’t want some
of this?’

Jim held the can out
again. This time, Sharon took it from him and took a big swig from
it. She winced as it went down, handing the can straight
back.

‘So, you gonna end this
little mystery, Sharon, and let us know what you want?’ Rory asked
this, moving a little further forward, standing between Sharon and
my eye-line. ‘Although, if your reputation is anything to go by, I
think it’s pretty obvious.’

With my view blocked, I
couldn’t see exactly what Rory did, but it was enough to make
Sharon stumble back, falling into the fragile remains of the
stairs.

I wondered if her
brothers might react to this; join the scene and intervene. But
they held back. Whatever they were planning to do, the time wasn’t
right yet.

‘Did I say you could
touch me?’ Sharon retorted, coming back to her feet.

‘Sorry, you see I thought
you wanted a bit of-.’

‘I want some
information. First.’ Sharon added the
first
as an afterthought, suggesting
there would be a return on anything they gave.

‘Information?’ Jim
questioned.

‘About what?’ Back to
Rory.

‘What you’ve been up to.
I wanna know what you boys have been up to.’

‘Really? That’s
it?’

‘That’s it.
Yeah.’

‘And what do we get in
return?’ This came from Roy, reaffirming his presence by joining
the banter.

‘You get to watch, if
you’re lucky.’ Sharon.

Rory and Jim laughed at
this, Sharon’s snipe bringing them onto her side a
little.

‘What do I get?’ Rory
asked, direct, as if the others suddenly weren’t involved, weren’t
there. ‘What does Rory get?’ He had moved in close again and I
wondered if we’d get a repeat of earlier, but Sharon stood her
ground.

‘If you’ve heard my
reputation,’ she replied, taking the can from him again, taking
another swig, swallowing easily this time, ‘then surely you don’t
need to ask.’

Rory turned back to Jim,
grinning and shrugged.

‘Sounds like it could be
fun. What do you think, Jim?’

‘Think you
could be right, Rory. If the
reputation
can be lived up to, might
be worth telling her what we know.’

Rory turned back to
Sharon.

‘What is it you want to
know?’

This time Sharon didn’t
shrug, wasn’t evasive, but came right out with the
question.

‘I want to know why you
killed Crinky.’

Rory stepped
back, as if stunned by the question. He wasn’t expecting this. But
he quickly recovered himself, and covered up any hesitation by
laughing. He gave Jim a nudge, as if to get him to join in. But Jim
just looked nervous. In turn, Roy and Clint began to look about
themselves, checking who else might be in the shadows:
it was just Sharon Tankard in there with them,
wasn’t it?

‘So, if I tell you what I
know, you’ll deliver the goods?’ Rory asked, suddenly edgy, but
still laughing. His voice became a little louder, as if he wanted
it to carry. As if he wanted everyone to hear him. As if he knew it
wasn’t just Sharon who wanted to hear him. He glanced at Jim and
pointed upwards. It was a swift movement, quick enough that only
Jim saw. So, they had rumbled the Tankard boys.

‘I said I
would.’

‘And you want
to know about fat old Crinky Crunkle? A stupid fat old pervert with
an equally stupid name. And you think we killed him? And if I tell
you that we did –
if
I tell you – you still expect to me to believe I’ll get what
I’m owed.’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’ He delivered
the question whilst looking up, checking the holes in the ceiling,
trying to locate the brothers he believed were above him somewhere.
‘I thought he was a close member of your family?’

‘We knew him, doesn’t
mean we liked him.’

This stopped Rory for a
minute, made him question his assumptions. He threw Jim a
glance.

‘So, you gonna answer my
question or not?’

Rory grinned again, began
laughing too; caught somewhere between finding Sharon funny, absurd
and wondering what she was really up to. I heard the crack of a can
being ripped, followed by the hiss of beer, as Jim started another
one. He passed it to Rory, who took a long gulp, contemplating
Sharon’s question and how his answer would correspond.

‘It was my
idea.’

A voice, almost
forgotten, spoke out from the shadows.

‘Something I heard in the
playground.’

‘Shut the fuck up-.’ Rory
began, turning to the source of this unexpected confession. But Roy
wanted his moment. He wanted to take some of the credit for
this.

‘The fat bastard had to
know where that money was. That Jackie used to live with him, so he
had to know something. But he kept squealing that he knew nothing,
that he hadn’t seen him for months. Like that other one, like that
Ian, making out he knew nothing.’

‘Roy, shut it! Clint, get
him out of here!’

Clint made to grab Roy,
but now he had started, he wanted to finish. I’m not sure if he was
bragging or confessing, or something in between, but he was
determined to have his say, stake his claim on what they had done.
He shook his almost-step-brother off and moved further into the
room, taking his place centre stage.

‘So, we had to make a
point. Had to make that bunch realise we meant business! That we
were prepared to do whatever it took to get that money back! Can’t
just take our stuff and not expect to cough up!’

‘Roy, enough.’
Jim.

Rory just looked stunned,
his laughter at an end. He finished off his can of beer, and then
crushed the empty between his palms, before tossing it into a
corner. Then he looked directly at Sharon and smiled. A cold, cruel
slit of smile.

‘Well, there you go,
Sharon. There’s your answer. According to young Roy, that is. But
maybe he’s just got a vivid imagination,’ he said, shrugging.
‘Whatever, looks like he answered your question, so I guess it’s
over to you?’ He was cocky again, switching emotions, acting as if
he was untouchable. As if what Roy had just revealed counted for
nothing. ‘Guess it’s payback time, Sharon? I mean, we just
delivered the goods, didn’t we? Might just be a young lad’s
overactive imagination, but we delivered all the same. We answered
your little question, didn’t we? So, it must be your turn. What you
gonna give us in return, Sharon?’

As he spoke, Rory turned
slightly from side to side, checking out Jim, checking out Clint
and Roy. If he still believed that Justin and
Stevie-the-little-shit were listening in, he didn’t care, and he
certainly wasn’t seeing them as a threat. The other action he did
as he turned from side to side made that clear: he was undoing his
belt.

‘One question for one
favour Sharon,’ he uttered, moving toward her again. ‘Just hope
you’ve got some more questions, or the others might be a little
disappointed.’

‘Fuck you!’ Sharon spat
back, pushing at him, but he simply pushed back, and it looked as
if he was herding her towards a corner of the room, maybe even
intending to push her into an adjacent one.

‘Now, now, a bargain’s a
bargain. If you don’t mind your manners, we might not be able to
mind ours. Hope you get my meaning. No need to be nasty, is
there?’

Looking on, I
felt sick with alarm and anticipation. I had expected Justin and
Stevie to join in by now. Expected them to come to Sharon’s rescue.
The whole point, surely, had been to lure Rory and Jim here, with
false promises, and – whether they confessed to Crinky’s murder or
not – exact some revenge. That was the Tankard way, after all – you
didn’t tell teacher, you just got your own back. They hadn’t
expected Clint or Roy to come along. Probably hadn’t suspected that
they had been part of the crime, either. Yet, here they were, fully
implicated by Roy’s confession – unexpected and unwelcome, for
some. And now, Sharon was being asked to complete her part of the
so-called
bargain,
and the traditional Tankard response was non-existent. It was
as if Justin and Stevie-the-little-shit were not there. As if
Sharon was by herself for this one.

‘Okay.’ This
single word submission came from Sharon herself. She was addressing
Rory. ‘But just you. Not him, or him. Or
him.’
The last
him
was directed at Roy. ‘Through
there.’ She indicated another room towards the back of the house.
Not in the direction that Rory had been pushing her, but on the
other side. ‘There’s a mattress in there,’ she added, as if what
was being suggested wasn’t already obvious enough.

‘In there?’ Rory asked,
his crude, edgy laugh returning. ‘You gonna offer it up in there,
on a stinky mattress? Fucking hell, your reputation doesn’t really
do you justice. You’re a fucking, dirty slag, you know
that?’

Another opportunity for
the Tankard brothers to plough-in came and went, and I began to
feel sicker and sicker at the thought of what might happen next. I
was back in the toilets at Jubilee Park, nauseous with fear, yet
petrified into doing nothing. Just a cowardly observer. I knew I
should be doing something – these boys were vicious, always played
dirtier than you could expect. Beating Ian at the crematorium,
pissing on Justin, nearly hanging me, electrocuting Crinky; the
last I was still struggling to comprehend, the conscious part of my
brain simply unable to believe it. What did they have in store for
Sharon? One girl, and four boys; I knew what they had in mind for
Sharon. Yet, still I did nothing but the expected: I
watched.

Throughout, the control
swapped from side to side, like a crass game of tennis; an
agonisingly slow version, with pauses and vicious teasing dragging
out the final outcome. First Sharon had the ball: she set her trap
and they entered. But her two invitations resulted in four
attendees, and the ball was sent back. Then Roy opened his mouth,
chucking the ball back in the process. But in providing the answer
to her question, Roy had inadvertently seized the ball back again,
handing it to Rory. To Rory, who was now relishing the position of
power, tossing that ball up and down with every sentence he
expelled.

Then, the penultimate
sentence he uttered, the final insult he threw at Sharon turned out
to be final time he held that invisible, formidable
ball.

‘Good job I like dirty
slags, isn’t it?’ he said.

With that, he followed
Sharon into the room she had indicated.

‘You stay here, keep a
look out,’ he said to the other three, looking back briefly at Jim,
pointing upwards again, indicating he still suspected that her
brothers were watching from above. He was still grinning, as if
that last thought made it all the more pleasurable for
him.

But, what happened next,
what happened when he stepped over the threshold from one
dilapidated room to another, wiped that sick smile from his face
forever. Literally.

I don’t think what
occurred was the plan. I think they intended a few cuts and
bruises, a beating that would take some recovering from; the
Tankards wanted a lesson well and truly learnt. But once they
started their attack, they couldn’t stop. Bedlam was back and there
was no controlling it. Maybe Roy’s confession was the trigger; once
they were certain they had Crinky’s killers, maybe that was it.
Maybe they had to take it that far. Whatever the price.

It started with Justin.
He was waiting in the room at the back of the house, where Sharon
indicated there was a mattress. As Rory went over the threshold,
Justin came at him with a plank of wood. Hit him right across the
face. Several nails were sticking out of the plank and as the force
of the whack slammed into Rory’s face, the nails hooked into his
soft cheeks, instantly ripping his jaw wide open. The thud of the
wood was drowned out by his agonised, animal shriek.