fucking murder on my back,’ he spluttered.
Josie regarded her single cigarette, which felt not quite enough. Despite her haste to be gone, the smoke wreathing between them gave her an idea. ‘Can I smoke this one here, Melvin, and then take another one with me?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, passing a lit match towards her. ‘I might. If you keep me company for a bit.’
She puffed her own fag into life and drew on it. She didn’t feel quite so queasy now. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay for 10 minutes, but that’s all. Me mam will be looking for me if I’m any later.’
‘Saw ’em coming to take your brother off earlier. Is it true then, he’s being locked up?’
Nosey bleeder, she thought. Trust him to already know that. Always peeking out of his bleeding window, minding everyone else’s business. How did he know so much anyway? He lived a long way up the street from them. Yet he did. Somehow, Melvin seemed to see everything.
‘Not locked up.’ She corrected him. ‘Just gone to like a boarding school, me mam said. He’ll be back after Christmas.’
They both smoked in silence for just long enough for Josie to begin to feel uncomfortable. She’d finish up, she thought, and get out of there, back into the daylight. She was just looking for somewhere she could stub out the cigarette when she noticed that Melvin was now struggling to take off his dressing gown, his cigarette clamped between his lips, smoke blowing in his face. ‘You’ll freeze in here if you take that off,’ she told him. ‘Have you got an ashtray? I don’t know what to do with this.’
‘Just use the floor, kid,’ Melvin told her, grinding his own out against the floorboards with his slipper. ‘I’m back into bed, me,’ he said. ‘Can you give us a hand getting this off?’
Happy that he wasn’t expecting her to hang around any longer, Josie started to pull the sleeve of his dressing gown in an attempt to help pull it from his shoulders.
Never in a million years did she see it coming.
Some time later, Josie let herself out of the smelly house. White-faced and sickened, she silently walked to her own house and, refusing her dad’s offer of food – her mam was out – she went through the kitchen to where the bath was. After scrubbing herself till the water went cold, she went and told her dad, who was now parked in front of the telly, that she had a belly ache and was going to bed.
She counted out the steps up to her bedroom, numb with shock. No thoughts. Not yet. She couldn’t think.
Dear Mam (and say hello to the old man I suppose)
Well, it’s been a week and I’m settling in okay. There’s some right fucking divvies in here though, and they think I’m mental. I’ve made some friends; especially one called Billy and guess what? My other mate’s called Vincent! Ha, and I always thought you was the only cow daft enough to give a son a name like that. (Only kidding.) Hope you’re all well and thanks for the ciggies and chocolate. I could do with some more stuff though, Mam. I don’t suppose you could nick me a radio from somewhere? (Only fucking joking, sir, I know you read my letters.) Can you send me some photos as well, for my room, and ask our Lyndsey if you see her, if you can have a Jimi Hendrix poster to send me. I’m not wasting a stamp on her, but I’ve put a letter in here for our Titch, hope she’s okay. The other day, me and Vincent got caught pinching biscuits from the kitchen. It was a right laugh; you should have seen the fat cook woman chase us. She caught up with Vincent and pulled his hair, I nearly pissed myself laughing. We both got put on ‘no privileges’ for it, but it was worth it. It’s too boring if you don’t have a laugh. It’s a massive place this, wait till you see it, it’s like a big country manor. You’ll feel as common as muck when you come down. It’s fucking freezing though; even the fucking cockroaches are wearing overcoats. That reminds me; when you come see me, bring my big coat. You know, the one I would have worn to school if I had ever gone. Ha-ha. Right, Mam, I’m off now, it’s nearly lights out and I know I’m very clever, but I haven’t learned how to see in the dark yet. See you soon.
All my love, Vinnie xxxxxxxxxxx
Alright Titch
Thought I’d drop you a line seeing as how you’ll be missing me torturing you by now. Ha-ha, only kidding, I hope you’re okay and you better have cried for ages when I left. It’s ace here, I might even stay. (Joke.) I hope you’re staying out of trouble. I’ve heard that the girls’ approved school is miles worse than here, can’t have you getting sent off as well. I’ve met some good lads here, but I’ve had loads of fights as well. Tell the boys that I’m giving Bradford a good reputation, and let Brendan know that I’ve started boxing so I’ll be able to knock him out when I come home. I’ve asked me mam to send some photos, but don’t let her send one of you, I don’t want fucking nightmares on top of everything else. Ha-ha, just kidding, Titch. My mates were laughing the other day when I was telling them about you. I told them that you always say you’re strawberry blonde and not a ginner. See, even they think you’re a funny little fucker. Well I’m getting off now, Titch, and I don’t think you’ll be allowed to visit with me mam. Write me a letter back though, with all that going to school like a little swot, I know you can write.
All my love, Vinnie xxxxxxxxxxx
June read Vinnie’s letter to anybody who would listen. She had it with her, in her handbag, at the Bull.
He’d only been gone for two weeks and she had been working herself up into a right state waiting to hear from him. ‘He’s punishing me, the little bleeder!’ she’d moaned to Jock the week before. ‘Either that or he’s narked at you.’
‘Narked at me?’ Jock had answered. ‘What have I done?’
June looked at her hulk of a husband. Took in the baggy suit trousers, the greying shirt – with its familiar tramlines of braces – the equally greying hair, that had once been the same flaming red of his two younger children, the bulbous nose, the bulky middle … took it all in and considered where to start. ‘Nothing,’ she’d replied irritably. ‘Exactly that. Nothing. You couldn’t even be arsed to wave him off when he went!’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ Jock had shouted then, ‘blame me, you always do.’ He’d shook his head dismissively. ‘I can read the lad like a book, June. He’s making you sweat for not putting up a fight for him, that’s all. He’ll write, don’t you worry, and when he does, it’ll be to whine at you for summat, just like it always is.’
Jock had been right. Not that she’d ever dream of giving him the satisfaction of hearing it from her. In fact when the long white envelope had plopped through the box that morning, she’d pounced. As soon as she saw the Brighton postmark across the top, she’d swiped it up from the mat and stuffed it down her nightie so that she didn’t have to share it with the miserable git.
Still hadn’t, in fact, and would only do so when she felt like it. After what he’d said about his own son, it was no less than he deserved. She had it now though, in her bag, just as she’d had since she’d got it. She’d been dying to get it out and parade it down the Bull.
Which she’d already done – they’d been in there an hour now – but the more pissed she became, the more often she would get it out to dissect.
Listen to this,’ she said to Maureen now.
