Southsiders (15 page)
Authors: Nigel Bird
He pictured the scene behind the door. Thought of his mum and dad. Imagined the blows falling and the hateful words cutting slices of one and then the other. Felt the walls close in on him as he thought George or Vera might have heard him out on the landing with his bag in his hand. Saw the fire in their eyes burn when they realised what was going on.
His body played along. Remained frozen and silent. Silent apart from the sea-storm that pounded in his brain.
The next sounds were quite different. Vera was panting out ecstatic moans and George started to repeat himself. “That’s it. That’s it, honey-pie. That’s the way.”
At first, Jesse’s body flinched at the mental images of Vera in a state of undress, her varicose veins pointing to the ceiling and the flab pulling down her skin. It relaxed a little when he remembered that George was probably blind enough to miss the visuals and was probably just finding pleasure by grabbing handfuls of flesh. It finally relaxed altogether when it became clear that no one was about to burst out of the room and send him back to bed with his tail tucked between his legs.
He walked quickly and lightly to the next flight of stairs and descended. He opened the inside door, entered the porch and pulled the main door to as quietly as he could, shutting it just at the point when Vera’s screams of joy rattled the air around him.
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O
n the way to Archie’s, Jesse walked close to the shops and house-fronts to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Where there were shadows, he stepped into them. If there were shortcuts, he took them.
There were no police cars to be seen, just like always. There never seemed to be any uniforms on patrol no matter what time of day you were out and about. Still, he kept a lookout and was ready to make a run from the law if the need arose.
Morningside offered a better class of drunk to the one Jesse was used to. There were groups of middle-aged ladies who tottered about on high heels and fell into each other, allowing their fur coats to get better acquainted. The older men all seemed to be in suits and long overcoats and were often to be seen waving brollies at black cabs. The rest were students who were far too interested in their own jolly japes to pay any attention to Jesse. He watched one of them impressing his mates by donning a traffic cone. Stupid sod.
Jesse cut across the Meadows. The lights made the trees look pale and intimidating. It was when he got to the Jawbone Walk that he wondered about his mum. She must have been lying out there overnight, unseen by the young revellers of Warrender Park Terrace. Was she staring at the stars or gazing at the worms wriggling in the soil beneath her?
He started running and the weather changed. Raindrops punched his face and tapped out a rhythm on the tarmac of the roads and paths.
On the Southside, only the hard-core were out in the open. The drunks had retreated to doorways where they could sing and shout or take a piss at their leisure while they waited for the storm to pass.
Being back on his own turf, Jesse slowed down to a walk and set himself along the familiar route to his friend’s house.
By the time he got to Archie’s he was soaked to the skin. He had the presence of mind to remember the instructions on how to avoid setting off the security light and got to the bottom of the tree without event.
He climbed up the slippery steps carefully and unlocked the door to the treehouse and went in.
Just as arranged, there was a torch on the doormat. Jesse picked it up and shone it around, careful to avoid pointing it directly at the windows. Archie had had his mum run up some curtains for the place. Told her it would help to keep the light of the screen when he was playing on his iPad. They were good curtains, too. Would help keep in some warmth, but their material wasn’t thick enough to conceal the light from the torch.
The beam caught on a sleeping bag rolled out on a camping mat on the floor. Next to it were a collection of goodies – a flask, a packet of chocolate digestives, a sandwich wrapped in Clingfilm, a present wrapped in Christmas paper, a candle with a box of matches, a can of beans, a slice of cake and an envelope.
Jesse put the torch down. Felt his body shiver as he stripped off and took the towel from his bag to dry himself off. He lit the candle and cupped his hands around the flame, his fingers warming, pink and orange glowing between them.
It wasn’t long before he was dressed in layers and curled up inside his new bed. His clothes were draped over chairs and tables and over a telescope on its tripod in the corner.
His bones had thawed and the hot chocolate that Archie had put in the flask was warming Jesse from the inside.
He still didn’t have much of an appetite and ignored all the food. It would make a good breakfast and it seemed extremely likely that he’d need one.
He reached out for the envelope and gave it a shake to see if he could find any clues as to its contents. There were none. He opened it clumsily, tearing the edges, and pulled out the card that was inside.
‘Happy Birthday’ it said on the front and there was a badge with a number five in the top corner. Inside, Archie had left him a message:
“Welcome to your new home. Here’s a little something, just in case.” Fifty quid in ten-pound notes fell from the card and only just missed the candle flame and a ten pence piece dropped onto the floor and rolled over to the sleeping bag. “The coin’s so you can toss to find out what the hell you’re going to do next. Will phone in the morning. Your mate, Archie.”
It brought a smile to Jesse’s face. At least there was one person out there who he could depend upon. If he was right about Bonnie, that would make two. That meant he was better off than his dad.
His throat swelled at the thought of his father. The cops would have got the story by now, but Jesse could pretty much have told them what had happened as soon as they walked into the flat. Sure, he didn’t know how his mum had died, but he reckoned she probably deserved it. However it had gone, his dad wasn’t likely to be getting home for a long, long time.
Tossing a coin wasn’t a bad idea. He picked up the ten pence and rubbed it as he considered the options.
Living in a treehouse would do for a while. He wouldn’t be able to go to school with Rupert Wallace on his trail, but at least he’d be close to Bonnie’s house. The Commonwealth Pool would do for keeping clean and maybe he could persuade Danny Boy to wangle him a job with Tony Fish. When he tossed the coin, that would be heads.
Tails wasn’t so easy. Best he could come up with was London. Wasn’t that where all the waifs and strays ended up? Selling his record would get him enough for a train ticket, he was pretty sure about that, even with the teardrop smudge and the new crease that had appeared. Not that he wanted to go south of the border. All those wankers in the city. All those bloody Englishmen.
He rested the coin on his thumbnail and flicked it up into the air. It spun high and he watched it circle back down to earth.
When he put out his hand to catch it, he only managed to flick it out of range. He heard it hit the floor and roll away somewhere into the darkness. Somewhere he couldn’t be bothered to go.
Maybe he’d just need to take a third way. Follow his dad’s instructions. Go and see Danny Boy. Tell him about the police and everything and see if he knew what the key Jesse was wearing around his neck was for.
Whatever.
Jesse lay down on his new bed. Picked up the present that had been left at his bedside. Gave it a shake and something rattled inside.
He picked at the tape until it came away and pulled out a box from the wrapping.
A pack of cards. A pack of Elvis cards. The official playing cards featuring the king of rock.
The king looked up at Jesse from the cover of the pack. Seemed to be telling him that everything was going to be all right. Winked at him as he blew out the candle and settled down to sleep. Made Jesse Garon feel like a million dollars.
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In Loco Parentis
How To Choose A Sweetheart
The Rocks Below
Mr Suit
Smoke
Dirty Old Town And Other Stories
Beat On The Brat And Other Stories
With Love And Squalor
The Shadows of Death
Hymn From A Village
Busted Flat
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