Our Vinnie (15 page)

Fuming that her sister had once again put beer and fags before heating for the kids, she felt in her pocket for the coins June had left her for chips, marched into the kitchen and put a couple of shillings in the gas meter. She would make do with toast once she got home. She might even have some beans with it, she thought. She wasn’t in the mood for walking down to the chippy anyway, she decided, as, stepping over her sleeping nieces, she went to put the fire back on.

She then gathered up Sammy and Lou, one by one, and took them both up to bed, while Robbie got back to his colouring, though this time in the armchair, nearer to the fire. And throughout all of this, her stupid sister and her equally stupid boyfriend never even stirred. Not even once. They really were beyond belief.

‘Here,’ she said to Robbie finally, having found him a stray chocolate biscuit in the tin at the back of the kitchen cupboard, ‘got a treat for you. Make sure you don’t touch that fire, okay? I’ve got to go now. And off to bed with you when you’re tired – and that’s an order, mush.’

Robbie grinned. ‘I’ll do you a picture next, if you like, Auntie Titch. So’s you can put it on your bedroom wall and make it pretty. What shall I do? You want a pony?’

‘I’d like a unicorn,’ she answered immediately. ‘That’s like a horse but with a horn. Like a rhino has, only prettier. They have flowing manes, and they’re white and they’re magical creatures.’

Robbie frowned. ‘But I don’t have a white colouring pencil. An’ the paper’s white, too, so –’

‘Make mine a rainbow one, then,’ she said. ‘Any colours you like. Make it a colour-changing one, one that’s magic.’

Just like it would be a magic trick if her sister shaped up and looked after her kiddies properly, she thought sadly as she made the short journey home.

It was just coming up to ten by the time Josie’d eaten and gone to bed, having had her beans on toast in front of the telly. Still only early, but she wanted to be sure she was asleep before June and Jock got in. They were bad enough sober, but she definitely didn’t want to have to lie there and listen while they crashed about, pissed as farts, downstairs.

Not that she could sleep. She hating being in the house on her own all the time while her mam and dad got pissed down the pub. At least Caz had a dog to keep her company. She missed Vinnie so much, particularly on evenings like this when, alone in the empty house, she felt so lonely.

She was also kept awake by a simmering sense of anger – was she the only one who cared anything about her family? Her mam and dad were up to God knew what – she didn’t even want to think about it – and her sister didn’t seem to give a shit about anyone or anything – least of all her three poor little kids. And as for Vinnie … well, Vinnie was locked away somewhere, wasn’t he? Did
he
care? Did he think about her? Worry about her the way she worried about him? She hoped so, but what could he do about anything in any case? Even Caz – Caz had loads of her own shit going on, didn’t she? Why was life so complicated? So bloody miserable? She turned over to face the wall, feeling suddenly tearful. Why couldn’t her brother just come home and make things better?

She was still tossing and turning an hour later, when she heard the door go. Which was odd – it was still too early for her mum and dad to be home, surely? So who could it be? She never locked the door as June never took a key and besides they only had one. She sat up and listened, scared.

She always kept her door shut – she could never get to sleep with it open – and watching it creak open now, spilling light from the landing into a block across the floorboards, she clutched her bedspread to her chest, hardly daring to breathe. Was she going to die now? Was she about to be murdered in her bed, just like the old lady in one of the books Vinnie had told her about?

‘Alright, Titch?’ It was Robbo. She’d know that voice anywhere. And that silhouette, all scraggy limbs, in the doorway. She exhaled, relieved. Much as she couldn’t stand the sight of him, he was a much more welcome sight than the one her imagination had suggested might be standing there.

He looked pissed, of course, and she already knew he was stoned. ‘God!’ she said. ‘Thanks for that! You really scared me, Robbo!’

‘Sorr’ bout that,’ he said, stumbling into the room unsteadily, blocking the light out. ‘You haven’ got any more money, have you? There’s fuck all in and our Rob said you’d been round an’ that, and I’m starving. I’d kill for a bag of chips.’

‘So would I,’ she said angrily. ‘Only I had to put it in your sodding meter. Because it looked like you’d spent your gas money on beer and dope!
You’re
starving. What about poor Robbie?’

Robbo blinked at her, then shuffled a little further towards the bed. Then over-balanced, and landed heavily, half sitting, half lying across her legs. He smelt rancid. Of stale beer and old fag smoke. He disgusted her.

‘You cheeky little fucker,’ he said mildly. ‘We get money tomorrow, okay? It’s just tonight, that’s all. Go on, Titch. Please?’

Josie recoiled, pulling her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I told you. I don’t have any. Now get off my bed, Robbo, and go back home. I want to get to sleep. And me mam and dad’ll be back in a minute.’ She clutched the blanket to her chin again, all too easily imagining a scenario where he passed out again – out cold, on her bed.

But it seemed she had misread his mental state.

‘Oooh!’ he said, trying to rise again, unsteadily. ‘Look at you, all prim –’ he mimed her hands clutching at the bedspread. ‘You gone all shy with me tonight, Titch? Gone all scaredy?’

He laughed then, and made a lunge for the bedspread, grabbing a handful of material. ‘What you hiding under there, eh?’ he said, yanking on it. ‘What you got in there, you little fucker? Something for the lads? Go on, Titch. Don’t be a spoilsport. Show us your tits!’

This couldn’t be happening, not again. This simply couldn’t be happening. ‘Fuck off! Fuck off, you dirty bastard!’ she screamed. ‘I swear I’ll tell, I will! I’ll tell right now, soon as me mam’s home! Get OUT!’

Robbo jumped back as if she’d slapped her, then as soon as he was out of kicking range, put his hands on his skinny hips and stared at her. ‘Fucking hell, Titch,’ he said. ‘Calm
down
! I was only messing about! I’m not going to touch you.’ He threw his hands up, the palms gleaming palely at her. ‘No
way
was I going to touch you! No fucking
way
. You should be so lucky, kid,’ he finished, stumbling back out the same unsteady way he’d come in, then clattering noisily back down the stairs.

Josie ran across and shut the door again, wishing he’d fallen down them and died at the bottom, then pulled her chest of drawers across to block it as best she could. Then she got back into bed and curled into a tight trembling ball.

Lucky? Luck could leave her well alone, then.

‘Stop shivering!’ Downey screamed, ‘you soft little bastards! Get yourselves in fucking line, quick sharp!’

Having been dragged from their beds at 6 a.m., the lads from C Block had woken to two barked-out bits of news from Mr Downey, and neither of them were good. One was that they were to form three orderly lines out in the yard – while still clad only in their underpants – and the other was that they were going to be punished.

Vinnie groaned wearily as they made their way outside. What now? Frank again? He hoped so. Hoped the fucker got shit raining down on him on a daily basis. Though the balance had now shifted, which brought him great pleasure. He had a loyal fan in Kevin, now he knew Vinnie had his back, and Frank knew to keep his distance. Job done.

Lining up, Vinnie turned to the boy next to him, Blond Barry, a lad from further down his wing. He was standing there shivering so much that his teeth were actually chattering. ‘Wonder what’s gone off?’ Vinnie whispered, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down his upper arms. ‘What do you think? Bet that spaz Pemberton’s done something again. Pound to a penny, isn’t it? God, I’m fucking
freezing
. Whatever it is, this cunt had better hurry up – I’m not missing my scoff for no fucker.’

Barry pulled a face. ‘Dream on, Vinnie,’ he said. ‘If they say we miss brekkie we miss brekkie and that’s that.’

That was Barry all over, that was. Defeatist. One of those lads that always said they just wanted to do their time and keep their heads down – which meant they would take any fucking thing that came their way.

Not that Downey seemed to want to drag things out in any case. ‘Right,’ he boomed, his breath forming a small cloud in front of him. ‘Father Duffy has informed me that one of you little fucking heathens has been nicking his communion breads.’ He paused to scowl at them, scanning the boys’ expressions. ‘They were there before your block went to Mass this week,’ he continued, ‘and gone immediately after. So your rooms are being searched as we speak and woe betide the robbing little bastard when we find him. Mr Conlan is conducting the search and you’ll remain out here till he’s done. Anyone got any fucking objections?’

A collective low groan was the only response. Everyone knew what this meant. Conlan was an even bigger bastard than Downey, and anyone who had given him reason to be annoyed with them this week would now get their rooms completely trashed. Which, in turn, would mean a minimum of five days in the block, three of them spent on basic rations of bread and water. Most of the lads didn’t actually mind the five days but, depending on who it was handing out the punishment, that word ‘minimum’ was key. You could get 10 days, if they felt like it – and Conlan often felt like it – or even 15, and that was a killer.

They stood for 10 minutes – time enough to get frostbite, Vinnie reckoned, or, at the very least, your nuts shrunk to raisins – before Conlan and Duffy came outside. And to a collective lowering of anxious shoulders as they saw what Conlan carried, which was a small plastic bag which looked like it held the communion wafers, or, more correctly, the ‘body of Christ’. Well, ‘correctly’ if you believed that shit, anyway.

They walked straight to Downey, and Conlan whispered something in his ear, which immediately elicited a grin. A sadistic grin, too, the kind he was best at. He walked towards the lads then, and then along the rows, stepping on bare feet as he did so, being careful not to miss anyone out.

Vinnie clamped his teeth together and clenched his stomach as Downey passed through his own row, feeling the hot gust of his breath as he paused momentarily, leaning his weight to maximum effect.

That was what Downey did – liked to shit them up, make them wonder if it was their turn, pausing here and there, sometimes backing up and taking a second pass on some hapless quaking fucker. But today it wasn’t Vinnie’s turn – he had better things to do with his time than nick fucking communion wafers, frankly – and Downey eventually fetched up at, and stayed in front of, a half-caste lad in the middle of the second row.

‘So, Francis,’ he said softly, but still loud enough that everyone could hear him, ‘you thieving black bastard. Fancied a bit of Father Duffy’s communion, did you? What’s up, didn’t he have no fucking bananas?’

The lad’s name was Kenny Francis, and he’d been in borstal nine months, for nicking cars. Even with Vinnie’s side-on view, it was clear by his expression that it hadn’t been him who’d committed this particular crime, but if Downey had him singled out it was odds-on that didn’t matter – he must have pissed someone off at some point and was now going to pay for it. Vinnie wondered who the someone was who’d planted it – some full-on cocky sod; must be. Because Kenny Francis wasn’t a lad to be messed with – not if you had any sense. He definitely wouldn’t take this lying down.

Or from Downey either. ‘Fuck off!’ he responded. ‘That’s not come from my room and you know it. Fucking risk the block for a few wafers? Do I look like a spaz?’

‘No, Francis,’ Downey said, leaning in towards his face, ‘you look like a wog.’

Just as everyone knew would happen, the moment the words were spoken, Kenny immediately took a swing for Downey. And just as everyone knew would also happen, Conlan was there in an instant, and both screws started battering him with batons.

He put up a mammoth fight, but he was pinned down within minutes. Vinnie and the rest of the block could only stand there and watch in disgust as the screws dragged him, bloodied and beaten, towards the shower blocks.

‘Let’s hope Father Duffy had a wank this morning,’ Vinnie whispered, to no one in particular, ‘or Francis will get another arse-whipping in the showers.’

Some of the lads around him giggled nervously, but no one answered. They’d all heard the rumours about the priest – and knew they were more than rumours, too; they’d all at one time or another seen the state of the lads who had been summoned to ‘meetings’ with him. If that was what Kenny Francis had coming, no one wanted to even think about it, let alone talk about it.

‘Go on, then!’ Father Duffy shouted now, as he hurried along to join the others in the showers. ‘Get off back to your block, boys, or you’ll miss breakfast!’

‘Well, the rest of us should be safe then,’ Vinnie quipped as he and the others jogged back. ‘You know what they say – once you’ve had black, you never turn back.’

He felt a clip across his head as Mick Hanley cuffed him. ‘Shurrup, you fucking queen, and get a shift on, will you? It’s Friday. Jam duff day. Come
on
.’

Mick sprinted ahead and Vinnie followed him, the tension dissipated. It was always like that when someone else had it coming, the poor bastard. A pity, but also a relief: it wasn’t
him
. All his thoughts were now focussed on breakfast.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was predictably subdued. Everyone knew about the room searches and they all knew that somebody from C Block would – right this very minute – be taking some kind of brutal punishment for something they hadn’t done, because of something they
had
done to annoy another lad higher up the pecking order.

The lads from Vinnie’s block were especially quiet. Each of them knew their rooms would have been well and truly trashed now, and that any precious, tucked-away bits of baccy, sweets or chocolate would have been stolen for the benefit of the fat bastard screws. A shake-down wasn’t pleasant any time and, coupled with the probable fate of Francis at the hands of Duffy, it would, Vinnie knew, set the mood for the rest of the day.