In Cold Blood: A Brother’s Sworn Vengeance

‘Aw, bless her, June. You really think that’s any wonder?’

June stared into her glass. No, it wasn’t any wonder really. Of course she missed Vin – they both did – but, well, it just felt like she’d been hit by a ton of bricks. Hit by his leaving way more than she’d expected.

‘I know,’ she said to Maureen. ‘I know it’s hit her really hard, but, I don’t know … she’s really not herself – she’s been walking round like a fart in a trance. Even Jock can’t sort her out – and her being such a daddy’s girl, as well. I don’t know if she blames him, but it seems like it – she doesn’t want to know him. Even gave him a slap the other day – cheeky little git that she is.’

‘A slap? What on earth for?’

‘For nothing. I swear I don’t know what’s got into her. All he did was try and get her to sit in his chair with him to watch the racing. Now that’s not like her, is it? She loves her dad.’

‘No,’ Maureen agreed. ‘That’s not like her at all. But give her time; it’s only been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Have you written back to him yet?’

June sighed. ‘Not yet.’

‘Why ever not? I’d have thought you’d have done that the same day!’

‘I know. And I want to. It’s just so hard knowing what to say. I mean, he’s all happy and that, talking about when I come down and visit. But I can’t, can I? Old Saggy Tits made it quite clear – there won’t be no visits. Bastards. Don’t they realise? A lad needs his mother! And I mean, they might, mightn’t they? She did say about weekends home at some point, so they might. But you know how these things work. There’s no chance if he doesn’t keep his nose clean, is there? And what’re the chances of that happening, Mo? Zero. He’s probably playing up already, if I know our Vin, the stupid little bleeder. Pound to a penny. Otherwise I would’ve had a call.’

They lapsed into silence then and June, her happy mood having drained away as quickly as her halves had, half-wished she’d not even brought the letter with her. The thought of the months ahead – no Vinnie, Titch with a face like a slapped arse, Jock being Jock – was just too depressing to think about. No, Mo was right. She needed to write back. He’d be bound to be waiting to hear from her, bless him. She was almost glad when the bell went for drinking up at 10.30. With Don off limits, and the letter still calling to her from her handbag, even the Bull couldn’t work its charm tonight.

They left the pub, fur coats clasped to their throats to keep the bitter cold out. The rows of council houses opposite were now mostly in darkness and the leafless trees that lined the main road took on a sinister appearance. The estate looked a lot less friendly on a night time.

June felt the breeze stir her hair and shivered involuntarily. ‘You walking back through the snicket, Mo, or coming down our street?’

Maureen shook her head. ‘Too cold for the long way tonight. I’ll cut through the snicket.’

June cast about to see who was around. Maybe someone else was headed that way as well. She didn’t like to think of Maureen using the snicket on her own at night. It was always useful being able to use it in daylight, but nights were a different matter entirely. Without streetlights, the footpath served a whole other purpose; for robbings and fights or laying in wait, hidden, for someone with whom you had a grudge. Luckily there were a few others spilling from the pub as well now. ‘Make sure someone walks through with you, then,’ she said. ‘It’s dark up there.’

‘Will you give over, June?’ Maureen laughed, swaying slightly in her slingbacks, the night air catching the scent of her Charlie perfume. Must have spritzed herself in the ladies before coming out. ‘I should be so fucking lucky!’ she said. ‘Steven says I should wear a sign on my back saying “rape me” if I’m to be in with a chance.’

‘He’s a rotten bastard, that husband of yours – and you can tell him that from me. Right then, I’m off. I’ll call round tomorrow when I get sick of looking at face ache.’

‘Be as long as that, will it?’ Maureen joked as she toddled off into the night.

For all that she worried about Maureen, June didn’t mind walking home alone herself. She’d done it for years and its familiarity meant it held no fears. This was her patch – the Bull was only 10 minutes from home – and she’d have been shocked more than frightened if anyone jumped her. Not to mention giving as good as she got, she thought decisively, feeling a giggle form in her throat as the fresh air hit her. Must be more pissed than I thought, she decided, and even as she thought it she felt herself stagger. She giggled again when she heard the wolf whistle behind her, minutes later. Almost home, and automatically smiling to acknowledge her admirer, she was surprised to see that no one was there.

Then a gravelly voice. ‘Over here, June!’ Coming from above.

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was now. Mucky-fucking-Melvin. She continued to walk without turning around.

‘Give us a flash, June,’ he shouted down. ‘All them at the Bull will have had a good look.’

Now she did turn around. ‘Why don’t you just fuck off, you pervy bastard.’

She heard his dirty laugh and his window slamming shortly after. Fucking old pervert. Fancy him having the nerve to have a go at her! He’d know about it soon enough if she told Jock. Which she might do. He’d smash his stinking brains in, good and proper.

But for now she had more important business to attend to. Letting herself in the front door without waking the miserable old fucker up. She slid her key into the lock with as much care and deliberation as she could summon and, though it wasn’t much, she was still pleased to note as the door opened that the downstairs of the house was dark and silent.

Good, she thought. She wouldn’t be having an argument tonight, at least. Which in itself was a rare treat when both of them had been drinking, and as night followed day, knowing Jock, he would have been.

She tottered over to the sofa and sat down heavily, then pulled Vinnie’s letter once again from her handbag, tears pricking behind her eyes as she did so. A picture formed in her mind, of a cold, hard prison bed. She tried to ignore it. It was just the drink – stupid mare – making her feel all weepy. Perhaps she should just put it away and go to bed. But then she thought of her poor boy, banged up, and how much he’d be missing his home comforts. No, she decided, she’d stay down here tonight.

She was comfy enough anyway, she thought, pushing the letter back into the black hole of her handbag. She’d just get her tights off – she hauled herself up again – just her tights, and then she’d be done for the night. But she’d barely got her thumbs under the waistband and started tugging when her balance went – oops! She really must be more tiddled than she’d realised – and fell back heavily. She was fast asleep in seconds.

When Josie came down in the morning, it was to find her mother sound asleep and dribbling, with her tights round her thighs. She stepped past her and, trying to be as quiet as she could, knelt down, laid and lit a fresh fire. That done, and with June still comatose and snoring behind her, she crossed the cold lino onto the square of old carpet that served as a rug, went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea.

It was only when she’d done that and poured herself a cup that she became aware of her mother stirring in the lounge.

‘Have you shit the bed or something?’ she wanted to know, seeing Josie standing there, mug in hand. ‘What you doing up so early?’

June passed by her then, to go into the little toilet just off the kitchen, leaving the door open so she could continue the conversation from there.

‘I’ve got school, Mam,’ Josie answered, over the sound of June having her morning pee.

‘And where’s your dad?’ June wanted to know.

‘He’s still in bed. Mam, it’s only half seven.’

She turned then, grabbed a cup and poured her mum some tea as well. Then heard the flush.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ June said emerging and taking the cup. ‘Ta, love. What bleeding day is it, anyway?’

‘Oh, Mother, it’s Friday. Are you still pissed or something?’

‘Hey, gobby,’ June snapped at her. ‘Shut it before you get a slap. I don’t normally go out on a Thursday night, do I? I just forgot where I was for a minute.’

She stumbled back out, and Josie wasn’t sure if she wasn’t still pissed. What a state. Oh, her mates might think June was really funny, with her hair and her make-up and her holding court all the time. Thought she was lucky – some had said as much – to have a mum who was such a laugh; one who got all dressed up and went partying. Well, they wouldn’t think that if they could see her like this, would they? All panda eyes and her ‘gorgeous Marilyn Monroe hair’, as she called it, looking like a heap of fairground candyfloss stuck on her head. Not to mention those tights, which she’d only half pulled back up, by the look of it. Not a pretty sight at half seven in the morning.

June called back to her, then. ‘Josie, have you lit this fire?’

‘Yes, I did. I thought you would be cold when you woke up.’

June looked impressed. ‘Good lass!’ she commented. I didn’t think you knew how to do it.’

But Josie didn’t bother answering because immediately she’d said that, she’d switched on the radio at her usual ridiculous volume, and drowned every other sound out.

Josie finished her tea and went to find her pumps to put in her bag. It was PE today, but she wouldn’t be changing. She gave herself a pat down to reassure herself she had her shorts and T-shirt on under her uniform. Better that than have to undress in front of everyone.

‘I’ll see you later, Mam,’ she called on her way out.

Josie first needed to walk up the street to get to the snicket – she’d usually cut through there to meet Carol and walk to school. It was something she’d done unthinkingly for almost all of her life. Years and years, now – up the road, into the snicket, out into the football field, and then on up the road to St Michael’s. But now everything was different. Now, when she passed Mucky Melvin’s, she held her breath. Fixed her eyes straight ahead and forced herself not to look – otherwise it felt like she might be struck down dead. It was like that game – at least, that’s how she decided she’d have to think about it – that game where you dare not step on cracks in the pavement. You could die if you did that, as well.

Only when she’d hurried far enough up the street, did she start to properly breathe again. She then ran through the snicket fast enough to feel her breath coming in gasps, slowing only as she made the football field and stopped to wait for Carol, the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears.

Carol was Josie’s best mate in the world. They had gone to St Michael’s together since they were five, and had always stuck up for each other. Carol, who was plump and worldly-wise about most things, had dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin. A lot of the other kids called her ‘Paki’, but that wasn’t true. Her dad had left when she was a baby, but he wasn’t a Paki. He was an Egyptian and he was loaded, and some day he was going to come back again and give Carol and her mum loads of jewels and stuff from the pyramids. Then they’d be sorry, all them that called her nasty names.

Carol was also a fighter, just like she was, and if anyone ever called her a ginger nut, Carol would be right by her side helping dole out the sort of punishment that ensured it never happened again.

She was coming into view now and Josie waved. ‘Hurry up,’ she called, causing Carol to break into a run. ‘Or we’re going to be late again!’