Trilogy Collection

June was every bit as shocked as he was by this turn of events. She saw his face begin to crumple – proper, genuine tears this time, and she couldn’t bear it – she could never bear to see her boy so upset. If he deserved a leathering, then, yes, she would give him one in an instant. But for someone else to be punishing him was unthinkable. Another thought smacked her in the face then – Jock. Jock was going to go fucking apeshit.

‘Come on, Sal,’ she tried. ‘That can’t be right, surely? It hasn’t even gone to court yet about the robberies! How can he be punished for something not proven? We haven’t even had the bizzies round or anything.’

‘The police will be round, June. They are currently collecting statements about that one, but this is because of all the other stuff as well.’ She raised her hands and started ticking off Vinnie’s transgressions on her fingers. ‘Fighting,’ she started, ‘robbing, mugging, smashing up cars, starting fires … I could go on. He’s lucky he’s lasted so long. No, June, this is the end of the line, love. It will be a week today.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘I’ll be collecting him and we’ll be taking him to an approved school down in Brighton.’

June gawped. ‘Fucking Brighton? How the fuck are we meant to get to Brighton for a visit?’ She could hear Vinnie really snivelling now. She could hardly bear to look at him. She concentrated on Sally. ‘How long is he off for?’

Sally explained how Vinnie would be staying at the school until his behaviour improved, and that the distance didn’t matter because they wouldn’t be allowed to visit. June was open-mouthed at this and Vinnie was really crying now, his head in his hands bent over towards his knees. This was killing him, June knew. And her, for that matter, watching him – sobbing as Sally patted his back as she told him that after a while, if he behaved himself, that was, he would be allowed some weekend visits home. Why’d she flown at him? she thought miserably. Why hadn’t she stood by him? Been a decent alibi? Fucking witnesses. What witnesses? Who knew if they weren’t just out to fit him up, after all?

Sally left not long after and June tried to pull herself together. She needed to be there for poor Vin, who was obviously distressed. But no sooner had she turned back to him than he was wiping his face and grinning. ‘Que sera sera, muvver! Alter your face, I’ll be okay!’

June shook her head, not sure whether to be relieved he’d been putting it on, or furious at the little git for all the play-acting. She chose the latter and went to clip him round the ear again, but he managed to dodge her. ‘We’ll see, son,’ she snapped. ‘We’ll see. I hope you’re right. You realise your dad’s gonna throw a right mental though when he hears this, don’t you?’

And he would, too. Which was no less than Vin deserved. And which she wasn’t hanging about for. ‘Anyway, I’m off out, mate,’ she added, ‘before he gets back. I’ve got a few quid stashed away that he don’t know about.’

Vinnie looked affronted. ‘Well I’m not staying here on my own!’ he said. ‘He’ll be pissed, won’t he? I’m not having him battering me as well as you.’

June softened then. ‘I’m sorry, love, you know what I’m like.’ She pulled her packet of fags out from where she’d just stowed them in her handbag and tried not to think about him not being around for a bit. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take a couple of ciggies and a few bob for some supper. I’m off to the Bull to meet Moira and Maureen. You can go round to our Lyndsey’s for the night; tell her what’s happened.’

Vinnie, who clearly couldn’t believe his good fortune, grinned widely. Then gave his mum a quick hug and a kiss before running out of the house.

June turned back to the mirror and quickly applied some more panstick onto the bags under her eyes, and a fresh slice of ruby red across her lips. She then changed her coal-burnt slippers for a pair of black stilettos and within minutes she was off up the road to her local, her evening back on track, at least for now. She wondered how many scratters with a few bob she was going to pull tonight. She pulled her old fur coat closer round her, to keep out the chill. And pushed all thoughts of her wayward son to the back of her mind.

Like you did. It was like Vinnie said, Que sera sera. What could you do?

Chapter 2 (#ub0b25701-d126-509d-97b1-76fe329d1888)

Vinnie peeped into the window, through the gap in the curtains of his sister’s house, taking care not to be seen. He had vaulted the six garden fences round the backs which separated his house from hers, and he could feel his breath rasping in his throat. Squatting down then, out of sight, he shivered against the freezing wind as he ate the last of his vinegar-soaked chips. He wished he’d had the bottle to nip into his own house for his coat. Fucking old man had put paid to that idea, though. Must have heard the latest news from his auntie or something, because when Vinnie had popped his head inside 10 minutes ago, the senile old bastard had started ranting and raging. Fuck that for a lark – he was off.

He hated coming up to Lyndsey’s because she lived like a pig. But right now, she felt the lesser of two evils. But only just; peering back in through the window, he could see that she was off her head already. She was slumped in an armchair that was covered in puke and chocolate stains, eyes glazed over and with that stupid vacant smile on her face as she watched the three kids playing on the ratty carpet. Vinnie frowned. Fucking 10 o’clock at night and the kids still up. They were only three, four and seven as well. The ‘idiot’ – her bloke Robbo – was squatting on the floor, too, smoking his weed through a milk-bottle pipe, oblivious to fucking anything. Vinnie crumpled up his chip bag and knocked hard on the window. ‘Police, open up!’ he shouted.

Little Robbie, the eldest kid, looked up and smiled at him and Lyndsey, at once alert, jumped up from her chair. Seeing Vinnie grinning in at her, she relaxed and sat down again and was back slumped by the time he’d let himself in through the unlocked back door. ‘Fucking divvy!’ she said as the kids all ran to jump up at their uncle.

‘All right kids, calm down,’ he said, fending them off. ‘Fuckin’ hell, Lynds, you wanna tell him to give that pipe a rest – these three are high as kites!’

‘Cheeky fucker,’ she responded, clearly less out of it than she looked. ‘You’re not too old to get your arse smacked, you know.’ Then her tone changed. ‘Aw, put ’em to bed for us, will you, Vin?’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘I’ll do another mix if I can get the pipe off Marty-fucking-Feldman there. Just look at them fucking eyes. Oi! Numpty – pipe!’

It was always like this and Vinnie wasn’t about to say no to her. Someone needed to look after the poor little fuckers. Vinnie picked his nieces up, one giggling on each arm. ‘C’mon then, mate,’ he said to Robbie, then, choosing his route carefully over the shoes and clothes that had been left all over the floor, took them all up to bed.

Sammy and Lou shared bunk beds in the same bedroom as their brother, and Vinnie took his usual deep breath of the clear air on the tiny landing before going into the room. It never changed – it stank of piss and always made him retch.

‘Will you play with us, Uncle Vinnie? Just for a little bit?’ asked Robbie.

Vinnie shook his head. ‘Not tonight, matey. You three need some sleep. It’s late and your mam wants me downstairs. I’m sleeping on your couch though,’ he added, while casting around for some wearable nightwear. ‘So we can play in the morning, all right?’

Having settled the kids, Vinnie went down to join Lyndsey and Robbo. At least when they were stoned they shared the hash out. Not like if they’d been on the other stuff. He hated them then. That was the trouble with coming here, though; you either walked in and fucking floated out or you entered a war zone. You never knew what you might find.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard about me, then?’ Vinnie asked as he sat on the couch. Clearly not. His sister and Robbo just looked puzzled. ‘I’m getting sent down, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘Next week. Fuckin’ right piss-take.’

‘Fuck off!’ laughed Robbo. ‘You’re only 13. They can’t fucking send you down at your age!’

Vinnie glared at the idiot. He hated him, and couldn’t understand what his sister saw in him. ‘Well they are. Durr! They know I did the fucking bingo hall and the youthy. Fucking Saggy Tits came up today, said it was all decided in court yesterday. But, of course, me mother didn’t attend, did she?’

‘Aw, here love,’ Lyndsey said as she passed Vinnie a joint. He looked at it, smiling at her with something approaching pity. She was well gone now, her eyes just a pair of slits in her face. A far cry from the stunner she’d once been, way back. Now she just looked fucking tragic. ‘It don’t really surprise me about her though. They don’t serve bitter in court, do they?’ She tipped her head back and laughed at her own joke. Vinnie didn’t. ‘And you have to admit, Vin, you had it coming, mate.’

He lit the paper, watched the stray ends of tobacco flare and redden. Perhaps having a smoke would give him some more of the Dutch courage he needed. Was going to keep needing, in fact. ‘Cheers for the moral support and all that,’ he said. ‘I’m not bothered anyway. Piece of piss approved school’ll be.’

Robbo opened his mouth to speak but started to choke instead – either over Vinnie’s words or the smoke that wreathed his face. ‘Approved school?’ he spluttered finally. ‘That’s not going down, mate. The nick is going down. Armley or Thorp Arch is going down. Fucking approved school?’

Robbo bent over to suck again on the piece of plastic tube, laughing. The homemade pipe had another tube next to the plastic one; a length of copper pipe that was wedged into the model milk bottle with a lump of plasticine. Vinnie watched, fascinated, as the dirty liquid in the bottle started to bubble. He hoped the arsehole did choke on it. Like, lethally. Who did he think he was, trying to make a cunt out of him?

Lyndsey snatched the pipe back. ‘Shut it, you! Even if it’s not the nick, he’ll still be away, won’t he? It’s not like he’ll be allowed out fucking shopping, is it?’

That shut him up for a bit. Good. Robbo thought he was still a fucking hard man but Vinnie knew the truth. He might have been a fighter 10 years ago, back when he was dealing, but as soon as he started getting a taste for it himself he had gone downhill fast, just like they all did. Now he was just a run-of-the-mill junkie who had no respect. It made Vinnie sick when he saw him queuing outside the post office with the family allowance book on Monday mornings. Using the money meant for food to buy a bit of red or black, or if they really did have to buy food, he would resort to a couple of bottles of Actifed. Fucking joke, Robbo was. Fucking cough medicine!

No matter what happened the rest of the week, the kids always got took to school on Mondays. Mondays, and every other Thursday as well, because every second Thursdays were pan crack days. The days when the big money came – the dole, the big green drug token. Vinnie knew enough to know the score there. And the score was that Robbo had soon got his sister round to the junkie way of thinking. He also knew – though he wouldn’t dare mention it – that Lyndsey was on the game as well. He looked at his older sister with disgust now. The slag was all over the estate with Robbo’s two sisters, fucking giving it up all week for the price of an ounce.

Vinnie noticed Lyndsey and the idiot had fallen asleep now, so he turned up the portable TV. He settled back onto the couch, resting his head on the arm and his legs, for want of anywhere else to put them, spread out across his inert sister’s lap. The room felt fuggy: it had taken on the familiar sickly-sweet smell of dope and in the thick lingering smoke that had settled all around him, Vinnie could barely keep his eyes open. Though he could still make out the giant picture that took pride of place above the fireplace. It was a picture of a lad – around three was his guess – whose grizzling face stared mournfully down. It was called ‘The Crying Boy’, or so his mam had told him years back. And seeing what he was looking down on here, it wasn’t fucking surprising.

The late night news was on – more grizzling, as far as he could tell – but he wasn’t listening. His head was too full of thoughts about his impending incarceration, and what it might be like. His Uncle Charlie had once told him about the time he had gone to jail. How loads of the blokes were arse bandits and you couldn’t bend over to pick up the soap if you dropped it in the shower. Charlie was hard though, a big mean bastard with hands like coal shovels. No one messed with his uncle. He didn’t even live in a house. Throughout the day he was usually found outside the Boy and Barrel or the Old Crown, but at nights, unless it was proper freezing, at least, he slept on a bench in the town centre. If it was cold, though, he’d simply smash a window or start a fight so that he had a nice warm cell for the night. Trouble was though, Uncle Charlie and the rest of his uncles hated thieves. It was all right to rob a business or a bank or run some crooked gambling, but the youthy – Vinnie knew his Uncle Charlie would see that as shitting on your own doorstep. And shitting on your own doorstep was the lowest of the low. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that. Just like he knew Charlie and his lot slagged him off to his mam. Fuck that, then, he wouldn’t be going to Charlie for advice.

Vinnie had drifted off to sleep at last, dreaming about fighting off giant arse bandits and sharing a cell with his Uncle Charlie.

He woke up with a start some time later, unclear where he was, to feel Lou and Sammy jumping on him and laughing. ‘Come on, Uncle Vin,’ they trilled. ‘Come on, let’s play out!’

Vinnie yawned and rubbed his eyes. He got up to open the window to get rid of the smoke and the stench of weed. ‘Gimme a chance, kids. I’ve only just woke up. Go get dressed and get your brother up. We’ll go down to Nan’s and get some brekkie, okay?’

‘Yay, Nanny’s! Nanny, Nanny, Nanny’s!’ sang the girls as they ran back upstairs.

Vinnie glanced around him at the filthy, stinking living room. His sister and the idiot must have somehow got themselves to bed because there was no sign of them now. He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge and the grease-coated food cupboard, just to check if there was any food in. Not that he held out much hope. Lyndsey went shoplifting at the Co-op every other day, but yesterday she had been in too much of a state. Which was a shame. Least when she went lifting she brought back proper good stuff. ‘Only the best for my kids!’ she would say as she brought out packs of bacon and joints of meat from up her skirt. Vinnie knew she would fill up her knickers with stuff too, but he didn’t like to dwell on it – not if he was going to be sharing the spoils, anyway.

It was only eight o’clock but the kids were chomping at the bit to get out of the shit-hole. But Vinnie knew his mam and dad wouldn’t be up yet and, given what had gone down with Saggy Tits Sally, he was reluctant to wake them this early. He decided to walk about with the kids for half an hour first, and then hopefully his little sister would be up for school, at least. Little Josie, or ‘Titch’, as she was known to almost everybody, was alright. She was only 10, but she adored her big brother and would try to kick the shit out of anybody who called him ginger nut, no matter how big they were.

The kids dressed and ready, they headed straight out. There was no point in saying goodbye to his sister and the idiot. They’d be comatose for hours yet, knowing he was there to see to the kids. Which would have to change, he thought, feeling a sudden pang of nerves. And fear – fear of being so far away from everyone and everything he knew. He had to stop that in its tracks. Snuff it out.

He vaulted the fence into the next door back garden, heading back the same way as he’d come the night before. It was the route he always used to get from Lyndsey’s house to home and back. Same as everyone. Everyone fit enough to jump fences and crawl through holes, anyway. It was their private route around the place and he didn’t know any different way to travel. Much less why. He thought seriously about this as he lifted the kids over Mrs Elliot’s fence. Probably to make it easier running from the pigs, he decided. But he wasn’t alone in Mrs Elliot’s garden. As he lifted over little Robbie, he was immediately attacked by a huge, angry black-and-white cat. Which clearly had no truck with what he’d been up to either. It wasted no time in scratching him, badly.

‘Fuck!’ he yelled, bringing a hand up to his stinging cheek. He was bleeding. Proper bleeding. The little shit. With the kids laughing hysterically, he leapt around the garden then, trying to catch the mangy moggy who’d taken him on.

At last he managed to grab it and held it in a headlock with one arm, clamping its body under his arm, safely out of scratching distance. It squirmed and spat, but he held on tight. It was going nowhere. It had to pay for what it did.

‘Robbie, quick,’ he said to his nephew, ‘find me some rope or string or summat!’

The kids stared at Vinnie, puzzled. ‘Why?’ Sammy and Lou wanted to know.

‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘If I let it go it will attack us all, won’t it!’

Robbie, Lou and Sammy dutifully scoured the back garden, ignoring the syringes and old car tyres and crap. Eventually, four-year-old Lou held up a length of aerial cable. ‘Uncle Vinnie, look!’ she said proudly.