Southsiders (2 page)

When the pot was empty, he thought about the email again.

Even though he’d just filled his belly, there was an empty feeling inside where the bulge should have been. Maybe he just needed a pudding.

From the freezer he took a Twister, unwrapped it and bit into it. His tongue zinged with the sharpness of the flavour and his teeth hurt from the cold. He felt the icy lump sink into his tummy, but it did nothing to fill the space.

Reading the message from his mum was the only thing that might settle him, he knew that, but when he opened the laptop again, he avoided his inbox and went to playing Candy Crush. It was his favourite, the battling with the confectionary and the adrenaline rush that came from being completely overwhelmed. It was awesome. Only this time he couldn’t focus and closed it down before he’d completed the first level.

The message was still there when he went back to check. He clicked on it and watched it open before him.

“Jesse Garon. You know how hard I’ve tried with your father. And to be a good mum and everything. Well he’d try the patience of a saint and I can’t do it anymore. You’ll have to put up with him by yourself. I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. Maybe when things settle down we can meet up. Play some games down at the arcade or grab a game of pool. Look after your father LOL – he needs all the help he can get. And if he asks, tell him he’s a hole and I hate him and if I see him I’ll punch his lights out. Take care of yourself. Bye.”

Jesse read the message again, just to check it was all real. That it really said what he thought. And it did.

His knees buckled. He fell to his haunches and bobbed up and down, holding his hands against his forehead. Tears poured from his eyes. Sobs spluttered from his mouth with snot and spit spraying the lino. He pictured her, a suitcase in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, closing the door behind her and not even having the guts to say goodbye. She might have been a violent drunk and a miserable old cow, but she was his mum.

The Pot Noodle and the spaghetti seemed to have some kind of chemical reaction in Jesse’s stomach. They fizzed and expanded until they filled the space and needed to find a way out. Jesse ran to the toilet and let an orange swamp pour from his mouth into the bowl. The food still tasted of tomato sauce and ketchup, only it looked completely different to when he’d eaten it.

Once the cramps in his belly stopped, he flushed the toilet and used his fingers to wipe away the bits that hadn’t been cleared in the flow.

At the sink, he splashed water onto his face and rinsed out his mouth. He cleaned his teeth, dried his eyes and stared into the mirror.

His quiff had slumped onto his forehead as if someone had shot it. He opened the tin of his dad’s gel, dipped his fingers in to dig out a good blob of grease and rubbed it into his hair. With a comb and loving care, he resurrected things so he looked just like Presley in
King Creole
. He was too young to be able to smoulder like the King, but people said he’d grow into it. Dad, especially.

With his hair back to normal and the tears gone from his eyes, Jesse went back to the record player and looked for something that might fit the mood.

He chose “Old Shep”, 1956. Originally recorded by Arthur Willis and Red Foley.

Elvis’s voice settled Jesse down. He decided that not even his mother could be so heartless as to run away just like that. She must have left something for him. He dashed out of the kitchen and into his room. He looked around, the place immaculate and tidy as always. There was nothing under his pillow or on the duvet or on the bedside table his dad had picked up from a skip during the summer. He went through the pile of library books his mother was so scathing about him reading and checked the top of his drawers. Nothing there either.

It was for real. She’d gone without a word. Just a ‘look after your father,’ and nothing more. Well, good bloody riddance.

His life was a disaster. He’d become as good as an orphan at the age of twelve. It was nuts.

In the song, Old Shep went to the place where the good doggies go and the record ended.

Jesse fell onto his bed. Buried his face in the pillow and plunged his fingers into his ears to keep the silence out.

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T
he folk on the bus took nervous glances at Ray Spalding as he gazed out of the window into the darkness. The collar of his leather jacket was turned up to keep him warm and the bruises on his face spoke of trouble.

In the old days, this had been the route he’d taken to the factory, shifting huge boxes of oatcakes on his forklift from the factory floor into containers that would be driven off and shipped around the world. The pay had been shocking, but the crack was good and he regretted the day he turned up drunk, spilled a load and lost the only real job he’d ever had.

At the roundabout he took a look down Pfeffermill to see if he there was anyone he recognised on the street. It was too early for much action and anyone out there looked more like black shapes than old buddies.

The bus turned down the Old Dalkeith Road and Ray gave up on the view. It didn’t feel right, leaving his stomping ground. His hands started to shake as he left his territory to enter the back of beyond. He pulled at his ear and felt the sting as the gash opened up again. Fingered his cheek and found it to be too tender to press. Dropped his hands under his seat to make sure his bags were still there.

At Little France, he pushed the stop button and stood up. He climbed down the stairs, thanked the driver and headed towards the hospital doors.

*

T
hey kept him waiting for a couple of hours, no doubt because the accident had happened the night before and because he was only walking wounded. It had given him far too much time to think. To panic about taking a plane and to worry about missing the damned thing.

Maybe he’d been a little sudden in his decision to leave. Sure, he’d thought about it often enough, but carrying it out wasn’t like he’d imagined. He’d not accounted for the loneliness or the vulnerability of having no one there to protect him from the world. He’d not considered the guilt which was now eating away at his insides. Nor had he expected the panic that came every time he imagined Paula roaming the streets out on the pull, taking some young buck home for a quickie while Jesse dug his fingers into his ears at the other side of the wall trying to block out the sound.

He could stop all of that. Make everything all right again by going back. Except Paula had gone too far this time. Said and done things that could never be put right. She’d already smashed his nose, so slashing at him with the tin-opener was completely unnecessary. And laughing while she did it was just sick.

Everything was broken now. After years of limping along, they’d finally reached the end of the road.

“You can put the case down, Mr Spalding.” The doctor had her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was soft and her voice gentle but firm. He realised he was clutching the bag to his chest. It’s the way he needed it to be. “I could put it next to the other one if you’d like?”

He shook his head. Squeezed his arms more tightly around the case and stared into nothing. He should have taken the case down to storage before going to the hospital, course he should, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly and he’d just have to get down to Granton once he’d got this over with.

“You’ve certainly been in the wars.” She didn’t know the half of it. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Paula happened.

He’d first seen her fifteen years ago when he popped into the diner at the Hemsby rock’n’roll weekender. Her hair shone black and her skirt swished and swirled as some old-timer in full Edwardian garb had flung her up and down and in and out in time to the music. They’d looked good together, like they’d been working their routine for years. When the music stopped and Paula was adjusting the white flower in her hair, the old guy slipped his arm from round her waist and gave her arse a squeeze. Bad move. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it over until it looked like it was about to snap. Ray hadn’t heard whatever it was she snarled at the guy, but it seemed to work. He skulked off and fell into a seat where he patted his face down with a handkerchief, looking as if he was about to conk out on the spot. Paula carried on with the flower as if nothing had happened. Made sure it was where she wanted it and stepped over to Ray, grabbing his hand and pulling him over into the middle of the dance floor as the saxophone announced the next number on the jukebox. Their first number. “The Girl Can’t Help It”. Little Richard sang like a wild man. Told Ray that “she was born to please”. The liar.

“I took a beating,” he told the doctor.

“Were the police informed?”

“No.” Taking a beating from a woman wasn’t something any man wanted to admit to, especially not to the police.

The doctor pulled at his ear. The pain was sharp and hot. It quietened the turbulence inside him. “Your cartilage has been sliced. The lobe too. Luckily it’s a clean cut. We’ll have no problems sorting that out for you. You’ll be left with a scar, I’m afraid. But not a big one, if I get it right. It’ll be glued up in no time, then I’ll let the police know and you can tell them all about it. OK?”

It wasn’t. He had a bag to deal with and a plane to catch. Wasn’t going to be hanging around to talk to anyone. Especially not anyone of the uniformed variety.

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T
he plane to Belfast was only half full.

Ray had a window seat and no one had sat next to him, probably put off by the stupid gauze bandage he was wearing around his head and the bruises that decorated his face.

He’d never flown before. Hated the idea of being in the air with nothing to keep him there but forces he didn’t understand. His palms were itching and the core of his body was trembling like he’d just swallowed a nervous kitten.

He fingered the key that he now wore around his neck on the thick, gold Prince Of Wales chain that was also home to his crucifix. The padlock for the storage locker down in Granton had cost him a tenner and the rental was fifty quid for three months. It made him feel easier knowing that he’d have to come back in the spring, but paying out that amount of cash before even leaving the country had him worried about his finances.

In the aisle before him, a flight attendant was taking the passengers through the safety procedures. He turned his mobile off as instructed and then paid attention. She was tall and well put together, her uniformed blouse showing off plenty of curves beneath. Ray tried not to let her breasts distract him and to give the instructions his full attention while she worked. She lifted her arms and bent her wrists to indicate the emergency exits. Just the fact that a plane needed such things had Ray’s eyes filling with moisture, enough to blur his vision until he rubbed them dry. She put on her lifejacket, told them not to inflate until they were in the water. Showed them the whistle they’d need if they were stuck out there bobbing along in the Irish Sea. Like a whistle was going to make any difference.

Something shifted in Ray’s mind. The futility of resistance filled all the spaces in there. The plane crashed, they were all screwed. There was no point listening any longer. He let himself concentrate on trying to see through the material of her blouse and to imagine just how beautiful the woman would be if she had all that makeup scraped off her face.

The plane started to move. The cabin crew walked along checking lockers and seatbelts. When the woman he’d been watching came over to him, she stared at him for a moment longer than he’d have liked. Her smile was reassuring. The way her super-thin eyebrow bent as she leaned over to pull at the belt’s strap in order to tighten it made her look sympathetic. It was nice being looked after like that. He hadn’t been looked after for a very long time and here he was getting attention for the second time today.

As she moved on, the lightness of happiness inside Ray disappeared and was replaced by the weight of misery. It was as though there were two holes in his heart. One was Paula-shaped, the other had Jesse’s outline. He pictured Jesse leaving school and wandering home to find him gone. Saw him breaking down into tears and hiding in his bedroom. Wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right, but he knew it wouldn’t be.

He realised then what he needed to do. Stop the plane, go back home and take Jesse with him.

His body was pressed back into his seat by the acceleration of the plane along the runway, but it still wasn’t too late. If only he could get to the flight attendants and tell them it was all a big mistake. They could put things right in a moment.

He pulled up the release on his belt and unbuckled himself. As he stood, the plane tilted upwards. He was thrown back into his seat, the side of his head hitting the cushion hard and the pain in his ear shooting to his brain faster than the speed of light.

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A
rchie Stevens was Jesse's only good friend. Their friendship grew slowly, the boys both being on the fringes of things and eventually finding each other. Archie was huge. The kind of child the government pointed a finger at to warn the population that obesity was on the rampage on Scotland's streets. He fit the bill perfectly – ate too much, ate all the wrong things, never exercised and was dropped off at school and collected at the end of his day by a 4X4 that would have been more at home on a farm than on the road. Because of his weight, his glands exuded an odour that apparently was similar to a ferret on heat, which meant nobody liked to go near him.

Jesse didn't mind the smell. They'd been buddies for so long that he only noticed it if they ever had to change next to each other when they were going to gym class.

In an ideal world, Jesse and Archie would have been best pals outside of school as well as in. Unfortunately, living on opposite sides of the economic tracks put paid to that. Things might have been different if Jesse's parents had stayed sober for his sixth birthday party. Mrs Stevens had caught them having a sneaky fag around the back of the church hall while a roomful of boys ran amok around the room and used the bouncy castle as an excuse to experiment with a range of death-defying dives and jumps. Archie's mum took Jesse's mate away without a word of thanks and that had been the end of that.