Our Vinnie (25 page)

As the knife glinted in Vinnie’s right hand, Robbo attempted to shuffle back into his chair, grunting like an animal trapped in a pen. But Vinnie had that sorted; he sank down towards the floor in one movement, his knees coming to rest on top of Robbo’s bare feet. He smiled indulgently as Robbo let out a low, muffled groan, presumably in anticipation of the pain that was soon to come.

‘What’s that you say?’ Vinnie asked softly, still grinning. ‘Only it sounded like you said “Please, Vinnie, stick it to me”. Is
that
what you said, you fucking pig?’

And while Robbo stared at him, singularly failing to provide an answer, Vinnie sank the blade of the knife into the middle of his scrawny thigh. Robbo lolled in his seat, then, head tipped back, jaw clenched. He was such a stoner that Vinnie wasn’t even sure he really felt it, but, just to be sure, he slid it out again (oh, dear, those loons would be ruined – pity) and sank the knife into his other thigh for good measure.

‘I think they call that a double whammy,’ he said conversationally, as he removed the knife the second time. ‘One for tapping that cunt Melvin for cash when you were supposed to be fucking
beating the shit out of him
for what he did to my little sister, get it? And the other is for her as well, for being the fucking piece of shit
you
are as well. For daring – for even
daring
to suppose that a spastic like you would have a chance in a zillion of having any fucking decent woman anywhere near your disease-ridden
prick
.’

The reaction was pleasing. Robbo’s face was a picture, and Vinnie badly wished he had a Polaroid on hand, to capture the expression for posterity, especially when his gaze (not to mention the hand with the bloody knife in) moved slowly but surely towards his groin.

‘You can stop shitting yourself now,’ he said conversationally, while the blood seeped from Robbo’s matching leg wounds. ‘You got off pretty lightly. I’m done with you.’

He inspected the knife and then wiped it clean across a dry patch of Robbo’s jeans. ‘Well, at least for the moment, anyway.’ He rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘Cos you got nippers to take care of, you see. Nippers that I
care
about, you fucker.’ He stood then, considered the knife again, then jabbed it towards Robbo. ‘Which, let me tell you, is the only reason I haven’t kicked your fucking balls in as well.’

Josie whimpered on the bottom stair, her hand stuffed in her mouth. She’d settled the girls a while ago and had crept back downstairs again but, unable to bring herself to go back into the living room for fear of what she’d find there, had been trapped in the hallway ever since. She couldn’t leave. Not with her being the one who’d dragged Vinnie round there in the first place. But at the same time she couldn’t bear the thought of witnessing her beloved brother doing whatever he was doing to Robbo.

So, she hadn’t seen it – ‘it’ being whatever torture he’d inflicted. But she had certainly heard it. An important part of it, anyway.

And Vinnie knew about Melvin. Shit. How could that be? Her fucking sister; that must be it – her fucking sister must have told him. Even though she promised. And what was all that about Robbo tapping him for money for it? What was that about? God, she thought, wishing she’d never told anyone
anything
. Now she’d caused all this to happen. What the fuck was she going to do now?

Her head started banging; a steady thumping in her temples. She didn’t even know how this night was going to end, let alone try and work out the future.

She could hear Vinnie chatting to Robbo again now. Conversationally. Amicably. As if he was an old friend, catching up on his news. So it was safe to go in, perhaps. And she couldn’t sit here for ever, could she? Decided, she stood up and walked back into the lounge.

She was just in time to watch Vinnie settling Robbo onto the settee. A pale gag-less Robbo, a bloodied, trembling Robbo, who, as well as the wound she’d inflicted on him earlier, now had two burgundy patches blooming on his thighs, stark and shocking against some sort of bandaging. She didn’t like to think … No, no, she decided – she must make herself
not
think.

‘There you go, mate,’ Vinnie was saying, ‘Think we’ll leave you to it for now.’ He turned and grinned at Josie then. ‘Ah,’ he said in greeting, ‘you about ready for the off, sis? Only Robbo’s feeling a bit tired now, aren’t you, mate? Oh, and he says he’s really sorry about that stupid business earlier. Fucking drugs pickled his head a bit, ain’t that right, Robbo?’

Josie lowered her head as Robbo nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was ready to go, alright. She wanted to run for miles and never stop. Just keep running and running till her legs burned and her chest heaved. But somehow she had the feeling she wouldn’t get anywhere. All she could see was herself being propelled onto a giant roundabout. One from which she’d never be able to get off.

Chapter 19

Josie had seen all sorts. She really had. It wasn’t like she was a complete wimp or anything. She’d seen June and Jock going at it hammer and tong, and witnessed some major tear-ups on the estate. She also knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of violence; something she’d worked hard to tuck away in a corner of her brain and forget. She hadn’t managed it. She knew that. She wondered if she ever would now. Because it still had the power to creep up on her and ambush her – catch her unawares while she was thinking about something completely different, and kind of overtake her body. It would make her heart thump and her nerves jangle, as if she was transported right back there – it really could be that intense. At times like that she could feel his strength as he gripped her, and hear the sound of his calloused hand rasping up her thigh. She could even smell the pillow; the oily muskiness of it, the bacterial soup under his arm, the whiff of stale pee.

But these days, for the most part, she could quash it. It was the aftermath of it that was troubling her, because she’d created it. She’d told Lyndsey and because of that she had now created violence.
She
had. She had – what was it the police said? Incited it? Yes, that was the word. She’d done that. And the thought that she’d done it really sickened her. Why had she told Lyndsey? Why?

Caz was wrong. It wasn’t the right thing or the best thing at all. It was just about the stupidest thing she had ever done.

She stared at the ceiling, trying to gauge what the time was. It was fully light but there were birds singing, so she guessed it must be early. And the house was silent. Well, almost. There was just the one sound. The low, familiar rumble of her dad snoring.

She wondered if Vinnie was at home now. He’d walked her back, and his mood had been odd – disconcertingly buoyant – as he reassured her she’d have nothing more to fear. Though he’d said nothing about Mucky Melvin and what he might have learned about what had happened to her, and she’d been much too frightened to bring it up. Too scared of him questioning her, making her tell him stuff.

So she was still none the wiser about what he did know or didn’t know. And having dropped her, he’d gone straight back out again.

Where had he gone? What had he gone to do? It was this that had woken her repeatedly throughout the night, she knew. Waiting and wanting to hear the sound of his return. Had he gone to Melvin’s to torture him too, for answers? She still couldn’t get her head around what she’d heard him say to Robbo – that he knew he’d been tapping him for money. She couldn’t believe Robbo had been doing that.

No, actually, she could
easily
believe he’d been doing that – it was exactly the sort of thing he would do. But what about Lyndsey? Did
she
know about the money? She couldn’t have, surely. She’d never let him do something like that, would she?

The questions swirled, filling her head, making her anxious. What if Vinnie had gone to Melvin’s? What if he’d gone round there and hurt him – what if he’d even
killed
him? The way he’d been last night – actually, the way he’d been since he’d come home from borstal – she was frightened for him. Frightened of what he might have become. She didn’t care about Melvin. He deserved every single horrible thing in the world to happen to him. But what about Vinnie? If he did something –
anything
– bad to anyone, he’d be sent back to prison, and she couldn’t bear to think about that. Oh, why hadn’t her mam been in last night?

She threw the blanket off and kicked it away. She needed to do something. She wasn’t sure what she could do about Vinnie exactly, but there was something she definitely knew she
could
do. And would do. She needed to fight her own battles, starting today.

St Luke’s hospital was in Little Horton, just a 15-minute walk away, and though that was obviously too far for her sister to go on foot, for Josie it would be a much-needed chance to use up some energy – burn off the tension that had wound her up so tightly.

Dressing quickly and quietly, so she wouldn’t wake her parents, she tiptoed out to the landing, poked her head round Vinnie’s door – it seemed he was home, and she was relieved – then made her way slowly down the stairs, avoiding the creaky ones, and slipped out and off up the road.

She knew where she was going because she’d been there before. She’d been there to visit her mad Uncle Charlie, who’d been in there some time. He’d been badly burned by a fire that got out of control and nearly killed him, at some squat he was living in with a bunch of druggies. They’d run away and left him, of course, because that’s what druggies did, and she shuddered to recall just how horrible he’d looked. But that was drugs for you, she thought. Made you mean. Made you mean and made you stupid with it.

The hospital was huge. That she did remember, just as soon as she clapped eyes on it; huge and posh – just as she imagined a five-star hotel might be like, all grass and trees and flowerbeds, currently full of red and yellow flowers – and completely at odds with its grim grey surroundings. You almost wanted to get ill, she thought, just to have a chance to stay here. Not too ill, obviously, but just ill enough.

But she didn’t know where to go, and didn’t really know where to start either, so the probability of getting lost was pretty high. And she thought she might well do – after all, she was at a loss as to what to head for. What sort of ward did someone having an abortion get put on anyway? She discounted maternity, because it surely wouldn’t be that, would it? And then, scanning the many signs hung from the ceiling on the main corridor, she saw a name she recognised. Halcyon Ward. She was sure her mum had mentioned that. Halcyon, she thought, heading off in that direction. Didn’t Halcyon mean something about good times and parties? How ironic that it should be that.

Josie had worried that they might not let her see Lyndsey. She didn’t know what the visiting times were and thought she might be too early, but when she spoke to the nurse at the nurse station at the ward entrance, she didn’t seem to mind and waved her through. It was quiet, half the beds empty, so perhaps that was why; she passed four devoid of patients before reaching Lyndsey, who was halfway up the ward, under a window. The view was as pretty as her sister looked grim. Though not especially grim – these days she looked rough most of the time, much like everyone who smoked heroin seemed to do.

She was reading. Sitting up in bed flicking through an old copy of
Look-In
. It had Donny Osmond on the cover, she noticed. She quite liked Donny Osmond. Though today it was as if he was looking right at her – his teeth grinning out at her like an accusing white beacon. Donny Osmond, who was a Mormon and never seemed less than perfect. Donny Osmond who had probably never done a bad thing in his life.

She watched Lyndsey glance up incuriously as she approached, presumably expecting a nurse. She then did a double-take, realising it was actually her sister walking towards her. ‘Titch!’ she exclaimed, throwing the magazine down on the bed. ‘What the hell are you doing here? What’s going on? Has something happened to one of the kids?’

She looked genuinely anxious, and Josie quickly shook her head. ‘Not the kids, Lynds,’ she said. ‘No. It’s not about them. You feeling okay?’

‘Then why are you here?’ she said, clearly not interested in pleasantries. ‘Shouldn’t you be home looking after them? Don’t tell me you really came all this way to see how I was doing. No danger of that, eh?’ She laughed without humour, then abruptly stopped and scowled. ‘Fuck, I need a smoke.’

‘Have a smoke, then,’ Josie suggested.

‘Not
that
sort of smoke, Titch. Don’t play dense. No point in asking you though, is there?’

Josie tried to feel sorry for her. She really did. She wanted to care. She tried to be reasonable as well. After all, her sister was bound to have a face on. She’d just been though God knew what surgery to get rid of the baby. Plus she didn’t have her gear with her, so she was likely to be ratty. Though not
that
ratty – odds on she’d have sneaked something in.

But it was Lyndsey’s tone, really. Did she actually give a shit about her? No ‘Hello’, no ‘Nice to see you’, no ‘Are you alright, Josie?’ No ‘Thanks for helping’. Was that the drugs, too, or just how she’d always been?

‘I want to ask you something,’ she said, pulling up the chair that was parked by the bed. It was heavy and squealed in protest as she dragged it across the floor.

‘What about?’ said Lyndsey, wincing at the noise, looking irritable. She’d look more than irritable in a minute, Josie thought wryly.

‘It’s about what I told you about Mucky Melvin,’ she said. ‘And about what you told Robbo.’

Lyndsey’s brows pulled together. ‘What about it?’ she said.

‘Like I said, what exactly
did
you tell him, Lynds?’

‘What you told me. Just like I said I would.’

‘And what did he do?’

Lyndsey’s expression changed again then. She looked wary as well as tetchy. ‘He did what I said he’d do. Put the frighteners on him. Like you
asked
.’