Bucket Nut (28 page)

The Static was bright red but I was black and blue – bruised all over from crashing around with Sherry-Lee Lewis. I wondered how she looked this morning. Bruises would show up something awful on that white skin. I wished I could see her. It might have made me feel better.

I was hungry. I looked in my bag, but I'd chucked every last tin of stew into the crowd the night before. That's the trouble with me – I don't think ahead. If I'd thought ahead I would've saved a can of stew for breakfast instead of using it as a weapon. I hoped that last can of stew gave someone a bad dose of concussion.

That's human nature, isn't it? When you feel bad you want someone else to feel worse. Well, it's my nature anyway. Maybe Harry's right. Maybe I'm not a very nice person. But look at Harry. He may be a nice old bird, but nice didn't get him very far. He had to cover it up with a mask when he was fighting.

You can stuff nice. That's
my
opinion for what it's worth.

Still, Mr Deeds paid me last night. I decided to go to Hanif's to buy tea and milk and something to eat. But no sooner had I decided to go out than that poxy dream gave me an idea. I fetched a half inch drill
from the shed and then I drilled holes in the boarding over the doors and windows. The holes were big enough to let in some light and fresh air but they were too high up to let anyone spy on me without standing on a ladder. Even bad dreams are good for something.

While I was at it I disconnected the electricity. Who needs it? I don't. You soft central-heated buggers might, but I don't. Creature comforts make you weak and wobbly. You're so used to comfort you curl up and die when it's taken away. Not me. I'm prepared.

It's like Sunday – everyone tucked away in their squishy little homes with their squishy little families hiding from the world. No wonder they all moan come Monday when they have to get out and hustle again. They're not prepared for the hustle, see. Sunday squishes you all up.

Hanif has the right idea. Hanif stays open on Sunday. It's just another work day for him.

I had just about made up my mind to go and see him when I heard the dogs. The dogs have the run of the yard all day on a Sunday because there's no one working there.

I heard them making a big fuss out by the gate. So I picked up a tyre wrench and went out there to see what was happening. I really hoped it wouldn't be more trouble, because although I was prepared I'd had enough trouble that week.

But when I got there I saw a white Peugeot outside the gate, and that lady copper was leaning against the door.

‘You again,' I said. ‘What you want now?'

‘Not much,' she said. ‘I thought you might like to hear about your friend, Eleanor.'

‘You thought wrong,' I said. ‘She's no friend of mine.'

She said nothing for a bit. I just stood there. I could've just walked away, but she was company – of a sort.

‘Well?' I said after a while. ‘If you've got something to say, say it.'

‘I saw most of your fight last night.'

‘So?'

‘It was good stuff.'

‘Yeah?'

She bit her thumb. ‘I'm going down the Cut for a pie and mash. Want to come?'

‘Nah,' I said. ‘No dosh.' I wasn't going to tell her about what Mr Deeds gave me, was I?

‘I'm buying,' she said.

‘I'm coming,' I said.

So we went over to the Cut and had pie and mash.

‘I was wondering,' she said, when we were sitting down, eating.

‘What?' I said.

‘I'm in security work.'

‘So?'

‘Sometimes we need a bit of extra muscle.'

‘What for?'

‘This and that,' she said. ‘Personal protection. Someone to watch the door. Sometimes we have properties which need an eye kept on them.'

‘Yeah?'

‘I could put you on my books.'

‘Work for you?'

‘Now and then,' she said.

‘Money?'

‘Usual rates,' she said.

‘Cash?'

‘If you like.'

‘In advance?'

She grinned at me. She wasn't as dumb as she looked.

‘All right,' I said. ‘You can put me on your books.'

She gave me her card and I put it in my pocket.

I was glad I had the chance of more work, because I was finished with the Chengs. Even if they decided to live and let live I'd never work for them again. Ever.

But the funny thing was that although I hated Auntie Lo now, I sort of missed her too. I missed her fancy shoes and her huff-huff laugh and her silly jokes. She was someone to talk to now and then. I used to think of her like she was my real Auntie. Which was stupid when you think of the way she treated me. She was too clever by half.

The lady copper was better than nothing, but what I needed was to work for someone I could handle. Someone who was rich and stupider
than me. That made me think of the artist dweeg. Have you ever seen a bloke who always looks one step behind? Well, Dave de Lysle looked like that, and it made him just about perfect for me.

We went on eating, the lady copper and me. They do a good pie and mash down the Cut. After the pie I had treacle tart and custard.

‘All right,' I said when my pudding was half finished. ‘If you got to tell me, tell me.'

‘What?'

‘Goldie,' I said.

She held up her cup in both hands like she was warming her fingers. She wasn't eating pudding, just drinking tea.

‘She's back home with her family,' she said. ‘I got her out when things turned nasty at the Ladywell Baths.'

‘Did she want to go?'

The lady copper grinned at me. ‘I didn't kidnap her,' she said. ‘She'd had enough. She's a nice, middle-class girl and things got too rough for her. Her father's paying for her to go to Italy. But first they're putting her in a clinic.'

‘What for?'

‘Clean up.'

‘Why?'

‘She was already doing cocaine and crack. She was just starting on heroin when you met her.'

‘She told me she only took it to stop that poncy singer having it.'

‘The things they say,' she said.

I finished my treacle tart.

My head felt less like a blister now. All I needed was a breath of fresh air and a chunk of pie in my belly.

The lady copper said, ‘Want to see her?'

‘Who?'

‘Your friend. Goldie.'

‘Fuck off,' I said. ‘I told you. She's no friend of mine.'

‘Thought it might help.'

‘Help what?'

She gave me a real vinegary smile – a proper polizei grin – and said nothing.

‘Help what?' I said again, narked.

‘Keep your hair on,' she said. ‘She's feeling guilty. Unfinished business. That sort of stuff. I thought you might know.'

‘Know what?' I said. ‘You a social worker or something?'

She just sat, drinking her tea. She didn't even look insulted.

‘Feeling guilty,' I said. ‘I should sodding well hope so. You should see what she owes me. Never mind she's a treacherous clap-ridden cow. Never mind she turned me over and her diseased mates hung my dogs and ripped off my stash and shat on my bed. Never mind all that. Baby feels guilty. What a long weak stream of stale piss.'

‘Mmm,' she said. ‘Feeling better?'

‘Up yours,' I said. But I didn't turn the table over and stomp out. I hadn't finished my tea.

‘Did you lend her any money?' she asked.

‘Hundreds.'

‘Oh yeah?' she said with the sour grin on her talking-box. ‘Be reasonable and I'll talk to her father for you.'

‘Yeah?'

‘I'm seeing him tomorrow to close the account.'

‘He won't cough up for the likes of me.'

‘He's settling all her debts.'

‘I won't hold my breath,' I said.

‘You're one of life's natural optimists, aren't you?' she said, and drained her mug.

‘That's a fact,' I said. And I felt quite pleased, because it's true. When you think about everything that happened to me in the past few days you've got to admire the way I was still in there hustling with a smile on my face. I do, anyway.

She took me back to the yard. When we got there she said, ‘See this car?'

‘Yeah,' I said.

‘White Peugeot,' she said.

‘Yeah?'

‘Licence plate?'

‘What?'

‘Read the licence plate.'

‘Why?'

‘Well,' she said. ‘I just want you to know that if my motor ever goes missing, this is the first place I'll come and look.'

And she drove off. Just like a farkin' copper. They always want you to know how smart they are. They make me puke.

Work for her? Oh, I'd work for her all right, and I'd steal her blind. Just you see if I don't!

I'd put one over on her already. I mean, who paid for the pie and mash? Tell me that. And me with money in my pocket. I didn't pay, did I? So who do you reckon was smarter?

All the same, as soon as that little white Peugeot had buzzed off round the corner I remembered it was Sunday again. I didn't exactly want her back but she had been someone to talk to. Now there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. Sam's Gym would be full to bursting with recreationals and there'd be no space for someone serious like me. Just a load of secretaries in their little pink headbands and floppy socks trying not to sweat too much. Secretary types don't like sweat. On a Sunday the gym reeks of deodorant and hair spray. It's enough to make your eyes water. The blokes aren't much better. I'll swear some of them shave their legs. I know they shave their chests. They don't want to be strong. They want to be pretty.

I thought about Goldie and the way she looked in those green leotards I bought for her.

‘You can stuff pretty in the same place you stuffed nice,' I said out loud, and Ramses showed me his big yellow teeth.

I thought I'd better look at his neck but he backed off snarling and wouldn't let me get near him. That dog does not have a forgiving nature.

I did not want to think about Goldie. It was the sort of day when she would have washed her hair. She was always washing that hair. Then we might have sat by the fire and watched telly.

It was a good thing I kicked her out when I did or I'd have ended up as soft as she was.

Sundays stink worse than Gruff Gordon's jockstrap. Sundays are for the dead and dying. When I finally croak I bet it'll be on a Sunday.

The next day was Monday and I was glad. The crusher screamed and the metal groaned and the men shouted the way they always do. The world came to life after dead Sunday. It was quite a relief and I slept my first decent sleep in ages. No dreams, thank you very much.

It was about two in the afternoon when I opened my eyes and saw white spots on the red wall. The sun was shooting through the holes I'd drilled in the window. I got up. I stretched. I did forty press-ups and ditto squats. Then I washed and dressed.

Leaving the yard was tricky because through the holes in the door I saw Rob with a face as long as a limousine and I knew he'd pester me about Goldie. Lovesick blokes are a pain in the tit so I sneaked out while he was looking the other way. I had plans and I didn't want his mournfulness to spoil my day. Mournfulness is catching and I'd only just shaken off some of my own.

The sun was bright but not hot. It was chill enough to freeze the spit in your mouth. I had a bacon and egg sandwich in the caff on Mandala Street and it warmed me up no end. Then I had a good look round to make sure. You've got to be careful when you've got as many enemies as me. Where they came from I'll never know. After all, none of what happened was my fault. Well,
was
it?

I thought I'd begin with my good deed for the day. I thought I'd do Dave de Lysle a favour. I wasn't going squishy. Not me. It's good management. Take a tip from me – if you are going to use a bloke, soften him up first.

So, like I said, I had a good look round and then I started the old grey Volvo and drove smartly off north of the river. Dave de Lysle would be so pleased to see his motor back he'd be putty in my hands. Not that he was difficult to manage anyway. I was just feeling extra kind.

But on the way there I started thinking about my fight with Sherry-Lee Lewis. It was hard not to. It was the best fight I ever
fought in my entire life. Just thinking about it made my blood fizz. Dave de Lysle didn't see my fight. That's how keen he was. You'd think the least a rich dweeg like him could do was get a cab down to the old Ladywell Baths when he couldn't find his clapped-out old banger. But no. Some blokes are born dweegs. You can't educate them.

Well, it was his loss. But it was my loss too. I wanted to talk to someone about that fight. I wanted just one person to say, ‘Nice one, Eva.'

It almost made me want to go on driving north till I got to Newcastle. I could talk to Sherry-Lee Lewis. She knew. She was there. She even said, ‘If that Mr Deeds of yours gives you any aggravation, come up north.'

Yes, she did. And she said, ‘A big girl like you can always make a living in my home town.'

What do you think of that? That shows respect. North was the place to go.

But there wasn't enough gas in the tank. The fuel gauge was nearly on zero. So I went to find Harry instead. Not to Bermuda Smith's cellar – I'm not an idiot. I went to the place Harry goes to play dominoes. I thought if he wasn't there, one of the old men he plays with might know where he was. But he was there. He was sitting in the window looking all lopsided.

When I went in and looked at him properly I saw that one of his eyes was completely closed and he had to twist his neck round to squint at his dominoes. It looked like a bird had laid a black egg in his eye-socket.

‘Ho!' he said when he looked up and saw me there. ‘What you doin', Eva?'