Hidden Sin: When the past comes back to haunt you

‘Er, what about the stuff?’ he said, sounding plaintive, and looking hopefully at Brian. ‘No way am I leaving it all out there to get nicked.’

‘Patience, lad,’ Nicky said. ‘All in good time. At least give me a chance to have a fucking slash!’ Upon which he burped loudly and flung himself down on the sofa, giving Christine just enough time to save her book from being crushed.

Brian shook his head but decided not to say anything. He and Joey could deal with the kit between them once Nicky had gone to bed. He knew how anxious Joey would be at the prospect of Nicky dropping something precious like his snare drum or something. He also looked happy, and Brian didn’t want to spoil that.

‘So you had a good night, son?’ he asked, as Joey sloughed off his denim jacket. ‘You must be buzzing, mate. Did you get plenty of claps and all that?’

Joey’s caramel-coloured eyes shone with pride. ‘It was mint, Dad! I swear the punters loved us. Really loved us.’ He was pacing in front of the gas fire. ‘And I swear down, Paula’s brilliant. I mean, really, really brilliant. You’d never know it wasn’t Debbie Harry – just you wait till you see her yourselves. And, like, we all fit together’ – he meshed his hands – ‘so incredibly well. You know, if I could bottle this buzz, I’d make a fortune!’

Christine laughed. ‘Well, my boy, you never know, do you? If they can clone a sheep can’t be long till they can bottle buzz too, can it? How difficult can it be, after all?’ she smiled. ‘Trust me, I can feel it from here.’

Brian smiled too, caught up, as he always was, in pride for his stepson. ‘You and Paula still getting on alright then?’ he asked, just about managing not to wink. Paula’s name had been coming up such a lot lately that he and Christine had both picked up on it independently – and both agreed they knew why, as well.

‘Dad!’ Joey said, his cheeks darkening immediately. ‘Course we are. We have to. We’re working together, aren’t we?’

‘And she’s a lovely lass,’ Brian pointed out.

‘She’s fucking fit,’ Nicky added.

‘And you could do a lot worse,’ Christine said, standing up. ‘Me and your dad were only saying the other day, weren’t we, love? You and her would make a lovely-looking couple.’

‘Whoah, whoah, whoah,’ Joey said, looking suddenly aggrieved. ‘Have you heard yourself? Nowt’s happened yet, Mam, so you and Dad can just keep your nosy snouts out. Last thing I need is you two showing me up if she calls round.’

‘Ooh, calling round, is she?’ Nicky said. ‘You’re well in there, son. Lucky bugger. Anyway, is anyone going to make a brew, or am I going to have to do it?’

Brian reached for his pouch of baccy. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

Nicky roused himself and Brian followed him out into the kitchen anyway, leaving Joey to tell Christine all about the evening, the words ‘I’ve got a permanent place in the band now’ following his progress down the hall. He was pleased to see Joey happy – how could he ever not be? – but he couldn’t shake the nagging anxiety that increasingly accompanied it. Things were changing and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Dreams were one thing but real life was a very different matter. And it seemed to him that Joey’s dreams, however talented he might be, were surely destined to end in disappointment. Maybe not now, not right away, but eventually they would. He wasn’t stupid – half the bleeding pubs in Bradford made it so obvious; how many of them had bands in, scratching out a meagre living, day to day, from one badly paid gig to the next? What were the chances of it ever really amounting to anything? Whereas with the windows, if he knuckled down and extended the round onto another estate, the world would be his oyster in no time. He’d be able to buy his own van, too. A van meant for ladders, buckets and chamois leathers, not frigging speakers, amps and drum kits. Why was Joey always so restless? Always looking for something more? Why wasn’t his life – which was a good life – enough for him?

Brian rolled his ciggie and lit it, then helped Nicky with the tea, tuning out from his pissed ramblings. He also made a mental note that next time Joey needed a lift, it would be him and not his uncle who took him, even if taking the drum kit meant two trips. He also made a mental note that he’d need to say something to Christine. He was happy enough putting Nicky up in the short term – least they could do, given the extent of the sacrifice Nicky had made for his sister – but not for too long. He was too bad an influence on Joey. But it seemed it wasn’t just Nicky in pole position for turning Joey’s head.

‘So I think he might have been some kind of record producer or something,’ Joey was saying to his mam when they returned. He glanced across at Nick. ‘Did you see him, Uncle Nicky?’

Nicky grunted as he put the mugs down. ‘See who?’

‘The man who came and spoke to me. I think you might have already left by then, actually. But he was there till the end. And you wouldn’t have missed him if you had seen him. Big black guy. Posh clobber.’

‘Didn’t he say who he was?’ Christine asked. ‘Give you a business card or anything?’

Joey shook his head. ‘No. I just told you, Mam – he just came up and said how good he thought we were. And bought me a pint.’

‘So what makes you think he was a record producer then?’

‘Just the way he was, Mam. We all thought so. Just the way he looked and the way he acted. I dunno.’ He spread his hands. ‘He just seemed sort of professional, you know? Not someone you’d expect to see in The Sun. He stuck out like a sore thumb. But in a good way,’ he added, leaning down to grab a mug of tea.

Brian was properly listening now. This was what he had been afraid of as well – of his son being taken advantage of by some fly-by-night agent. Of him being exploited in some way. Joey wasn’t exactly naïve but he was definitely still a bit wet behind the ears. And you heard about it all the time, didn’t you? ‘Well, did he have a name, this guy?’ he asked. ‘And did you see him, Nicky?’

‘See who?’ Nicky said again.

Joey shook his head. ‘He couldn’t have done. But his name was Macario.’

‘Macario?’ Brian said. ‘Odd name.’

But ringing a bell, strangely. And soon not at all strangely, with Joey’s next, damning, utterance. ‘Yeah, it is, isn’t it? But he said I should call him Mo.’

The name hit Brian like a physical whump in the chest. And he didn’t need to look to know the colour would be draining from Christine’s face. And when she spoke it was little more than a whisper. ‘Mo?’ she said. ‘You sure? A big man? A black man? Definitely called Mo?’

Joey nodded. ‘Massive dreadlocks.’ He fluffed up his own substantial head of hair to illustrate. ‘Like, huge.’

Brian felt cold, despite the tea, which was now scalding his hands. ‘Why?’ Joey asked, smiling happily. ‘Do you know him?’

Brian didn’t dare look at Christine, because he knew his mask might slip. Masks tended to do that when long-buried secrets threatened to come out.

‘Think I’m thinking of someone else,’ he finally plumped for.

Chapter 3 (#u954bf3dc-e64a-5818-9c16-4128664b67ca)

So this was the moment, was it? Come to get her? The moment she had always known might come, but had wished so hard never would. Christine folded her arms across her chest and buried her hands in her armpits so that Joey wouldn’t see that they were shaking.

It took a couple of heartbeats before Brian met her eye. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘So what did he look like, this Mo, then?’ Her voice hadn’t betrayed her but she knew her burning cheeks might. She was grateful for the gloom in the room. ‘Older guy, was he?’

Joey gave her a strange look. Or perhaps she was being paranoid. ‘I don’t know, Mam,’ he said. ‘Not old. Forties? Big bloke. Really smart. Seemed to know what he was on about, you know?’

It figured. ‘So did he say anything else to you? Ask your name?’

Joey shook his head. ‘He already knew my name. He called me Joey when he came over, so I supposed he must have already asked someone about us. About me. About the band and that. Exciting or what?’

He seemed completely irrepressible. Smitten even, God help them all. Christine glanced helplessly at Brian, who cleared his throat noisily. ‘Well, you never know, son,’ he said, clapping Joey on the back. ‘But right now, it’s nearly one and we need to get that stuff inside.’ He looked down at Nicky, who was well away now, and beginning to snore. How did he do that? Christine wondered. Just be awake one minute and then spark out the next? Fifteen years in the nick, she thought grimly. ‘Let’s you and me go and get it in, eh?’ Brian was saying to Joey. ‘This one looks fit for nothing. And then bed.’

He reached down for the discarded car keys and, dismissing Christine’s offer to help as well, followed Joey back outside to the van. Don’t panic. He mouthed the words at her as he went.

Christine grabbed her pack of Benson & Hedges and lit one with shaky fingers. How could it be? But then again, why would it not be? She’d covered her brother with a blanket and smoked a second cigarette to the tip before the kit was all back in the house. ‘Up you go, love,’ she said to Joey when he’d stacked the last of it in the tiny hallway. ‘No sense taking it up till the morning, is there? Just head up to bed,’ she added, stretching up to plant a kiss on his cold cheek. ‘We’ll be up once we’re all straight down here.’

As if they could ever be straight with her brother camping out in the front room. But Joey seemed happy enough, clearly too excited to clock the tension in her voice, and remembering to give Brian a grateful hug before he left them. Such a big lad now but still so much their baby. So loving – never afraid to hug his dad, even in public. God, the thought of that bastard Mo so much as sharing his airspace made her want to punch a wall.

She went into the kitchen, her legs leaden. It was Mo. She just knew it. How many men of his description could possibly exist in the world? But back in Bradford? For fuck’s sake, why? And after all this time? What could possibly be here for him? Well, apart from his kids – and there were a few of them knocking about; that much she knew for sure. And not one of which, as far as she knew, had ever had anything to do with him. He spawned them and discarded them. That was what he had always been best at. So why approach her Joey? Surely to God he wouldn’t want to know Joey now? Not after all that had happened. Surely to God that would be that very last thing he’d do?

She shivered as she put the kettle on, an action that was automatic. God, she wished her mam was still alive and doing it for her. Taking charge. Because she knew Mam would know what to do. Despite all her faults – and they’d been legion, no question – her mam had never been scared of anyone. Specially Mo. The man she’d loved. The man who had let her down so badly. The man who’d made such a calculated move on her own teenage daughter. On her. And she’d … God. It was no good. She couldn’t even bear to let the thought take shape. She grabbed the cigarettes again and lit another.

‘Look, love, I know what you’re thinking –’

Christine turned around. Under the strip light, Brian’s face was pinched and grey.

‘I bet you don’t,’ she said, keeping her voice as low as his was. ‘I’m thinking how much I’d like to plunge a knife into his gut. It’s him, Bri. I know it is. It must be.’